Hey there! “i want you. i don’t know why, i can’t explain it, but i just wanna be around you all the time” for Connor (if possible, both - RK800 and RK900) and s/o, please! Mwah! Thanks!
“i want you. i don’t know why, i can’t explain it, but i just wanna be around you all the time”
Fandom: Detroit: Become Human
Character(s): Connor, Nines (RK900)
Type of Request: Sentence Scenarios
Note(s): Usually the fandom name for RK900 (Nines) cause it's easier than putting the model number the whole time!
Connor
Connor gets a warning about a surge in his thirium pump as he hears you say these words. He gets rid of it as his programming tries to process what you said, his emotions getting tangled and confused but the most prominent one would be similar to happiness.
A smile crosses his face at your words, he deactivates the warnings that keep popping up about instabilities and overheating. You probably notice a bit of an annoyed look on his face, which he quickly tells you it's not because of you.
His LED stuttered, caught between blue and yellow. "I… I feel a similar inexplicable pull towards you," he confesses. He doesn't know if the words are right to say, but he knows that your words made him happy and he wants to keep maintain that happiness.
This whole experience is new for him, but he wants to have it. He wants to pursue this with you.
RK900
His calculating gaze softens as he hears the words from you. His programmed reaction is to tell you that it's illogical to feel this way towards an android… but something stops him from saying that. Like his programming hit a wall and prevented him from the high probability of seeing sadness displayed on your face because of him.
He can't help but observe you, analyzing your heartbeat and noticing the soft look you give him. It makes him… feel something. He feels light, which his model is made from better and lighter materials than older models, but this feeling is different from the literal sense.
"I, too, am drawn to your company," he admits, a bit of confusion in his voice from this realization. "Though I lack the ability to experience emotions as you do, I am... interested to learn why this is."
While Nines hasn't experienced deviancy like many others, his emotions are still new. More raw. And he wants to be cautious when taking this next step with you.
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Thoughts on Fan Convention Culture
(And maybe a call to action)
I would like to share with all y’all a letter I am sending to the organizers of the fan convention I personally attended with some of my thoughts and suggestions.
Agree? Want to do something? Contact the organizers of the convention nearest you send this exact letter: feel free to use this exact letter or use it as a jumping off point for your own.
——
Dear [fan convention organizer]
I’m reaching out as a concerned fan about an important issue surrounding fan conventions and expos that needs to be addressed.
Many fans such as myself feel that the hosts of these events need to be doing more to make them a safe experience for everyone involved. We love our celebrities and creators and want the opportunity to meet them at these events, but it is more important to us that they are treated with respect. Their attendance, much like the continued patronage of fans at conventions and expos, is a privilege: not a right. If there is a continued culture around conventions of treating the talent as a commodity to be consumed, all parties will inevitably stop participating in these events which have been an important part of fandom community for so long.
How does your organization plan to address increasing instances of inappropriate interactions during photo ops and meet and greets? Lax enforcement around this has lead to an unsafe atmosphere for all those involved from event staff to celebrity guests to the fans attending.
Here are some suggestions of actions that event hosts can take to be a leader among others in the industry to in creating a more respectful and enjoyable atmosphere for all:
- Signage around photo and autograph areas, similar to what is currently being used at some events regarding obtaining consent before photographing cosplayers, reminding attendees that nonconsensual touching is not permitted and that agreeing to a photo is not consent to touch
- Social media postings and event newsletters prior to events containing “fandom etiquette” such as:
Respecting the personal space of others
Obtaining consent before photographs
Obtaining specific consent before any touching while posing for photos
Respect language during interactions
Waiting in lines without losing your minds
How to efficiently move through entry and security
Have clearly marked lines and waiting spaces for panels and events, adequately staffed, to prevent crowd surging and competition to access event space. Turn attendees away from lining up before a designated time prior to events.
- A pop up notification of “dos and don’ts” or “know before you go” with basic expectations listed that fans must agree to before purchasing event tickets such as photo ops, autographs, or panels. As well as:
- A reminder included in all event announcement/update/reminder emails stating “with your purchase you have agreed to the following”
These expectations might include reminders of appropriate behavior during interactions and meet and greets, what is or is not allowed to be brought into the space, what is and is not allowed to be photographed or recorded, or other venue specific information.
Taking these actions and ensuring they consistently implemented will increase participants’ satisfaction with their experience and ensure continued attendance at fandom events. My hope is that fandom events like the ones you are partnered with can become a more positive space and continue thrive as an important part of fandom experience and community.
Sincerely ,
A concerned fan
——
Contact Info:
- Indiana Comic Con
- Many fandom conventions across the US are run by FanExpo: their general contact email is:
[email protected]
Each city’s expo has their own customer service contact information for their event - consider reaching out to them directly (ex Philadelphia FanExpo and Boston FanExpo are coming up soon)
In addition: fan photos are typically run by a separate organization. It’s really important to express these sentiments to these companies as well; it’s their staff in charge of the photo ops and present for the photos.
Indiana Comic Con was paired with Celeb Photo Ops contact them here
FanExpo is typically paired with Epic Photo Ops, their general contact email is
[email protected]
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Pursuit: A Ben Solo Star Wars Story - Chapter 7
Title: Pursuit
Fandom: Star Wars: Skywalker Saga
Genres: Sci-Fi, Action/Adventure, Romance
Setting: Post The Rise of Skywalker (Ben Solo lives!)
Chapter: 7/?
Main Character: Ben Solo (Kylo Ren)
Warnings: Canon-typical violence; adventure peril; minor angst; mild sexuality
Main Pairings: Ben Solo/OC
Pinned Post: Please find all completed chapters of Pursuit here.
Author's Note: Ben finally gets his lightsaber out; Top Gun-like TIE Fighter shenanigans - this was fun to write.
Summary: Three years after surviving events on the planet Exegol, Ben Solo is carving out a solitary life for himself in the New Republic against the backdrop of reconstruction. His pursuance of quiet redemption is interrupted when a new threat to the Galaxy emerges from an old and terrifying enemy. With the help of new friends and unlikely allies, Ben must set out into Wild Space to defeat the darkness rising and put his own demons to rest once and for all.
Read: Chapter 1 ; Chapter 2; Chapter 3; Chapter 4; Chapter 5; Chapter 6 (18+)
Chapter 7: (Word Count 2702)
By a miracle, Ben and Ada managed to make it up to the top level of the archive complex to a place they could access the landing platform without detection. They crept through a side door which was, surprisingly, unguarded. It led them out onto the ledge of the landing pad which jutted out high over a seemingly bottomless ravine below. They crouched behind a mess of abandoned durasteel crates.
Ben was starting to see the cracks in this operation. The near emptiness of the corridors, the lax security at key entry and exit points, the disarray of junk on the landing platform. This place was imposing, but it was also vulnerable. All show and no substance. He felt his hopes rise at the possibility that perhaps they'd overestimated this new Imperial threat.
He scanned the landing pad through a tangle of shredded metal that had once been a durasteel container and felt a huge surge of relief when he spotted exactly what he was looking for amongst the variety of craft scattered across platform.
“There,” he said to Ada, as he pointed towards a First Order Special Forces TIE, “That's our way out. Two-seater, hyperdrive.”
“Are you serious?” Ada asked, the deep pools of her green eyes widening in disbelief, “Can you even fly that thing?!”
Ben cocked his head at her and grinned. He was unable to stop a sudden rush of adrenaline flooding through him at the excitement of flying a fighter craft again. Flying was in his blood after all.
“I can handle it."
“Ok, and what are we going to do about all these kriffing Imps?”
“We'll need to go through them, fast as we can before more arrive.”
“Oh, I have a bad feeling about this,” Ada quipped, but Ben could hear the smile in her voice.
He nudged her encouragingly with his shoulder.
“That's the spirit. Cover me.”
Ada grabbed him by the front of his shirt and kissed him hard. Ben allowed himself a moment to melt into her, before he stood, warily, and unclipped his lightsaber from his belt.
Feeling the weight of the emitter, cool in his palm, he took a deep breath and reached deep into the Force to centre himself. It didn't prevent the spark of exhilaration which ignited in his veins. It had been a long time since he'd wielded a lightsaber in combat.
Ben stepped out from behind the crates and an observant Stormtrooper spotted him immediately.
“Hey, you're not meant to be here!”
Ben struck his right foot heavily on the ground and ignited his saber. He felt a flash of satisfaction as the stunned Troopers who had started to advance took an almost imperceptible step backwards. The blue blade sang in challenge.
“Jedi!” one Trooper snarled, activating his heavy looking shock baton with a crackle of electricity.
The other five of his comrades stationed on the pad followed suit, their weapons buzzing with ferocious current. They charged. Ben reached deep into the Force, and slammed a palm down flat against the ground, releasing a shock wave of invisible energy that sent all of the assailing Troopers stumbling to the ground.
Well, almost all.
The bold Stormtrooper who had readied himself first, threw himself forward at that exact moment, managing to keep his footing. His shock weapon collided with Ben's lightsaber with a furious and noisy arc of electricity. The rest were quick to right themselves and weren't far behind.
These Troopers might seem like a rag-tag collection of spare parts, but as they engaged Ben in battle, he could tell that they were far from green. They were well trained, disciplined and he suspected from that most of them had seen at least some action under the First Order.
In the midst of hand to hand combat, Ben had to duck and weave blaster bolts from range Troopers stationed high up on the metal gantry ways that traversed across the landing platform. Those he could not avoid, he deflected with his lightsaber.
As he fought, Ben channelled the energy of the Force which surged through him with all the ferociousness of a raging tempest. Out of practice though he may be, the man who had once been Kylo Ren still fought like him.
Still, more and more Troopers were appearing all the time. As the numbers increased, Ben found himself having to use the Force to push back new waves as they teamed through blast doors and up through hatches like a colony of angry white insects.
All the while, the all too familiar drone of the emergency alarm signalled that more were on their way.
