#we don’t need democracy to decide this. look into your heart and find what you yourself believe

[wifegideonnav]

gonna be honest im tired of the brackets now. we could’ve just stopped after sexyman and tumblrwoman. i promise you don’t actually have to survey people to determine the disco elysium character with the cutest knee dimples. put the polls down and back away slowly.

[dyinginlava]

Analysing “Let Me Be Your Vassal” (aka that one Dream & Wilbur conversation)

Wherein Cy decides going line by line through a scene from five months ago is a wonderful idea

Alright, let’s go! Recently I went back to watch Wilbur’s ‘Am I The Villain?’ video, since it was the first DSMP video I actually watched and I noticed something that made me actually go and find the vod from October 8th to specifically watch it: the details of Wilburs conversation with Dream where he asks for the TNT. Now, this did happen about five months ago now, but I think it would be good to look at this scene both with further character information we have now, and hopefully to clarify some things that newer fans might not be aware of! There’s also the fact that c!Wilbur is likely returning to the story soon.

I will be using quotes with timestamps to support my analysis, from this video. When [...] is used, it is to indicate an irrelevant tangent or repetition. Also, I feel it is important to note that this analysis is not meant to indicate moral judgement in any way: it is intended as a unbiased look at character actions and motivations.

First, let’s establish the exact situation here. At this point in time, we’re before the festival, and Dream has volunteered to help Pogtopia and has already given Technoblade supplies. He had also written a book to Tommy wherein he stated he didn’t support Schlatt due to his power-hungry ambitions, unlike Wilbur. After being seen as a villain in the last war, he didn’t want to become publicly involved especially through breaking a peace treaty, and instead offered to help from the shadows. He also gave Tommy his crossbow and some armour along with the book. While some may doubt his intentions as stated, I have reason to believe he’s being honest, as will be mentioned later. (Information taken directly from the book Tyrant, given to Tommy by Dream).

On Wilbur’s side, he’d just had his ‘then let’s be the bad guys’ moment after seeing Schlatt announce the festival, talking with Tommy on the way back to Pogtopia.

“We burn the place to the fucking ground!” - Wilbur 1:10:50

He starts making a plan:

“Okay, here’s the plan, right? Dream, Dream is on our side, Dream has TNT, Dream has everything, right? I say, we talk to Dream, and we ask him, very nicely, very kindly, ‘Dream, give us all the TNT you have’” - Wilbur 1:12:20

“The only reason Dream is working with us is because of the fact that we are the enemies of his enemies! That’s it! That’s all that joins... this!” - Wilbur, to Tommy 1:14:30

I feel a need to note here, that anything Wilbur says to Tommy about their allies shouldn’t be taken at face value: at this point his paranoia has begun clouding his view, as he also distrusts Tubbo, and later even doubts Tommy.

“Everyone who’s claiming to be on our side, they’re lying to us! Tubbo? he’s lying to you man! He would drop us at the second he realises that we’re not in the lead anymore!” - Wilbur, to Tommy 1:16:10

He has no proof to back up his claim about Dream, and personally I’m inclined to not believe his claim, seeing as Dream previously had no issue with L’Manberg after the peace treaty.

After some tunnel shenanigans happen, Wilbur asks Dream to talk privately: the conversation starts at 1:31:30

The conversation begins with Wilbur informing Dream about the festival, which he was previously unaware of. Dream laughs at the mention of the festival being a celebration of democracy, but whether this is because of his disdain for Schlatt or a personal dislike of democracy is unclear (question for another time: is c!Dream a monarchist? The SMP is technically ruled by a king after all, but they fulfil more of a neutral peacekeeping role in general. Theocracy???).

Wilbur then asks Dream if he thinks he and Tommy are the bad guys in the situation, and like Tommy, he disagrees. Wilbur proceeds to explain his reasoning, and then asks Dream what he thinks.

“I think that sometimes, a ruler is unfit, and that causes problems” - Dream 1:32:50

Wilbur then starts trying to persuade Dream to help him.

“Dream, I think you have vested interest though, I think that you would enjoy there to be conflict between Manberg and Pogtopia. And you know what, I’m here to facilitate that!” - Wilbur 1:33:00

Dream immediately denies this, and returns to talking about Schlatt.

“I don’t— Jschlatts a little bit more ambitious than you I’d say” - Dream 1:33:20

Note that at this point, Tommy meets up with Wilbur but is not in vc. Ignoring what Dream has just said, Wilbur makes his pitch:

“Dream, Dream, let me be your vassal! Dream, I understand you have a lot of TNT?” - Wilbur 1:33:25

Dream confirms that he has TNT.

“Dream, I want to be your vassal, I want to set this up, I want to rig the city” - Wilbur 1:33:40

This is the first time Wilbur mentions using the TNT to destroy L’Manberg. I also want to point out the use of the term ‘vassal’ here, as while the line itself is very well known, I’ve yet to see someone point out the relevant definition here is ‘a person or country in a subordinate position to another’ which you might notice, isn’t really the case here. Wilbur is asking Dream to supply him with something, there’s nothing subordinate about it. It could be that he’s implying that he’ll owe Dream for the favour, or it could be him seeing it as ‘helping’ Dream by destroying L’Manberg, as we’ve established his paranoia is leading him to see his allies in a negative light.

The two decide to meet at Pogtopia, and Tommy speaks up for the first time in the conversation.

“Dream, Dream don’t give it to him. It’s not right!”- Tommy

“Tommy it’s too... I have to.” - Dream 1:33:50 (overlapping)

‘I have to’ is an interesting line, and I’m assuming he’s referring to the promise he made to assist Pogtopia by supplying them. It does highlight how, at this point in time, Dream still seems hesitant about the plan.

Wilbur then starts talking to Dream but abruptly switches to talking to Tommy instead.

“Dream, I appreciate ... cause you see Tommy, the thing you’re not understanding is Dream only gave you that gear so that you could cause this conflict! You see, this is what it’s all about, Dream doesn’t want us to win! Dream just wants both Pogtopia and Manberg to be weak! [...] and Dream I’m not scolding you on this, it’s smart, you’re smart..” - Wilbur 1:34:00

To clarify my stance on this to people who are newer to the fandom, during Pogtopia, Dream and Tommy were actually on good, even friendly terms. It’s not until Dream joined Manberg that they became enemies again. Personally, I see this as Wilbur trying to make Tommy distrust Dream just as he did with Tubbo, although interpretations may differ. Wilbur complimenting Dream can be seen as trying to get on his good side and/or trying to persuade Dream that he wants to help Wilbur with the TNT.

“I’m here to help you, I’m here to weaken both of us!” - Wilbur 1:34:25

Dream then gets a chance to speak.

“I do want Pogtopia and Manberg to be nothing more, and I want L’Manberg to be... something” - Dream 1:34:40

Tommy asks why he wants L’Manberg back after he fought against them over it before.

“Schlatt is ambitious, and that’s a bad thing. He wants power, he wants land, he wants to expand. You having your own little server [...] that’s fine by me!” - Dream 1:34:55

Here Dream claims that due to Schlatt being power hungry he stands against him, but didn’t have an issue with L’Manberg just existing. I’m inclined to believe this claim, as it matches up with his actions in between the war and the elections. He also claims to have had a change of heart about L’Manberg, which again, seems to line up with his actions.

Wilbur then lets out a very evil sounding laugh, very melodramatic, I applaud cc!Wilbur for it. He then says something that I think is extremely important to this analysis, and part of why I made it in the first place.

“Dream, this has made me ambitious! If I’m taking power again I will be ambitious! Let me blow it up, let me destroy it all!” - Wilbur 1:35:15

Now considering what both Wilbur and Dream have been saying, there a very obvious conclusion you can come too here: Wilbur is claiming that he’d be just as bad as Schlatt if he was back in power, that there would be no getting the old L’Manberg back, that Dream would be better off helping his plan. Now obviously Wilbur isn’t evil— he’s paranoid, angry, and desperate— but this is what he claims to Dream, who’s knows he’s been willing to fight for L’Manberg before and has said he (Dream) wants to avoid fighting L’Manberg again. I know a lot of c!Wilbur fans get annoyed at people saying Wilbur manipulated Dream during Pogtopia, but you can’t deny that this moment specifically is manipulative: he’s specifically lying about his intentions to convince someone to help him. And it works! Dream arrives, and hands over the TNT to Wilbur.

Wilbur heads back to the entrance to Pogtopia, where Tommy holds him at bowpoint before Dream steps in, handing Wilbur a shield. Tommy talks about how they can rebuild L’Manberg rather than destroying it, but Wilbur laughs at it. Dream turns to leave.

“Dream, I will do you proud” - Wilbur 1:36:55

Dream offers to help him if he needs it, and Wilbur warns him about the festival. Dream leaves the game, marking the end of the conversation at 1:37:41.

When heading back into Pogtopia, Wilbur talks to chat about Dream being a ‘good guy’ but also repeating what he said before about Dream just wanting both sides to be weak.

Now that the main analysis is done, I did want to mention a few things that didn’t really fit within the main body for whatever reason: not enough evidence, may be biased etc. For one thing, I definitely noticed a shift in how Wilbur spoke to Dream, from initially just asking him for TNT to almost acting like the TNT was Dream’s idea. This could tie into the manipulation I noted, or it could just be a result of his paranoia causing him to misinterpret what Dream really wants. Or both! As I mentioned before, Wilbur’s narration can’t really be trusted because of this, but what we can do is compare actions and words: if what a person says their motives are lines up with how they act, then they’re probably being honest. There’s also the matter of context— Dream claiming to Eret that he’s always wanted everything to be Dream SMP territory when dethroning them doesn’t make much sense if you compare it to how he acted about L’Manberg after the war, at least until you realise he’s talking to the king of the Dream SMP and trying to play into what he thinks she wants— he even emphasise that them being able to take over after the war between Manberg and Pogtopia is only a possibility.

Anyway, this took a while but was fun to write, and hopefully even if you don’t agree with my personal interpretation of these events, looking at the quotes will hopefully be helpful for coming to your own conclusions! :D

[maxwell-grant]

Brazilian character review: Jose Carioca

I can't say I have too many strong feelings on Zé Carioca as a character, but in retrospective, I think the existence of Zé Carioca is very emblematic of the way Brazil is viewed overseas, and the contrast between this sort of idyllic postcard fantasyland version of Brazil that gringos see, and the reality.

The first thing that comes to mind when I look at Zé Carioca, other than he's a popular Disney mascot, is that contrast. He's intended to look like a carefree young carioca (a term we use for people that come from Rio), but he's perpetually dressed like a 1920s caricature, the kind you only really find in pictures of your grandpa, and attempts to modernize his look have robbed him of his charm. His name is "José", which is a common Portuguese name usually abreviated to "Zé", but in pretty much every media he shows up in, they always say his name the Spanish way, instead of the Portuguese way.

The Zé Carioca that people outside of Brazil know is a character that only exists in the context of an ensemble with Donald and Panchito, mostly defined as a suave, romantic party goer, the phlegmatic opposite to the choleric Donald and the sanguine Panchito (I haven't checked out the new Caballeros cartoon, although I intend to). The Zé Carioca that Brazilians know is largely defined as a charismatic scammer who keeps going to great lengths to avoid work, the joke being that usually he goes through a lot more work to do so than he would have otherwise.

It's based a lot on the stereotype of cariocas as lazy beach-dwellers who look down on honest work to instead cheat and take shortcuts. Every region of Brazil has it's own stereotypes, in fact, Zé Carioca in Brasil has a lot of relatives to embody those, but gringos treat Brazil like Rio is the only city in it, which is why this stereotype gets applied to Brazilians in general, and, well, it is a stereotype to begin with. It's a change that allows him to work as a solo protagonist, but it also leads to a disconnect where fans of Zé Carioca don't quite see eye-to-eye with most depictions of the character not made locally, because it's not really the same character.

I gotta stress that I don't dislike Zé Carioca, not at all, I do think the idea behind his creation was a good one. I can't think of any Brazilian character, either created here or just coming from Brazil, who was a popular name overseas during this time period (could be wrong though, but nothing comes to mind). He gets credit for that, if nothing else. He's a fairly cute character and I do like seeing him when he does show up. But Zé Carioca seems like one of those characters who is popular as a mascot, but not so much as a character.

I think the best way I can explain this disconnect between what Zé Carioca is by sharing this text I found, written by Gabriel Bayarri here, that I translated and post below. I think this kinda gets to the heart of how I feel about Zé Carioca, which is not a dislike, just a disconnect.

Brazil was the land of Zé Carioca, he who had shown the world in 1942, during WW2, a Brazil that seemed cordial and happy, a Brazil that valued it's mixed heritage as a symbol of national culture. The parrot presented to Donald Duck a city proud of itself, joyfully beautiful, where samba, cachaca, parties and romantic rascals all mixed together.

Now, he's watched, terrified, as his wonderful city embraced armed heroes, and took flight perplexed, trying to understand what had changed in a city he recalled painted in watercolor strokes. Zé Carioca flew to the heart of the tropical city, where spaces of resistance stood symbolized, straggling remnants of a democracy that he used to think was harmonious and shielded against the monsters that ruled it.

The parrot fluttered its wings between the hills, and rested its feathers in its beloved square in Cinelândia, and breathed its history, of which he only recognized the harmonious part: the square had become a central place for beginnings of the 20th century, representing the Belle Époque of Rio de Janeiro. Cinelândia acquired French features, so desired by the recent Brazilian Republic, and it tried to become a Tropical Paris. At it's center, slaves recently freed from plantations arrived, while the square acquired a cosmopolitan personality. This was all familiar to the parrot, who found in history a joyful account.

From abroad, the narrative of a happy and harmonious Rio de Janeiro recovered the idea of a cordial Brazil, without racism and without violence, promoted by Zé Carioca. In addition, this imagery of the city was promoted to foreigners as the period of a “Golden Brazil”: the drop in poverty rates, the increase in investments and the enormous influence in the Latin American and global context.

The bird breathed the chronicles of literary bohemians who populated the surroundings, and who built in their writings the characters who walked the square, its muses, its rogues, its carnival heroes or its capoeiristas. Authors built at that time a model of the “carioca people” that the parrot Zé Carioca repeated and synthesized in his image: a kind, cordial and warm character who crossed borders, transmitting to the world a image of Brazil harmonized and absent from conflicts and violence. It was that conception that, in Brazil, everything would tend to soften and adapt.

Cinelândia had begun to fill with cinemas, rooms of spectacle. Hotels, restaurants, night bars. The arrival of hotdogs at the Square was a revolutionary bridge, from North-American influences to the carioca lifestyle.

The parrot was proud of his city, until a woman approached him: “Our hot dog is carioca to the core”, explained the street vendor who was carrying a T-shirt with the face of Marielle Franco. Who was this woman who wanted to explain to him what was like to be brazilian: Who was this woman on her shirt? Where was Carmen Miranda, with the fruits on her head?

Then, the parrot listened in the square to the story of the murder of the councilwoman Marielle and her driver, and the new reports of violence on “carioca nights”, and its police conflicts against immigrants.

But Zé Carioca did not believe that his beautiful city was affected by these issues.

The parrot was aware that Cinelândia represented an image of the essence of what it was to be Brazilian, the construction of its own unique soul in a public space, the creativity and trickery and joy.

But he was surprised to hear that his happy and dancing people were also active warriors, who had used this square over the decades as a historical space for building demands, from The March of 100.000 against the military dictatorship, and the recent manifestations against the new president.

In one of its streets, the square bore the name of Marielle herself, the murdered councilwoman whose plaque had been broken publicly by the current governor of Rio, and whose death had become a symbol.

The parrot had Disneysified the image of his city, in a portrait of heroes, castles and tropical princesses, which made it difficult to understand now the political victory of monsters.

It seemed as if the history of Brazil was rebuilding itself before his eyes, and its people were now made up of activists, women warriors, LGTB+ collectives and anti-racism movements that defended civil rights and identity demands, of a Brazil that could not be pigeonholed, because it wasn't made for beginners.

What had happened to his colorful Brazil? – he asked himself nervously, replacing his straw hat and plucking his feathers.

Something transformed in the parrot's gaze, and after a brief disturbance, he decided to regain his composure. The bird spread its wings and took flight to Copacabana Palace, the place where it had been born from the hand of Walt Disney 77 years ago. He needed to reflect, think of the the gray tones of truth that splashed in his colorful costume, and seek new spaces to resist the monsters.

Perhaps the world had believed Zé Carioca's colorful report, in the palette of illusions that an emerging Brazil offered, and they had forgotten that, like every grown child, Brazil had nightmares. Kicking up at night over its racism, structural militarism, murderous violence, patriarchal inequalities.

Perhaps Zé Carioca had fallen in love with the exuberance of a land of fruit, sailors and smiles, and the world had listened to his account, a lovable sales pitch to tourists and sporting mega-events, and they had forgotten the voices of their people who watched helplessly the approach of a military parade from congress.

Zé Carioca's flight transformed the parrot, and in his old age, he went through a rite of passage to adulthood. After years of blindness to the violence of a post-colonial society and it's extended torture under jackboots, Zé Carioca opened his eyes, and faced the hidden part of a wounded Brazil.

A Brazil that had been dressed up in tropical colors and that now had to be sincere, with the world and with itself, in order to overcome the times of monsters.

[claudiasjeancregg]

for the au ask been thinking about donna becoming toby's assistant instead of josh's

this is like… my favorite au. oh my god. i’ve thought about it so much because donna/toby friendship is something i am unreasonably obsessed with, and this is the LOGICAL extension of it!!!! just. picture it.

Donna walked into Josh's office first, and he wasn’t there. So she wandered around a little bit, and ended up hearing a phone ring next door. She answered it absentmindedly, looking around for a nameplate on the desk to give to the caller.

Donna didn't find one, but heard it instead- “Toby Ziegler,” a man said gruffly, eyes narrowed.

“Who the hell are you?”

It took a while to wear him down, and a little bit of (a lot of) intervention and advocacy from CJ, but Toby had a bit of a soft spot for girls who reminded him of his sisters. Donna's a pain in his ass for the first few days, mostly because of how hard she was trying to be deferential and conspicuous while he worked. That girl couldn’t be deferential for the life of her, something that was obvious by Day Two. By Day Four, Toby was starting to rip his hair out at the way she carried herself, the way she let other staff members talk to her. He remembered what she had said the first day, when Toby had asked her why on Earth he should hire someone who had already hijacked his phone lines and his favorite pen.

“Because, I think I could be good at this. I think you could find me valuable.”

And she wasn’t wrong. By Day 6, the only thing getting in the way of Donna being the perfect assistant was his complete confusion at how she ended up here. Eventually, he sat her down and asked her the thing that had been bugging him for all seven days of the week she’d been working here.

“Why are you here, Donna?”

She was defensive immediately. Some people hadn’t been the kindest to this wide-eyed Midwestern girl with no prior experience in politics, and even he could tell it hurt her a lot more than she let on.

“Look, if you’re going to tell me to go back to Wisconsin and get married to my douchebag ex-boyfriend—“

“I couldn't care less about Dr. Freeride, or whatever the hell Josh called him. Why are you here, of all places?” It took her a minute to decide if he’s asking for real, but apparently he passes the sincerity test— a first for him.

“I saw the governor, uh, Governor Bartlet on TV. And when he— when I left Wisconsin, I don't know, I guess I just remembered that his campaign was nearby.”

Toby stared at her. “Yeah, so what really happened?”

Donna looked straight past him, avoiding all eye contact. “That is what happened.”

“Nashua is twenty-odd hours away from middle-of-nowhere, Wisconsin.”

“From the middle of nowhere, or from Wisconsin?” she said with a hint of snark in her voice.

“Shut it, Blondie.” There was more affection in his voice that Toby cared to admit. “Why’d you choose us?”

“I wasn’t lying.”

“Donna—”

“I wasn’t! I saw Governor Bartlet talking to the dairy farmers on TV.”

“VFW Hall,” he interrupts, mouth opening a little. “That was, uh, someone filmed that?”

“You remember it? God, Toby, you must have been doing like three of those a week.”

He laughed. “Try five. And yeah, I remember it.” He cocks his head, smiling a little. “I was about to get fired.”

“You got fired?”

“Nope. I got promoted.” Toby shakes his head, shakes off that memory that he feels like he’s viewing through the grainy lens of a camera. “Anyway. Why, why was that the one that got you?”

“Well, it might have been the only thing on the radio.”

“You mean the TV?”

“Come on, Toby, no one was filming that. And no one was listening, except for the radio station in my car as I sat in the driveway contemplating the ruination of my life choices.”

“So let me get this straight. You’re in your car, you just broke up with Dr. Freeride—”

“Josh will be happy to know his little nickname is catching on,” she muttered.

“And you happen to turn to the station where Bartlet is speaking to dairy farmers?”

“Yeah. Except it wasn’t about dairy farmers at all.” She smiled, a radiant smile that had Toby almost understanding why Josh won’t shut up about her. “One in five children live in the most abject, dangerous, hopeless, backbreaking, gut wrenching, poverty, one in five, and they're children. If fidelity to freedom and democracy is the code of our civic religion then surely, the code of our humanity is faithful service to that unwritten commandment that says ‘We shall give our children better than we ourselves had.”

She squinted her eyes, quoting from memory.

“And I was sold.”

Toby had no idea what to say, except... “Wow.”

“Is it that stupid?” she moaned. “This is why I tell people the other story!”

“No, it’s not stupid. Well, not entirely— ow!” She shoved him into his filing cabinet, and he almost threatened to fire her for the second time that hour. But he wouldn't do that, they both know that. He couldn't.

“It’s just funny. That’s the first time Josh saw Bartlet speak either,” he observed.

Toby noticed how Donna blushed at just his name, and couldn’t help but roll his eyes. He wasn’t blind. Every person in the building had noticed those two’s heart eyes after a week of working together. At this point, Donna working as his assistant was just a public service so no one had to deal with some absurdly complicated work-romance conflict.

And he didn't hate her, as much as he tried to. Donna was too smart to be working for someone like Josh Lyman, she needed to be somewhere where a love-struck man would have no hand in her career.

“So you drove all the way here?”

“Yeah,” she nodded simply. “What else could I have done?”

Toby thought about that, really thought about it. She wasn’t wrong. This wasn’t a campaign, it was a calling. And maybe people— maybe he— had been too quick to assume that just because an assistant was joining instead of the Deputy Campaign Manager, her choice didn't mean as much.

“I guess I understand that. Well, welcome aboard then, Donna.”

“I’ve already been your assistant for a week,” she pointed out.

“I can still change my mind!” He called out half-heartedly.

She was already halfway across the halfway, relaying the entire story to Josh. He was grinning wider than Toby had ever seen him smile, squeezing Donna’s hands as she almost burst with excitement at her job’s newfound permanence.

These two fools would be dating before the election was called, that was one thing he was sure of. And if not... Well, if not, then God help them all.