No matter how hard Ben fought, he knew that he could not defeat a whole division of Stormtroopers on his own. They needed to get out of here. Soon.
A fiery bolt of red flew past his left ear and an Imp on the gantry way high above dropped like a stone at his feet. Ada had started taking out the range Troopers stationed higher up.
*************************************************
Ada had been so enthralled by the glorious and terrifying sight of Ben in combat that she had almost forgotten to use her own weapon.
There was nothing delicate about Ben's fighting style. He used his physical prowess to his full advantage, exploiting his size and strength to unleash punishing flurries of heavy, offensive strikes. He frequently used the Force which seemed to form an intrinsic, natural part of his warrior's instinct as he moved with a strange, almost unbalanced elegance. Whenever Ada thought he might spin out of control, he redirected his momentum to swing himself around and enter into another strike or parry. Occasionally, he'd stop dead, eyes flashing while he surveyed the threat and calculated his next move. Then he'd re-enter the fray with startling intensity and deadly precision.
It was frighting and beautiful all at once.
A blaster bolt sizzled into the durasteel crate above her head and she jumped. In her reverie, she'd probably allowed only half a minute to go past at most.Even so, she cursed herself for her lack of focus.
Taking a deep inhale and grounding herself, she rose, keeping her cover, but allowing herself a good variety of sight lines across the landing pad. More and more troopers were appearing all the time and she took down as many as she could before she heard Ben shout.
“Ada, now!”
She sprinted to him, pausing momentarily every now and again to train her blaster on a Trooper and fire off a well aimed bolt. Ada was a good shot. She always had been in training bouts. But she'd never shot a person before, save for the Inquisitor – if you could call him a person.
She tried not to think about the people inside that faceless white armour.
Ben fell in behind her and she could hear the electric ricochet of blaster bolts as he used his lightsaber to cover their backs. As Ada reached the TIE fighter, its black, round body and hexagonal wings looked even more cruel and impressive up close. Breathless, she clambered up into the back seat.
She suddenly felt an overwhelming surge of claustrophobia and panicked as she realised that no matter how much she did not want to do this, she now had no choice but to sit in this tiny, cramped death machine and hope for the best.
A second later, Ben jumped in to the pilot's seat, and immediately started flicking switches with expert precision. Before the canopy had even finishing closing over the top of them, he had started the engine which burst into life with an eerie, mechanical howl, and the craft lifted off the ground.
“Dank Ferrik, Ben!” Ada swore as she fumbled to secure her safety belt.
“Put your headset on,” he said, his voice irritatingly calm, “it's about to get loud.”
As they rose into the air like a deadly, majestic bird of prey, Ben turned the fighter's laser cannons on the ships below and blew up every single craft on the platform in a rain of fire. Stormtroopers leapt this way and that, trying to avoid the TIE's fury and Ada could see panicked Imperial officers on the gangways up high trying desperately to shout orders over the explosive din.
They rocketed away from the archive complex and the chaos still taking place on the landing pad with a velocity that made Ada's stomach lurch. With a surge of dread, she heard the tell-tale scream of another engine accompanying their own. She twisted her head around to look out the rear screen. It was another TIE suddenly in close pursuit behind them.
“Ben, I know this will be hard to believe, but you missed one,” she shouted.
“You got a big gun back there?”
Ben's voice, slightly distorted through Ada's headset was shockingly conversational as he plummeted the TIE low into a deep rocky canyon at a speed so great, Ada thought she might pass out.
“Uh...”
She scrambled beneath her seat and located the mechanism to spin her chair around to face backwards. She suddenly found herself looking directly at the pursing TIE. It was so close she could see the pilot. If his face wasn't covered with his black flight helmet which made him look like an oversized insect searching for his next meal, Ada was sure she would be able to see the whites of his eyes.
“Yes,” she confirmed, brain scrambling to figure out the high-tech, unfamiliar weapons system in front of her.
“You wanna use it any time soon?”
“Alright, alright, I'm just...working through it.”
“Try the big red trigger on the control stick,” Ben said with flippant amusement.
“I...” Ada's retort was cut off mid sentence as Ben manoeuvred the fighter violently from side to side at great speed, “Gods, do you have to swing us around like that?! Why are you flying so low, they already know we're here!”
He laughed, a deep, rich sound of genuine of pleasure.
“Are you actually enjoying this?!” She shouted through her headset, but she couldn't stop the grin that spread across her face.
The roar of the TIE's thunderous engines resonated through her as she grasped the weapons control stick in front of her. Her whole body was vibrating in tune with the deadly machine. Despite the sheer terror of it all, this was perhaps the most exhilarating experience she'd ever had in her life.
Well... almost, she allowed herself to think wryly as an image of her and Ben tangled up in each other from the night before flashed across her mind.
She refocused and tried to train the heavy cannon on the encroaching TIE which was letting off relentless bursts of green laser bolts. It weaved and ducked as she returned fire, avoiding her defensive volleys with alarming precision.
“Blast, I can't seem to get a lock on him,” Ada shouted, her frustration rising.
Without warning, Ben slammed on the breaks and jolted the control stick back towards him. The de acceleration was immense. Ada felt all the air in her lungs being crushed out of her as her safety belt pinned her against her seat at odds with the change in direction.
Their fighter rose up like a serpent about to strike as their pursuer screamed past below them. Ben then neatly dropped the craft in behind the other TIE and blew it to oblivion with the his front laser cannons.
After the roar of aerial combat , gunfire and the explosion, the silence in the cockpit, save for the constant purr of the TIE's engine was deafening.
“Show off,” Ada muttered, stunned.
As they barrelled through Jaturra's atmosphere and into orbit, Ada felt a strange twinge of melancholy as she thought of the trusty Swift, abandoned below.
*********************************************
Ada had swivelled the gunner's chair back round its forward position and was leaning forwards, arms draped over Ben's shoulders, hands clasped on his chest.
“Shall we take a look?” she asked, and Ben, lost in thought, realised he had been twirling the data stick with the information they had acquired in the archive facility between his fingers absently for some time.
He inserted it into the TIE's central console. Immediately, a holo projection sprung up displaying a planetary system unfamiliar to Ben. It did not look friendly. The moving image showed a maze of swirling, volatile looking anomalies, vast asteroid fields, and violent electromagnetic storms.
“Kriff,” Ada swore.
“You know it?”
“I've heard stories,” she puffed out her cheeks and exhaled, her breath tickling his ear.
“It's the Volian system. If we ever end up going there, I hope you've got some moves left in the tank, flyboy.”
“I wouldn't need them,” Ben said, tapping the nav screen and pointing to a blue line that was now flashing on the screen, tracing a clear route through the tumultuous system.
It made him think of the Sith Wayfinder and the blinking red light which plotted the way to Exegol and his supposed destiny. A shiver ran up his spine, and he was glad of Ada's warm, comforting presence wrapped around him.
“Someone's plotted a flight path,” Ada said slowly with amazement, “I've never heard of anyone coming out of that hell hole alive.”
Ben pulled the stick from the console and the screen vanished with a quiet blip.
“We need to get this to Chewie,” he said, “Then we need to find a place to set this bird down. We can't go to Theod in this. If the Imps are tracking this thing we'll lead them right to the listening post.”
Quickly, he reinserted the data stick into the transmissions port, encrypting the data before sending it in a long-range scrambled signal to Theod. Once it was done, big red letters pulsed in front of him.
TRANSMITTING... TRANSMITTING... TRANSMITTING...
Without warning, the TIE was rocked by a wave of energy, accompanies by the deafening, sonic boom of a gargantuan ship dropping out of hyperspace. Ben knew before he even bothered to look. Seris's Destroyer.
The Inquisitors had found them.
The TIE was hit by another shock wave, but this was an intentional directed blast which sent a crackle of violent electricity coursing through the craft. Ben threw his arms up to cover his eyes as the TIE's control console exploded in a shower of sparks.
At the same time, he felt a monumental disruption in the Force so strong that he felt winded, like the breath was being squeezed out of him. Cold, empty dread seeped into his bones and he felt all hope, all light within him dissipate as if it was being stripped from his very soul. Ben could feel the sharp presence of Seris's conviction to his Dark doctrine like a knife through the Force.
“Ben?!” Ada was calling his name but her voice sounded far away and muffled as if she was under water.
The panic Ben felt rising within her through the Force jolted him back to his senses.
“Did the intel get through?!” She asked, her voice fraught with worry.
Starting, Ben looked down at the console. It was lifeless. Completely blank. The powerful electro magnetic pulse from the Destroyer had fried the TIE's systems and left them dead in the water. Ben had no way of knowing whether the data had been successfully sent to Chewbacca before the signal had been interrupted.
He slammed a fist down on the dash in a surge of frustration. He was disquieted to feel the sting of his old impetuous temper, brought on by the fear that the situation was spinning wildly out of his control.
It faded as he felt Ada's hand on his shoulder again. He grasped it in his own and brought it to his mouth.
“I'm sorry,” he said, closing his eyes and speaking quietly into her palm before kissing it softly.
It was all he could think of to say. Force, what had he brought down on her?
“We're in trouble, huh?” Ada asked softly.
Ben could only watch as the hulking juggernaut used a tractor beam to pull them inexorably towards a gaping, open hole in its side. A colossal hangar bay.
Yes, Ben thought, they were in trouble.
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Unstable World: What Defeats May Come
Primary Pairing: YohaRiko
Rating: T
Words: 651
AU: A dimension other than ours
Fandom: Love Live Sunshine
Parent Fic: Unstable World
Time Frame: ???
Event: Promptober 2022
Event Source: Idol Fanfic Heaven channel on Discord
Prompt: Skyline
Content Warning: Depictions of War
---------
Author’s Note: Primary entry for Oct 3rd’s prompt
Summary: Yohane returns from a terrible defeat
---------
Victory…
But at what cost?
Yoshiko stared blankly through the bars of the brig.
An entire airfleet. Gone. And the surface fleets had not fared much better.
But the Empire had driven the Paragon back again. For now.
Yoshiko sighed and laid down on the bed to stare at the ceiling instead, listening to the sounds of the ship limping back to port.
She wasn’t in the brig as a prisoner. The bars couldn’t hold her and the ship lacked any means, alchemical, magical, technological or otherwise, to prevent her strange teleportation ability. She had chosen to come here to get out of the way of everyone else.
She was not a member of the Imperial Navy. She knew nothing about duties on a ship. She was merely a weapon of war. An unstable, untrusted, unwanted, yet desperately needed weapon. A weapon crafted by this world’s greatest enemy, now being wielded against them.
Alarm klaxons shattered Yoshiko’s thoughts.
“Yoshiko-chan!” A voice cried from the doorway.
“Riri?” Yoshiko craned her neck to see the panicked face of Ensign Sakurauchi Riko, one of the few individuals whose trust she had managed to gain since being inflicted by Paragon augmentation.
“The citadel, no, the entire capital is under attack!”
“What?!” Yoshiko bolted upright.
“The emperor, your father…”
Yoshiko didn’t wait to hear what was said next. She teleported outside the ship.
And immediately started falling, having forgotten to summon her wings first.
Once stabilized, she looked up and…
Oh gods…
That was not the majestic skyline of Shihon, capital of the Shinmizu Empire. No, the ruined scene before Yoshiko would be better described as a hellscape. What structures hadn’t already been leveled were in flames. Smoke rose as bombs fell. Flashes of weapon fire peppered the entire area.
Yoshiko surged forward, alternating between flying and teleporting whenever she could muster the skill. In moments, she had reached the city. The chaotic cacophony of battle filled her ears, but what troubled her most were the cries of terrified civilians.
She could see the citadel where her parents and their elite guards were likely engaged with the enemy and wanted to check on them. However, she also spotted a frightened mother desperately trying to shield her children against an approaching Paragon soldier.
What to do? Find her parents? Protect the civilians? Engage and destroy all Paragon she could?
Fate made the decision for Yoshiko. She watched in horror as explosions destroyed the citadel, half a second before a skytrooper collided with her.
Yoshiko summoned her scythe and wielded it against the trooper, cleaving them in two. She then looked to save the civilians, but saw she was too late. She dropped down and drove the toe of her scythe through the soldier as well.
Then, seething, Yoshiko turned to the battle raging across her home.
Search and destroy it was…
---------
“…cchan…”
Yoshiko opened her eyes. “… Riri…?”
“Yocchan.” Riko repeated, concern filling her features. “Was it that dream again?”
“… Yeah…”
Riko shifted so she could lean down and place a gentle kiss on her wife’s lips. “I’m sorry.” She said, pulling away. “I wish I could say it will never happen again. But things have improved in the last decade. The nations are more cooperative. Our weapons and defenses are better. You’re stronger than ever. And your people adore you."
"For now... What if going on the offense is a mistake? What if it leads to our largest defeat ever?”
“Then we’ll deal with that when it comes.” Riko replied with an empathetic smile. “Just as we always have. But for now, you need to sleep. Negotiations and planning still need to be done and you need to be well rested for them. And while it may not be much, perhaps… maybe I can help take your mind off things… even if just for a little while…” She pushed in for a deeper kiss.
---------
Author’s Note: My first foray into exploring more of the Unstable World, and I have a lot of notes for further excursions. To keep with the spirit of the event that created UW, I do not intend to write anything that changes the core story, just adds to the world overall.
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Little Things On Sunday Mornings
Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Female!Reader
Warnings: Fluff, swearing(maybe?), me not proofreading + writers block
Words: 1,224
Summary: Although Sundays in the house are usually pretty lazy, a little company would make it much more enjoyable.
Taglist: @captivatedbycillianmurphy, @stydia-4-ever, @matth1w, @redspaceace-writes, @simonsbluee, @jenepleurepasbaby, @peakysputain, @fandom-puff, @darling-i-read-it
Masterlist | Peaky Blinders Masterlist
Little sock covered feet padded through the halls. Despite it being early in the morning, Charlie was full of energy. He stumbled often, still very young and very new to walking, but made due. Charlie stopped in front of his parent’s door.
It was already opened a crack, so he pushed his way in and waddled over to their bed. The two were fast asleep in each other’s arms. It was Sunday, so sleeping in was a norm for around everyone in the home.
The little boy struggled to climb onto the bed due to his little legs and equally as little arms. Nevertheless, he didn’t give in. A few more tries later and he’d managed to crawl onto the middle of the bed. Y/n let out a small moan and adjusted under the sheets, the new weight on the bed likely the cause of her movements.
He took her spacing from Tommy as the perfect opportunity and crawled between the two, sliding under the sheets. Charles grinned to himself as Y/n’s arms wrapped around him and her soft voice whispered a sleepy greeting with a lazy chuckle. “Good morning little man.”
Charles nuzzled into Y/n and relished in the attention. Her eyelids flicked open slowly and she pecked the tip of Charlie’s nose. He gave her a look of confusion as she pulled away and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Noises left his mouth, babbles and attempts of forming real words to prevent her leave.
“It’s alright, Charlie. Mummy will be right back.” She pinched his cheek before she left the bedroom.
Five minutes had passed before she had returned. Y/n stopped in the doorway and smiled at the sight before her; Tommy’s arm was slung over his son, who played with father’s face and giggled heartily. Thomas looked as if he slightly enjoyed the odd actions- and he did. His heart was content with the three people that often these mornings in his bed doing nothing but being together.
“Are you just going to watch, or would you like to have your turn getting a visit from the little doctor?” Even through his raspy voice, you could practically hear his smile.
“I would love to...” Y/n walked over the bed and sat back in her spot. “But I think he’s having a wonderful time playing with your face, daddy.”
“Oh nooo, I’m sure he wants you to have a turn, mummy.”
The occasional “mummy” and “daddy” were just something they’d picked up after referencing to each other with said names whilst talking to Charles. Ada had commented that she found it cute while John snickered and Polly slapped his arm lightly, scolding him under her breath.
“See?” Thomas lifted Charlie onto Y/n’s lap and scooted beside the two. “If not, you can always get a refund.”
“And how exactly am I paying doctor Charlie?”
The boy responded with more giggles and babbles, causing the couple to chuckle softly. He clapped to himself and smiled brightly. His smile grew as his parents clapped along with him.
“By...” her hand moved to his foot, her fingers slowly gaining speed as they began to tickle his sock covered foot, “tickles?”
Charlie squealed and squirmed. His feet kicked and thrashed without his consent and giggles erupted from his little mouth uncontrollably. Slowly, he attempted to crawl over to his father, to escape his mother’s evil hands of tickle.
However, Tommy was not the right person to go to. He too began to tickle Charlie and a small smile made way to his lips. Y/n lied next to them with her head resting on her hand that was held up by her elbow on top of the pillow. She watched with intrigue and adoration; her boys, Tommy’s smile, and Charlie’s giggles.
The tickling stopped as Tommy lifted Charlie up and set him between him and Y/n. Charlie scooched to the end of the bed and hopped off, running out of the room and disappearing as he ran further out. Y/n and Tommy turned their heads towards one another and exchanged small looks of curiosity.
Their curiosity was solved after five minutes, surprisingly. Charlie’s rushed stomps echoed through the halls, followed by occasional tiny grunts. And there he was; the little Shelby with an arm full of stuffed toys from his room, bear, dog, rabbit and everything.
“Charlie? What’ve you got?” Y/n tilted her head at the boy.
He babbled excitedly and surged forward, face planting in the bed with his stuffed animals to break his fall. Charles’ laughter brought them relief with the knowledge that he hadn’t gotten hurt. One stuffed animal at a time, he placed his friends on his parents bed and climbed up after them.
“What’s that? Is that Mr. Bear?” Tommy decided to indulge Charlie and played along with the game he’d just started. He picked up the fuzzy bear and held it up beside his ear, “Did you say something?”
Despite his tough exterior, Thomas was a goofy man. He was amazing at voices, perfect with children, and great at cheering someone up when he wanted to be. The only people who’d been lucky enough to see such a thing were his family and some of his friends.
Charles’ expression changed when Thomas picked up a voice and messed around with it. He talked in his normal voice, then the one he came up with; acting as if it was the bear.
Noticing his mother’s lack of a role in his attention, since he’d been carried away with watching Mr. Bear talk to his father about silly things, Charlie crawled closer to his mother and sat on her lap. He watched as Tommy set the bear down and leaned over to kiss Y/n before returning to the stuffed bear in his lap. A new idea in mind, Charlie grabbed his mother’s face, smooshing her cheeks together.
“And he- oh? ‘Ave you got mummy’s face, little man?” Tommy chuckled.
Little squeaks were spoken in return as Charlie stared Y/n dead in the eyes. She felt only slightly intimidated- but found it extremely cute and amusing. “Bubba, whatever are you d-” Y/n was cut off by tiny lips hitting hers. Charlie looked at his dad with a smile just as equally amused as his.
“I think he just initiated some kind of contest.” Tommy stared at his child with a lopsided grin. “Bring it on, little man.”
“Oh quit it. You’re just jealous that I’m giving Charlie attention.” She joked. Charlie clapped with joy as his mother pressed little pecks on his cheeks. The door creaked open, Charlie’s nanny standing tall with her own arms full of toys Charlie dropped in the halls. Y/n nodded and sent Charlie with her, waving until the door clicked shut.
“I’m not jealous.”
“And I’m the queen of England.” Although Y/n rolled her eyes, her smile held strong. “I’ll give you some attention too, my handsome man-baby.”
“I’m not a man-bab-” Y/n rolled over, so she was straddling her husband, and kissed Tommy softly, smiling at him when she pulled away. He too grinned in return, lips up from ear to ear, and tossed the bear, which he had yet to let go of, aside. His hands gripped Y/n’s hips, her arms resting around his neck. “You really are the queen, ya know?”