[qqueenofhades]

so…now that we all know what you DISLIKE about star wars (and 400% fairly so, you have my full support here)…

what drew you into the universe, what keeps you around?

favorite characters, ships (OTPs or actual spaceships lol), overall themes, do you have a favorite random weird creature or robot that you adore? whatever you wanna talk about!

go off honey (again, but supportively 💖💖💖)

tax paid: the very nerdy star wars punk vest i made and the even nerdier matching vest i made for starsky

Lmaooo, entirely valid. You were like "star wars?" and I was like the drunk person at the bar who can't stop shouting about how much their ex sucks. But now that I have gotten all that off my chest, let's talk about why I love it (since if I didn't love it, I wouldn't have such strong opinions). Basically my feelings on the OG SW trilogy are similar to my feelings on the OG LOTR trilogy, as that tumblr post floating around somewhere put it: sure, they have flaws, but also, they're perfect. I have a complicated relationship with the prequels, as do we all, since George Lucas cannot write dialogue or direct actors to save his life (stick to what you're good at, George, hire other people to do the rest), but even they have their moments. Like. Hit me with that "Across the Stars" love theme, John Williams. Gahh. Just like that.

Because... Star Wars wasn't actually this omnipresent corporate global entertainment monolith when it started out. It was a dorky low-budget indie sci-fi film in the 1970s which everyone thought was going to bomb. But it told a simple and compelling story in an interesting way, everyone agrees that ESB is one of the best films/sequels ever made, and then ROTJ gave it a happy ending while it was still okay to do that. My main thematic gripe with the Disney trilogy (I will try to keep those to a minimum, lol, but I have to bring it up to compare) is that it very clearly fell into the "actual happy endings are naive and unrealistic and a cynical postmodern audience won't accept anything less than things being Bad" trap that, yet again, we have GOT to thank for. It obviously existed to some degree before that, but GOT blew it up to huge levels, where the only valid situation or character is that which is Grimdark and Depressing. Which, in my view, misses the heart and soul of what SW is all about??

Like. ESB is genuinely dark. ANH was this fun plucky little sci-fi film where the scrappy good guys won the day against the Nazi stand-ins, as they were supposed to, and then ESB comes along (speaking of John Williams, let us all chant together, DUH DUH DUH DUHDUHDUH DUHDUHDUH, DUH DUH DUH DUHHHH DUHHH DUHHH DUHHHH) and things go... wrong. Leia and Han are on the run for most of the movie, then get captured and tortured by the Empire and and betrayed (however unwillingly) by Lando. The Rebellion is attacked on Hoth (I tell you, those fuckin AT-AT walkers were SCARY when you see it as a young kid for the first time), and forced into hiding. Luke loses his hand, doubts Obi-Wan and Yoda and realizes that his mentors are fallible, makes dumb mistakes, and of course gets hit with The Most Famous Line In Movie History. But it's also just adrenaline and excitement. THE ASTEROID FIELD! THE HAN-LEIA BANTER! THE FIRST LUKE-VADER DUEL! THE FACT THAT YOU HEAR TWO FRICKING NOTES OF THE IMPERIAL MARCH AND YOU'RE JUST LIKE OH YEAH OH YEAH OH YEAHHHH!

But also then... Return of the Jedi. It gets shat upon for the Ewoks and reusing the Death Star as the Big Bad and being supposedly cheesy and not as Thematically Dark as ESB. Which is all kinda silly, in my opinion, but also, can we talk about Luke Skywalker's character arc and how he chooses possibly the most radical compassion ever demonstrated by a hero in an action movie, let alone a space opera. He insists that Anakin Skywalker is still in there somewhere and puts his own neck on the line to prove it. Luke doesn't save the galaxy by being a Badass Jedi. He saves it by throwing away his lightsaber and saying "I will not fight you, Father." He saves it by trusting that even in the depths of darkness, Anakin can come back from the charred ruins of Darth Vader and finally do what he was supposed to do all along. He can end Palpatine for good and all (we don't talk about "Somehow Palpatine has returned" because it's nonsense, obviously). Anakin can avenge the Jedi and what was done to him and all the lies he believed and the pain he wreaked on the galaxy, even then. It's not too late. It's not too late. Like. I don't care if this is Lightweight or Childish or whatever. It makes me CRY every time I watch it. Especially the moment where Luke takes off Anakin’s helmet and sees how ruined he actually is under there, and yet the downfall and death of the trilogy’s chief villain is not triumphant at all but instead utterly heartbreaking. “You were right about me Luke... tell your sister... you were right.”

Excuse me, I need to just /CRIES INTENSELY/

Luke won't be tempted to the dark side for his own sake, but Leia's ("If you will not join me, then perhaps she will"). I likewise hold firmly that Anakin/Vader is one of the best movie villains/antiheroes of all time and likewise have many feelings and Strong Opinions about his arc, prequel writing clumsiness and eye-rollingly tepid love story aside. (See: he and Obi-Wan were deeply in love and in a way they still are, don't @ me. I have no problems with Padme and obviously stan Natalie Portman at all times, but Anakin and Obi-Wan’s relationship is the real love story, the heart of the prequels, and in some ways even the subsequent movies, the end.) And “so this is how democracy dies, with thunderous applause” is... raw af as a line. For being in a Star Wars prequel movie. What?? (Also, the Revenge of the Sith novelization had no business being as good as it was. If only that dude had also written the movie.)

Anyway, my point is: the OG trilogy had plenty of moments of staggering emotional weight and where things genuinely sucked for the good guys and the outcome wasn’t entirely clear. The difference is that it didn’t choose to dwell on them, and it allowed for a transformative fictional space where a happy ending, fiercely fought for and squarely earned, was the right outcome. We didn’t need to go back thirty years later and make everything suck for fear that a cynical modern audience couldn’t connect with it otherwise. (Like I said, we didn’t need the new movies at all, but Disney heard that Cha-Ching of the Almighty Dollar). Star Wars was sci-fi, sure, but it also had the fantasy elements that allowed a happy ending to be the right choice for what we saw the characters go through and the philosophy that carried us through the original trilogy.

Likewise it’s just... Peak as far as dynamics go. C-3PO the fussy metal butler who worries about Everything and R2-D2 who is the droid embodiment of YOLO? Flawless. Sassy scruffy space pirate and badass politician warrior princess bicker constantly, butt heads, drive each other crazy, and then fall in love? Iconic. (And has shaped my ship tastes for... all of eternity, oops.) The above-discussed transformation of Luke Skywalker, whiny ordinary teenage kid, to the truly great man who fulfills what Obi-Wan, Yoda, AND the rest of the entire Jedi order couldn’t manage to do, because of their own flaws and blind spots and black-and-white moral views that didn’t know what to do with a man who loved as passionately as Anakin Skywalker, for better or for worse? The guy who managed to save the galaxy with love? STAN.

So... what? The Disney trilogy decides to retcon all that, throw everything that they’ve fought for out the window, make Han, Leia, and Luke miserable and rejecting the roles they grew into in the original trilogy, and die without ever really reuniting or seeing each other again as a trio? The underlying message was that “these happy endings aren’t satisfactory/realistic/sophisticated enough” and idk, maybe it’s just the shitshow of the last few years, but I’d like to see some entertainment that had the cojones to tell me that despite all the darkness and despair, maybe there’s a chance for hope. (”Rebellions are built on hope,” thank you Only Valid New Star Wars Movie Rogue One.) And Rogue One worked so well, despite being utterly GUTTING as all the heroes died one by one, because we knew what was coming next (A New Hope) and that their sacrifice was going to be worth it. I don’t care if that’s “realistic” or not. As I’ve said before, that’s what stories are for, and if I only wanted things that were Real Life, I would only read the news. Besides, the idea that happy endings never happen in reality is equally bullshit. We as a culture need to accept that more, instead of finding reasons to tear everything down.

So just... yes. The original trilogy might have flaws, but also, it’s perfect. And do I want to rewatch it all now? Kinda.

(Anyway. I warned you this was gonna be long. Oh look, it’s long, and I’m sure there is even more I could say, but still. Ahem.)

sleepover weekend asks

[dinner-djarin]

Until the Sun Rises

Part 2: Beautifully Catastrophic

Anakin x Jedi!reader

Summary: The Clone Wars have begun, and although you and Anakin remain best friends, you have sensed your relationship growing distant, both from your time spent apart in battle, and from the inclusion of a certain woman into his life. When you finally get a moment to share alone with him, however, things do not go as you would have wished.

Notes: Part 2 takes place probably a year or so after part 1. Reader is young, probably around 18 or 19. Another Happy Birthday wish to @hellotherebonky

Rating: T

Warnings: fluff/angst. Reader gets very angry, yikes.

Part 1

Only one year later would Anakin be made an official Jedi Knight, just after the start of the Clone Wars. And as much as you hoped for peace in the galaxy, you secretly revelled in the start of the fighting, as it meant you were finally able to leave the Temple on a regular basis. You and your Master fought many battles together, and you felt yourself grow stronger with The Force every day. Master Sente admitted they may have been wrong to keep you guarded all that time, as you proved yourself to be a very cunning and diligent warrior. You learned ten times faster out in the galaxy then you did by studying away in the record halls. Being out there, learning on the battlefield, this was what made you finally shine.

The one downfall, however, was the reality that your assignments kept you away from Anakin.

He and Obi-wan stayed close, even after he proved himself capable and passed his trials, so the two of them often went on missions together… a fate you once dreamed of for yourselves.

But in all honesty, you were thankful for the space from Anakin. Ever since Padme Amidala had been thrust back into his life, you were tormented by how different Anakin had become. He didn’t confide in you as often, and when he did, the sole topic was her. How he couldn’t stand to be away from her. How he dreamt only of her. How only she could tame the fire that seared his soul.

One might think that a war should be the cause of such an uprooting to your life - but the war paled in comparison to the return of a woman.

You could see what drew him to her. Her beauty was only paralleled by her intelligence and kindness. She was stunning - you might even say she was perfect.

Her angelic form could not rival whatever you had to offer him. In fact, you had nothing to offer him, as the Jedi Code stood between any dreams you could dare to possess. At least with her, only his own morals were tempted. He didn’t confide the true nature of his relationship with Padme to you, but in your heart, you knew things had gone too far. It broke you to see him throw away his future for her, but it broke you more that he would never do the same for you.

She was lovely enough to include you in her life too, obviously noting the fact that you were Anakin’s only true friend at the Temple. You spent lunches and dinners and nights out together at the opera. Over the short time you spent together you unconsciously came to like her. More than that, you admired her.

You admired how she continued to fight for the rights of those who had none. How she was always unafraid to speak her mind and stand against what she believed to be wrong. You also noticed just how strong willed she could be in those opinions; ready to take on any voices raised against her own.

And as much as you tried to be happy for the two best people in your life, you couldn’t help the way that they remind you of the neutron star collisions you were taught about as a youngling. Two stars burning hot and bright, caught in each other's gravity, encircling one another over and over in a beautiful rhythm, until time and space can no longer accommodate for their existence. A beauty burning so bright that it can only be catastrophic.

Padme is brilliant and caring, but she is determined and independent. Anakin is willing to fight to the end for what he loves, but he is only satisfied when it is him who makes the sacrifices, and him who makes the choices. He needs to control everything, but she cannot be controlled.

You’ve grown alongside Anakin, and you’ve grown to love Padme. Separate they are unstoppable. They believe they can change the galaxy. But you know neither sees that goal in the same way.

You recount the way Anakin fought so hard against the council, over and over, believing that he knew better, or his approach would suit the situation over theirs. Often, he was proven right. He was talented, but the council only thought of him as reckless and lucky, making him seek to push against them even harder. For nights on end, you would hear him rant on about his distrust in such a system.

“We would be better off to decide for ourselves what we thought was right” he would go on. “How can we put our faith in a group of old, washed up Master’s who have long forgotten what it’s like to put their own lives on the line.” Eventually he would finish with sentiments along the line of: “I think they’re just scared to make the decisions that needed to be made”

But you also knew how faithful Padme was to that same system. She believed in the power of diplomacy and democracy. A freedom made by sitting and talking through their issues. Words right out of the mouth of Anakin; words of distaste for a future he couldn't see himself a part of.

It kept you wondering just how long it might take for fate - for The Force - to intervene. You knew it would have to, in some form or another. It always did. You waited for the day they would implode. And you swore you would be by his side when they did.

You waited. But the day hadn’t come.

Instead, the Clone Wars dragged on. You were eventually Knighted. A relatively small ceremony for the troubled times, but even Anakin made his way to be there. He looked proud as you knelt before the council and agreed to do the will of The Force.

“I can’t believe I finally made it,” you whisper to Anakin as you shuffle out of the council room.

“I never doubted you would, little one.” His voice quiet too but resonating directly into your ear as he hunched over to place his mouth next to your face.

“I did. All the time,” you say as you tilt your face to meet his.

“You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t.” Just then you realized you had worked yourselves away from the crowd into the hall where your adjacent rooms were held. “Come on, for old times’ sake.” His head nodding towards his own room, but you understood the final destination he had in mind.

You both carefully maneuvered your bodies over the ledge of his balcony onto the roof of the temple. “This was easier when we were children,” you remarked through laboured breaths.

“Everything was,” he responded, settling into the spot next to you so that your two thighs were barely grazing. The positioning reminded you of a night you spent together not so long ago. Watching the life of Coruscant fill the skies. Now the view had barely changed, save for the fact you were currently watching a setting sun instead of a vast darkness.

You both sat in silence, as you often did, words rarely necessary when you felt each other's presence so clearly already. Tuning into his aura, you felt a turbulence - an unease you had never felt before. What is that? You thought, forgetting how thoroughly lodged you were in his essence. “I’m sorry, Anakin. I didn’t mean to intrude-”

“It’s alright. I have nothing to hide, not from you. Never from you.” He admits as he turns to look into your eyes. You met his gaze instantly, and whatever you had felt in his aura had also taken root in his face. Besides the new scar, there were clear signs of worry and fear - his secrets slowly burdening him from the inside out.

“Please tell me, Anakin. You know you can tell me, whatever it is.” You attempt to reassure him. You know he must have a lot on his mind, and you know there is rarely anyone else he can truly confide in. His relationship with Padme meant he could not completely confide in Obi-wan, but the nature of his role and the severity of his actions during the Clone Wars caused a further rift between him and his wife.

“There’s so much. I don’t even know where to begin,” he starts.

“How about the beginning.” Your voice is almost teasing, until you see the bleakness in his weathered face. The horrors of war depleting the once joyful and youthful peace that filled him. Now he looked harsh and serious. He had told you of the things he had done, even before the Clone Wars began, and you could piece together how easily the added burdens had manifested in his soul.

“The council gave me a Padawan.” He spoke softly as he stared at the horizon.

“Already? They must have great faith in you.”

“I think the opposite. They wish to tame me, or to see me fail.” You could sense the hint of anger breaking through his otherwise stoic appearance.

“Anakin, I know you don’t trust them but-”

“But what? When have they ever trusted me?!” His quiet demeanor abruptly dissolving. “Why should I think they’re doing this out of my best interest?”

“How has it been?” You attempt to diffuse him. “What are they like?”

Anakin takes a moment to regain his peace. “She’s like me, Ahsoka.”

“Then she’ll be trouble.” You say with a jab to his ribs.

“Hey.” He nudges you back, and you almost slip from your spot to the balcony below. “Oh Maker, sorry.” He begins again, “I just fear she’s too much like me. She deserves a Master who is knowledgeable of The Force, who can help her find strength and stability. She is wild, and takes risks-”

“And is that bad? She sounds exactly like you. Maybe she needs someone to show her that trusting herself is as important as trusting The Force.”

“I don’t know if I can be that for her. I don’t even know if I trust myself anymore.” his voice reaching a quiet once again. So low, you understand that there is more to what he has shared.

“What’s really going on, Anakin?” You sense his trouble, and you know he has not fully divulged the root of his strife. In a moment of weakness, you let your emotions surface and ask, “Is it Padme?”

“What!? Why would it be Padme? Why would you ask that?” But his voice is too defensive for you to leave the subject alone.

“I just mean keeping the secret. Keeping her a secret. It must be weighing on you. And on top of everything-”

“On top of what?” He asks sternly. But his question stirs something in you, and pokes at all the thoughts you had bottled up over the months of observing the two of them.

“I mean you two already fight enough as it is. You get jealous and she gets angry. You just never seem to be on the same page.”

“You don’t approve of Padme?” He questions harshly.

“Of course I approve of Padme, as if I even need to. I mean she’s perfect. She’s almost too damn good for you-”

“What so I don’t deserve her? You think she should be with someone else?” You saw the aforementioned jealousy rising back up in him, further proving your point.

“I think you’re throwing away your life for a relationship you aren’t even happy in!”

“How could you know If I’m happy?”

“Because I know you, Anakin! I’ve known you for most of your life. I’ve seen you happy, and you aren’t happy with her.”

“It’s not that simple-”

“How is it not? You fight all the time; you don’t agree on anything. Is it supposed to be this hard? Why are you even still with her if she makes your life so difficult?”

“Because she’s my wife!” He admits loudly, a contrast to the deafening silence that follows.

You stare at him for what feels like hours. Your tongue runs dry from the stale air that passes through your agape mouth. Several minutes pass before you realize you hadn’t taken a proper breath.

“What are you talking about, Anakin.” These are the only words you can muster, and they come out painfully against the scratch of your dry throat.

“Just after the assignment where I guarded Padme,” he begins, “I lost my arm, and the Clone Wars began, and there was so much going on. I never realized how easily it could all be taken away. I almost died fighting Dooku.”

“So you decided to get married?” Your mind running too fast, too cluttered with thoughts to string together a calm response. “You lived, Anakin. You’re alive. So you decided to throw it all away because you almost died. Because you realized you could have died. We are Jedi. We could die any day. That’s the freaking point! How could you do something so foolish?!” You scream your words at him like blaster bolts, hoping for the first time ever that you could hurt him, like he had hurt you all these years.

“It was not foolish, I loved her then, and I love her now.” He admits to you angrily.

“And I loved you. I've loved you since the day you came here. And you never gave me a second glance. You never even tried to love me back. I've been here for you the whole time. Through everything. And still, you can't seem to care for me at all. I don't even know why I should care. I should have left you alone years ago. What have I ever gotten out of this? Pain. Hurt. Anger. You’ve pushed me to my breaking point time and time again. You have been more challenging than anything I faced in the trials. But I tried. I tried to be here for you, and hear every problem, every complaint. But you were never here for me. Not once. I’m done.” you say as you slide off the roof. “I cannot believe that all this time you’ve been married to her. And you never once thought to tell me. I am your best friend. At least I thought I was. Maker, Anakin, no wonder everything implodes around you.”

As you retreated, you felt the pain resonate from his aura. Your words tore at his soul and left him to bleed out. But you had enough. You were destroyed, and you needed him to know how deeply he had wounded you first. So, you abandoned him on that roof. You walked away from the one person who you truly loved. With every step you felt the strings of your attachment snap, you felt his presence leaving you in a way it never had before.

But he let you go. Not because he wanted to. But because you were right. He hadn’t been there for you. All those years you had been his crutch. You had listened to every childish rant. You had talked through every problem with him. But what had he done for you? He used you, and he knew it. What good would it do to beg you to stay? He could only be so selfish.

But you were also wrong, because he did love you. He should have shown it better. He should have told you long ago. But his world had become a destructive mess, and he decided he deserved all the pain and torment it had brought. Anakin wasn’t even sure how he loved you. It surely wasn’t the same way he felt about Padme. No, that love was raw. It was fire, and passion. It burned him alive. He loved you softly, like a warm embrace. You brought comfort and joy, even when the world was crumbling around him. Maybe he knew he didn’t deserve such happiness. Maybe that's why he let you walk away.

Part 3

[gaeilgeoirgay]

Posadh Eagraithe

This was one of the most popular oneshots of my Pride series so I hope you enjoy it :)

Ao3 Link

Summary- Din's Council want him to get married. Except Din is aromantic and he's not interested. Enter Boba Fett. 

Din sighs as he settles himself in the council chambers. The throne is surprisingly comfortable, which he appreciates when the meetings drag on. The meeting today is about an offer they’ve received from the New Republic- namely, whether or not Mandalore as a whole will join them. He knows that they joined the Old Republic when the dar’manda New Mandalorians were in charge, but he doesn’t personally think it would be a good idea for the new Mandalore they are building. He serves his people though, and it will be their decision.

The Clan and House alor’e file into the room and take their designated places. Din had learned the hard way that seating had to be assigned carefully after the alor’e of Clan Onyo and Rau had started a fist fight with each other. Twice. In ten minutes.

Din straightens and waits for everyone to take their seats. The Armourer is at his right and he bows his head slightly. He may be Mand’alor but she is an Armourer. More importantly, she is the leader of his tribe. “Su cuy. I have given you a week to speak with your aliit about the New Republics offer. Today, we will decide what to do based on their answers. Alor be Skirata. What have you decided?” Din says, wasting no time. “Clan Skirata votes to not join them.” Kal Skirata says. Din nods and moves on to the next clan.

It appears his people share Din’s opinions. They’re overwhelmingly in favour of staying out of the New Republic. “Alright, we’re not joining the New Republic. What do you propose we do about them?”Ketsu Onyo asks and Din sighs again. He likes Ketsu but she has a knack for asking questions he doesn’t have an answer for. “I’m not sure yet, but we definitely shouldn’t slam the door in their faces. I’m open to ideas.” He replies anyways. “Like you said, Mand’alor, we should keep our options open. How about an alliance? As narudar, until the Empire is completely rooted out. Or for things like hyperspace lanes or goods we don’t already have access too.” Sabine Wren suggests. Din definitely likes Sabine. She’s whipsmart and always has good ideas that are actually relevant to the conversation. Unlike some people.

“The Republic is worth nothing to us! We have allies already- the Tattooinian lanes are open to us, Sorgan, Nevarro and Stewjon supply us with food and we can take care of the Empire ourselves.” Bo-Katan snaps. There it is. “Yes, we do, However, the New Republic is currently the largest political alliance in the galaxy. We have our own political alliance but it’s easier if they aren’t our enemies. There’s no point in making them turn against us, when they don’t generally affect us.” Din says patiently. He doesn’t know how he hasn’t started his own fistfight with Bo-Katan Kryze. He admires his self-restraint sometimes.

A gleam enters Bo-Katan’s eyes and Din pales beneath his helmet. She’s stopped trying to challenge him physically for the throne but he knows its only because the rest of the Mando’ade have sworn to him. “Well, how will the Republic trust us? Our Council isn’t elected and we technically live under an oligarchy. The Republic practices democracy and as far as they’re concerned, you’re ruling alone without any other Mando’ade having the same social and political power that you do.” She says smugly. Oh no.

The only person with the same status as the Mand’alor is the Rid’alor. Din is aromantic. He has never planned on finding a riddur, maybe just finding someone who would raise ade with him, but without a romantic relationship. If Bo-Katan suggests herself as rid’alor, then dignified king or not, Din will throw himself out the window.

Fenn Rau picks up on the implications too and traditional bastard that he is, decides it’s a great idea. Sabine and Retsu seem sympathetic but they’re outvoted. “Alor’e, I understand that we must appear balanced to the Republic but I am sol’karta. I have no need for a riddur.” Din says, a final objection. That softens a few alor’e but Bo-Katan remains unremoved. “You’ve got a week to pick someone, Djarin. Then the Council will choose. They have to be Mando’ade- we’re trying to show them we’re united.” She says, voice hard. Din ignores the technical disrespect and finally just agrees. If he can pick, maybe he can ask another sol’karta Mandalorian.