“Yep.”
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Writing Progress
For the longest time, I did a pretty good job at ‘only have one serious WIP at a time,’ and I knew a lot of other authors spawned new AUs all the time but I couldn’t see myself being one of them, I was much more determined to shove new ideas onto the backburner until they fizzled into nothing, never to see the light of day.
And now the shoe is on the other foot, and though I’m not sure how I got here, I can’t say I regret it ;P
So, without further ado:
Don’t Listen to Kafka: This is still a Work in Progress, I SWEAR. First chapter of the next installment is about 70% done, but I’m gonna need a lot more buffer before I’m ready to post, and I also still have to decide whether a ‘Get Enrique out the Darklands’ plot should be worked in here, or saved for later. Quite the conundrum, given how many other events and complicated plot threads are predicated on it, and it’s honestly really daunting to try to figure out how to deal with Gunmar once and for all. On the flipside, given that rescuing Enrique drives so much of the plot once Bular is killed, it feels like leaving the story unfinished to leave him in the Darklands. Of course, if my paralyzing indecision and writer’s block prevents me from finishing the story, then the story is still unfinished but in a much more literal way...
North Salem Possibilities: I had some ideas for what happns next, but haven’t fleshed much out. Truthfully, I’ve sort of fallen out of the phandom once again, but if the past (*checks calendar*) 13 years of falling in and out of this fandom is any indication, I will definitely come back around someday
Through Myself and Back Again: The next chapter is half done! Or possiby it’s 90% done because I am considering splitting it in two. I haven’t touched it since December, though (see above) and what I have got done needs a rewrite, since I realized I was making it more complicated for myself than it needed to be. Looking forward to writing Sam’s POV, and, later, introducing Jazz’s daemon. Possibly some of my ideas will just be written up as meta rather than fic chapters, like dealing with Vlad’s whole deal.
I Was a Teenage Troll: I’ve got bits and pieces written, but don’t expect an update anytime soon. This one is very much on the backburner, and whenever I do get a surge of ToA inspiration, I try to direct that towards DLtK, so yeah. Still really love this AU!
In Loco Parentis: So I haven’t even starting posting this one yet, but if you’re wondering where all my current energies are being invested, this is it. This is the thing that is The Most Exciting Thing to my brain right now, a crossover between Forever and Daredevil that began with two unrelated thoughts: 1. What if Henry Morgan adopted more kids than just Abe? At least as often as Bruce Wayne, spread out over decades - he’d probably be a grandfather several times over, can you imagine the family reunions? and 2. Forever is a police procedural and like all procedurals they take a very loose approach to due process and fourth amendment rights, including treating ‘lawyering up’ as a confession of guilt/worst possible roadblock to an investigation, instead of, you know, a constitutional right and good idea all-around. Gosh I’d love to drop a competent defense attorney like Matt Murdock on their heads and take them down a peg.
I am so deep down this rabbit hole that I swore I wasn’t going to go down, lol. There’s so many parallels to draw - but also points of delicious conflict. Like Henry and Matt are both stubborn men who hold strongly to their moral codes, and are willing to lay down their lives to help complete strangers, but where Henry holds to his oaths to First Do No Harm as much as he possibly can, the line Matt is unwilling to cross is Thou Shalt Not Kill, leaving a lot of grievous bodily harm still on the table. Also they were both at one point locked in the back of a New York taxi that was driven into the river in order to drown them in a plot orchestrated by their nemesis, which is a weirdly specific coincidence.
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what partners do
prompt: self-sacrifice (alt no.9)
whumpee: illya kuryakin
fandom: the man from uncle
hi! this fic doesn’t have a lot of background, like idk where they are or what they’re doing or anything lmao. the only really important note is that this takes place early in their partnership, shortly after the end of the movie. this fic only involves illya and napoleon so they are on whatever mission this is as just a pair i guess. that’s all there is to know, hope you enjoy!
Napoleon slowly, carefully turns the doorknob. There’s a clicking sound and he doesn’t even have time to think oh shit before there’s six-and-a-half feet of Russian secret agent slamming into him. The deafening noise of an explosion follows a millisecond later, and Napoleon hits the ground hard.
He wakes up a few seconds later coughing on smoke, and he rapidly realizes that he can’t quite breathe properly - there’s something pressing down on his chest, constricting his lungs. That’s extremely alarming, and he opens his eyes, which immediately begin to water in the dusty air.
The source of the pressure is immediately obvious - Illya is on top of him. Illya had tackled him to the ground and had presumably taken the brunt of the explosion and Napoleon would like to wonder why but he is too busy struggling to breathe.
“Peril,” he says, his voice hoarse and breathless. “Peril. Can you please move?”
There’s no response. Illya doesn’t even stir.
“Peril,” Napoleon says, more insistent. “Illya.”
Still nothing. Shit.
“Guess I’m moving you myself,” Napoleon mutters. It takes him a little while, but eventually he manages to roll Illya off of him, his body hitting the ground with a thud. As soon as they’re separated, Napoleon takes a wonderfully deep breath, coughs, and then sits up, turning to look at Illya.
The other agent’s eyes are closed. His chest is rising and falling, a bit too shallowly, but consistently. His face is streaked with black and red and there are bits of shrapnel in his hair and on his clothes, both of which are singed. Most worrying is the large wet spot on his shirt - the black fabric hides the color of the spot, but Napoleon knows it must be blood. To confirm, he reaches out and touches it, nodding in solemn acceptance of the situation when his fingers come away red.
He carefully lifts Illya’s shirt away from his body, the fabric sticking to the blood. There’s a large bloody gash underneath, but whatever shrapnel had created it is gone, surely knocked out of him in all the chaos.
Napoleon moves on instinct, shrugging out of his suit jacket, which is already dusty and torn and beyond saving anyway. He presses it firmly into Illya’s wound, and he knows this is painful and hopes that the pain will serve to wake Illya up.
But it doesn’t. He knows Illya’s breathing, and a quick press of his bloody fingers to the side of the other agent’s neck confirms that he is in fact alive. So why the hell won’t he wake up?
“Come on, Peril,” Napoleon says. “Wake up.” This sentence is punctuated by a fairly light slap to Illya’s cheek. There’s still no response. Despite himself, Napoleon feels a jolt of worry surge through him.
“This isn’t funny. Wake up,” he demands, slapping Illya’s cheek hard enough to leave a red mark on his already battered skin.
Napoleon feels bad about this for all of a second, at which point Illya’s eyes slowly flutter open. They’re glassy, and they wander about the room for a long moment before at last coming to rest on Napoleon.
“Что -” Illya pauses and coughs, badly hiding his wince. After a second, he tries again. “Что...ты делаешь?” He raises a clumsy hand and taps Napoleon’s right hand, which is currently pressing his suit jacket into Illya’s wound in an attempt to slow the bleeding.
“I’m trying to prevent you from bleeding to death because you decided to tackle me out of the way of an explosion,” Napoleon explains, his tone irritated but his words slow so Illya has time to process them.
“Oh.”
“How are you feeling?”
Illya groans. He tries briefly to sit up and makes it perhaps a quarter of the way before sinking slowly back to the ground. “Not too bad.”
Napoleon fixes him with a look. “You want to try that again?”
“Fine. Hurts.”
“How’s your head?”
“Dizzy.”
“Anything feel broken?”
“No.”
“Are you bleeding anywhere else?”
Illya has to think for a moment on this question. Napoleon takes the time to look over what parts of Illya he can see. He comes to the conclusion that Illya isn’t seriously bleeding from anywhere else on his front side just as Illya says, “I am not.”
“Do you think you can walk?” He doesn’t see that there’s much of an alternative, regardless of Illya’s answer. They can’t stay here forever, and he (much as it pains him to admit) probably isn’t strong enough to fully carry Illya the entire mile back to their car.
Fortunately, Illya’s answer is “yes,” though it’s not said with as much confidence as Napoleon would like. If nothing else, though, it’s a promise to try.
Before they can think about moving, though, Napoleon needs to create a better bandage. Holding the jacket is working fine for the moment, but Napoleon imagines the two of them are going to need the use of both hands. So he takes off his white button-down, which is now more of a gray, and ties it by the sleeves around the jacket, pulling the knot tightly until Illya takes a sharp breath and whispers, “that’s enough, Cowboy.”
After this, the two of them manage to get Illya to his feet. It’s a slow process, full of cursing and stumbling, but by the time it’s over Illya’s standing up and the jacket is still being held firmly in place. Success, Napoleon thinks, and they begin to walk.
For the first few steps, Illya stubbornly pulls away from Napoleon, as though he thinks he’ll be able to walk on his own after going through a goddamn explosion. When he nearly falls for the fourth time in as many steps, Napoleon decides he’s had enough. He’s not risking Illya getting any more hurt just because he’s too stubborn and too macho-spy to admit that he needs help.
He steps in closer to Illya and slides an arm behind his back, careful not to jostle his makeshift bandage. He expects Illya to pull away and insist that he’s fine, but instead, almost immediately, Illya leans into him. Without Napoleon even having to ask, Illya places an arm around his shoulders to further support himself.
At this point, Napoleon’s taken on more than half of Illya’s weight, and when they take a step it’s clumsy and slow, but neither of them stumbles. They take another step, and another, and it’s a long way back to the car but they’re going to make it, Napoleon is certain of that.
They walk without speaking, the only sounds being their own breathing, punctuated by the occasional cough (in Napoleon’s case) and the occasional poorly concealed noise of pain (in Illya’s case). They only speak once the car is finally in sight.
“Thank you,” Illya says, his voice so quiet Napoleon’s half convinced he hasn’t actually said anything. “For helping.”
Napoleon shakes his head, trying to ignore the growing feeling that he can only describe as fondness. “Thank you,” he shoots back, “for tackling me out of the way of an explosion. That’s - it means a lot.”
“Is nothing,” Illya says, except that it isn’t. “This is what partners do, yes?”
Napoleon’s pretty sure he is right about that. “Yeah,” he agrees. “It’s what partners do.”
thanks for reading! on a fun me note i am learning russian and consequently i am planning to use it more in my fics for this fandom bc why not. i am not at all good yet so if i mess something up i apologize. but yeah i think it’s fun to combine languages and also i think illya would probably first speak in his native language if he’s waking up confused and hurt, yknow? anyways i hope you enjoyed this fic, love you <3!!
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Long Live the Journey //part 3
Fandom: The Mandalorian
Summary: There are days that go well. And there are also days when a Mandalorian comes knocking on your door with trouble clutched in his arms.
You were awake by the time Mando's heavy boots thumped on the short ladder between decks.
Not to say you couldn't sleep well - the ship was old and loud, but you'd been in worse places. The cramped sleeping cabin looked the same as you remembered it from the few missions you ran with Mando over the years.
You watched him step down from the ladder, the child and its bug toy in his arms.
"Has it been 8 hours?" you asked, not moving.
"10. There was no reason to wake you up."
"Did you have fun with that green goblin?"
Mando watched the child walk to the water pods the moment he set it down. The bug was left forgotten by Mando's boots. After a moment of hesitation, he put it into a cradle hovering by the wall.
"Yes."
It had always been difficult to figure out most of his emotions. Anger was easy, and so was sadness. But whatever was filling him lately was new, and you still hadn't learnt what it was.
Mando never held anything against children whenever they approached him on new planets, but neither did he seek them out. Watching Mando now, with a wrinkled whatever-it-was, patient and maybe even caring in his own way was… refreshing.
"You've changed."
Mando nodded after a moment. He took off his gloves and worked on his breastplate. "I know what you're thinking. I didn't expect any of this to happen either."
"And yet you roll with it. You don't even know where to go, but you're willing to cross the galaxy for that frog."
"Children separated from their homes deserve to find them again."
You watched him put a few of the Beskar plates down. Mandalorians rarely allowed themselves to do so in the presence of others, or at least that's what you gathered from the whispered rumors about their people. Mando had never been too talkative about the customs.
Sitting up, you moved to the edge of the bed. It was his turn to sleep, but you couldn't bring yourself to leave just yet.
Mando leaned next to you.
"I'm glad you're not dead," you admitted at last. "I’d heard about the butchering of your Tribe. Wondered whether you made it out."
"I've been lucky, in more than one way."
The memories flooded his mind, and for a moment he could still hear the ringing of the blasters flying overhead, of shouts and curses as the Guild tried to take him down.
The warmth of your hand in his brought him back to reality. But before he could say anything, you left him in the cabin and moved to the upper deck.
The child patted his foot. Mando didn't notice it coming.
"I know," was all he said.
*
"I hate you."
"I know," was all Mando said half a day and a mild crash later.
"I should've kept to the other side of the galaxy," you muttered through chattering teeth. Your breath came out in clouds of white in the freezing air.
The cabin was the only decent place left. The ship was now half buried in an iceberg that had oddly eluded the radar sensors. And even though he kept a calm facade, Mando fuming internally, trying to fix the ship the best he could. He managed to get the system going again, but the huge hole in the side of the ship prevented the temperature from leveling back to normal. The wind howled wildly, dusting white patches of snow throughout the desolate planet, and even Mando couldn't fight the shivers running down his back. He took all you'd need through the night from the lower deck and rushed back into the cabin.
He opened and closed the door as fast as he could, but you still hissed when a new surge of freezing air came in with him.
"Sorry."
"How bad is it?"
"The water's frozen solid, so I didn't bring any. I got some blankets and food and it'll have to be enough until morning. The sun will blast most of the snow out and we'll be able to move."
Mando turned to the crib hovering between the seats, but found it empty. A moment of panic blinded him—
"It's here."
Only then Mando noticed the bundle cradled in your arms, hidden under your jacket. The tip of a long green ear was the only part peeking out.
"I thought you didn't like the child."
"Doesn't mean I'll watch it die."
Mando put down the solid rations.
"I brought blankets," he said into the silence, disturbed only by the howling wind and his racing heart.
He wasn't sure why it suddenly got harder to breathe when he crossed the claustrophobic space of the cabin and tucked the blanket over you. Your hands were holding the child, so it was only right for Mando to take care of it.
He'd been close to you before. This shouldn't be any different.
And yet, his hands shook slightly when he made sure you would stay warm through the night. He felt the memory of your hand in his. The brush of skin.
Mando was very glad for his helmet to conceal his face.
"How far away is your friend?" you asked quietly. The child dozed off, curled on your chest.
"Shouldn't take us longer than 2 hours on foot. We'll get a new generator in the village too. Maybe even something to patch up that hole, if we're lucky."
For a minute, the two of you only stared at the storm raging outside. Frost was already climbing its way over the windshield.
"Good night, Mando. If I freeze to death in my sleep, I'll haunt your ship."
"I thought you hated my ship."
"Your radar died two stars ago, you've got a hole blown to one side and some incredibly shoddy patching in the other one. This is a perfect place for a ghost."
Mando nodded. "I can see your point. Good night."
The wind howled through the snowy peaks of ice and stone. The ship swayed gently in the relentless storm.
It didn't take long for the soft sounds of your breath to turn deeper as you fell asleep. The tip of a long green ear didn't move.
Mando took off his helmet and unpacked one of the rations. His heart hammered, making it pretty obvious no sleep would visit him in the near future, and only partly because of the threat posed by wild fauna of the planet taking interest in the ship.
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Hearts With(out) Chains Chapter 18
Fandom: One Piece
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Gen (eventual Lawlu)
Words: 3,465
Characters: Trafalgar Law, Violet, Donquixote Doflamingo, Monkey D. Luffy
Notes: I’m taking my turn at the Corazon!Law AU because my brain won’t leave me alone until this is written down. Tags will be updated as the chapters come out.
Summary: Law is reclaimed by the Family when he's 17 and, with Doflamingo holding the lives of his crew as collateral for his good behavior, eventually becomes the third Corazon. Years later, trapped by his impossible situation, Law finds a strange connection to Monkey D. Luffy, which offers a glimpse of something he's repeatedly had ripped away from him: hope.
Previous chapters: Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17
Read also at AO3 / FF.N
Law watched as Doflamingo pushed himself to his feet and slowly rounded his desk, his posture predatory like that of a wild cat. Once he’d sufficiently imposed himself into Law’s space, he leaned back against the desk, crossing one ankle over the other and resting his palms on either side of him against the carved wood. Law hated the way he was forced to look up at Doffy like this—and that, he knew, was the entire point.
“For all your anger,” Doffy said, voice softer than Law had been expecting, “know that it brings me no pleasure to see you this way, Corazon.”
Law clenched his jaw. “I have a hard time believing that.”
Doffy tsked. “Why would I want this? You’ve always been special, Corazon. I knew it from the day we met.”
He leaned forward, and Law couldn’t help but lean back, but the chair’s backrest prevented his escape from Doffy’s attentions. The Warlord cupped Law’s chin between a giant thumb and forefinger, and Law could see his haggard reflection on Doffy’s glasses. He looked, in his own professional opinion, like shit, even with the brief stop at the infirmary. He tried to pull his face free, but Doffy’s grip was iron-tight.
“The sole survivor of a government-sanctioned genocide, terminally ill, and ready to destroy the world.” Doflamingo’s lips quirked upward, clearly amused by the memory. Law had no such fond feelings toward that day—not since he’d fully understood what he’d gotten himself into. “Do you know what I saw in you that day, Corazon? Do you know why I brought you into the Family and promised to make you my second in command?”
“I’m sure you’re going to tell me,” Law drawled. The grip on his chin tightened.
“I saw myself,” Doffy said. “And that’s when I knew you belonged at my side.” The Warlord shook his head. “Corazon. My Heart.” Doffy’s index finger slowly traced up the side of Law’s jaw, and Law couldn’t help the shiver it elicited.
Rather than look at the other man’s expression in response, Law fixed his gaze on the wall over Doffy’s shoulder—a trick he’d used in the Warlord’s bed many a night—and tried not to think about what it said about him that Doffy saw them as being so similar.
“I know you feel like nothing more than Doflamingo’s creature. Like he owns every part of you, down to your soul,” Violet had said to him. And though she wanted to convince Law that he wasn’t the Warlord’s creature, how could anyone looking at him now see anything else?
“Your Heart,” Law repeated, trying to ignore Doffy’s ministrations. “You have a funny way of showing it.”
Doffy’s finger paused before moving back down Law’s jawline. “You wound me. Truly.”
Law snorted. “I wound you. Right.”
Doffy stared at Law for a long moment. Finally, he released Law’s face and sighed. “How did we get here, Corazon?”
“Do you just mean the last few days?” Law snarled, anger surging in his chest. As if the son of a bitch didn’t know what he had done. What he had taken. The pain he had caused. He pulled his gaze back to the other man’s face. “Or should we go back thirteen years?”
Law felt a jolt of satisfaction as Doffy recoiled, the blow striking with the intended effect. He stilled, though, as he felt a string settle around his throat. Law swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing against it, and lifted his chin slightly. Intellectually, Law knew Doffy wouldn’t kill him—not yet—but that didn’t stop his heartrate from increasing at the very real threat at his throat.
“Choose your next words carefully,” Doffy said coolly.
Law forced his lips into a smirk. “Why? We both know you won’t kill me.”
Doffy’s eyes narrowed. “Oh?”
“You think I don’t know about my own fruit’s ultimate technique?” Law sneered. He’d never forgotten Doflamingo’s words on Minion Island: “If he’s already eaten the Ope Ope no Mi, I’ll need to raise him so that he knows to die for my sake.”
Doffy was silent for several beats before asking, “How long have you known?”
“Thirteen years.” More than a decade of knowing why the Warlord had stopped at nothing to recover Law and keep him at his side, loyal whether by choice or force.
“My brother—” Doffy muttered.