Suddenly he gets an idea and grins. He has the perfect person in mind.

Boba yawns behind his helmet as court finishes up. Ruling Tattooine is exhausting. His comm buzzes and he discreetly checks it. It’s Din so he motions Fennec to take the throne for a few minutes and leaves to answer it. “Hey Din. How’s ruling Manda’yaim going?” He asks. Din also seems exhausted. “Meh. How’s Tattooine?” Din replies in turn. “Same old. What’s the comm for?” Din and him chat often but this wasn’t expected. “You’re aromantic, right? Same as me.” Din asks and Boba blinks, taken aback. First of all, he didn’t know Din was aromantic and second of all, why ask?

“Yeah, I am. Why do you ask?” Boba says, genuinely curious. The smile spreading across Din’s uncovered face is downright wicked. “The Council, more specifically Kryze, want me to marry another Mandalorian to show a united front to the Republic. Pretty sure that Kryze is gunning for Rid’Alor if she can’t get Mand’alor. I’ve got a week to pick someone or else the Council chooses.” Din says, the smile turning slightly maniacal. “And you thought of me?” Boba double checks.

“Yep. You don’t have to agree but I thought it over. They cant disagree on the basis you’re not Mandalorian, because you are and the Republic knows that. You’re also a fellow king/ruler so it strengthens our alliances. Your buir and ba’buir were both Mand’alor at some point so it shows that I have the support of my predecessors allit. You’re also aro so I don’t have to worry about my spouse wanting a romantic relationship. We’re already good friends so it won’t change much and my son loves you. We actually like each other so its not an unhappy arranged marriage.” Din hesitates in his list before he quickly adds his next pro.

“If we want to add sex into it, I think you’re hot and I wouldn’t mind. That part depends on your opinion though. And possibly the best part- Bo-Katan is going to have a heart attack and Han Solo will have to pretend he doesn’t hate you at diplomatic functions because the Republic doesn’t want to make Mandalore mad.” He finishes. Boba’s surprise has turned to genuine mirth. Din has clearly thought this out, and it makes sense. Boba isn’t exactly averse to sleeping with Din either- he can admit that the beroya is very attractive. "I'll set my course for Manda'yaim then. See you soon, cyare.”

Din is completely right. Kryze looks like she's just eaten several lemons at their riddurok and her face lands itself a spot in Boba's cherished memories. Din is also very experienced when it comes to the bedroom and Boba enjoys himself thoroughly. The best part to their marriage, however, is at the Republic's ball to celebrate their new alliance with Mandalore.

Han Solo does a doubletake when he sees Boba and he spits out his drink. Leia Organa comes over to talk to Din and Solo looks like he’s barely restraining himself from shooting Boba in front of half the galaxy’s politicians. Boba makes sure to be a perfect gentleman, the very picture of a Rid’Alor and Solo’s veins nearly explode.

All in all, he thinks he likes this friends-with-benefits things. The benefits just happen to include pissing off Han Solo, pissing off Bo-Katan Kryze and most importantly, his and Din’s respective Court’s will never nag them about spouses again. Manda, Din is a genius. Even if marrying him means Boba occasionally has to coax a toddler off the ceiling.

[deja-you]

foreign affairs | part one | paris

m. de lafayette x reader

summary: In 2020, Representative Y/n L/n is up for reelection. Lafayette, Y/n’s former best friend and current French socialite and playboy, decides this is the time to walk back into her life.

word count: 6.8k

trailer | next

2012 was the year he broke his arm and broke her heart.

During her sophomore year of college, Y/n decided she wanted to study abroad in France. She had taken a few years of French in high school and college, not enough to be fluent, but enough to hold a short conversation. Lots of college students studied abroad, and seeing as Y/n was majoring in Political Science and International Affairs, it made sense.

Paying for a year abroad was another story. Since her senior year in high school, Y/n had been saving up the money she earned from waitressing, and with the help from her parents, she was just able to afford the trip to France. 

During the first week in Paris, faculty members took students around the city to see different attractions. Most students went to see the Eiffel Tower or the Arc de Triomphe. Y/n preferred to see France’s president’s residence, the Élysée Palace. It was built back in 1718, and the beige colored stone -- we don’t really care what this building looked like, do we? It’s a building in Paris, of course it had beautiful architecture. We’re all wondering why this is significant, right? 

Okay, so Y/n loved politics and history and foundations of democracy and republicanism. She was standing outside the French White House (it’s not really white, we’ve covered this, it’s more of a beige color, but I think “White House” is a term we all understand). Y/n was probably admiring the architecture that your author is refusing to describe. Now this is where it gets more interesting. 

“Pretty building, isn’t it?” 

A man leaning against one wall was watching Y/n while he lit his cigarette. He had spoken plainly in English; was it that obvious that Y/n was American.

“It’s beautiful,” Y/n replied politely.

“Very. Soon it’s going to be my home.”

This piqued Y/n’s interest. “Are you running for president? I can’t remember anyone that looked like you in the polls.”

If she was being honest, she had never met anyone that looked like him in general. Charming brown eyes, curly hair, neat stubble, and a smile she would’ve remembered. He gave her an amused look and raised his cigarette to his lips. 

“You wouldn’t,” he replied, then offered his hand for her to shake. “You can call me Lafayette.”

Y/n shook his hand, but she was still confused. “And you’re running for president, Lafayette? I have to say, you might need to work on your name recognition.”

“I am not running for president, chérie. Perhaps you’re more familiar with my mother, Jolie de la Rivière?” 

He watched as the realization hit her. 

“Jolie de la Rivière? As in the frontrunner in the presidential election?”

“The very one. I am surprised an American keeps up with French politics.”

It made sense now. Y/n could see the resemblance between this stranger she had just met and the future French president. De la Rivière had been leading in the polls since she announced her campaign, and it was almost certain that she would win the election in April. Y/n just happened to run into de la Rivière’s son?

“You want to get something to eat?” Lafayette asked, seemingly out of the blue.

Y/n was still in shock, but she nodded, wanting to know more about the man she had just met. “Okay.”

They crossed the street to a café (there was a café at nearly every corner in Paris) and took seats outside. Y/n let Lafayette order for both of them even though she knew enough French to order herself, she didn’t want to give him any reason to make fun of her poor French accent. 

“So,” Lafayette said, watching Y/n curiously, “you’re an American in Paris, huh?”

“I suppose so. But less “starving artist” vibes and less musical numbers,” Y/n quipped. Was she really talking to the son of the future French president, and he was asking about her?

“So if you’re not a starving artist, what are you doing in Paris?”

“I’m a student at Georgetown and I’m spending the semester studying abroad,” Y/n informed him.

“What are you majoring in?”

“Political Science and International Affairs.”

“Political Science at Georgetown? You must be smart. Will I see you running for president some day?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. 

She laughed. “I don’t know about that. Maybe I’ll find a job working on a campaign or for a Senator. I don’t have it all worked out yet.”

“Neither do I,” Lafayette said. This made Y/n pause. She could tell he was a few years older than her. He was also Jolie de la Rivière’s son. How could he not have his whole life worked out?

“What’d you mean?” Y/n asked.

He shrugged. “Everyone expects me to follow in my mother’s footsteps. It’s not that I’m not interested in politics and government, I just... I just don’t want to live in her shadow forever.”

“I see,” Y/n said. “At least you’ll have connections no matter what you decide to do.”

“That is very true.”

They continued talking for an hour or so. Lafayette would ask her what it was like living in the United States. Y/n would ask him what it was like having a powerhouse mom. The conversation came easily to both of them, something Y/n had never expected from a stranger. 

When the bill came, Y/n ultimately let Lafayette pay for their lunch after much protesting (Y/n only allowed for him to pay because she was a broke college student). Then Lafayette asked for Y/n’s phone number, which she gladly gave to him. He promised he’d call or text sometime and they went their separate ways.

He said he’d call, but Y/n was expecting within the next few days or weeks. She was not expecting him to call her only a few hours later.

“Y/n, hey!” Came his voice from the other line.

“Lafayette? Hi?”

“I know this is sudden, but there’s this concert at a small venue tonight. I have a few tickets, and I was wondering if you and some of your friends wanted to join me tonight?”

“Um, okay, yeah?”

“Great! I’ll send you the information.”

And then he hung up. True to his word, he sent her a text with the time and address a few minutes later. Y/n invited two of her suite mates, Rebecca and Joe, to come with her. Then a few hours later, they showed up at a small but lively concert venue. Lafayette met them there, wearing a more casual outfit, and they all went in together.

Y/n honestly couldn’t remember who was performing that night. She didn’t remember much, but she knew she had more drinks than she should’ve, that the music was loud, and that the room was incredibly hot. What she couldn’t forget was the headache she woke up with the next morning. At the very least, she had made it into her own bed even though she hadn’t made it out of the clothes she had worn out the night before. 

She grabbed her water bottle from beside the bed and took a long drink. When that didn’t help, she went to find Rebecca or Joe to ask what had happened the night before. Rebecca’s room was closer, so she knocked on the door before opening it.

“Hey, Rebec-- Oh my god!”

She quickly shut her eyes but she wouldn’t be able to unsee partially naked Lafayette struggling to quickly put his clothes back on. Y/n cringed and closed the door quickly behind her. What had she just seen? Why was Lafayette in Rebecca’s room? And why was he naked?

“Y/n, mon dieu, you weren’t supposed to see that!” Lafayette had finished dressing and followed Y/n out of the room, closing the door behind him.

“What exactly was that?” Y/n asked.

He held a finger to his lips and motioned at the door. “Rebecca’s still asleep.”

“So you and... that happened?”

Lafayette rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Ah, I guess so. It was all a blur... but, yeah.”

“We all got pretty drunk last night,” Y/n justified. 

“Er, not exactly. You and Joe had a lot of drinks, but Rebecca and I decided to stay sober enough to get everyone back. So once we got you and Joe home, well, we kind of...” He trailed off and his eyes dropped to the floor.

“Oh. I see.” Y/n didn’t know what to say. “Are you and Rebecca like... a thing now?”

He shrugged. “Maybe? I don’t know.”

Lafayette really didn’t know. Neither did Rebecca. 

In the next two weeks, they hooked up a few more times before deciding they were best off as friends. After that, it was a Parisian girl named Celeste. Y/n quickly got used to Lafayette’s flirtatious nature and him constantly bringing around a new girl. Sometimes it was annoying, sometimes it was a point of humor. It didn’t matter too much to Y/n, she was content being friends with him. 

They grew close quickly, and soon enough Y/n couldn’t remember what her life had been like before him. There was no one Y/n preferred to discuss foreign policy with than Lafayette, and there was no one Lafayette would rather annoy than Y/n. At one point, Lafayette took Y/n to one of his mother’s rallies, and Y/n spent more time than necessary explaining to Lafayette’s mom how big a fan she was. Lafayette nearly had to drag her away so that actual constituents could talk to his mom. 

But most days it was more casual stuff. Sometimes Lafayette would sit on Y/n’s phone and take a ridiculous amount of selfies on her phone while she worked on homework. Other times they would take spontaneous trips to the grocery store at night to pick up ingredients for fried rice. Every Tuesday, Lafayette and Y/n’s roommate, Molly, would listen to Y/n rant about wage gaps between different demographics in America after her Economics class. And sometimes they would make fun of cheesy romcoms together.

“I don’t understand your obsession with Nora Ephron, Y/n,” Lafayette complained, although he was dutifully pouring extra butter onto their popcorn for the movie.

“She only directed the best romantic comedies ever!” Y/n defended. 

“But why is Meg Ryan in all of her movies?”

“Because Meg Ryan is the best!”

“I still don’t understand the appeal of this movie. So a kid calls a radio show and Meg Ryan falls in love with him?” Lafayette asked.

Y/n rolled her eyes. “No, Meg Ryan falls in love with the dad! Don’t be ridiculous.”

“But she’s never actually met the dad?”

“...well, no.”

“I don’t understand Americans.”

“You just need to watch it!”

Seeing that he wasn’t making any headway with Y/n, Lafayette sighed and resigned to his position on the couch. Grabbing a blanket, Y/n happily settled down on the couch beside Lafayette and started the movie. Every now and then Lafayette would scoff at some cheesy line or make some comment and Y/n would be quick to shush him. Eventually all the popcorn had been eaten and the end credits began to roll.

“So what did you think?” Y/n asked eagerly.

Lafayette shrugged. “I don’t know. I just can’t get over the fact that she just left her fiancé like that.”

She rolled her eyes.

Months ago, Y/n never would have imagined she’d be invited to an election watch party for Jolie de la Rivière, but now she wasn’t so surprised. De la Rivière’s campaign had rented out an upscale restaurant that was packed to its max occupancy. Lafayette’s mother spent most of the evening schmoozing her voters and speaking with interviewers, allowing for Y/n and Lafayette to sit by the bar and mess around.

“Okay, okay, be serious this time. Don’t smile.”

“I won’t! I promise I won’t,” Y/n said.

“We’ll see. On the count of three... one... two...”

“Wait! I’m not ready!” Y/n couldn’t help but burst out into laughter, a smile spreading across her face. 

Lafayette rolled his eyes. “I do not know what to do with you.”

“I can be serious.”

“No, you can’t.”

“I can! Just watch.” She looked away and focused on making her expression resolute and steely.  Y/n slowly looked up to meet Lafayette’s eyes and they stared at each other for a few seconds with straight faces. Then Lafayette had the gall to arch one of his eyebrows and Y/n broke once again. 

“That’s not fair. I was doing perfectly fine before you cheated!” Y/n complained.

“It’s not my fault that you can’t keep a straight face, Y/n.” He sighed and took a sip of his drink. “I can’t blame you. I’m so devilishly good looking, most women can’t keep it together around me.”

Now it was Y/n’s turn to roll her eyes. “I can assure you that’s not the problem here. Maybe I keep laughing because you’re so funny looking.”

“Haha. You think you’re so clever, don’t you?”

When she didn’t respond, Lafayette tried again. “Y/n?”

“Lafayette, look.” She pointed to a TV hung over the bar.

A reporter on the screen was announcing that De la Rivière had won a landslide election. Then the screen cut to another reporter who was at the restaurant interviewing De la Rivière in person. Y/n and Lafayette’s eyes traveled across the room to see his mother talking to the reporter. The same scene playing on the TV overhead. 

“Did that really just happen?”

Lafayette’s mom had been ahead in the polls for months now, and everyone expected her to win the election. But now she really had won. Lafayette was the President-elect’s son. Both Y/n and Lafayette knew this was probably going to happen, but now that it had, neither of them really knew what to do. 

Everything after that was a blur. They celebrated that night, having a few more drinks. Enough alcohol to have a good time, but not enough to get totally drunk in an effort not to embarrass Lafayette’s mom on her big night. After that, Y/n didn’t see Lafayette for a while. He was busy getting prepped by his mom’s staff to be the perfect son and getting assigned a new security detail. 

Y/n didn’t mind all that much. Sure, she missed him, but now that he was gone, she could spend more time actually working on her school work and getting more sleep. How had she gotten anything done when he was around? It was during the month when Lafayette and Y/n didn’t see each other at all that Molly slapped a magazine down on the table where Y/n was eating breakfast.

“What’s this?” Y/n asked, picking up the glossy magazine.

“Apparently Lafayette is France’s most eligible bachelor,” Molly informed her.  

Y/n scoffed and looked over the cover of the magazine. Lafayette was casually leaning against a wall in the photo wearing a fitted suit and a colorful bowtie. He had a casual grin on his face, and his facial hair was trimmed neatly. 

“Has Lafayette always been this hot?” Y/n muttered.

Molly gave her a look. “Yes. Yes, he has.”

“He might be a bachelor, but I don’t know if I would call him eligible.”

“What’s wrong with Lafayette?” Molly took the magazine from Y/n and flipped to the fluff piece written about him. “He’s handsome, and charismatic, and intelligent. I would date him.”

Y/n watched her roommate admire the photos of Lafayette and realized this wasn’t the first time Molly had considered the thought. How many times had Y/n watched Molly laugh at something Lafayette said that wasn’t even funny? 

A buzz came from Y/n’s phone and she welcomed the distraction from her thoughts. Of course the text just had to be from Lafayette. She hadn’t seen him in forever, and he just happened to next her now? Yes, because it’s going to move the plot along. 

Paint the town red w/ me tonight? The text read. Bring some friends and we’ll make it a party.

She shot back a text asking him if he was even allowed to hangout with commoners now that his mom was the president. He sent back a sarcastic haha and assured her he had it all worked out.

Molly was a little too excited when Y/n asked her to come hangout with Lafayette, but what did Y/n care? If Molly liked Lafayette, Y/n didn’t care. Why should she care if her roommate wanted to date her best friend? She did her best to stop thinking about it. Molly let her borrow a dress that was shorter than Y/n was comfortable with and they headed out with a few of their friends to meet at a bar Lafayette had texted them about. 

He was thirty minutes late, and Y/n would’ve been annoyed she hadn’t expected it from him. He fed everyone some charming story about having to ditch his security detail. Y/n wanted to point out to him how irresponsible he was being, but honestly, she was just glad to see him again. When he was done enchanting their friends with his stories of his grandiose lifestyle, everyone returned to their drinks and Lafayette finally had the chance to sidle up to Y/n and sling an Armani-clad arm around her shoulders. 

“Been a while, stranger?” He gave her an impish grin.

“And who’s fault is that?”

Lafayette’s eyebrows shot up and he pouted. “Aw, chérie, you know I couldn’t help it. I’ve been busy, it hasn’t been easy, this last month.”

“Right. ‘Cause living in a literal palace must be so difficult.”

“I forgot how sarcastic you can be.”

She shrugged and gave him a self-satisfied smile. 

“Maybe you’ll be nicer after a few drinks,” he suggested.

“...it wouldn’t hurt.”

His smile was wide and she had forgotten how much she had missed it. Lafayette leaned forward and ordered a round of drinks, and just like that, it was like they hadn’t been apart at all. Their friendship was easy like that. 

After two drinks, Y/n was laughing louder than anyone in the bar. Lafayette urged her to quiet down, but by the way wrinkles formed by his eyes and he laughed along quietly, they both knew he wasn’t serious about it at all. It was after they had started taking shots that they decided they were too hot to stay indoors. The night was young, and Lafayette had already hatched a plan in his mind.

“Let’s go to a park,” he announced to their small group.

There was a chorus of enthusiastic agreement. Y/n, more than a few drinks in, was still hesitant. 

“Everything is probably closed at this time. Don’t you think you should be getting home?” She asked. 

“C’mon, Y/n,” Molly chimed in, “it’ll be fun. There’s no harm to it.”

Y/n wanted to argue that there very well could be harm to it, but Lafayette was too fast.

“Molly’s right. Besides, I don’t know when I’ll get a night of freedom again. Better make the most of it, oui?”  

Lafayette must’ve earned his magnetism from his constant exposure to politicians. He would make a great politician if he ever decided to apply himself, Y/n thought. It wasn’t the first time she had thought this. 

Everyone listened to him almost like they were hypnotized, and before she knew it, they were standing outside a small park. A small closed park. Y/n knew she shouldn’t be committing a crime with the French president’s son, but the group had a mob mentality now. Anyway, Lafayette had his mind set on breaking into the park now. There was nothing anyone could’ve one to change his mind at this point. 

Y/n still felt she had to try. “It’s closed. Everyone should just go home.”

“Nonsense,” Lafayette said. 

“What’s your plan? Hop the fence?”

“Why not?” Molly asked. “It’s not that high.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Y/n responded. 

But seeing the look on Lafayette’s face, she could tell he didn’t share her opinion on fence hopping. She watched him give a curious look to Molly. A look she recognized. There was always a twinkle in his eye when he was about to do something stupid to impress a girl. Y/n sighed, threw her hands up in defeat, and let him make his idiotic decisions.

And idiotic they were. Enough alcohol will give you the mindless bravery needed to attempt to jump a fence to impress a girl. That’s how Lafayette broke his arm. 

Dealing with drunk, twenty-something-year-old French boys seemed like a walk in the park compared to dealing with the morons that, by some miracle, had been elected to the United States Congress. Y/n didn’t consider herself to be one of those moronic representatives, but she was sure some members of the Republican party had some choice words they used to describe her. 

“We have a system that is fundamentally broken,” Y/n spoke into the microphone in front of her. Today she was asking questions at a hearing concerning campaign finance laws. Tomorrow it would be working on passing a bipartisan bill or going to some fundraiser for her reelection campaign. 

“So would you say that Congress is held to the same rate of accountability as the president, the executive branch? Are there more regulations for Senators and Congressman, in regards to campaign financing than the president? Or less, Mr. Conway?” She asked. 

The man in question, Mr. Conway, shifted uncomfortably in his seat before responding to the question, “there are almost no laws at all that apply to the president.”

Y/n was satisfied with his answer, but still she pressed on. “Are you saying that I, and every member of congress, are being held to a higher standard than the president of the United States?”

“...yes.”

“Thank you.”

The hearing wrapped up with all the formalities, and Y/n gathered up all her notes. She made her way from the committee hearing room to her office, knowing that her campaign manager and second-in-command, Nathan Hale, would be ready to tell her what else she had on the schedule for today. She found him sitting on the visitor’s side of her desk, his feet propped up on a chair.

“You did great in there,” he said casually.

She raised an eyebrow as she dropped all her notes from the hearing on her desk and sunk down into the seat. “You stayed and listened?”

“For most of it. I had to leave early,” he admitted. “There were some... issues I had to look at.”

“Issues?”

“Secretary Jefferson tweeted about you. You’re going to want to see it.”

Y/n groaned outwardly. “No, Nathan, I don’t think I will.”

“You’re probably right, but you should be informed nonetheless.” He handed her her phone, already opened to Jefferson’s tweet. It was nothing she hadn’t seen or heard before. Just another politician attacking her character and claiming she was a talentless kid who didn’t belong in politics.

She furrowed her brows as she quickly typed out a response to his tweet. That’s interesting, coming from a man whose entire career was built off his daddy’s money. 

“What do you think?” She handed the phone to Nathan to read over her tweet. “Too harsh? Not harsh enough?”

He laughed. “It’s perfect. Anddddd... send tweet. Did we just enter into a twitter war with the former Secretary of State and the Republican presidential nominee? This feels like middle school drama, not running a country.”

Y/n only shrugged. “All I have to say,” Y/n muttered as she attempted to organize the clutter on her desk, “is that politics is nothing like The West Wing.”

“No?”

“No. Nathan, what do we have scheduled today?” She asked.

“An interview with The Times later, but I’ve lined up some meetings with a few of your largest donors.”

“That’s my least favorite part of the job. Who am I meeting with?” Y/n set aside her organizing and leaned forward on her elbows.

Nathan pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and read off a few names from his clipboard. “We’ve got Mercy Otis Warren at two. Mr. and Mrs. Randolph for lunch—”

“Oh, I can’t stand them.”

“—and a Mr. de Lafayette in an hour.”

Y/n’s eyebrows shot up into her hairline and she was convinced she had heard him wrong. “Who was that last one?”

“Mr. de Lafayette, the French president’s son,” Nathan explained.

“Since when has he been a donor to my campaign?” Y/n frowned.

“He reached out a few months ago. I thought it was strange that a foreign leader’s kid wanted to donate to a U.S. representative’s campaign, but I wasn’t about to stop him.”

“I don’t want his donations,” Y/n said.

This caught Nathan’s attention. “Y/n, he made a very sizable donation to your reelection campaign.”

“I don’t care. I don’t want his money.”

“It’s too late. We’ve already spent the money on buttons and whatnot.”

“Nathan, no!” Y/n groaned. “And you said I’m supposed to meet with him today?”

“Yes, in an hour. I don’t understand what the problem is.”

Y/n pursed her lips and finally admitted, “We used to be best friends.”

“And you don’t want to see him because...?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Well regardless of the length of the story,” Nathan said, “we can’t cancel on him. We need every donation we can get since you refuse to accept money from any PACs.”

“That’s because it’s the right thing to do,” Y/n pointed out. 

“Maybe so, but that doesn’t make my job any easier. You’re not getting out of this meeting, Y/n. You should start mentally preparing yourself now.” 

It had been eight years since she had last seen Lafayette. Eight years. And yet, she wasn’t exactly in a rush to see him again. They hadn’t exactly left things on great terms. Now he was making sizable donations to her campaign? None of this made any sense to Y/n. 

An hour passed too quickly for Y/n’s liking. Nathan had arranged for a photo op between Y/n and Lafayette in the lobby of the hotel Lafayette was staying at. After all, the endorsement of a foreign dignitary would be good for her campaign, it would probably make the front page of local newspapers. On the ride over to the hotel, Y/n rehearsed how the meeting would go in her head.

She’d walk into the lobby and greet Lafayette politely. The photographers would capture a few pictures of them smiling amicably and shaking hands. Y/n would thank him for his support and his donations, inquire on the wellbeing of his mother, and then Nathan would pull her out and tell everyone she had another meeting she had to be at. Y/n would apologize, thank Lafayette again, and then they would part ways. And if she never saw him again after this, that would be fine. 

Maybe she should have let Nathan in on her plans, because he had different ideas of how this meeting would go down. 

“The Randolphs had to cancel on us, but I’ve pencilled them in for next weekend. That means we can take more time talking with Mr. de Lafayette,” he told her. 

“What? But I don’t want to spend more time talking with him. I just--”

“We can discuss it later,” Nathan cut her off and pushed her into the hotel lobby where half a dozen photographers and journalists were already waiting. The cameras began to flash.

“We have a lot to discuss later,” Y/n smiled for the cameras, but Nathan was the only one able to hear the poison underneath her words. She meant them. But chewing Nathan out was for later, right now she had an ex-best friend and current campaign donator to deal with. 

Standing to the side of the lobby was Lafayette. He was wearing gray slacks and formal shoes, but he had opted to ditch the suit jacket and wore his white button down with the sleeves rolled up, revealing his rather muscular fore arms. He grinned when he saw Y/n headed his way, and all of a sudden it was like she was a college student again. Memories of her year in Paris came back to her. Drinks at a local bar, watching romcoms together, attending rallies for his mom.

But bad memories returned to her as well, and they seemed to out weigh all the good ones she could remember. She had to focus not to let her smile falter in case a photographer took a photo of her looking anything less than happy to be seeing Lafayette. Journalists always had a way of spinning things. 

“Congresswoman L/n, I am so glad you could make it,” Lafayette said. There may have been some things Y/n had forgotten from her year abroad, but the sound of his voice wasn’t one of those things. 

“There’s no place I’d rather be,” Y/n lied through her smile. “How was your flight?” She stepped forward and offered her hand for him to shake. Cameras flashed. 

“Pleasant enough, I suppose.” He gripped her hand and gave it a firm shake. More cameras clicked. “It’s good to see you again. What has it been, eight years?”

They turned to face the cameras, letting the photographers take pictures of the smiling side-by-side. 

“Must be. It’s been too long, hasn’t it?” She was doing her best to be professional. 

He placed a hand on her back that could easily pass as just a friendly gesture between two professionals, but Y/n knew him better than that. Lafayette kept smiling, but he lowered his voice so only she could hear him. 

“I’ve tried getting in contact with you so many times, Y/n. We used to be best friends, remember? Although now you seem to be doing fine for yourself.”

Y/n continued smiling, but she spared Lafayette an uneasy glance. “I am doing fine, aren’t I?”

“I just don’t understand why the only way I can get you to talk to me is to make large donations to your campaign and schedule meetings with your campaign manager,” he said quietly. “What happened to us?”

“Lafayette, this isn’t the time or place to address that issue,” she said with perfectly masked annoyance. Y/n smiled for a couple more photos, then the journalists seemed to have gotten enough content of the two of them. “Besides, I think we both know perfectly well what happened.” 

The end of Y/n’s year abroad came quicker than she had anticipated. Paris had been fun, but if she was being honest, she was ready to return home. Molly and Lafayette had begun dating shortly after that night when he jumped the fence and broke his arm to impress her. After that, Y/n couldn’t help but feel like a third-wheel around the two of them. 

It wasn’t easy. Lafayette was still her best friend and she couldn’t avoid him as much as she wanted to without him asking questions. Since Lafayette decided to date Molly, and since Molly was Y/n’s roommate, seeing them around together was nearly unavoidable. 

Y/n had reached the end of her year abroad now, so... that was good? Molly had already left for the states a week and a half ago due to a family emergency or something. Y/n wasn’t completely sure, she had gotten good at tuning Molly out when she was talking about how great a boyfriend Lafayette was, that she must’ve started tuning out everything Molly said. 

With Molly gone, Y/n was left alone in an apartment and with her thoughts. She didn’t see Lafayette as much, as he really only came over to the apartment to visit Molly these days. Now that she was left with nothing to do except pack and think, she was finally hit with the unsettling reality that the real reason she didn’t like being around Molly and Lafayette when they were together wasn’t because they made her feel like a third wheel. 

She shoved those thoughts deep down her throat, worried what might become of her if she let herself dwell on them too much. When ignoring the thoughts didn’t work as well as she had hoped it would, she turned to an alternative medicine. The bar was an antidote for anything and everything. 

That’s where Lafayette found Y/n. Drinking by herself on a weeknight.

“What are you doing here? I’m supposed to be the drunk one that you find and drag home.”

She looked at him lazily over her third glass of wine. “One should always be drunk. That’s all that matters. But with what? With wine, with poetry, or with virtue, as you chose. But get drunk.”

“We’re quoting poetry, now?” He sighed. “You are more drunk than I thought.”

“I thought you would like it. Charles Baudelaire. He’s French. He said to get drunk, and wine tastes better than virtue.”

Lafayette took her glass of wine and drained it. Partially to prevent Y/n from drinking anymore, partially because he needed it. He looked at his best friend who was watching him with wide eyes and parted lips.

“What?” He asked.

“What,” she repeated, in a daze.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m okay. You’re the one getting drunk alone.”

She grinned sloppily. “I’m not alone. You’re here. And you’re getting drunk with me.”

Lafayette appraised Y/n for a moment. She was watching him so earnestly, her eyes bright and lively from the alcohol. He had to look away. Eventually he gave in and ordered another glass of wine for himself. Then, halfway through that glass, his lips loosened.

“Molly broke up with me.”

For a second, Lafayette could have sworn he saw a smile on Y/n’s face. But he must have imagined it, because when he looked again, she was giving him a pitiful look.

“She did? I’m so, so sorry. Did she say why?”

“No, but I think I know.”

“Care to share?”

He shook his head and took a long sip from his glass. “Not particularly. You care to share why you’re getting drunk alone in the middle of the week?”

“Not particularly.” She repeated his words and attempted a wink.

Then the two of them fell into a contemplative silence. There was no doubt that they were extremely close friends. But that didn’t mean they told each other everything, it just meant that they always knew how the other was feeling, even if they didn’t know why.

“We’ve got so much wasted potential, don’t we?” Lafayette finally said.

Y/n raised an eyebrow. “Wasted? I may be wasted tonight, but I’ll pull it together tomorrow.”

He groaned and hid his smile, not wanting her to know that he actually found her amusing. “Shut up, Y/n. You know what I mean.”

“Maybe you’re wasted potential. You could be a president or a CEO, but instead you’re drinking with your best friend at 10:48 p.m.,” she pointed out. “But I’ve got it all figured out. Tomorrow, I’ll pull myself together from this feeling-sorry-for-myself night. And when I go back to America, I’ll pull my life together again.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. Tonight is a microcosm of my time here in Paris. Paris was just a drunk mistake. A really fun, really delicious mistake. When I return to the U.S., it’ll be my Paris hang over. I’ll deal with the consequences, be miserable for a little while, but then I’ll be great. Maybe be president or meet a penguin, whichever is easier.”

“I hope Paris wasn’t all mistakes.”

“It was.”

It should have hurt more to hear her say that. They were both a few glasses in at this point and felt invincible. Everything would hurt a lot more in the morning, but they felt so good then. Lafayette spared another glance at Y/n. This was his best friend, the only girl he really cared about. The girl he had promised himself he wouldn’t ruin things with. But one look at her lips made him lose any inhibition he had left.

He stared a second too long. Y/n noticed his eyes on her lips, and as if she knew what he was thinking, her lips were pulled up into a troublesome smile. A voice in the back of Y/n’s head warned her that she could ruin their friendship if she didn’t stop, but then again, she had never wanted to be his friend. Never.

“Come home with me?” She knew what his answer would be before she had even asked the question.

His response should’ve been “I don’t think that’s a good idea” or “we’re both drunk, we should both go to our own homes.” Or anything else. Anything else would’ve been better than his easy grin, his warm hand in hers as they exited the bar, and his sharp whistle as he hailed a taxi.

She could count this, right?

Lafayette had never told her he loved her. As a friend, at the very least, Y/n was convinced that he loved her. She had watched Lafayette express his affections and love for so many women before her. Y/n would be lying if she said that she didn’t die a little bit every time she saw him with someone else. She had watched him say “I love you” to almost everyone but herself.

In the back of the cab, flooded with orange light from the street, Lafayette’s hands felt warm on her body. He tasted like cheap wine even though Y/n knew he could afford something more expensive. He tasted like smoke as well, even though Y/n told him often how bad cigarettes were. The way he looked at her, the way he kissed her, it said “I love you.” Didn’t it? 

 I can count this, she decided with his lips pressed against her neck.

He only took his lips off her to quickly pay the cab driver, and even then he kept one hand on her thigh. Walking up a narrow flight of stairs is harder when you’re drunk and don’t want to let go of another person, but Lafayette and Y/n managed to do it. They stumbled into her apartment, not bothering to turn on any lights. 

The next morning Y/n’s apartment would look like a crime scene; furniture out of place, clothes littering the floor, but she didn’t care at the moment. Any consequences for tonight’s actions would be her problem tomorrow. Tonight, all she could think about was the way he pushed her up against the wall and left bruises on her shoulders with his mouth. 

By the time they made it to her bedroom, she had managed to remove all his clothes and he was taking off her panties with two fingers. Lafayette whispered something sweet in her ear, but Y/n really wasn’t listening at this point. He wrapped an arm around her waist and laid her back on the bed, placing a desperate kiss on her lips. Something in her knew that he wasn’t kissing her because he felt something, but because he wanted to feel something. Did it work?

Y/n would not know all the details of what happened the next day. All she would remember was the feel of his skin against hers, the taste of him on her tongue, and feeling more alive than she had ever felt before.

Drunken mistakes were something Lafayette was used to. Y/n had her fair share of drunken mistakes as well. Nothing compared to the moment Lafayette woke up next to Y/n in her bed with a terrible headache from the night before. He could feel nothing but dread and it was beginning to eat him alive.

“Mon dieu, what have I done?” The fact that he had really fucked up this time hit him like a train. 

“I know,” Y/n replied. She didn’t share his same level of concern. “How much did we drink last night?”

“I need to go.” 

Before she knew it, Lafayette was out of bed and pulling on articles of his clothing that were strewn across the room. Y/n was perplexed by his urgency and propped herself up on her elbows. 

“Lafayette, relax. We were drunk, okay? It’s not a big deal.”

He shook his head. “No, you don’t understand.”

“What don’t I understand.”

“This shouldn’t have happened. I never wanted this to happen.”

Y/n didn’t even mask her pain, but Lafayette wouldn’t even look at her. Still, she tried to reassure him. “You hook-up with girls all the time. This isn’t that much different.”

“No, it is,” he said firmly. “You’re not just another girl, Y/n. We’re friends. I never wanted this to happen between us.”

Just like that, Y/n felt her heart plummet in her chest. Did he really regret sleeping with her that much? He couldn’t even fathom the idea of them together without panicking? Y/n’s mouth hung open but no words came out. What would you even say in a situation like this?

“I need to leave now.” He still couldn’t look her in the eye. Lafayette left her apartment without so much as another word to her.

That’s how Lafayette broke her heart.

Tag list: @fanfic-addict-98 @wordvomit-foryourmind @farihafangirls @actuallyanita @cubedtriangle @katierpblogg @ballerinafairyprincess @dannighost @ateliefloresdaprimavera

[mightydragoon]

Luke and Leia vs the Galaxy

@silvereddaye 

.Our favourite Space Twins against the Empire with varying degrees of success. 

1. Legacy ---myrlendi (thehistorygeek)

Three months after the Battle of Endor, Luke Skywalker goes in search of a rumoured Jedi temple in a secluded part of the Mid Rim. He finds within the temple nothing but a strange artifact, which unexpectedly brings him much closer to the Jedi of old than he ever thought he would be.

When Luke fails to return from his mission, Leia goes after him, retracing his steps to the ancient temple — and to the past, to the time of the Clone Wars and the waning years of the Old Republic. Under suspicion by the Jedi Order, the twins struggle to find a way back to their own time while trying to keep their knowledge of the future from affecting the past.

This, however, turns out to not be as simple as it seems.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15221810/chapters/35304947

2.  Skywalker Family Values- Ariel_Sojourner

Camp Chippewa is proud to be the Empire’s foremost camp resort for privileged young adults. Located on the picturesque forest moon of Endor, your child will have the opportunity to participate in wholesome outdoor activities and socialize appropriately with their peers. We invite your offspring to join us for the experience of a lifetime and a bright future in service of the greater glory of the Empire.

On opposite sides of the galaxy, on opposite sides of a civil war, Darth Vader and Padme Amidala unwittingly send Luke and Leia to the same camp during school break. Chaos naturally ensues.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/14258124/chapters/32883750

3. Back To The Future - PinkEasterEggs

Teenage Princess Leia, heir to Alderaan's throne and her twin, Luke Vader, heir to the Imperial throne, get thrown back in time with the chance to save their parents before it's too late. With the Force finally on their side, they decide to have a little fun whilst they try and save their father's soul.

What could go wrong?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22217674/chapters/53048092

(Part of the Back To The Future series. https://archiveofourown.org/series/1648657) 

4. No Time Like The Present - PinkEasterEggs

In a Galaxy where Princess Leia Organa and Imperial Prince Luke Vader didn't Time Travel to save their father's soul, a deadly discovery by their biggest enemy throws their entire lives upside down. Yet again.

Now on the run from the Empire, the Skywalker Twins find it their mission to bring peace back to the Galaxy once more. And with Darth Vader on their trail, that mission is far more complicated than they originally believed.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24754825/chapters/59851300

(Part of the Back To The Future series. https://archiveofourown.org/series/1648657)

5. Great as the Sea-- Valkirin

Rescuing the last of Alderaan's survivors was an important duty, not an obsession, and Leia did not need to take a break. She did not have time to think about Darth Vader, the Force, or Luke Skywalker. It’s just her luck that the Force sends her with Luke Skywalker to a time where Darth Vader is about to rise.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/11384253/chapters/25491066

6. turn my sorrow into treasured gold - cosmicocean:

“It might be better for you to die,” Obi-Wan muses as she holds her children in her arms. Padmé looks up at him and arches an eyebrow.

“I didn’t mean literally,” he clarifies.

“I know what you meant. I’m thinking about it.”

Padmé survives childbirth, dies as far as the rest of the galaxy is concerned, takes her children with Obi-Wan, and runs.

Pay me back in kind and reap just what you sow.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/7435467

7. The Assassin's Blade - LadyVader23

Two years after Order 66, Padme is both an assassin for the Rebellion and a mother of twins. She will stop at nothing to bring democracy back to the Galaxy, even if it means killing Imperials to do it. But news of suspicious assassinations reaches Sidious, who dispatches Vader to hunt down this mysterious assassin. What Vader discovers will change the fate of the Galaxy.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20432867/chapters/48475367

8. anything is possible the second time around cloverblob

Leia Organa is sure that she died. She laid herself down, ready to become one with the Force. Except that she isn't dead--she hasn't even been born. So how did she end up on Tatooine? And why would fate bring her right here, right now?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21941050/chapters/52364929

9.  Influence of Time Cateyes1401 and  SkylaDoragon

A freak accident sends Luke, Leia, and Vader splitting off to different points of the galaxy, over twenty years in the past. While Vader is careful to correct any errors his sudden appearance may cause in the timeline, Luke and Leia are not so cautious.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20333248/chapters/48211621

10.  Laying Down the Sand - Knitzkampf

An AU set at the time of ESB. Han Solo abandons Luke, Leia and Chewie to settle some unfinished business and sparks a series of events that challenges each one's destiny and the fate of the galaxy. An epic tale of friendship, love, family and lightsabers.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/9921947/chapters/22232960

11.  Binary Sunsets, Binary Siblings - Coffeesforcatchers

The projection was as blue as the Tatooinian sky, making it hard for Luke to discern its features. But as the audio began to play, Luke felt his heart seize in his chest.

"Help me, Obi Wan Kenobi, you're my only hope."

Luke stared at the droid, his mouth open. "That's my sister!"

https://archiveofourown.org/works/14111466/chapters/32514372

12.  Deja Vu - oncomingstorm42

Time travel AU fix-it wherein Luke and Leia are sent back in time to halfway through The Phantom Menace. They proceed to unscrew the timeline and save their parents while also kicking ass.

(note* Private story. To read you must have an AO3 account) 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/10408782/chapters/22984893

13. Heralding Home -planningconquest

Family can be what we make of it. It can be lost and found and comes together in strange and amazing ways.

(Note* Modern Au but still same principal applies) 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17130767/chapters/40288283

14.  Like Fire in Our Bones --- acuteneurosis

With all of the most important things in the galaxy literally exploding around her, Leia is given the chance to go back and help keep a promise she never personally made.

But then, for Skywalkers, saving the galaxy was always a family matter.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19735813/chapters/46710241

15.  I am as Strong as the Seas are Stormy (And as Proud as an Eagle's Scream)- RhiannonOfTheRoses

Leia Skywalker is only hours old when the Empire rises.

Leia Organa is twenty-three when it finally falls.

OR: The one in which Leia Organa is explored, and her life is uncovered.

16.  Of Queens, Knights, and Pawns chancecraz

I went to sleep on the worst day of my life and woke to find myself in the past on the second worst day of my life. As experiences go, I don’t recommend it.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/8543680/chapters/19586203

(Part of the Of Queens, Knights, and Pawns series https://archiveofourown.org/series/825216)

17.  Runaway SilverDaye

Imperial Prince Luke runs away from home to escape his overprotective father Emperor Vader. Jumping from planet to planet he finds himself creditless on Tatooine. While working for more money to leave the planet, Luke meets an old man named Ben Kenobi. But Luke knows he can't stay in one place for long for surely his father is hunting him down.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/14630196/chapters/33813027

18.  take the spade from my hands (and fill in the holes you've made) A_Different_Type_of_Flower

With her dying father's last request, eighteen-year-old Leia Organa sets out for the Outer Rim to find an exiled Jedi master and a brother she knew nothing about.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/9219026/chapters/20908517

19.  Sparks SpellCleaver

Vader had every intention of ignoring that petty—if notorious—burglar on Coruscant, until evidence suggested that this "Angel" had Rebel ties.

Meanwhile, Luke never expected his father to actively hunt him down, and he doesn't like it.

20.  the price of forgetting - surabayuh

 Vader always thought that epiphany would come in waves; in the middle of meditation, perhaps, or a dream while he was resting, giving him unimaginable glee and satisfaction at its revelation.

He’d never thought epiphany would sledgehammer him here, at cell room number 2187, in the middle of an interrogation session, with an unconscious Alderaanian Princess laying on the floor.

(Part of the  the bang the war-drums series) 

(Note* Read the rest of this series seriously its so good) 

21.  heirs of the desert -- surabayuh

There was something about her, something familiar beyond the hairstyle or the attire; It was like a hole in his chest mended back by her presence. They walked closer to one another, slowly, slowly—like a planet realigning to their axis.

Dreams of a different life, a different reality, haunting him for as long as he could remember. Dreams of lush greeneries, of clear blue waters, of a high castle, of a brunette with bright brown eyes crinkling with laughter.

Leia, her name was Leia and he felt like he had known her his whole life, as if he'd known her as old as he had known time.

Around them, the Force sang.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22226950/chapters/53070706

(Part of the  the bang the war-drums series)

22. taste the regret (it's bittersweet.) - surabayuh

Han Solo didn't want much, really; he only agreed to pilot his way away from the grips of Jabba the Hutt, and maybe have a little adventure along the way. That was why he said yes to that old man's offer, back in Tatooine, why he came back to aid the Rebellion, back in Yavin.

But then again, who knew that somewhere down the line, he would have to be the middle-man in a galactic family drama that could determine the very fate of the universe?

Well; certainly not him.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22452316/chapters/53646223

(Part of the  the bang the war-drums series)

23. Endings and Beginnings, and Everything in Between - ITookTheOneLessTravelled

Dad might be mad at them, but Leia doesn't regret it. Luke and Leia Skywalker might be only fifteen, but they'd never have left their Dad in an Imperial prison cell to rot.

OR: Anakin raises the twins. Everything changes, but also nothing does.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/6757639

24.  No Heroes on the High Seas - SpellCleaver

When Luke's aunt and uncle are executed by order of the Emperor's right hand, Lord Vader, he flees his home to search for his sister and the mother he never knew. But then Obi-Wan Kenobi stows away aboard the same ship, Vader gives chase, and Luke is dragged into a conflict that his family are at the very heart of.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17092340/chapters/40194893

25.  Ad Utrumque Paratus - obeyingthemuse

It's hard to bring balance to the Force when the only method you've seen is your black-cloaked psychic cyborg sorcerer dad with a severe breathing problem throwing an old man down the Death Star reactor shaft. As much as Luke would like to see the not-yet-Emperor dead, he doesn't want to be arrested by his unusually attractive(?) war-hero dad and spend the rest of his indeterminate time in the past dropping Ewok beats in a jail cell. Also Leia would probably kill him. But not before breaking him out of jail.

So when the twins wake up on Tatooine decades in the past, they play it safe. They take over a planet, reconnect with their adoptive and real parents without weirding them out (too much), and accidentally cause the Chancellor perpetual near-death experiences.

Nailed it.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/7168628/chapters/16273712

Tags 

Leia Organa & Luke Skywalker 

[delusion-of-negation]

top 10 (ish) ridiculous or annoying FAQs:

(click at your own discretion)

1) "kids today rely on others to do everything"

ah yes, damn those participation trophies! if it wasn't for them my hands wouldn't be fucked, and I wouldn't need people to write for me. but seriously, stop reading boomer comics, and go outside to meet some actual young people.