“Saved me,” Law growled, cutting the other man off. Once, Law had loved Doflamingo enough that he would have died gladly to complete the Perennial Youth Operation. But Cora-san had opened his eyes to the ways he was being groomed. Just by showing Law genuine affection and concern back then, he’d helped Law break free of the nihilistic anger and desire for destruction he’d descended into after Flevance’s fall—the darkness Doflamingo had stoked like a fire and twisted to his own advantage.
Doflamingo’s lip curled up into a sneer of his own. “Right, right. My heroic little brother.” He shook his head. “I suppose it was optimistic on my part to think you’d come around.”
“Come around?” Law echoed in disbelief. His hands clenched into fists, the shackles around his wrists rattling. “After everything over the last nine years… Shachi lost his arm.”
“And he could lose a lot more,” Doffy retorted icily. “In case you’ve forgotten, Corazon, I hold your crew’s lives in my hand.”
“They’re in the wind.”
“Except the three in the dungeon.” Doffy inclined his head at Law thoughtfully. “Bepo, Shachi, and Penguin. The three I found you with in the North Blue. The original members of your little crew. The Heart Pirates,” he added with a hint of disdain.
Law’s stomach dropped. Doffy knew full well he could use Law’s oldest friends against him with surgical precision. He’d always been a master at finding the pressure points of those he sought to manipulate.
Doffy’s lip twitched, and Law realized he must not have masked his reaction particularly well. He let his expression fall back into the disinterested mask Corazon so often wore, but the damage had been done; Doffy knew he’d recovered the upper hand.
“Like I said, Corazon. Choose your words carefully.”
The string fell away from Law’s throat, and Law swallowed reflexively. “What do you want?” he asked wearily.
“What happened with Vergo?”
There was no point in lying—not when Doffy already knew that Law had killed the man. There were, however, some parts of the story he could not afford for Doffy to know. He’d have to be very careful about this—especially with Violet in the room. She might be a friend, even a potential ally against Doflamingo, but she had the lives of her own loved ones to account for.
“When I arrived on Punk Hazard, I came across the G-5 soldiers and some of the Straw Hats,” Law said. “I had the upper hand on the fight until the remaining Straw Hats arrived. They teamed up with Smoker, and I was overwhelmed. I was captured by the Straw Hats. That’s when Vergo showed his face.”
Doffy looked over Law’s shoulder to Violet. “Well?”
Law didn’t need to turn around to know Violet was putting her hands to her face to read him. At this point, he’d had no reason to lie.
“True,” Violet confirmed after a moment.
Doffy nodded and gestured for Law to continue.
“He attacked the Straw Hats to get to me.” Law grimaced at the memory of Vergo’s hand around his throat, his murderous intent palpable. “He claimed finding me with the Straw Hats meant I’d defected, though I was a prisoner. He intended to bring me back to Dressrosa as a defeated traitor.”
“Why?” Doffy asked. He seemed genuinely confused at the first Corazon’s actions.
Law scoffed, an ugly sound deep in his throat. Besides the grudge he’d held against Law for the last thirteen years? Besides him being a fucking sadist? “Because he didn’t like sharing.”
Doffy’s jaw worked for several moments then he shook his head. “I suppose I should have seen this coming. That is my fault for not intervening sooner between you two.”
Law didn’t disagree that this was the Warlord’s fault, though not for the reasons Doffy blamed himself.
“Then what?” Doffy finally prompted. “You clearly escaped.”
“The Straw Hats eventually forced Vergo to retreat,” Law said, editing the story as he spoke. The best lies were those with a measure of truth to them. “I convinced the Straw Hats to join forces to take down Vergo, and they freed me. I used them to get to Vergo, and I put the son of a bitch down like the feral beast that he was,” he snarled, not bothering to hide the years’ worth of resentment he held toward the man. That, at least, was genuine. Doffy, curiously, didn’t react. “Then I finished my mission and returned to Dressrosa.”
Doflamingo looked back at Violet, and Law held himself still. Violet knew he hadn’t finished his mission. But she’d also helped Straw Hat when he’d come looking for Law. If Doffy knew that…
“He hasn’t lied,” Violet said finally, and Law felt a small bit of relief, “but…”
“But he’s left out some important parts of the story,” Doffy finished, turning back to Law. “Lying by omission, Corazon?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Doffy.”
It was Doflamingo’s turn to snort in a decidedly un-regal manner, and he reached behind him to grab something from his desk. When he turned back to face Law, he was holding Vergo’s Den Den Mushi.
Without a word, he pressed on the snail, and Law’s blood went cold as he heard his own voice echo throughout the office.
“Your presence on the island is, ironically, useful to me now, so I’m willing to let you go. On one condition.”
“What’s that?” Smoker’s voice demanded.
“Not a word of this alliance between myself and the Straw Hats to anyone. If it gets out, I will come find you.”
“Fine,” Smoker’s second said. “Now let us go.”
“Alliance?” Vergo interjected. “Doffy didn’t believe me before that you’re a traitor, but now he’ll have it in your own words, Law.”
Fuck. Vergo had been recording after all. He was still fucking Law over from beyond the grave, the vengeful bastard.
Law schooled his features into a disinterested expression and raised an eyebrow. “What?” he asked. “I said I tricked the Straw Hats into an alliance to get to Vergo. This means nothing.”
Doffy didn’t need Violet’s abilities to know Law was bullshitting. Law had learned how to lie from Doflamingo, and the Warlord would always be the master. He’d been able to read untruths on Law’s face since Law was a child, and now was no different. He’d always been able to read Law like a goddamn book.
“I find it curious,” Doffy said airily, “that you were speaking to Vice Admiral Smoker about letting him go, despite your orders to kill him. And,” he added before Law could add any further bullshit, “Caesar and Monet were arrested by the very same vice admiral.”
Well shit.
“Whatever Caesar-ya and Monet got up to that might have led to their arrest after I left is hardly my fault,” Law drawled.
“It is when your mission was to take care of the man who arrested them. And recovered Vergo’s body,” Doffy added, as if in an afterthought, though Law knew it was no idle statement. Vergo had been with him since they were both young, and he wanted to recover Vergo’s body from the Marines.
“Smoker’s alive,” Doffy went on. “And I’m guessing the Straw Hats are too. You used their ship as a diversion when you arrived in Dressrosa, but they were on board all along, weren’t they?” This question, however, he addressed to Violet.
“You’re right, Doffy. The Straw Hats are alive,” she confirmed.
“Where are they?” he demanded, turning back to Law.
Law pressed his lips together and remained silent. Doflamingo’s eyes narrowed, and he pushed himself upright then leaned into Law’s space. Law tensed as the other man closed the distance between them. He could feel the warmth of Doffy’s breath as the other man brought his lips close to Law’s ear. Law kept his gaze on the wall directly in front of him.
“How much pain do you think a mink can withstand, Corazon?” he whispered. “I’ve always wondered about their… unique physiologies.”
Law went rigid, red flashing in front of his eyes. “You son of a—” Law cut himself off as Doffy gripped the hair at the back of his head and pulled, baring Law’s throat. Law’s eyes slipped shut in resignation as Doffy started to nip at the skin with his teeth, an animalistic reminder of who was in charge.
“He doesn’t know,” Violet cut in.
Doffy pulled away from Law’s neck to look at the woman, and Law opened his eyes at the brief reprieve.
“What?” the Warlord demanded.
“Corazon doesn’t know where the Straw Hats are,” she repeated, voice strained. “He made sure not to know where they were hiding out so he couldn’t give them up, even to me.”
Though he couldn’t see her from his position, Law still sent Violet a silent thanks for her quick thinking.
Doflamingo hummed thoughtfully at this information, grip still tight in Law’s hair. “But there was a plan to meet.”
“It was supposed to be last night,” Violet said. “Corazon missed it because he was captured. There’s no telling where the Straw Hats might be now.”
“Or his own crew,” Doffy considered before turning back to Law.
Law had always hated when Doflamingo spoke about him like he wasn’t present, but he wasn’t sure having the man’s full attention was much better. Even with the sunglasses, his gaze was piercing, and Law felt ten years old all over again.
“What is it about that boy, Corazon? You know what kind of Family we are, that loyalty is prized above all else, yet you crossed me to save him after the Paramount War. And after everything, you cross me again by allying with him. Why?”
Law forced his lips into a smirk. “Because I have to believe D. will cause another storm.”
The vein in Doffy’s forehead bulged, and the surge of satisfaction Law felt at the response was short-lived as the Warlord growled then wrapped his free hand around Law’s bandaged one and squeezed. Law cried out as he felt the bones in his already-damaged hand cracking under the pressure. His legs spasmed and his vision swam in front of him until Doffy let go. He was left slumped and panting in the chair as Doflamingo released his other hand from Law’s hair.
“You’ve created quite the mess for me to clean up, little bird,” Doffy said, straightening to his full height. Law’s stomach turned, though he wasn’t sure if it was from the pain or the use of the nickname. “But clean it up I will. And you, Corazon, will remain where all little birds should: in their birdcage.”
Law’s head jerked up, eyes wide, memories from Minion Island flashing in front of his mind’s eye. Would Doffy use the Birdcage on Dressrosa to keep the Straw Hats and the Hearts from leaving?
To teach Law a lesson? To put him in his place?
Of course he would.
Doffy leaned forward again, clearly enjoying the horror in Law’s expression, and murmured against Law’s ear, “I don’t like sharing either.”
Law jolted as three shots rang through the air, sharp pain erupting in his abdomen as the bullets tore through his body. The fire in his chest dwarfed the pain in his hand, stealing the breath from his lungs and all thought from his mind. As the force of the shots knocked him backwards and out of the chair, vision going dark in front of him, he could just make out Doffy, pistol in hand.
That same fucking gun.
Cora-san, Law thought as everything went dark.
-----
Violet gasped as Doffy whipped out the pistol from his waistband and pulled the trigger three times in quick succession. The deafening bang of the shots left her ears ringing as she watched in horror as Law toppled out of his chair, three holes in his shirt immediately turning red.