2) "sus that a non-american says mom"

yeah, because it's clearly the superior version, and I'm not too patriotic to concede a defeat.

3) "sweaty, the victims of abuse by catholics are real people, stop appropriating their pain just because you want to hate catholics; plus teachers abuse people just as often anyway"

so firstly, I don't hate anybody. and secondly, regarding the fact that victims really do exist, [insert "of course I know him, he's me" meme here]; although I don't often talk much about the abuse I went through or what my religious beliefs are. but, more importantly, statements like "survivors are people" can be phrased like "some people are survivors", and when you're unable to act according to the latter (like when you don't even consider that somebody might be one) then you display a failure to recognise the former - you're projecting; a survivor can't be appropriating their own pain, but you can be appropriating it to silence one. and thirdly, teachers do abuse - the problem isn't and has never been purely religion, rather that abuse is often done by somebody in a position of trust, power, and familiarity; and that the lack of a global minimum enables totally legal abuse on top of the illegal stuff. people with access and respect have more opportunity to abuse than those without, and that goes for teachers too. but, once again, you can be appropriating the pain of survivors to deflect and silence people. please remember this before you say that shit.

4) "get help/therapy"

way ahead of you - years ahead of you. but it's not magic - people who say this often act as if you'll start behaving differently overnight. not only are some things simply beyond the ability of talking therapy to completely rectify, it also takes time and has to be selective. you've got to pick your priorities, and that's definitely not whatever ship or joke you're mad at me about today. therapy is a slow, arduous process that can't guarantee results - it isn't "anti-recovery" to recognise that, it's honesty. while I've been in therapy for a long time, it is not necessarily going to change whatever you don't like about me - whether that's because it can't, because my focus now is on more important or urgent things, or because I don't want to change that.

5a) "tell your family you ship incest, see how that goes; normal people find it disgusting"

actually, some know, and they're fine with it. in fact, one prefers sibling pairings in fiction to all other dynamics because, to paraphrase, "it's a deeper level of messed up co-dependence". so unfortunately for you, my remaining family (by which I mean those not dead or cut out of my life after abuse and so forth) actually are able to distinguish between fiction and reality. plus, my reasoning for caring if they find it gross or not pertains only to recommending books and such - their opinions do not dictate my tastes.

5b) "don't sexualise/appropriate incestuous abuse" and "I bet you enjoyed being raped" and other attempts to upset me over 5a

firstly, as I've already said here, survivors can't be appropriating ourselves. in addition, you're not owed people's history or trauma - it's not okay to require people's personal information, or else you'll send anon hate and accusations of appropriation. secondly, I'm not sexualising our abuse (not just because I write horror, and so a lot of my writing is intended to be creepy, not sexy); these stories aren't about us, they're not us at all. entire dynamics/people (fictional or otherwise) aren't all going to be applicable to us or identical to us, just because they have something in common with us; they're not us and they're not accountable to us. thirdly, the fact that people send this stuff (attempting to trigger people's trauma over ships) is so much more worrying to me than somebody making our communal imaginary friends kiss. you're trying to hurt people. and finally, to the "I bet you enjoyed it" crowd (if you're at all serious): do you think you'd enjoy being in a real zombie apocalypse, alone, afraid, and really at risk of being eaten alive? a fictional scenario does not feel remotely the same as a real one. this isn't rocket science - things that look like you aren't you; fiction isn't reality; don't send anon hate. (edit: comparable "just leave me alone, I'm not hurting anyone" sentiments for yandere stuff, and anything else you decide I'm naughty for.)

6) "you'll be sent off to do manual labour once your communist revolution happens"

while I don't know why people think that I'm a communist, a dictatorial regime probably isn't going to want me to do manual labour. they're more likely to just shoot me; I'm useless and a liability. call me crazy, but something tells me that "ah yes, we shall give ze deranged cripple ze power tools" isn't the communist position.

7a) "they/them can't be singular pronouns"

yes they can, and they're used as such in both shakespeare and the bible. but you don't have to say this - I'm also okay with he/him, so you could've just used those and chilled out. also, do I look like somebody who views the rules of grammar as fully immutable and imperative?

7b) "enbies/aros/pan/etc aren't valid"

do you really think that you're going to change any hearts or minds by putting that in my ask box or under my funny maymays? chill out, it's not worth the effort - you could be planning a party (in minecraft) and having fun instead. it isn't worth my time to rant at everybody who's saying something isn't valid, updating how I'm explaining it as my opinions grow and general discourse around it evolves; I'm just who I am, somebody else is who they are - why bicker in presumptuous ways about if that's enough? it ultimately is valid, in my opinion, but that isn't an invitation to keep demanding that I debate. (edit: old posts of mine probably don't phrase things incredibly, on this or anything... I tried.)

8) "what are your politics?"

my politics are informed first and foremost by the knowledge that I'm not cut out to be some kind of leader - I don't want to be the guy who tells everyone else what to do, I just offer what seem to me like valid criticisms of how we are doing things now, and general pointers on the values and ethics that I would prefer to move towards. things like individual freedom, taking the most pacifist route where possible, trying not to give excessive power to small groups of people (governments or corporations), helping those in need even when they're not palatable, and letting me suck loads of dicks. but please refrain from decreeing me something - there's not enough information in what I said, so you'll just be filling in the blanks with assumptions. (edit: workplace democracy seems cool to me; benefits are good; fair fines and taxes; and the "sperm makes you loopy" saga: 1, 2, 3, and 4.)

9) "you're a narcissist"

no, I don't meet the diagnostic criteria. joking on the internet that you're hot doesn't make a person a narcissist. the fact that I've chosen to keep my actual self-esteem issues to myself is not proof that they don't exist - you're just not entitled to that information about me. but it's also not narcissism to really like how you look. (edit: don't throw labels around carelessly too.)

10a) "kin list?"

the fabric of the universe, a zombie, dionysus, maned wolf/arctic fox hybrid, a comedian, big gay, big rock, ambiguously partial insincerity. (edit: kin list may or may not be incomplete.)

10b) "kin isn't valid/that's just being insane"

haven't we established that I'm deranged, and that sending stuff like this on anon is simply a waste of your precious time? besides, I do not care if it's invalid or insane - it's fun, I'm happy. (edit: see 7b for my opinion on sending me yet another ask with "that's invalid" in it; I'm not in the mood to discuss the nature of validity.)

bonus: "it gets better" and "trigger list?"

as I've said before, things just don't always get better for everyone - sometimes things can't be cured or even treated, sometimes they kill you; in some cases it could get better if not for a blockade or lack of time. the world is messy. it needs to be more normalised to reassure or comfort people without relying on saying that their issue will get better or be cured. it does suck to be this ill, but it also sucks to be made out to be a lazy pessimist, just because I have the audacity to not play along. and as for the trigger list, I don't like providing people with an easily accessed list of ways to hurt my feelings or harm me - upsetting me is supposed to be challenging, and thus rewarding. if you want a cheat sheet then you're out of luck, I'm afraid.

bonus #2: "FAQ stands for frequently asked questions, it doesn't need that s at the end!"

yeah, I know, I just enjoy chaos and disarray.

bonus #3 (edit): "what are your disabilities and how exactly are they incurable and/or deadly?"

again, I don't tell the internet everything about me, especially when it poses a risk, especially not as an easily accessible list for you to refer back to whenever you feel inclined to hurt my feelings. that is understandably a sore subject. (edit: that includes physical health issues btw.)

bonus #4 (edit): "so we shouldn't be critical?"

if it wasn't clear from my answer about politics or my post in general, you can have opinions about things, and you can voice that. it's just not realistic to exist at extremes: to think that you alone should dictate what exists in fiction, or to think that people shouldn't be expressing disdain or criticism of any calibur. say how you feel about things, that's fine, but it's also fine if people find that they don't value your input. plus we're all flawed, we can all be hypocritical from time to time, we all get bitchy, and we all make mistakes, or even knowingly fuck things up. that's important to keep in mind, whether we're talking about the one being criticised or the one doing the criticising - poor choices of words, imperfect tone, or contradictory ideas are inevitably going to happen occasionally.

congrats on reaching the end! if you have, at any point, said one of these to me, you owe a hug to your nearest loved one (once it's safe).

edit: might add more links/bonus points in the future when I think of things, but it's late now. (sorry for links where prior notes in the thread have my old url, that may get a tad confusing; also, not all links are my blog or my op, since it is to illustrate points/vibes, not to self-promo.)

[marble-guts]

Ahsoka and Padmé bonding for your prompts

hi, anon, I don’t even know if you’ll see this because it took me months to write this. but i hope that you do see it and i hope that you enjoy it because this was a lot of fun to write. 

read on ao3

The realization that her husband was trying to keep his padawan a secret brought tears of laughter to Padmé’s eyes.

Few people were worse with secrets than Anakin Skywalker.

Their marriage had been one of those secrets that Padmé had worked far harder to keep. Anakin had been a stranger to secrecy until their marriage.

It had taken nights of creativity and bottles of wine, along with years of practice to develop a code. Small smiles only seen in the eyes had become soft caresses, real smiles were a whispered ‘I love you’. When he called her ‘Senator’, in that mock serious tone of his, Padmé couldn’t help but feel as though he had lifted her off of her feet. She hoped that he felt the same when she called him ‘Jedi Knight Skywalker.’

The code wasn’t established to be covert, but created with just enough of a gap where they could excuse their behavior as close friendship. Many senators had connections to the Jedi, their true feelings were just as masked as Padmé’s marriage. She supposed it was a superpower, being able to see through others’ facades, recognizing similar coded languages. When Satine blinked long and slow, it didn’t take long for Obi-Wan to leave the room, and moments later for her to excuse herself.

Anakin’s attempts at secrecy were nowhere near as well constructed without her help. Padmé had seen the girl in the holo transmission from Jabba’s Palace on Tatooine. Anakin had done nothing to hide her, he had been too awestruck by Padmé’s intervention into Jedi affairs to care, calling her ‘Senator Amidala’ and thanking her graciously for her actions.

She had panicked, however, and ended the transmission curtly, forgetting to give Anakin a goodbye.

It had only made things worse when Anakin missed several of their scheduled calls. She hadn’t received word from him, and the HoloNet News had gone silent about the movements of the Open Circle Fleet as well.

Padmé had busied herself with news articles, looking for any trickling of an update on the Outer Rim. There was no news of any of them, not Anakin, Obi-Wan, or this Togruta girl. The questions that had first arisen in her mind upon seeing Anakin’s padawan, other than how she came to be his, were quickly pushed down with questions of their general safety.

The Senate was usually kept quiet about current operations, especially when they were far from the Core worlds. It was a matter of security, being able to keep intelligence out of the hands of spies and revolutionaries. The HoloNews satisfied its readers with puff pieces about the newest worthwhile restaurants on Coruscant and reader polls about the hottest Jedi (in which her husband made the top three).

It had become a small distraction, one that kept her from biting her nails off of her fingertips. It hadn’t taken long for other distractions to take over her mind as well. Padmé had welcomed it, allowing her feelings of nostalgia to take over.

Thoughts about the Togruta girl had changed too. Along with worry about the girl’s safety, Padmé worried if she was old enough to be a Padawan, if she was okay seeing the war up close as a teenager. She thought of how it had changed Anakin’s relationship with Obi-Wan, how having Anakin at his side had matured Obi-Wan and brought out another side of him.

The HoloNews talked about Anakin and Obi-Wan as though they were the same force, the same weapon utilized by the Republic. Padmé walked past the posters every time she snuck into the lower levels, smothering her laughter behind her sleeve as Anakin’s silhouette told her to support the GAR.

She wondered how long it would take for the HoloNews to put Anakin’s padawan in the spotlight. The girl would wake up one day and find her face on a poster decorating every free wall of Coruscant’s underworld, her name in headlines with various senators, and photos of her at dinner with friends accompanied with rumors of affairs and other unsavory behavior.

The girl’s absence in the news was a blessing in disguise, Padmé decided, no matter how badly it worried her.

She put her energy into work again. The Senate had been in gridlock over additional proposals to the Republic’s budget. It had left little money to cover refugee relief, but she had assured Bail and others that any additional support was necessary. In return, they had promised their votes and efforts to garner more.

Nights were quickly filled with banquets, attendance to performances, dinners, and dramatic readings quickly followed up with discussions of politics and semantics. Her evenings were spent with Bail fighting over her word choice and falling asleep on the couch in her den, datapad dead by morning.

Democracy was a whirlwind, exhausting and chaotic, but one that Padmé enjoyed wholeheartedly.

The Senate session came to a quick close as the Chancellor adjourned their unsuccessful meeting. He turned back and headed towards the doors that led to his office, a small gaggle of senators followed behind, as well as reporters, hoping for a headline.

Padmé shook her head, the bill up for discussion, still in her hand. She felt Bail’s hand come down onto her shoulder and give her a squeeze.

“I’m sure, if we just edit the beginning again, perhaps to rephrase it less about refugees, and more about… possible immigration to Coruscant, or something else more personal, they’ll change their minds,” Bail said with a heavy sigh.

Padmé took a deep breath to release her disappointment. “I know you’re right, but I don’t want to have to beg for basic empathy.”

“Such is the nature of politics,” Bail said with a small laugh. “If you’re not begging them for something, you’re not paying attention.”

She smiled a little, straightening. “I suppose that’s true as well.”

“I’ll contact your office in the morning, perhaps we can rewrite that preamble before the expansion bill moves forward,” the soft weight of his hand left her shoulder, “we did good work today, Padmé.” He turned to leave, joining the fray of senators as they all exited through the halls of the Senate Rotunda.

“We did, thank you, Bail.”

She turned back to gather her things, the other datapad she had brought with her to take notes, the simple coat she had worn in against the brisk morning chill.

“Oh, Padmé,” Bail said, nearly startling her.

She looked up from her belongings to find him there, still there near her repulsorpod, trapped against the movement of senators exiting the Chambers.

“I believe there’s someone here for you.”

Padmé moved to stand beside him, hoping to find this someone. Captain Typho usually remained near the ship, waiting for her to return. Occasionally, if she took too long, he would send a handmaid after her.

Instead, she had found her husband, leaning against the opposite wall and trapped in a conversation with Senator Orn Free Taa. He had met eyes with her halfway through the conversation, one where she could nearly sense his boredom. Anakin politely excused himself at the same time that Bail had left her side.

The two senators of the Loyalist Committee quickly fell into step with one another, continuing conversation. Anakin took the chance to cross the hall, instantly slipping his arm around her waist.

Padmé’s face warmed instantly, she took a step back, eyes wide. “Ani, public!”  She said quickly, hushed under her breath.

“Senator Amidala, I’m sure you can forgive me,” he said, just as softly. “It’s been months since I’ve seen my wife, Senator.”

The heat of an embarrassed, but loving flush against her face only increased. “ Master Jedi, I'm sure I understand your… predicament, but we’ll have to discuss this matter somewhere else. Would you give me the pleasure of dining with me tonight?”

He looked almost startled by her question. Padmé wanted to pull him aside, out of the public eye, out of the emptying Senate Chambers and into a desolate hall. Instead, she brought her free hand down to his, linking her little finger with one of his.

He smiled, too much for them to just be friends, meeting after a long time apart. Padmé’s heart beat double at the danger of being found out. She wanted so badly to lean into him, to kiss him hello, welcome home, I love you, I missed you, remind me what it’s like to be yours--

Anakin’s fingers hooked around hers a little tighter. “Let’s get away from here.”  

She led him through the Senate squabble with the precision only a female senator had. Padmé quickly crossed the hall towards another, where the auditorium rooms became small meeting rooms. Anakin laughed softly, following her as she opened one of the rooms towards the end with her key code.

The door slid open, the warm lights came to life as Anakin took the chance to bring his arms around her, picking her up into his arms and spinning her before meeting for a kiss. Padmé’s hands came up to his face, her fingers ran through his messy hair, longer and more bronze, now in the time they had been apart. His lips moved from hers to her cheek, then her chin, her neck, almost to the collar of her dress as his hands moved against the buttons holding the fabric in place.

“Ani, no,” she said with a giggle like a schoolgirl. “Let me just look at you,” she said, hoping that he could understand the need in her voice.

He pulled away just enough for their eyes to meet. “We only have a few more minutes before Typho sends in Karté.”

Padmé felt the same desperation, the need to pull at the belt of his robes, to slip the leather tabards off of his shoulders and discard layers of Jedi attire. The feeling of want and need in her chest were almost unbearable, fighting against her shaking fingers.

An exercise in restraint, she told herself. For the both of them.

Her hands moved from his hair to his face. Anakin closed his eyes, relaxing underneath her soft touch as she searched for new wounds.

The last time she had seen him, he had had a bandage over his eye, laughing about how he had nearly lost it and how it would’ve matched his arm. It hadn’t been very funny when she had started to cry, realizing again just how vulnerable her husband was. The wound had scarred over, soft and pink with new skin.

She traced over it carefully, mesmerized by the gentle precision of it. To think that it had happened in a duel with a woman he had described as unhinged.  Padmé’s thoughts of Anakin rarely involved duels. The Jedi were peacekeepers, and although the war had put them into various military positions, she knew that her husband’s job was more focused on aggressive negotiations than dueling a witch in the rain.

Now, his duties had transformed. Anakin was more than just a Jedi, he was a Jedi Master . His responsibilities were more than the Republic, more than his battalion of men-- he had a child to consider. A young, small, no doubt fast, child with bright blue, inquisitive eyes. Padmé thought of the girl in the holo transmission, how she had looked between the two of them, unsure of how to act between her new master and a senator.

She opened her mouth to speak, to begin her barrage of questions that had built up over days and nights of constant worrying. Before she could make a sound, Anakin kissed her, passionately enough to make her knees weak.

Her fingers slipped from the smoothness of his scar back into his bronze curls. He smelled of the night air, crisp and sweet. His hands held her tight, allowing her to soak in his presence, to feel her entire body relax against him as though he was the only source of gravity in the galaxy.

It sent a body down her spine directly to her toes. Her husband, Anakin Skywalker, was here with her, and they were in a conference room.

She brought her hands closer to herself, hoping to break him apart just enough to undo the belt securing his robes. Padmé had quickly become an expert in the many layers of Jedi attire in their small stint on Naboo. She fought with the small metal clasp holding all of his layers of formality together. His hands moved lower down her back as he broke apart from their kiss, only for a second to snicker as she tried to unclasp it again, her fingers not cooperating under the realization that they had a few moments of privacy.

“What are you trying to do?” He asked, after a few more moments of her struggling,  a laugh hidden under his voice.

Padmé pulled back just enough to look up at him without bumping her head into his chin. “This is a new belt, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know,” Anakin murmured, moving in closer. His blue eyes were almost hypnotic, coaxing her into another kiss so deep she melted in his arms. “Why are you trying to undress me, Senator? This could start a scandal,” he said quietly, his fingertips tickling at her sides.

She squirmed a little, smiling wide. “Maybe I want to start a scandal, Master Jedi.”

“Master Jedi?” He picked her up just enough to place her on the nearest table. “I like that.”

A knock at the door separated them as though they were the same side of two magnets.

Anakin’s eyes glanced at the door, his face turned bright red as Padmé hastily slid down from the table. She hoped that she didn’t look too much in disarray. She almost felt guilty for having nearly undressed her husband, messing up his beautiful hair, leaving the light pink smudge of her lips on the corner of his mouth. Padmé glanced to the door, finding Typho’s back to the door, guarding her already.

Her face flushed with embarrassment as she straightened Anakin’s robes. She smudged at the makeup she had left on him, enough to make him blush.

“Leaving your mark?”

“Removing it,” she said quietly. “You’ll still come to dinner tonight, won’t you?”

Anakin’s hand came to rest on hers, pressing his lips to her fingers. “Of course, angel.”

“It almost surprised me, you know, to see you standing there with a padawan learner,” Padmé said from the kitchenette, pouring two glasses of Alderaanian wine. Almost, she had said, emphasizing it. Anakin was unpredictable in some ways, yes; but in following through with what the Jedi expected of him, never. “I remember you saying that you would never take a learner,” she continued.

He stayed where he was behind her, putting his arm around her middle and resting his head on top of hers. “You’ve cut your hair since the last time I was home,” he said, hoping desperately to keep the girl a secret. Padmé could almost sense his discomfort, he already knew where the conversation was going.

She leaned her head back against him, “she looks too young, Ani.” Padmé placed the bottle down on the counter and reached for her own glass. She had poured less for Anakin, knowing he would barely touch it.

He exhaled softly, Padmé felt his breath stir a few stray pieces of her hair. “She’s thirteen.”

The glass would have slipped from her hand to the floor if Anakin hadn’t caught it. The wine splattered against the tile, sprinkling the skirt of her new nightgown. It was all instantly forgotten as Anakin let go of her, placing the glass on the counter and moving to find a towel.

Thirteen. It echoed in her mind as though he had said it into a cave.

“That’s too young.” Padmé said quickly, not moving from her spot. “Anakin, that’s too young.”

“You were queen at that age, love,” he said from around the corner. He returned with a towel and started to clean up the mess that she had created.

Padmé brought a hand to her face. “I was queen at fourteen,” she corrected, “and even then I felt like I was too young. I had advisors, extensive training--”

Anakin frowned, looking at the floor as he cleaned up the wine. “Ahsoka is mature for her age, the Council wouldn’t have let her become a padawan if she wasn’t ready.”

Ahsoka. Finally, Padmé had been given a name to put to the bright-eyed girl. Ahsoka, thirteen, and on several battlefields already. She thought of how many times Anakin had returned home, weary and broken from what he had seen, what he had done for the Republic. Her heart pounded in her chest, her stomach felt heavy, as though the single sip of wine had been to swallow down a stone.

“I’m not questioning her abilities, but Anakin, you know she’s still a child. The things you’ve seen, the things you’ve already lived through in this war… for a thirteen year old girl to live through that as well?”

He glanced up from the floor, his hands wet and sticky with wine. “I know, Padmé, but I can’t do anything about it.” He stood, wringing out the towel into the sink. “According to Obi-Wan, this is normal. Kids can become padawans as young as twelve.”

Padmé took the other glass of wine, the one she had poured for him, and swallowed down to get rid of the stone that had found its way into her throat. “Thirteen and already dealing with the Hutts,” she said softly.

Anakin smirked a little, pouring her another glass of wine. “It could be worse, she could be fourteen and leading a planet through a siege by the TechnoUnion, or--”

Her own accomplishments were of little matter in this conversation. Padmé stopped him with a look, meeting his blue eyes. “What else have you and Ahsoka done? What have your last few missions been?”

She could see him giving in already, sighing as he placed the cloth on the counter before rinsing off his hands. “Padmé,” he kept his voice soft and low, a chill traced down her arm, curling her fingers. “Are we really going to spend the night talking about Ahsoka?”

Oh, how he knew her and how dirty it was of him to even try to rekindle the conference room, and to do so in her kitchen. Padmé’s chill quickly turned hot with a slight flicker of anger and annoyance.

“Yes!” She said, taking the bottle of wine from the counter, as well as her glass. She walked out into the den, leaving Anakin in the kitchenette to deal with his thirst.

“She’s thirteen, Anakin!” Padmé flopped down onto the comfiest couch, pulling her legs up onto the cushions before placing down the bottle. “How many times have you nearly died? How many times has she? Will she?”

He remained still in the other room, his back to her. She could see him thinking, the way one hand rested against the back of the counter, supporting him, the other in his hair. She had caught him in a way he hadn’t expected. Padmé only felt a little guilty for stealing their night away, a night that was supposed to be spent in between the sheets.

“How is a thirteen year old girl supposed to deal with that? How is she supposed to learn how to be a Jedi, a peacekeeper, in the middle of a galactic war?”

Padmé could feel the senator inside of her beginning to take over. Her voice was loud, too loud, possibly loud enough to wake a handmaid or two. She took another long sip of wine and watched him.

Eventually, after many seconds that felt too long, his hand left his hair and he turned around to join her, empty wine glass in hand. She watched carefully as he stopped just short of her and poured his own glass. In any other situation, it would’ve been an amusing sight-- her husband, who hated anything that didn’t taste like sugar, pouring himself a glass of the driest wine in the galaxy.

He took a sip of it before sitting down beside her, leaving space for her legs in between them. Anakin kept the glass in his hand, holding it carefully, but well practiced. “I don’t have any way of answering those questions, Padmé.”

She frowned, turning away. Anakin’s absences made sense now, thinking of young Ahsoka. Padmé imagined if Satine had the same problem with Obi-Wan when Anakin had become his padawan. Obi-Wan had been just a few years older than Anakin was now, raising a nine year old, because Qui-Gon Jinn had told him to in his dying breath.

Padmé was quick to blink away the images of Naboo, the heartbreak that Obi-Wan had felt for so long, still buried deep underneath his shell. She tried not to think of her husband and his padawan, Anakin giving Ahsoka to Obi-Wan with his last breath. To think of such things, to consider it, she swallowed down another few sips of wine.

“So, where were your missions?”

Anakin exhaled, “Christophsis.” He looked out into the empty space of the apartment, taking a sip of the wine and instantly recoiling at the taste. “ Teth, Tatooine.”

“Wasn’t Christophsis a war zone?” Padmé asked, taking the wine from him and placing it down on the small table in front of them.

“Yes, but it was nearly over by the time Ahsoka got there.”

“So, why Christophsis? Why then?”

Anakin sunk back against the cushions of the couch, looking at the empty hand that had just had a glass of wine in it. Somehow, it had found its way into Padmé’s hand, she stood with it, taking another sip as she paced the floor. Her thoughts flowed better in motion, when the den became her own Senate floor.

It was better for her to do so with a glass of wine than Anakin. She was no stranger to his habits. Padmé thought of the last time she had seen him drink wine, how quickly he had become tipsy, bordering on drunk. It had been her job to escort her security detail from the Senate party, his clumsy steps and laughs echoing in the empty hall. It warmed her face to think of it, to think of such innocence in a time of war.

Her attention fell to him when he took a deep breath, steadying himself. His hand rests against the couch cushions, near the spot she had left beside him. “Well, we had to ask for reinforcements,” he recounted, “we were being overrun, every time we tried to contact the Resolute, it was static on the other end. When our ship came in we thought it would be fresh troops, maybe Master Windu, but instead it was just her, just Ahsoka.”

The breath was nearly knocked out of her by the sudden realization, “you were going to die, and the Council sent a thirteen year old girl to help you.” The realization of her husband’s near death, of the pressure put on this padawan, on the absurdity of such a statement. Padmé couldn’t help but laugh, her hand coming up to rest against her wine warmed face. “Of course they did.”

“Padmé,” Anakin sighed again, suddenly looking exhausted. “It wasn’t like that. They didn’t know--”

“Didn’t know what? That she’s thirteen?”

“She’s almost fourteen.” He said, reaching for her wine bottle, taking as much of a swig as he could stomach. “You think she’s defenseless, she’s smart, she’s capable.” He gritted his teeth at the taste of the alcohol, but took another swallow anyway. “Ahsoka is… she’s just like you.” He said, placing the bottle back down and daring to meet her eyes.

Padmé remained where she was, standing across from him with her feet firmly planted.  

If not for the girl being thirteen, there were still several things wrong with the matter at hand. Being a Jedi padawan at thirteen was dangerous, and being thrown into an active war was even more dangerous, but for this girl to have to deal with so much responsibility… Padmé had to sit down.

Slowly, she returned to her husband’s arms and turned so she could rest her head on his chest. He relaxed instantly under her touch, the warmth of the wine already making him hazy. Padmé tried not to fixate on the imperfection of her attempted perfection. Her nightgown was ruined with splashes of wine, her feet sticky from standing in a puddle of it.

This night had been meant for them. She had waited to show him her nightgown, prepared a small meal for them to share, and instead they had spent it getting drunk and bickering about his padawan learner. Padmé snuggled her face into his robes, hoping to wish for the time she had wasted back. No matter what she said, no matter what she did, or how she acted, she couldn’t preserve Ahsoka’s childhood. She hadn’t been able to do that with her own.

“What can I do to stop you from worrying so much?” He asked, brushing her hair off of her neck and out of her face. The timbre of his voice, the way he sounded so close to her ear. Padmé melted against him as though he were the warmth of the sun.

“Tell me about her,” she prodded. “Tell me everything about her.”

Anakin smiled a little, his hands traced down her back, up, then down again as he thought about what to say. “Well, she’s annoying,” he said softly, “and she knows when she’s right.”

Padmé couldn’t help the smile that spread across her lips. “I like her already.”

She hadn’t intended for any of this to happen.

Padmé sat in one of the chairs on the bridge of her husband’s flagship, watching as he spoke with the Admiral. The remains of the Separatist fleet were smoldering outside of the viewport. Her star skiff was among the flames, trapped in the hull of what had been Grievous’s ship.

The Chancellor himself had given her the coordinates, believing in their validity, she had left on a whim to discuss terms with the Banking Clan. Instead, she had quickly found herself and Threepio in the middle of a battle, blasts from each ship rocking her little star skiff as it attempted to cross into Republic lines from behind a dreadnought.

“Are you okay?” Anakin asked, startling her out of her thoughts.

Padmé looked up from the metal floor, taking his hand up. “I’m fine,” she said curtly, hoping to push her still lingering fear off for another time. Padmé looked at their hands, at how she had interlocked her fingers with his just by instinct.

“I’ll take you to my quarters, you can clean up and get some rest.” He said softly, walking her down the hall of the Resolute.

She had been in flagships before, but Anakin’s ship was different from the rest. Padmé had never seen so many clones, all of them stopping to acknowledge them on their walk. Anakin smiled at a few of them, all of them keeping their distance from them, as though they knew.

“We’re returning to Coruscant,” he said softly, leading her down another long, endless hallway. This one was far less populated, only the sounds of their footsteps and his voice so soft against her ear could calm the lingering adrenaline in her blood.

She nodded, unsure of what else she could do in such a situation. “You know, I appreciate the rescue mission, but I remember telling you not to stop attacking Grievous,” she said.

Anakin’s smile widened. He pulled her in closer to him, “I wasn’t about to let you have all the fun.”

Padmé could feel her own lips stretch into a smile. “Okay, I’ll admit, some of it was fun.” She released her grasp on his hand so she could link her arm with his, finding his fingers again. “It was… exhilarating to see you again.”

“Exhilarating?” He smirked, stopping in his tracks. “You didn’t do this just to see me again, right?”

“No, no, I--” she ran a hand through the stray hairs that kept falling in her face. “I followed some coordinates from the Chancellor, I suppose I must’ve transposed the numbers, or something like that.”

“And without security?”

“I had Threepio,” she said defensively.

He smiled a little, leading her down the hall to a door. Anakin input the security key as the doors slid open, revealing a humble little living room with two sofas and a meager kitchen-- a caf maker, conservator, and nanowave. Off of the living room were two doors.

“It’s through there, if you want to--”

Padmé was quick to silence her husband with a kiss, her hands quick to find the space where his robes overlapped. She started to pull at the fabric, hoping to free it from his belt. Anakin’s hands moved to her hips, holding her steady, but still kissing her deeply.

“Padmé,” he whispered, his blue eyes wide and bright.

“Master, I can’t find the Artooie’s spare treads,” a voice called out from one of the rooms. The door opened as the girl, Ahsoka, stepped out with a box in her hands. “Oh.”

Padmé quickly untangled herself from her husband. She hoped that her face wouldn’t betray her with a blush, but it was certain that Anakin’s would. Her husband had never been able to avoid it.

“Um, I'm sorry,” Ahsoka said quickly, taking a step back. “I--”

“No, it’s not your fault,” Padmé said just as fast. “I’m sorry, I, we, didn’t realize.”

Anakin had turned to ice behind her. Padmé had carefully moved to reach for his hand behind her, but he had moved just out of touch. She let her hands rest at her sides, feeling foolish for being caught by a thirteen year old girl.

They were both smarter than this, to allow themselves to be so exposed. Padmé had gone to such care to construct a narrative of them being good friends, not mates or partners. Although they had been caught, Padmé hoped that in some weird way, Anakin would hold it against her.

He had nearly gotten them caught once in her star skiff, accidentally knocking into the homing beacon. Now, that star skiff was a smoldering piece of metal on Grievous’s destroyed Malevolence. She hadn’t considered negotiations on the Resolute, at least, not until now. It wasn’t the most pressing issue, though, Padmé brushed aside her urge to drag Anakin out of the room, and thought of all of the questions she had prepared for his padawan.

Later, he could tease her about almost undressing him in front of his thirteen year old student.

Ahsoka’s eyes quickly moved up to Anakin, who couldn’t meet her eyes as he took a step back from both of them, he had turned as red as a Sith saber. Padmé would’ve laughed had her heart not been caught in her throat.

“Um.” Ahsoka said mindlessly, looking back to Padmé, the box of parts still in her hands. It was just as mortifying for her, Padmé realized, watching her lekku darken as well as the markings on her cheeks.

“I'm Padmé Amidala, senator from Naboo, and you must be Anakin’s padawan,” she took a small step forward, offering the young girl her hand. “I want to thank you for rescuing me today.”

Ahsoka clumsily moved the box to rest against her hip to free up a hand. She offered her left, so Padmé quickly changed hands to accommodate the girl’s panicked lack of coordination.

"Ahsoka Tano," she said, feigning confidence.

Her hands were warm, covered in grease from working with Artoo. As soon as the girl realized, she pulled away quickly.

“I am so sorry, I forgot, I’m so sorry,” she wiped her hand on her skirt, too skimpy and small for her.

Padmé felt guilty instantly, she hadn’t done anything to react to the feeling of droid grease on her hands. It wasn’t as though it would hurt her, she was no stranger to grime. She had been covered in worse things.

“It’s fine,” she didn’t wipe her hands on her outfit. The last thing she wanted was for Anakin’s padawan to feel worse.

The tension in the room was enough to bankrupt her mind of any of the questions she had prepared. Padmé hadn’t gone into this expecting to meet Ahsoka, in fact, she had completely forgotten about Anakin’s padawan until hearing her voice. She supposed that Anakin had forgotten as well, too caught up in the moment.

“Um, well, I have to go fix Artoo.” She said, placing the box down on one of the couches and digging through it. “And, if you can’t help me find the treds, then I’m just going to have to rip them off of that old service droid, and Artoo is never going to let me near him again.”

Anakin blinked, suddenly coming to life. “I’ll find them.” He said, brushing a hand through his own hair. “It’s fine, I’ll find them.” He slipped past her into the room that Ahsoka had come from. Padmé figured it was probably his room, the droid parts were enough of a giveaway.

Ahsoka straightened, dropping something that looked like an air filter for a small starship back into the box. “So, um, I’m sorry again, for getting you all dirty like that.”

Padmé smiled a little, “it’s fine.”

They waited in silence, looking one another over while Anakin searched for whatever part it was. Padmé knew the feeling of being dressed down with someone’s eyes. Anakin’s padawan was good at it, taking her apart piece by piece. It was a good skill to have, Padmé knew, and perfecting it would be an even more valuable asset.

Her husband returned a moment later with two metal treads in hand, they looked like thick belts, both of them painted white. Ahsoka quickly took them and inspected the way that the pieces moved, running her fingers over some of the grooves.

“Um, thanks,” she took a few steps back.

“Wait,” Padmé said, stopping the girl in her tracks. “I’ll come with you.” She turned to face her husband, Anakin was frozen staring at the two of them, unsure of what to do or say. “I’m sure the Chancellor would like to hear from you more than he would from me.” She watched as his eyes narrowed, not exactly happy with her, but too caught up in the circumstances to say anything.

“You don't have to,” Ahsoka started.

“No, I want to,” Padmé turned away from her husband to look at the girl.

Ahsoka looked worried, she brought her hands down in front of herself, trying to look as small as possible. Padmé felt guilty for putting pressure on her, for subjecting her to questions like an interrogation.

She turned to look back at him, she could see in his eyes that his thoughts were still far too many and too fleeting. He wanted her to stay, that much was clear in how his hand still longed to reach for her. Padmé turned her head just a little, telling him no before giving him a small bow. “Thank you for coming to my rescue, Master Jedi.” She couldn’t help the smile on her face, or how quickly she had to leave because Ahsoka had already left out the door of their shared quarters.

Ahsoka led her wordlessly through the Resolute to the hangar where she could already hear Threepio. Padmé sighed, resigning herself already to the droid’s bickering. It was sweet that Anakin had programmed him all those years ago just to help his mother, but there were times where she felt Threepio was trying to become her mother.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Ahsoka said, stopping just short of the fabric laid out on the floor. Artoo sat in the middle of it, unable to move. He rocked a little, chirping ecstatically that she hadn’t abandoned him. “I won’t tell anyone.”

Padmé froze, “that’s not why I want to talk to you.” She moved closer to Ahsoka’s workspace, which had Anakin’s supervision written all over it. His starfighter, yellow, just like his podracer all those years ago, sat beside her, tool resting against its landing gear, a dirtied rag resting on top of it.

She glanced up to her, resting the treads on the floor. “Why, then?”

“Well, I--” she stopped herself, unable to find the courage to say ‘I want to know more about you, I want to feel better about you being in the middle of a battlefield.’ “I’ve known Anakin for a very long time, and he always said he would never take a padawan learner, so when I saw you in that holo transmission, I knew I had to meet you.”

Ahsoka’s eye markings raised in interest and curiosity. “Oh,” she said, her hands buried in the tool bag. “I guess that makes sense.”

“He’s told me some about you, but I still have questions, if that’s… okay.” Padmé knelt down onto the dirtied fabric, careful of where she was putting her hands. She wiped the dried grease off on it, hoping not to catch the girl’s attention.

She took a wrench from the bag and started to work on Artoo’s bolts, tipping him over onto his side with great care before placing the bag against him, to keep him from rolling. The droid made a noise, one that Padmé recognized as annoyance.

Ahsoka murmured her apologies to him before looking back up to Padmé, “um, okay, I guess I have questions for you, too.”

The way she said it sent a small spark of panic into Padmé’s heart. It was only natural for her to have questions after catching them like that. She bit down on the inside of her lip before recovering her facade.

“Do you want to go first?” Padmé asked, lowering her eyes to Artoo.

The girl reached up and grabbed the rag from Anakin’s starfighter, folding it carefully and using it to clean the grease from Artoo’s servos. “Um, how long have you known Master Skywalker?”

Padmé relaxed almost instantly at such a question. “A very long time,” she answered. “When he lived on Tatooine with his mother.”

Ahsoka blinked, as though she had made some grander realization. “His mother?”

“She died not long ago,” Padmé answered, hoping to cut the topic short. She knew that Anakin would never say a word to the girl about his mother, that if she questioned him, it would break his trust.

“Your turn to ask a question,” Ahsoka said, rolling Artoo over to get at his other side. The droid chirped almost like a giggle as she did so. “Sorry, Artoo.”

Padmé didn’t even have to think before the words slipped out. “How old are you?”

Ahsoka’s body tensed as though Padmé had touched her. “Thirteen, almost fourteen.”

“Do you like being a padawan?”

She relaxed, Padmé knew that she had taken a right step in the direction. She had dealt with enough adults when she was Ahsoka’s age, all of them asking for her qualifications, credentials, asking to speak to her advisors instead of her. Ahsoka dropped the cloth onto the fabric they sat on.

“Yeah, I do.” She answered, glancing up from her work to meet Padmé’s eyes. “It’s hard sometimes, but I'm learning a lot.”

“I’m sure you’ve found yourself in a lot of dangerous situations already.”

Ahsoka shrugged, “not really.” She picked up one of the treads and started to work it onto Artoo’s bare wheels. “When you speak in the Senate, and your hair is done up, is it your real hair or just a wig?”

Padmé’s breath caught in her chest. She exhaled a small laugh, unable to hide her smile. “It depends, most of the time it’s just a hairpiece, like a wig, but heavier.”

The girl smiled, too. “Artoo, can you spin your treads?”

The droid did so, Padmé watched as the treads aligned themselves with Ahsoka’s guidance. She was certainly perfect for Anakin, the smile on her face, the joy in solving something so simple to make a droid more comfortable. She turned him again, fixing the other tread before moving Artoo upright.

He chirped a thank you to her, moving off of the fabric and onto the floor of the hangar in the direction of Threepio, who had found some clones to annoy in the meantime.

Ahsoka stood and wiped her hands off on her skirt again. Padmé prayed that Anakin had somehow learned how to do laundry and how to remove grease stains for once in his life.

“Can I ask something that might be intrusive?”

Ahsoka placed Anakin’s tools back underneath his starfighter, then the rag on top. “Um, sure.”

“Can you really fight in those clothes?”

Ahsoka blinked, “um, yes.”

“It doesn’t seem safe.” Padmé stood from the fabric on the floor, hoping that her question hadn’t offended Anakin’s padawan. That was the last thing she had wanted to do.

“How?” Ahsoka asked, taking a small step back to look over herself. “I mean, it’s not… jedi robes, but Togruta are allowed to wear non-traditional clothing.”

Padmé straightened a little, hoping to relax herself, so that maybe Ahsoka could relax as well. “It’s not that it doesn't suit you, or look nice, because it does. I just know how easy it is to get scraped and cut on missions, and I’m sure you would feel safer in something with more... coverage.”

Ahsoka’s defensive demeanor shifted. “Oh.”

“Especially because you’re growing. It’ll be much more comfortable to fight in something that supports you.” Padmé put her emphasis on support, hoping that the girl would understand what she meant.

Her blue eyes went wide, “oh!”

Padmé smiled, giving Anakin’s padawan a small nod. “I’d be more than happy to take you shopping in Coruscant. I’m sure my seamstress would love to create something other than gowns for once.”

The girl’s face turned dark with blush, a smile on her face. “I would really appreciate that, Senator.”

Padmé smiled, “you can call me Padmé, I mean, if I can call you Ahsoka, instead of Padawan Tano.”

“Yes! Please, I’d prefer that,” Ahsoka said, doing little to hide her joy. It was almost as though the dropping of formalities had changed her. “So, have you ever tried an awesome sour jawbreaker? Our rations were mixed up with a candy seller’s goods on Coruscant, and they’re so sour they make almost everyone cry.”

She laughed, “I don’t think that I have.” Padmé allowed the girl to take her by the hand, leading her back through the endless halls of the Resolute.

It was strange feeling better about things now that she had met Ahsoka. She trusted the girl entirely, though her feelings of concern for putting Ahsoka in a warzone hadn’t fully been squashed. Padmé embraced the strange feeling inside of her, a need to protect the girl from losing a childhood that she could never have. If Ahsoka couldn’t be a kid at Anakin’s side, she could be one at her side, finding peace in the quiet laughter and shared tears of sour candy.

[scripttorture]

Hey, I am writing a torture scene in a Star Wars fanfiction, where a character is tortured both with interrogation devices and with the Force. How do I make the use of the Force in torture seem as awful and realistic as the interrogation devices? Sorry if that is confusing, I've never written a torture scene in fic before and I am nervous about doing this one right.

Welcome. :) It’s a perfectly understandable fear, let’s get stuck in.

 There are some issues around some of the canon torture devices in Star Wars. The short version of which is that high tech equipment isn’t realistic in torture and it can often suggest torture is ‘advanced’ or ‘intelligent’ when it is not. But this isn’t really the core of your question and I don’t want to discourage you on your first try.

 For more realistic low-tech alternatives I have a post on common torture techniques in the modern era over here. You can read a little more about why I think ‘interrogation devices’ are leaning in to torture apologia by looking through the ‘high tech torture’ tag.

 You can read a bit more about it in this Star Wars review here or by looking through this tag.

 Central to this is how you communicate pain in a story. Because that’s really what we’re talking about here. How do you capture a type of pain that your reader hasn’t experienced?

 It might be helpful to know that pain isn’t one sensation. We actually process different kinds of pain differently and we each have different thresholds for different sorts of pain.

 That might sound complicated but what it boils down to is that knowing someone likes their curry hot doesn’t tell you how they’d deal with a head ache or a twisted ankle.

 So if I was approaching this my first question would be: what kind of pain do I want to make the Force feel like?

 There are a couple of little bits from various parts of the franchise that suggest the dark side feels ‘cold’. But I think you do have leeway to really decide what you want this to be like.

 I would lean in to the way the Force can cause pain without leaving obvious wounds. Because a lot of torture, both historically and today, does the same thing and these ‘clean’ (non-scarring) tortures are often dismissed. The damage they cause is downplayed, the pain they cause is underestimated. And unfortunately survivors of clean tortures (the majority of torture survivors today) are dismissed because we expect torture to leave scars.

 Our vision is a big part of how we judge other people’s pain. We find it very easy to instinctually imagine (and sympathise) with injuries we can clearly see. Things like broken bones, burns and cuts seem to be easier for us to understand. I’d use that, in the same way I would if I was writing a non-magical clean torture scenario.

 I’m going to describe the reported sensations/type of pain caused by three different clean tortures; stress positions, pumping and electrical torture using a magneto. (You can look up any of those in the tags for more information.) Feel free to use any of these.

 Stress positions cause muscular pain throughout the body. Think of the sharp pain the comes with pulled muscles and imagine that throughout the body. That tension, the feeling that the limbs are giving way, everywhere. A building muscular pain punctuated by sharp bursts. It’s trembling afterwards, weakness, staggering, falling. A burning, pins and needles sensation as circulation returns to raised limbs.

 By contrast pumping is internal, organ pain. It’s a stomach ache that’s like being stamped on. A stabbing pain that doesn’t end. If you’ve had a bad E coli infection then think of that. Nausea, the awful empty feeling afterwards. Switching from one type of pain to another until it starts all over again. The way your head reels and your awareness narrows.

 As for electrical torture, well here’s Alleg’s description of his experience with the French military in Algeria (I have edited to focus on his description of physical sensation).

 ‘Suddenly, I leapt in my bonds and shouted with all my might. Cha- had just sent a first electric charge through my body. A flash of lightning exploded next to my ear and I felt my heart racing in my breast. I struggled, screaming and stiffened myself until the straps cut into my flesh. All the while the shocks controlled by Cha-, magneto in hand, followed each other without cease.[…]

 ‘Suddenly I felt as if a savage beast had torn the flesh from my body. Still smiling above me Ja- had attached the pincer to my penis. The shocks going through me were so strong that the straps holding me to the board came loose. They stopped to tie them again and we continued.