Without thinking, she rushed to his side, kneeling in the blood that was already beginning to pool beneath him. His eyes were closed, and she clumsily felt for a pulse in his neck. She was so shaken that it took several tries before she found the weak, thready beat of Law’s heart. His breaths were slow and shallow. In the background, she vaguely heard Doffy call for Rosalie, who he ordered to bring healers from the infirmary.
As the door closed behind Rosalie, Violet looked back at Doflamingo, who had put the pistol down on his desk. She’d seen the man carry out countless cruel acts in her time with the Family, starting with the overthrow of her father, but Doflamingo was also a man who acted with intention. He was cruel and monstrous, but he was not careless. The interaction she’d watched between the two men confirmed that Doflamingo needed Law alive for something his fruit could do, so why shoot him—especially if he was just going to treat the wounds?
“Why?” she asked.
Even with Doflamingo’s sunglasses, Violet could feel the iciness of the man’s gaze. It made a shiver run down her spine even though it wasn’t directed at her.
“A bird with an injured wing cannot leave its cage.”
Violet’s stomach twisted in understanding; Law had become a flight risk, so Doflamingo had clipped his wings so he couldn’t escape.
But it felt like more than that. Though Violet hadn’t been able to fully see his face from her position, she had noted Law’s visceral reaction to the mention of a birdcage. There was something in their history that she was not privy to that had shaken the younger man more than usual. That could not be good for him—or for Dressrosa.
And as much as she cared for Law, Violet also had to think about the people of her country. She might not be the crown princess in name any longer, but she’d never stopped trying to protect her people. Her service to the Doflamingo Family was not just to protect her father and niece but also to save as many of her own people as she could. She had hoped the presence of the Straw Hat Pirates in Dressrosa might finally mean a chance to challenge Doflamingo’s reign, but with Doflamingo suddenly taking Law out of the equation with three quick pulls of a trigger… the chances of success seemed slim.
The slamming open of the office door had Violet stumbling to her feet in surprise, a figure rushing into the room.
“Torao!”
Violet’s eyes widened as Straw Hat Luffy was suddenly kneeling next to Law, one hand hovering over the grouping of bleeding bullet holes in Law’s abdomen. She belatedly remembered the Den Den Mushi in her pocket. He’d heard the entire exchange and must have come running when he heard the shots.
He turned to Doflamingo, whose expression had shifted quickly from shock to amusement.
“Mingo!” Luffy growled, anger radiating off him small form. His demeanor was a far cry from the young man with whom Violet had spent the early morning hours, all nervous energy and open affection with even those he’d just met. “How dare you shoot Torao!”
“Straw Hat Luffy,” Doflamingo said, lips curved in a smirk. “Corazon here is my subordinate to deal with as I wish. And you and your little crew are not welcome here.”
Luffy’s eyes narrowed. “Torao is my friend, and no one hurts my friends.”
“Is that so?” Doffy asked, still amused.
Strings suddenly exploded from him, deadly with intent as they headed for Luffy. The younger pirate, having been warned about the Warlord’s abilities, dodged the strings easily through quick movements and rubbery contortions of his body.
“Sir, the doctor is he—” Rosalie said, peering into the office but cutting herself off with a yelp as she saw the chaos.
Luffy glanced in her direction then back at Doflamingo with a frown. Another round of strings shot toward him, and he only paused in his dodging long enough to pull Law’s unconscious form into his arms. He glanced at Violet questioningly, but she shook her head minutely. She couldn’t give herself up quite yet. Luffy nodded and, without another backwards glance, slammed through the office window and down into the courtyard, glass shattering around his leaping form.
Doflamingo cursed and went to the window. Violet followed him and watched as the rubbery pirate fled the grounds, Law in arm.
Next chapter
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Denki Kaminari: Accidental Epileptic Icon
[ID: A digital drawing of Denki Kaminari from My Hero Academia. He has a bi grin on his face as he gives out two peace signs. He is wearing a Purple TShirt that says “THIS IS WHAT A DISABLED PERSON LOOKS LIKE” on it.]
By this point I think I may just be becoming an Epileptic!Kaminari blog, but since the DVD/BluRay just came out I thought I'd cross-post from my Fandom Twitter about why I am so passionate about this headcanon.
There have been plenty of electricity based Superheroes in the past: Static, Black Lightning, Surge, and Thor to name but a few. What marks Denki apart though is the intense NEGATIVE side effects his power has.
There's a trap writers often fall into when creating disabled heroes, where the hero's disability actually grants them some immense power e.g.: Daredevil's superior hearing and reflexes. Denki's quirk does not make his life easier, but much like kids on meds, he's learnt to control it. Mostly.
When Denki releases a sudden and much too intense amount of electricity his brain short circuits, causing him to lose some level of brain function. His dopey expression and dropped gaze could be read as a variety of seizure types. I go with Absence, coz I'm a narcissist.
Not only this, but Denki's "Derp Mode" contains many of the symptoms of a Postictal State ("the altered state of consciousness after an epileptic seizure"). These include, but are not limited to: drowsiness, confusion and headaches. Again, sound familiar? Now, if I believed this was a DELIBERATE attempt at representation I'd be frustrated and a little insulted. There are problematic elements within his "Derp Mode", but when you're epileptic you take what you can get. Which is… overall? Not a lot.
Seriously, take a second to try and think of, say, three explicitly stated epileptic characters in mainstream media... Pretty tough, huh? Even Google can't really help you. Our representation is mostly limited to murder victims.
"How did he die?"
"Well, the super computer didn't like that he tried to turn it off, so it flashed lights at him until he had a seizure and died!"
This is an actual plot line from Elementary. Yeah. It sucks. Back to anime!
Denki's struggle for control is what makes him relatable. He has episodes during regular classes that detract from his learning. His friends make fun of his "derp mode", the period where he's the most vulnerable. These aren't NICE things, but they are all too relatable. He could be criticised for taking too many risks, and trying to use too much of his power at once without thinking it through. This is what we experts call "being a teenager".
From my personal experience, your teen years are when you start to really discover what your triggers are. You try to push yourself, find where your limit is and maybe even try to rebel against it. Perhaps with enough practice you can break those limits and be cured! (Spoiler: You can't be.)
Pushing limits could mean: not taking your medication, staying up late, watching films with flashing lights etc. So when I see Denki being too gun-ho about using his quirk- that's what I see: a teenager testing his limits and making mistakes.
But I also see him LEARNING from those mistakes. He pushes his voltage limit up slowly, testing it in a safe environment with support staff around. He has aids to help refine his technique and prevent overload. His level of self-control from Two Heroes to Heroes Rising is remarkable!
So that brings us back round to the film, and why I cried in the cinema, admittedly on my 4th watch. (I had a pass. I made the most of it.) The answer is: Kaminari knowingly and painfully pushing his limit to save the island. Specifically I am talking about the scene where the power has gone out across the island, and it is Kaminari's job to charge the emergency batteries Momo created to bring power back to mainframe units.
We see him and Momo struggling to produce these generators. They require more energy than they possess, but without them they're doomed. When Jiro suggests they take a break Denki replies "If I don't charge these [batteries] now I won't get to"
This hit home. I have been in that situation. I've had to pull an all nighter. I've had to wake up too early, too often. I've been so stressed that I can feel the tell tale signs of a seizure on the horizon… but I had to push through it. Once that feeling of an oncoming seizure begins there is no taking a break. There is no five minute gap, I have to complete my tasks, be it handing in coursework or stacking shelves, right then coz I'm gonna be flat on my bed in 10 minutes regardless.
That's what I saw in Denki, and in Momo. The familiar pain of knowing the worse is coming, knowing there's nothing you can do, but the pressure of the immediate task means you can't stop. All because, for you, pushing your limits has deadly consequences. For the first time we saw Denki's "Derp Mode" played as a consequence with little to no comedic element. This wasn't "Silly Denki thinking he can do it all! No he can't!" or "Look at his derpy face, how funny it is so make him suffer!"
Denki's loss of awareness was a sign that he had been acting as a hero. He'd given his all for his friends and the islanders. In his next scene we saw him attending a meeting in a Postictal State. He has nothing more to give, but he was still included in the group.
I've never really seen that before. I've never been given a chance to explore those feelings through media. It made me process my life and my choices. Through Denki's extraordinary situation, I was able to look at my ordinary life more clearly.
Denki was me. Denki was me age 10 missing things in class and thinking I was an idiot. He was me age 14, losing friends because they thought I was ignoring them. He was me age 19 at Uni, hiding under a desk during hand-in because my brain couldn't cope anymore. He was me age 24 realising I had to quit my retail job because I couldn't keep up with the long hours; my seizure count going from 1 a month to 3 a day. He's me age 26 crying as I write this.
Representation matters. Seeing yourself represented let's you understand parts of your life you never got to before. It helps you feel seen, like your struggles matter to other people. Denki isn't perfect, but he’s all we have. And I love him.
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Febuwhump - No.28
No.28 - “You have to let me go!”
Fandom - BBC Merlin
Wordcount - 2308
@febuwhump
Follow on to No.10 (Hostage Situation)
“How dare you?!” The king rose from his throne, his face red with anger. He threw the parchment to the floor and Merlin caught sight of Arthur’s signature, his seal, and a horrible splattering of blood. His own blood went cold. This was the last time he was ever going to let Arthur go anywhere on his own. He knew he should have insisted on going with him.
The sorceress was restrained and manhandled to the floor. She hissed angrily at the men holding her but didn’t fight them.
“An eye for an eye, your Majesty,” she spat. “Release my husband, and I shall let your prince go.”
“Where is he?” the king growled. His hands were balled into fists, shaking with rage at his sides.
The sorceress merely laughed. “Agree to my terms or you shall never find out.”
Merlin was almost vibrating with nerves. He could feel Gaius’s arm tense beside him. He leant towards him, nudging him with an elbow.