‘After a while the lieutenant took the place of Ja-. He had removed the wire from one of the pincers and fastened it down along the entire width of my chest. The whole of my body was shaking with nervous shocks getting ever stronger in intensity, and the session went on interminably. They had thrown cold water over me in order to increase the intensity of the current and between every two spasms I trembled with cold. All around me sitting on the packing cases, Cha- and his friends emptied bottles of beer. I chewed on my gag to relieve the cramp which contorted my body. In vain’

 Obviously you don’t have to use any of these examples if you don’t like the sound of them. The basic idea is to think about a type of pain and use that to create an evocative description.

 You could even use your own experience if you wanted to. Think about the kinds of pain you’ve had in the past, migraines or pulled muscles or eating a curry that was too hot, and use that as a basis for magnifying the same sensation.

 That’s all Step One.

 Capturing the full impact of torture means more then the torture scene. It means warping the story under the weight of abuse. It’s the lasting effects on the survivor and the knock on impact on their friends and family. It’s the way that impact can radicalise people, even witnesses. It’s the effect torture has on the organisations that use it and those that it is used against.

 A story does not necessarily need to give all of these elements a lot of narrative space.

 If your story doesn’t focus on the survivor then their symptoms might just take up a sentence as the main characters ask whether they ‘made it’. And in that case you hammer home the impact by showing the effect on these people who are at a remove. Their fear, their anger, their resolve to stop this. Perhaps even a few lasting symptoms they develop as witnesses to a traumatic event.

 The original Star Wars movies don’t leave a lot of time to focus on lasting effects on the main characters but they still show each of them resisting torture in different ways. They show torture radicalising characters who witness it. They show it galvanising opposition and they show torture as ultimately undermining the organisation that uses it.

 Essentially think about the sort of story you’re telling and how much space each of these elements needs in your story.

 Most of the writers who come here are focused on a survivor character and want to write that character recovering. So I’m going to talk about that in more depth.

 If however you’d rather talk about systems in your story I do have some masterposts that’ll help. There’s one here on the common justifications for torture in democracies. There’s one on why torture doesn’t work as a method of interrogation here and a more detailed discussion of the effect torture has on investigations here. There’s also a post on common misconceptions over here.

 I also think you should read the post on clean torture.

 So, let’s talk about how torture effects people.

 Torture does cause lasting symptoms in survivors, witnesses and torturers. Survivors are left dealing with symptoms for the rest of their lives. But that doesn’t mean they never recover and it doesn’t mean survivors don’t go on to have fulfilling lives.

 Recovery is about learning to live with symptoms rather then mental health problems vanishing.

 Now we know the possible symptoms of torture. But survivors don’t generally experience all the possible symptoms and we don’t really understand why there’s so much variety in what individual survivors experience. We also, generally speaking, can’t predict which symptoms any individual will get*.

 From a writing stand point that means we’re free to decide what fits best in any story. I’d encourage you to pick 3-5 symptoms from the list here for any survivors characters. There’s a more detailed discussion of memory problems in particular here. Memory problems are extremely common in reality and very rarely portrayed accurately/well in fiction.

 Personally I think the best way to pick is by looking at the list and thinking about which symptoms will add to the story you’re trying to tell. Think about what might add interesting obstacles in the plot, what might create opportunities to show your audience more about the character and what might change the relationships characters have.

 So if your character needs to be charismatic and social does giving them anxiety create an interesting barrier to that? If your character is determined or holds their ideals really high, does giving them depression help illustrate those qualities by showing what the character is battling with every day? Would intrusive memories prompt deeper discussions with their friends about mental health, their fears?

 Wrapping up I would really encourage you to look at that masterpost on the common misconceptions about torture. Because so many of the ways we’re used to seeing torture portrayed are tropes that have no basis in reality. And a lot of them are based on really harmful misconceptions about torture and torture survivors.

 This probably feels like a lot. It is. Torture is a complex topic to tackle and the sheer volume of misinformation out there makes it that much harder to do it right.

 Read the links. Think about what you want to write. Practice.

 And if you have any more questions feel free to send them in when the ask box re-opens. :)

Available on Wordpress.

Disclaimer

*There are a handful of exceptions here but for the most part whatever the torture technique the possible long term symptoms are the same. Exceptions include sleep deprivation, starvation and solitary confinement.

[ariainstars]

Star Wars or Why Rebellions Are Necessary

There was a lot that irritated me with the ending of the Star Wars sequels, among other things considering that they were supposed to be a wrap-up of the saga. But you know what… Looking back now, one of the things most I miss is the rebellion.

In many ways, the saga is a coming-of-age story through three generations; but it seems that in the case of the third generation, the journey to adulthood was aborted. (Is it a coincidence that the erstwhile Rebellion, under Leia Organa’s leadership, is called not Rebellion but Resistance?)

Every generation - this also applies to our own world - has and needs dynamics of some kind. The world keeps changing, and we need to change accordingly. Many people unfortunately adopt some mindset or other (of their own, or instilled into them by people they trust) and stick with it for the rest of their lives. This is one of the main reasons why children and their new, fresh points of view are so extremely important.

“I believe that you are redeemed by your children.” George Lucas

Prequels

Anakin Skywalker is often accused of being a whiny, perpetually dissatisfied brat both by the Jedi Council and by the audience.

But on watching the prequels again, after some years and distance, the Old Republic gave me the distinct impression of a stagnant society on the verge of its breakdown, very far removed from the peaceful world Obi-Wan Kenobi had described to Luke when they first talked on Tatooine. And Anakin rebels against it right from the start. 

Anakin repeatedly chafes against the restrictions of the world around him. He wants to be free and also to free his mother; the Jedi’s strict code of non-attachment paired with their conviction of being always right drives him downright mad. This reaches a painful peak on the terrible night he has to watch his mother die a cruel, senseless death.

The unpopular truth is that Anakin is right when he accuses Obi-Wan of holding him back. This may be jealousy the way he claims (and indeed Anakin repeatedly proves to be stronger than his master); in any case, Obi-Wan is clearly not much inclined to compassion. He is a dutiful man and he knows that the Jedi’s eyes are on him as the master of the boy they didn’t want in the first place. He and the other Jedi know almost nothing besides their Code, having grown up in the Order from infancy. So, they struggle to keep things under control and to preserve the world they know the way it is. 

But this world also contains a lot of injustice: the Separatists do not want to leave the Republic without reason. The Jedi use the Force for their own purposes, instead of teaching the populations of the galaxy faith in it. Anakin is deliberately held back, kept down and even humiliated by the Jedi, the cunning Palpatine being the only one who shows him some respect. In the end, he is even denied the title of “master”, although he more than earned it (apart from everything else: risking his life over and over on the missions they sent him to). It is not hard to see that “he is too young” is only a lame excuse contrived by the Jedi to hide what Anakin suspected all along: that they don’t trust him. Anakin has an uncanny talent for seeing through the Jedi’s hypocrisy, and being both honest and bold, he often says what they don’t want to hear.

Created by the Force to bring Balance, Anakin derives his enormous power from both the Light and the Dark Side. The Jedi, who have made it their task to dedicate themselves to the Light Side only (completely ignoring the Dark Side), fear and shun him and never seem to ask themselves what is actually meant with the “Balance” of the old prophecy and why this must be “brought” from the outside. Obi-Wan’s last words to Anakin clearly say that according to him, the Dark Side has no right to exist. 

“You were supposed to destroy the Sith, not join them!” Obi-Wan in Revenge of the Sith 

The Jedi seem to have forgotten that the Force actually does not belong to them but the other way around; meaning that the Jedi are not automatically the Light Side and the Sith the Dark Side. They derive their power from these, but they do not embody the Force at any moment. 

The only act of rebellion Anakin manages to perform is his secret marriage to the woman he loved ever since he was a little boy. It is an insubordination that would cost him his status of a Jedi if it was known. Anakin, having lost his compassionate mother who taught him always to help others, and being is repeatedly told that he must do what the Jedi order him no questions asked (mostly actions designed to make them preserve their status and their political power) instead of helping who is actually in need, chooses to marry a woman who is compassionate herself.

This leads at least to some years of balance for him, and the children he generates are the future hopes of the galaxy; so Anakin’s rebellion to the Jedi Code, though secret, causes a lot of good.

The trouble is not Anakin’s rebellious nature; it is, like with most teenagers, not that he sees what is going on but that he doesn’t quite understand why ongoing things are never to be questioned, and that he doesn’t find the right words or actions to articulate his anger and disappointment. Nor does he know what needs to be done to make things better. In the end, the only tragic solution he comes up with is literally burning the house down.

At the other end of the scale, there is Padmé: the daughter of an influential and obviously affluent family of Naboo, she is not a rebel because she sees no need for rebelling. She does want to make things better, though not in such a harsh way as her husband: and this is where they ultimately clash. While Anakin sees through the evils of the Republic and the Jedi and decides to put a radical end to them, Padmé begins to doubt the justice of her mission just shortly before the world she knew is destroyed by the hand of the very person whom she loves most. 

“What if the democracy we thought we were serving no longer exists, and the Republic has become the very evil we have been fighting to destroy?” - Padmé in Revenge of the Sith 

Anakin, though, had his own ideas about rebellion: he executes Order 66 as per Palpatine’s order, but when his wife comes to find him on Mustafar he tells her what he actually wanted all along, which was not, ultimately, to be the Chancellor’s minion. 

Anakin: “I am more powerful than the Chancellor, I can overthrow him. And together you and I can rule the galaxy. Make things the way we want them to be!“

Padmé: “I can’t believe what I’m hearing!” Revenge of the Sith 

The most powerful couple of the galaxy breaks apart over their different ideologies. Anakin is misusing his newfound powers, and his appalled wife must learn that he expects her to be on his side. He believes his care for her is leading him, when in truth it’s his fear; if he truly cared for her so much, he would not do things which he ought to know she would utterly disdain and be horrified by. 

It is interesting that despite the chasm in their attitudes, their emotional bond still stays strong. Padmé manages to reach through to her husband’s heart one last time, almost succeeding to make him leave Mustafar with her. Then unfortunately Obi-Wan interferes, pushing Anakin into his head again: he realizes that Padmé loves him despite his choices, not because of them, and that Obi-Wan wants to take him to account. Seeing his rebellious acts coming apart, Anakin lashes out setting the final seal on his destiny. 

And this is where Palpatine, the future Emperor, steps in. He neither openly rebelled nor tried to improve the galaxy’s order while preserving it, but planned his putsch on the long run for decades. His usurpation at last puts an end to the clone wars, which is why the former Republic, tired of the fighting, destruction and deaths, welcomes him as a peacemaker before realizing that it exchanged one evil for another, much worse one. 

  Classics 

The original trilogy is the story of a rebellion at its very core. By the time Luke and Leia are grown the Empire has become so powerful and ruthless that the populations of the galaxy feel oppressed and welcomes Luke and Leia’s, and their allies’, struggles to overthrow it. 

Leia speaks up against Tarkin, Emperor Palpatine’s deputy, and Darth Vader right from the start, without even knowing that Vader is her biological father. She does not need this knowledge to be aware of his wrongdoings. Leia’s rebellion is justified and her own adoptive parents, a queen and a senator, actively assist her with it.

At first, Luke rebels against staying on his desert planet without any prospects for the future; then he is sucked into the vortex of politics (Rebellion) and religion (Jedi) and dedicates himself to both.

Luke rebels against his father to the last: even trapped, maimed, isolated and traumatized he chooses rather to jump into an abyss, narrowly escaping death, than accepting to be his ally.

His ultimate act of rebellion takes place before the Emperor: again, Luke faces almost certain death rather than the corruption of his ideals. 

“You lost, your highness. I am a Jedi, like my father before me.” Return of the Jedi 

Though Darth Vader does have plans of his own (corrupting his son and overthrowing the Emperor), he always obeys his master. Only at the very last moment he rebels, saving his son at the cost of his life. 

Whatever they do, Luke and Leia never give up on rebelling. Before Tarkin, Vader, Palpatine or Hutt, they always speak their minds and if they are afraid, they do not show it in their least. Their faith in their ideals makes them bold. 

Rebellion wins. A family is formed, peace ensues and stays in the galaxy for many years.

 Rogue One, Solo, The Mandalorian

 “Rebellions are built on hope.” Rogue One

The heroes of Rogue One rebel because, each in his own way, they have nothing left to lose; contrarily to Anakin who had everything to lose. But that is not entirely true: we see glimpses of friendship and love in the members of the Rogue One mission, and they all still have their lives. But instead of making something of what they have, they all decide to risk (and indeed lose) what little they have for a greater good.

The world needs rebels because it needs hope. Without hope, there is only the stagnancy which we can so clearly see in the Old Republic before its fall. Yet Rebellion does not only need a cause, it also needs an aim.

Han, whose story mirrors Rogue One’s, knew he wanted to escape from slavery and later he found out what he wanted to do with his new freedom: help Luke and Leia, to whom he had become attached. It is not coincidental that he’s the most mature of the bunch.

This is what we can see in The Mandalorian: he belongs to the guild of bounty hunters and then he also rebels - though he ought not to take interest in a bounty and not to ask any questions, he stands up against leaving the unprotected Child behind.

  Sequels

The first person we see rebelling in the sequels is Finn. Appalled by the ruthlessness of the First Order, he decides to leave. His choice at first is a selfish one though, he only thinks of escape, not of any greater good. He has to meet Rose and DJ and to make his experiences at Canto Bight to understand that it is important to rebel for a cause.

Phasma: “You always were scum.” Finn: “Rebel scum.” The Last Jedi

Though commonly seen as modeled upon Luke’s character, Rey lacks one major trait that he had: instead of actively looking for her fate, she remains passive, merely surviving, her attitude and looks the same she had when she was a little girl.

Rey is not willing and impatient to leave her home world and embrace her destiny. On the contrary, she waits and waits for a family which, as we later learn, she unconsciously knew would never come back to her.

Ironically it is Kylo Ren, the alleged bad guy, who is the main rebel of the sequel trilogy. We learn that he is our hero’s son and nephew and that he turned his back on them for unknown reasons; and he always has his own agenda. His temper tantrums are not there for a good joke: they show that he is interiorly conflicted and not really committed to the First Order. All of his acts are rebellious in one way or another.

Kylo searches for the map leading to Luke because he wants to confront him by himself: Snoke’s intentions only happen to have the same aim. (He indeed kills Snoke when he no longer needs him, the way Vader had wanted to do with Palpatine.)

Kylo unexpectedly kidnaps Rey on Takodana, and at first, instead of reading the map in her mind he tries to get to know her.

Kylo kills Han, coerced by Snoke, and we see him unhinged and deeply upset right afterwards, showing how he hated what he did.

 On seeing him first in The Force Awakens, I remember thinking repeatedly: “What’s the matter with this guy?”

Kylo (Ben) only has one chance to open up to Rey and tell her at least a part of his story from his own point of view, i.e. the fatal night at Luke’s temple, during one of their Force connections. And that is not nearly enough. One of the sequel’s biggest mistake was, in my opinion, telling us next to nothing about what had happened to the Skywalker-Organa-Solo family after the rebellion had ended in victory.

The other big mistake was not to show the road for a better future for the galaxy. Ben Solo comes back “home” in death, which is not a satisfying conclusion for his story. He is practically regressing to childhood, and his rebellious acts led to nothing except pain and death and ultimately, the rise of the girl of Palpatine blood.

Now this would still be acceptable if Rey had proven to be a deserving heir to the Skywalker family’s legacy. But she isn’t.

Why?

Because whatever Rey may be, she’s not a rebel. She was introduced to us as a scavenger, and she remained one to the very last - searching for old artifacts and legends and cherishing them never knowing their actual meaning and history.

For me, this is one of the many reasons why she ends alone on a desert planet. Rey did not grow up. She did not experience the painful but necessary process of coming of age that the heroes of the classic trilogy went through. If anything, it’s still ahead of her.

Rey wanted a family, though obviously not one of her own with a partner and children. The only person we ever see her feeling anything intimate for is Kylo / Ben; but with few exceptions, she adamantly pushes him away. He obviously terrifies and angers her, although since she is a child of Darkness herself, she ought to have no reason for that. Also, she quickly realizes that she is not powerless before him; that he both wants to keep her near and that he acknowledges her power and listens to her. But he always brings out her true self apart from the “good little girl” she wants to be; the good sides together with the bad sides. 

“You need a teacher - I could show you the ways of the Force!” The Force Awakens 

And Rey’s own authenticity frightens her. She seems afraid not so much of Kylo but of her own burgeoning adulthood and femaleness. Having been sold into slavery, she did not get the chance to have a normal, protected childhood and adolescence; her personality did not grow into womanhood, and she is aware of this lack, searching in all places for parental figures who will “show her her place in all this”. 

Rey briefly glimpsed a different kind of life sometimes, like on Takodana, or Pasaana (an odd symphony with the planet’s names, too) where she realized she wanted to live on a green planet, and to have children of her own. Also, Kylo saw her dreaming of an ocean. However, those remained vague dreams.

Unpopular opinion: maybe Rey did not want her dreams to come true. Hers is the story of a girl who first and foremost has needs, not dreams. When we first met her she was alone, enslaved, abandoned, overworked and hungry. As the audience, we expect as a matter of course to see a protagonist following his dreams and reaching them, and she didn’t. Rey’s needs were fulfilled during the course of this story, the way she wanted; nothing more. 

  Sacrifice Is Necessary, Too

So the question is, why does the saga end like this? It doesn’t feel like a fitting ending to a story that was always about rebellion. As I already said, rebelling itself is not enough: one must also know to what end, and the sacrifices one is ready to make.

The Jedi, as well as Padmé and Anakin, wanted to keep their cake and eat it, making a better world without having to give up anything that was dear to them.

The middle generation of Skywalkers did rebel but did not follow rebellion through: they longed for the seemingly beatific Republic before the rise of the Empire. Yet watching the prequels, as the audience we clearly see that it wasn’t quite that good. So our heroes fought, unknowingly, with the aim of restoring something that would have needed to be improved in their first place, and their “happy ending” did not last very long.

Luke read the ancient Jedi texts and wanted to rebuild the Jedi Order the way it was. Leia, the princess, probably learned about the Old Republic from her adoptive father, Senator Bail Organa, and wanted to restore it. But when we see them again, both twins are disillusioned and tired. Their own son and nephew destroyed whatever they had achieved with their efforts - and at least Luke is aware that he was partially responsible for it.

So the question arises, what are rebellions good for if they lead to no better future? What good is fighting for without asking how things could come so far in the first place, and without wondering about how to make things better? Ben Solo is repeatedly depicted as someone who has doubts, but it is also obvious that his doubts were not taken seriously and that he was just expected, both by his family and Snoke, to meet expectations. And like his grandfather, he had other things in mind: something new. Ever since their first Force vision (when Rey touched Luke’s light sabre in Maz’ castle) he knew that Rey was his other side in the Force. The moment he learned she was on Takodana he relentlessly pursued her, and no matter what happened, and despite everything she did to him, he was adamant to keep her by his side.

“We can rule together and bring a new order to the galaxy!” Kylo Ren in The Last Jedi

Rey rejects his offer, disappointed that he will not turn the way she expected him to. Maybe she was afraid that he was trying to lure her to the Dark Side; but given the wording, he wasn’t. Ben knew that with Rey he could find Balance, and he wanted to do so and to offer this Balance to the galaxy. At no time did he speak to her about the “power of the Dark Side” the way Vader had with his son; Ben obviously appreciated Rey’s strengths and did not want her to turn for him but to stay by his side, to create something new. Rey, ever the scavenger, does not want anything new; she longs for the past, so she unknowingly turns her back on Balance.

The sequel trilogy ends without leaving anyone with a feeling of hope exactly because the coming of age of both protagonists failed: Ben’s rebellion came to no satisfying conclusion, and Rey’s rebellion didn’t even get started. Though many fans interpreted her as such, she is not and never was a new interpretation of Luke Skywalker but his inversion: first she did not want to leave her desert planet and now she is on another.

By the time The Rise of Skywalker comes to a closure, Kylo / Ben, the last of the Skywalker blood, has not brought Balance to the Force; Ben’s journey ends because he has learned to let go. Anakin learned this important lesson only when he had already been Vader for many years; Luke learned letting go much earlier - losing his home on Tatooine, his mentor Obi-Wan, giving up his crush on Leia realizing that she had fallen in love with Han. But Rey did not; we never see her give up anything or anyone dear to her. Her journey feels unfinished and even more - it feels like it didn’t begin yet.

“Ben is someone who has hope. ... For the first time, someone who has never had the answer, now finally knows his purpose or destiny. He has to let her (Rey) know that they’re together. But I don’t know that he entirely is sure of what’s going to happen from there, nor do I think he cares. I think, it’s so long as he is with her, he is on the right path.” (Adam Driver)

Ben, who was named after Obi-Wan Kenobi, princess Leia’s “only hope”, the rightful heir of the Chosen One, is supposed to be dead and gone for good right after having found his way? Sorry, I can’t believe it.

Also, given the parallels between Padmé and Rey, it is to be hoped that maybe Rey will go her way - that she will want to make a better world without using violencev.

And I for my part wholeheartedly rebel to believe that this is supposed to be the ultimate ending. 😊

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

I have a silly Napoleon ask for you: if he suddenly woke up in the present day what do you think he would a)like most about it b) like least about it c)get unreasonably addicted to d)decide to do for a living

hahah I’ve answered a similar one before here and here. 

Most Like About It: A lot, I think. Central heating. Guys, he’d fucking love central heating.

In general, he’d love most technological advances. Cars, planes, trains etc. like he’d be very into that. “Bertrand we’re going to ride the TGV all day every day. Look at how fast we are going! This is genius.” 

“Bertrand WE ARE IN THE SKY. This is AMAZING. We are going from Paris to Rome in a matter of HOURS. HOURS BERTRAND. WE DON’T HAVE TO CROSS MOUNTAINS.” (sorry just assuming this is exile Napoleon who woke up in modern day.) 

Public transit in general - the metro, buses - anything that makes life more efficient for people. Dishwasher, washers/dryers, modern electricity, laptops, printers, ball point pens etc. 

I suspect he’d be a big supporter of public health care and all the advances made on vaccines and medicine in general. 100% would hate anti-vaxxers. Pro-modern glasses (he’d get himself a pair asap. Then they’d explain contacts to him and I think he’d be like “WAIT NO, I WANT THOSE.” He would not be into lasik, I suspect). 

Modern hygiene! Razors, tooth brushes, floss, moisturizer - general daily body care he’d probably be keen on. (All that stuff we take for granted.) Though maybe not all of it, he was quite traditional in certain things (his penchant for older fashion, par exemple). Maybe he’d keep the old straight razor shaving approach. But modern dentistry would be a huge improvement and I can’t see him being against it. Especially as someone who had a tooth extracted in the early 19th century. 

‘Oh they give you pain killers now? Fantastic.’ 

‘Sir, we just numb the area where we are doing the work.’ 

‘So it doesn’t impede my awareness? Amazing. Please, fix all my teeth right now.’ 

He’d also support the greater access to education that exists, especially compared to his day. Also, streaming services. He would binge so many things. ‘Bertrand we are watching every thing this very soothing sounding British naturalist made about planet earth. Holy shit look at that they’re under water! They’re at the bottom of the ocean! Bertrand look at this. if only Josephine were here. She’d be so excited.’ 

Pro-zoom/Microsoft teams/facetime etc. 100%. ‘If I had this instead of people relying on my bad handwriting ...’ 

Oh, he’d like the EU as a concept. Except he would be very disappointed that France wasn’t at the helm. I think France’s position globally would disappoint him, overall. But yeah, the broad principles espoused by the concept of the European Union would appeal to him. 

Brexit though. Lol. I think he’d enjoy watching England shoot itself in the foot. But if you asked him for his opinion, as in “do you think the UK should do this” he would answer no. They should remain. 

He would like globalization, trade agreements, things like NAFTA, CETA etc. Supporter of big government. Reduction of religion in public sphere. Though would he be pro-banning visual manifestations of faith? (i.e. Hijab etc.) I don’t know. I doubt it. Simply because he was very focused on religion in government, so if churches aren’t involved in decision making, what citizens get up to on their own is their business (so long as you don’t cause problems). But I don’t know, he might be pro-it, because he was also into assimilation and creating a broad sense of a French culture. I could see him really going either way on it. It’d probably come down to whatever he thought would garner the most public support as a political move (since a lot of his more liberal moves as a leader were tied to understanding that marginalized communities would gun hard for him if he helped them). 

He would be pro-mask wearing for COVID because he wasn’t a fucking idiot and lived in a time when pandemics were still a real going concern. 

He would also probably like how comfortable modern clothing is. I don’t think he’d like how cheap and made-to-wear-out that most brands are, but he’d like the over all philosophy. Like Napoleon would dig t-shirts. Lounge wear. The fact that jeans have some stretch in them. That sort of thing. 

-- 

Least Like: I think he’d be very wary of the internet. For many reasons. For the lack of government control (Napoleon “What is a free press? never heard of her” Bonaparte). But also, because of the misinformation problems. The side effects many of us are now bearing witness to, and experiencing the ramifications of. 

He would dislike the whole fake news nonsense. Oh this man was a master spin-doctor, very good at twisting a narrative around to suit him, but he still did have respect for and a firm belief in basic facts. Especially fake news that usurped the sound advise of scientists and doctors (i.e. COVID nonsense). 

Free press, I think he would be wary of it. Mostly from a government control perspective. Like as a day-to-day citizen, since he wouldn’t be anyone in power in this hypothetical, I think he’d value it. He would do that disassocative thing he did when he talked about things in the abstract. That cold, calculating way he would position himself in a situation and be like “Ah yes, these are the things that need to be tamped down if you want control of a populace as a monarch”. Then he had his more liberal, call-back-to-that-misspent-jacobin-youth moments where his views shifted. 

I suppose it would also depend what age this hypothetical Napoleon is. He softened a lot in retirement exile. Napoleon at the height of his power, thirty-odd years old, different man to fifty year old Napoleon. 

Would not be into women in politics. He’d be like ‘Why is there a woman in charge of Germany? Also what happened to the Habsburgs? Where’s Prussia? Silesia? What the FuCk is happening in the Balkans? I’m very confused about Europe’s current geographic layout. ...Corsica...still doing you, I see.’ 

He’d dislike Trump and his cronies. As I wrote before: “ I think Napoleon would find Trump disgusting on a personal level. Uneducated, incapable of holding a real conversation, gauche, anti-intellectual, anti-fact-based discussion, anti-science, anti-art etc. He’d also feel that Trump is disgracing the position of President and that he is unworthy of leadership. Napoleon would also find Trump physically repulsive as he could be a wee bit shallow in some of his assessments (though, very early modern to 19th century to assume your physical appearance is a manifestation of your interiority).” 

Steve Bannon’s fiddling with finances? Napoleon would find that repulsive. Mitch Mcconnell disgracing his office by fucking around with constitutional loop holes? Napoleon would think it a disgrace. 

He had a lot of respect for America’s experiment with democracy. Like, quite a lot of respect. So I think he’d be vastly disappointed in not only the person occupying the white house, but also a lot of the apathy in voting that is going around. (Yes, this coming from a [mostly] absolutest monarch, too.) But Napoleon valued and respected the notion of civic duty. If you live in a democracy, you have a duty to participate. To opt out is to shirk that duty which he would find insulting and distasteful. Because, I would argue, he was very much a believer in people doing right by their fellow citizens. 

--

Get unreasonably addicted to: MODERN BATHS. HE WOULD NEVER LEAVE THE BATHTUB. THEY CAN HAVE JETS AND EVERYTHING BERTRAND THIS IS GREAT. 

Also central heating. Saunas. Jacuzzis. He was like a wee lizard seeking warmth at all times. 

I think he’d be into driving. I don’t know if he would be good at it. Don’t let Napoleon take the wheel, guys. But if someone else was driving he’d be that person “go faster. you’re driving like my grandmother.” And gods, he’d do dumb shit like drive like a maniac around the arc de triumph six times in a row because he’s an adrenaline junkie and a risk-taker (it’s that bored ADD brain of his). The autobahn would be his dream. 

I think he’d be super into epic fantasy series. Like the big sweeping ones like Lord of the Rings. I think less so GRRM because GRRM is unrealistic and Napoleon is pedantic. Especially about politics and war. Exhibit A: consider Napoleon’s very detailed nitpicking of Virgil on his inaccurate rendition of Troy from a military perspective. Therefore, I suspect GRRM’s lack of accuracy in how society works, how war works, how politics works, all the plot holes and illogical character decisions, would drive him up the wall. Napoleon liked Homer because he could tell Homer had been to war. And you can tell Tolkien has been to war. Also LOTR hits all those notes of high-hearted emotion and big sweeping scenes that Napoleon so liked in Ossian and the Illiad etc.

All this to say, overall, as a genre, I think those big, sweeping fantasies with lots of plot, politics, intrigue, soaring battles, great heights of emotion - he’d love that. It would hit all of his buttons for what he liked in fiction. Lots of emotion, lots of action, lots of big scenes, lots of crazy shenanigans. This can also be applied to Sci-fi. I think he’d be a big nerd on that too. But the science would have to make sense. 

I think he’d be into Star Trek, particularly Picard, if only for the philosophical aspects of it. He liked those sorts of questions and hypotheticals. So I think he’d binge all of The Next Generation (among other seasons). 

--

Do for a living: Teach? God knows. This is Napoleon from 18-something who just woke up? He could be paid for consultant work for historians and film crews and the like, I guess. Just to tell them how accurate stuff is. Of course, be wary, this is Napoleon I Am A Spin Doctor Bonaparte. 

I think he could lean into writing histories - particularly the classics, early French and European history - that sort of thing, where he already has a strong background in it and it wouldn’t require him basically learning an entirely new trade. Like, will Napoleon ever fully be a natural with computers and cell phones? Probably not. Could he be like your old school Professor emeritus who still churns out papers and does 90% of it the old fashioned by-hand way? Yes. And Napoleon had a bunch of histories planned on St. Helena that he wanted to write, so I think he could do that. 

As this is literally Napoleon Bonaparte he’d get a book deal in seconds. There’d be a bidding war over it. 

--

Thank you for the ask! This was very amusing :D 

[possum-rat]

Resident J.D commits a War crime then unalives

Warning: mentions of Explosions, and other stuff Previous Next

"PEOPLE OF L'MANBERGs.And TommyInnit and WilburSoot- once we find them and expel them from our great nation! Yes, yes! Ah... the sun rises, over another beautiful day in our country. The sun rises on another chapter in our nation's history- the next page of will be reading... 'till the end of time. I reckon our nation needs to expand! I reckon we've... we've done our country a great disservice. I reckon we take down the walls- EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY! I'm launching a public works project- funded by our meth lab that we run- All citizens of L'Manberg, are REQUIRED, REQUIRED! To help TEAR DOWN the walls of this country. Thus ends... the second presidential speech. Let's get to work. Oh wasn't there another kid? (Massacred version of your name) was it?"

The words aren't the best way to wake up. As (y/n) brushes their hair from their face they groan in annoyance. "Jesus Christ. What the fuck is going-" they begin before clapping their hands to their ears as something begins to play. Somehow.

"If he said help me kill the president

I'd say he needs medicine

Sick of screaming let us in

The wires got the best of him

All that he invested in goes

Straight to hell

Straight to hell

Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa

Straight to hell

Straight to hell

Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa

He told me I should take it in

Listen to every word he's speaking

The wires getting older I can hear the way they're creaking

As their holding him

Well I could see it in his jaw

That all he ever wanted was a job

He tells me to be raw

Admits to me that every little flaw

That never let him sit upon the top"

"Okay, what the hell?" (Y/n) murmurs as they duck into the mineshaft cavern thing. As they reach the cave itself they duck to get through the tiny door that Tommy had provided apparently not taking into consideration the fact that (Y/n) isn't entirely human, and therefore taller than the average height their age.

as they walk deeper into the cave they dart toward a small hole in the cave. Pressing their hand into a small hole beside the one their in they press a small wooden button.

As they pull their hand back leaning against a small section of wall the floor spins revealing a small room. A bunker if you will. Reaching toward a wooden armor stand. Enchanted netherite armor shining slightly in the darkroom.

As (Y/n) begins to pull on the armor. Adjusting the straps mounted beside their ribs they tighten it to what's needed. Then pulling on their gloves they turn toward the portal infront of them. As they enter pulling on their helmet a voice asks "(y/n?)" a small smile spreads upon their face. Upon reaching the nether they type in the chat, whispering to Tommy Wilbur and Technoblade specifically:

<y/n> I'll be back in a few just need to do something important really quick.

Running toward the community Portal (Y/n) feels adrenaline filling their veins. Everything seems to be more serious. Dangerous even. As the portal comes into view (Y/n) slows down muscles aching heart slamming against their chest. They pull out their potion of invisibility. Uncorking the vile they down it in one gulp. As the slight fowl taste, they pull a face then replace the bow with their crossbow which is able to shoot arrows.

The familiar message of waiting appears infront of (Y/n). As they reach the familiar land they had been exiled from they sigh and begin running toward the White House.

"Funny isn't it?" A voice murmers "it's like history repeating itself. Someone entering the White House..." (y/n) feels their shoulders tense up slightly. They murmer below a whisper "But I'm not killing him. Seriously injuring him? Yeah sure. But not killing him." As they reach the garden of the White House they duck into the small kitchen. Pulling off their armor they begin searching. Almost instantly (Y/n) hears the Yelp and tinkle of glass breaking. Jogging toward the sound (Y/n) sees Quackity.

Arm outstretched in an attempt to protect Tubbo who's cowering. Squatting down out of sight (Y/n) types to the two males.

<Y/n>Get out into a different room or meet me at this location. *insert location*

Quackity begins backing up arm still infront of Tubbo as Shlatt roars drunkenly "YEAH YOU BETTER LEAVE." before something incomprehensible. Followed by "Phattest ass.🥴"

as the room is just about empty (Y/n) stands up stretching and yawns loudly.

Shlatt whips toward the sound and freezes. His pupils turning rectangular in shock. He stand their in shock making the whole thing a little awkward before in freezing and shouting "YOU! I EXILED YOU WHY THE HELL ARE YOU HERE?" (Y/n) laughs doubled over before coughing "Bruh. You should have expected this. I'm pretty good at making bad decisions!"

Pulling out the crossbow they continue talking as if nothing going on. "You know? Not a fan of dictatorship. 'Ts never been...what's the word? Uhh for me? I guess. I mean I don't even like democracy but here I am." As shlatt goes silent there's some aggressive typing before (Y/n) says tiredly "Look dude. I'm trying to have a moment here-"

"HA- D'You think you can overpower me? I've called for backup. YOU'LL DIE!" he laughs. (Y/n) sighs before notching an arrow of Wither effect. A special type. Not enough to kill but still enough to leave the victim with about 2 to 1.5 hearts. "Dude. I don't care. I can literally just disappear Never be found again." (Y/n) sighs.

The shouts from down the hall makes (Y/n) smile. As the arrow clicks into place they hear a ferm voice. Sam. "(Y/n) put the crossbow down." He says calmly. (Y/n) smiles simply and hums quietly to themselves

"If he said help me kill the president

I'd say he needs medicine

Sick of screaming let us in

The wires got the best of him

All that he invested in goes"

A tall silhouette covers the light on the ground. A few more footsteps before (Y/n) takes aim at Shlatt's forehead. "Well...I guess this is a temporary goodbye." They pull the notch and the arrow flies. (Y/n) sprints toward the window crashing through pulling an Ender pearl from their inventory flinging it forward.

they squint as the harsh rays of the sun beat down on their face. It didn't help that small shards of glass were embedded in (Y/n) still healing face. Upon reaching Pogtopia they stumble into the cave and laugh. Not the type one would consider completely normal. It's probably the emotional constipation (Y/n's) put themselves through so they don't grow attached to anyone/thing.

Wilbur's worried face pops into view at that moment. "(Y/n)? What the hell did you do?" (Y/n) then calms down slightly before murmuring "Just shot the president with a poisoning arrow. As you do. He won't die, severally injured yes." At that moment Technoblade Thomas and all the other inhabitants of Pogtopia arrive. (Y/n) bows and disappears into Pogtopia.

-------

As Shlatt is surrounded by basically everyone in the world (Y/n) is zoned out. Standing beside Eret and playing with Her cape. The long black fabric the inside the colors of the Bi flag. The small thin layer of strings on the bottom of the cape. As (y/n) fiddles with it they grow ever more anxious as Shlatt grows ever closer to Fundy. (Y/n) suddenly drops the cape sprinting infront of Fundy as Shlatt slams the bottle down. They then return to where they were murmuring "Yeah he's dead." As soon as those words leave their lips, Jschlatt freezes and drops and dies. Rather anti-climatically.

"Wow. Uh. I- Uh what now?" (Y/n) asks as everyone's gaze turns toward they begin fiddling with their hands nervously. (Y/n) begins to fiddle with the glass ripped clothing over their burnt arm. Eret simply leads them out of the small area and walks toward the Podium. He then takes a seat amongst the chairs and gently takes (Y/n's) arm asking quietly "Is this okay? Can I help you?" (Y/n) freezes at the genuine kindness feeling their eyes begin to water. So to avoid any confrontation they pull an invisibility potion out.

--

As everyone begins taking their seats (Y/n) sits beside Eret on the ground and near Fundy. Placing a small clay Fox ring beside Fundy they continue fiddling with Eret's cape. Even as the speeches go around (Y/n) can't help but feel that some things going to go very wrong. Letting go of Eret's cape they silently dart up toward the Podium. Pulling out an Ender Pearl they take aim and launch it.

The feeling of being sucked then dropped overwhelms (Y/n). As the world blurs (Y/n) shakes their head before speed walking toward Wilbur. Following him the two of them duck into a small hallway. (Y/n) ducking to fit. They eventually ask quietly "is the weight of it all finally too heavy?" Wilbur jumps slightly but turns toward them an unreadable smile upon his face.

"Everything is temporary, L'manberg was merely one of those things,” Wilbur states in a calm tone. "You of all people should know. That good people-Good things don't last. They give up on you. So you have to remove things that mean Value." (Y/n) tenses up and begins to tap the wall beside them anxiously. Not realizing that their tapping "don't leave. Not again."

Wilbur smiles sadly and begins to rant. (Y/n) feels their heart beating faster and faster. (Y/n) holds out a hand hesitantly before deciding against it as Wilbur is facing the other way. "What happened to you?" (Y/n) whispers. "What about your son? You're just going to leave him? Wilbur you promised." Wilbur turns and scoffs. "(Y/n) awe. I didn't realize that you thought that i'd actually keep the promise. Things change. PEOPLE change." He clarifies. "You don't get to change Fate. Look, Tell Fundy I'm sorry. Well- Why don't we sing the anthem again. For old time's sake. "

(Y/n) simply stares in shock. Voices of the dead whisper harshly While faint whispy figures float around. "You should have expected this. Nobody sticks around. They all are going to leave you." (Y/n) Faint footsteps grow louder and louder. (Y/n) whispers "Wilbur. Step away from the button. We don't need another J.D Wilbur please." Wilbur turns his eyes wild, toward (Y/n) and says "Philza." (Y/n) falls silent before drifting toward Wilbur. Falling silent (Y/n) fiddles with their protective gloves, mentally arguing with the dead.

A sudden movement and a Click causes Philza to clamp his hands over his ears while Wilbur does the same. (Y/n) didn't notice. However, the literal Earslitting sound did. Panic filling their head they feel as though the world is tilting. Almost as if the world were a snow globe and a small child was shaking it violently. (Y/n) feels their back slam against a wall sending a flash of pain against their spin. Shaking they watching horror as Wilbur says something. Wait. Why can they hear him? They could hear him a second ago?

Philza turns to on of the crows that had followed him and points toward (Y/n). The bird obliges gliding toward them and fluffing up it's feathers catching (Y/n's) Attention. They offer a violently shaking hand toward the bird. It nuzzles it's beak into their hand. (Y/n) takes the invitation to pet the bird.

After who knows how long it removes itself and flies up. (Y/n) frowns slightly wondering why the bird had flown. Glancing up they see Philza. His mouth moves rapidly but no sound comes from his lips. (Y/n) lift their arms feeling exhaustion pulling at their muscles as they do so. Pressing their hands to their ears they blanch. Pulling their hands away to reveal dark crimson standing out against their (S/c).

Flicking their gaze up to Phil. He crouches holding out a hand. (Y/n) takes it skeptically before a faint voice. One that was declared dead a few minutes ago. A simple word. "GLATT."

(y/n) flinches violently causing Philza to glance toward them worriedly. His blond eyebrows furrowed. He then is surrounded by a sphere of black tones of birds lifting the two of them up and toward the group of civilians staring in a mixture of longing and sadness at the wreckage of what was once home.

(Y/n) feels Phil's hand let go of them and they stumble unsteadily before grabbing onto Bad's upper arm. He turns toward them pure white eyes meeting Grey-ish-(E/c). He mouths something but stops concern filling what's visible of his face.

Pulling their hand back they glance at the ground sheepishly before turning and stumbling off.

[weirdroomwherealexcried]

I just watched the Breaking Dawn fight seen and have decided Aro after seeing that vision thinks he can outsmart it cause he's an arrogant bitch. The fight happened no fadeout.

A few Canon changes because I refuse to accept losing both Clearwaters. Renesmee runs away with Seth not Jacob. He's still a kid and they want to keep him out of the fight. Same as Eclipse.

With that in mind. Casualties

Irina

Carlisle

Jasper

Leah (the first on that's upsetting)

Jacob (that feeling is gone)

Jane

Alec

Marcus

Cauis

Aro.

Sorry but that's a historical win and what fun to think of how that plays out.

The Cullen's, while still on better terms with the Wolves have lost the imprint bond and the Cullens leave. With an open invitation for them to return to visit Charlie and their friends.

They tell Charlie everything. And I need to write that conversation.

Bella Edward and Seth waiting at the house for Charlie and Sue to get home.

"Hey Bells." Bella runs to hug Charlie perhap a little too hard as he falls backward but Bella catches him. "Nice save kid."

"Dad. You know that need to know thing?" Charlie nods his face almost unreadable. "Well, the one thing stopping us from telling you is gone now. So, if you want to know we can tell you. Everything."

"Mom." Seth says quietly. Sue's face is tragically easy to read. "We should get back to the reserve." They leave Sue already starting to cry and Bella's heart breaks for her.

"Bells you're kinda scaring me here." Bella looks to Edward for some kind of help and he takes her hand.

"I'm sorry Chief Swan, When I met your daughter, she was the most amazing creature I'd ever seen in my life, which is longer than you think. I was born in 1901 but 17 years later my mother and I fell ill with the Spanish flue. My mother Elizabeth Mason asked the doctor on her Deathbed to save me. Carlisle could not refuse her dying wish." Charlie rubs his eyes and let's out a groan.

"You're really fucking Vampires?" Bella was shocked and it must have been evident on her face as he looked up. "I'm not a moron, there's always been talk about the Cullen's."

"If you knew?" Bella starts to ask.

"I didn't know. I didn't want to know. My best friends kid turns into a wolf and I was scarred for life I don't need to think about my baby girl eating people."

"We don't eat people, we're Vegetarians. Animals only." Bella says quickly. "I have never tasted human blood, as a vampire."

"I'm sorry what?"

"Renesmee's pregnancy had some complications." Charlie turns to Edward finally and Bella is glad she took Alice's advice to hide the gun. Not that it would hurt Edward but Charlie might have a heart attach when it doesn't.

"I will never like you Edward. I hope you know that."

"More than you could imagine sir."

"Why can you tell me this?"

"There was a coven of Very old Vampires that made vampire law, including the one forbidding us from telling humans."

"Was?"

"They came after Renesmee, thought she was an immortal child. Another law so we asked some friends and defeated them."

"Killed them."

"We didn't get out unscathed." Edward says and Charlie's face drops turning to the door Sue left out of.

"Leah?" Charlie asks tears forming in his eyes. Bella nods and wishes she could cry as well, all Edwards talk of missing things and crying was not Bella though she would miss.

"And Jacob, Carlisle and Jasper." Edward finishes and Charlis stands quickly walking to the kitchen to grab a beer. Hopefully not a knife. Edward goes to follow but Bella pushes him back into the chair.

"Dad, I know how you're feeling right now and we never wanted this to happen."

"No Isabella. I watched those kids grow up, I watched you grow up and now none of you ever will. I need time to process this."

"You know where to find us." Bella nods, Edward is already in the car he doesn't say anything when she closes the door, or on the drive back to the cullen property. He just waits for her. It isn't until they're parked Bella speaks.

"He doesn't hate me. He didn't call me a monster. This is going to be hard but we're fine. We'll be fine right."

"He'll come around. You loved me enough to see past my condition. He loves you more than anything." Bella kisses her Husband as a silent thank you before looking up at their home the ever present clouds add a fitting gloom to the house.

Okay, that's done. So Vladimir and Stefan do not want to rule they just wanted the Volturi dead so after the battle their only request of the Cullens is Voltaire, they have no wish to live their and they have nefarious plans edward can hear but does not tell his wife or daughter for their own good. They approve and they run off into Woods. The rest of the surviving allies begin the conversation about what happens now.

Are the Cullens in charge, they lost their leader but in this battle they were following Bella and Edward but mainly Bella because she's the main character and the whole mother figure thing. When this comes to light Bella immediately shuts this thought process down reminding all present that she is 18 and has been 18 for two years which is a head trip but not particularly impressive.

They eventually agree on a vampirised form of democracy and elected officials from each major coven involved create a vampire council that speaks for those covens the Cullens choos Alice because obviously and they leave to go around the world letting every vampjre they can know of the volturi's demise and offering a part in their democracy. This takes about a hundred years but Alice pops in for holidays and birthdays always with extravagant gifts.

Renesmee chooses to go by Ren. Who in the books is a beautiful fast growing incredibly intelligent but soft spoken, agree with all of these but propose we add in a dash of chaotic neutral energy because they spend the majority of their time with Rosalie and Emmett while their parents are fucking, oh yeah and Ren is non binary in this because I think it'd be neat.

This is getting too long and I am not a twilight blog. Goodnight to whoever read this whole thing. Drink some water and go to bed.