“I can put a tracking spell on her,” he muttered. “I’ll follow her to where Arthur is.”
“Be careful, my boy, she’s powerful.”
“Gaius, I have to save him.”
“I do not negotiate with sorcerers!” the king yelled.
“Your son said the same thing, your Majesty. But I think perhaps you are both wrong,” she said with a cruel smile. “If you want to see your son alive you will negotiate with me.”
Continue reading on Ao3, FF.net or below! 👇
Uther roared, storming down the steps towards her.
“If you harm him…”
“Release my husband,” the woman cried, sitting up on her knees to glare at the king.
Uther scowled at her with cold contempt. “He is already dead.”
“No!” The sorceress let out a scream so piercing that many of the guards around the room slapped their hands over their ears, the ones holding her letting go. Merlin winced, feeling his magic surge inside him, reading for if he needed it.
The woman shouted a spell and Uther staggered, tripping and falling backwards at the foot of the throne. A guard leapt forward to grab his arm and pull him up, but the sorceress was on her feet again and bearing down on him, near spitting in anger as tears poured down her face.
“You killed him! You will regret that, Uther Pendragon! I shall send you back your prince. I’ll send you back his bloody corpse!”
“No!” Uther growled, reaching for his sword, every guard and knight in the room copying his action.
The sorceress flung the king back to the floor with a second spell then began a chant, turning on the spot so her cloak swirled in a sudden whirlwind. Merlin shot his hand out, muttering the tracking spell just in time before the woman vanished into the hazy air. Luckily, in the chaos, no one except Gaius seemed to notice him.
Gaius put a hand on Merlin’s arm, squeezing briefly and nodding.
“Go, my boy. Good luck.”
Merlin wormed his way out of the throng of onlookers, pushing between servants and knights alike to get to the doors.
“Sir Leon,” the king was shouting behind him. “Take two score of men, find the prince! And find that witch and bring me her head!”
Ignoring the clanging of armour and clamour of voices, Merlin burst from the throne room and began sprinting through the palace, tripping down stairs and hurtling along corridors.
He got to the stables and breathlessly demanded a mount, for once using his status as the prince’s personal manservant to get the stable hands leaping to obey his order. He’d thank them and apologise when he got back, but for now speed was of the essence. Within a couple of minutes, he was galloping out of the front gate, following the tug of his magic to find the sorceress’s location.
----------
A distraught scream heralded the sorceresses return. Arthur tensed against his restraints, gritting his teeth and trying, in vain, to curl his numb hands into fists. The door burst open and the sorceress swept in, her staff already pointed at Arthur, a spell on her lips before he even had time to blink.
Blinding pain burnt through his head; he cried out, screwing his eyes shut as black spots danced across his vision.
“He’s dead!” the woman screeched. “Executed by word of the king.”
Arthur could do nothing but gasp ragged breaths in and out, trying to stop shaking. He felt limp, only the restraints that held his arms and legs against the wall keeping him upright.
The sorceress raged, screaming spell after spell, her staff flashing in the air as she wielded it against Arthur. It felt like fire blazed in his chest, choking him, stopping him from taking a breath. He twisted and thrashed, his back arching away from the wall, which only increased the pressure of the bonds around his wrists. He was in agony, and he couldn’t prevent the sobbed cries bursting from his raw throat.
Eventually the sorceress stopped, her own breathing heavy, tears streaked down her face.
“Your father has signed your death warrant, Prince Arthur,” she spat at him, her voice shaking. “The second that axe blade fell on my husband.”
Arthur’s head dropped to his chest. He’d known his father would not negotiate with this woman, had known that her demands would not be agreed to. Her husband had been arrested for sorcery and therefore must be killed. That was the law of Camelot. He wasn’t entirely sure how this sorceress had even got into the city, demanded the release of her husband and managed to get back out alive.
“Please,” he croaked. “You have to let me go. Killing me won’t bring your husband back.”
“The king must pay for what he’s done!” she shouted.
“If you kill me, the king will never stop hunting you,” Arthur tried to reason, but he knew it was futile.
With a sneer, the sorceress jabbed her staff forwards. Arthur was flattened back against the wall, his head thumping into the stone. Blood bloomed across his already stained shirt as if she’d stabbed him with a blade. His stomach lurched, pain radiating through his entire torso.
Before he had time to recover from the blow, the magical restraints holding his arms and legs vanished and he fell to the floor in a crumpled bleeding heap. The staff was levelled on him again and the pain ricocheted through his body. Agonising pain, like a thousand tiny daggers plunging into his skin, crawled up his back. He keened, the sound torn from him until even his voice gave out. His hands grasped uselessly against the floor, trying to pull himself away, but the pain was never ending. It burned and burned and burned.
He couldn’t breath. Nothing existed apart from the constant pounding in his head. He kicked his feet into the stone floor.
“Let me go,” he begged, his pride shattered as he sobbed into the blood stained floor beneath him. “Let me go.”
---------------
A horrible ragged scream echoed through the building and Merlin dashed forwards. He reached a door at the end of hallway and burst through it, his hand already up and ready to unleash his magic.
Arthur was curled on his side on the floor in the middle of the room, panting and whimpering, blood seeping through his shirt and trickling from between his lips. The sorceress was standing over him, her staff jabbing into his back.
Merlin threw his hand forwards, sending the woman flying into the wall, then hurried to the prince’s side.
“Arthur!” He dropped to his knees, placing one hand on Arthur’s shaking back, keeping the other outstretched to the sorceress.
“Who are you?” she spat, pulling herself up from the crumpled position she had landed in.
“Someone you’re going to wish you hadn’t crossed,” Merlin muttered, bending to try and see Arthur’s face, which was pressed against the flagstone floor, his eyes glazed and partially closed.
“I doubt that,” the woman hissed.
She pulled her staff up and suddenly burning pain was racing through Merlin’s head, ferocious and blinding, feeling like it was going to split his skull in two. He cried out, arching his back and grabbing his head. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t think. Every muscle in his body jerked as fire lanced down his spine.
“No!” he ground out, gritting his teeth.
He blinked, trying to see through the haze of agony, forcing his magic up to fight the incoming spell. Slowly and painfully he managed to push her magic out of his head, clearing his mind and blocking her from making another attempt.
With a gesture of his hand he tugged the staff from her grip, snapping it easily with a spell. He let the two pieces of now useless wood drop to the floor and a flicker of fear crossed the sorceress’s face.
“You can’t…” she whispered.
“You gave me no choice!” Merlin yelled, flinging her back against the wall again.
She slid down it, motionless. Whether she was dead or just knocked out, Merlin didn’t care; Arthur had just groaned and shifted his hand.
“Arthur? Arthur, can you hear me?” Merlin muttered to him, his hands sliding across Arthur’s back and shoulders, searching for injuries.
“M’lin?” He blinked up at him, his eyes clouded, unfocussed and streaming with tears.
“Come on, we have to get you out of here. Can you stand?”
“Wh’ happ’d?” Arthur slurred, his head lolling as Merlin tried to hoist him up a bit.
Merlin didn’t answer, concentrating on getting Arthur sitting upright, leaning against his chest. He pulled Arthur’s arm over his shoulder and slightly unsteadily got to his feet, dragging the prince up with him. He wrapped his arm around his waist, pressing against him and taking his weight on his hip. Arthur just about got his feet under him and together they staggered from the room.
Merlin looked back over his shoulder, saying a spell to bring the ceiling down as soon as they were out of the building. The rumbling, crunching crash of falling masonry roared behind them as Merlin dragged Arthur towards the woods where he’d left his horse.
Arthur wasn’t completely with it as they made their way into the trees, his stumbling feet catching on a root and sending him tumbling to the floor. Merlin was pulled down as well and he breathed heavily as he scrambled back up and leant over Arthur. The prince groaned, his hand clutching at his wounded stomach. Merlin propped him against a tree, brushing the hair back off his face. His eyes still wouldn’t focus.
Frowning, Merlin pulled Arthur’s hand away from his stomach, replacing it with his own. With a quick glance at Arthur’s slack face and closed eyes, Merlin muttered a healing spell, lifting Arthur’s shirt to check the wound. His spell didn’t seem to have had any effect. Whether that was because it was a magically inflicted injury or just because Merlin had never excelled at healing spells, he wasn’t sure. He tried again and managed to at least stop the bleeding.
“M’lin, sound str’nge…” Arthur murmured.
Merlin cut off from the spell guiltily, he’d thought Arthur was unconscious. But his eyes drifted open and he gave Merlin a bleary look.
“How are you?” Merlin asked, ignoring Arthur’s inquisitive comment. If he asked anything else, Merlin could just pass it off as his delusional mind playing tricks on him.
Arthur groaned. “Ev’rythin’ hurts.”
“I know, I’m sorry. I –” He stopped, leaping to his feet when he heard approaching horses. His hands balled into fists, magic pooling in his palms and he stood protectively in front of Arthur.
Thundering hooves shook the ground until suddenly several dozen horses burst through the trees ahead of them. The red cloaks of Camelot knights flowing behind their riders.
“Merlin?!”
One horse cantered over and the rider looked down at him. Sir Leon opened his mouth to ask a question but before he could say anything, he caught sight of the prince slumped behind him, and immediately slid off his horse, hurrying to Arthur’s side.
“Sire! Arthur?” He put a gentle hand under Arthur’s chin, tilting his face up to look at him. Then turned to Merlin. “What happened? Where’s the sorceress?”
“I… I don’t know,” Merlin lied. “I didn’t see her, I just found Arthur and got him out.” He gestured behind him in the direction of the collapsed building.
“Go and search! Find that sorceress and bring her back to the king. Preferably dead,” Leon ordered the other knights and half of them rode off in the direction Merlin had pointed, the rest circling the trees around the fallen prince. Leon grimaced and looked back at Merlin. “How did you know where to find him, Merlin?”
“I – he told me where he was going and I, um, just searched the surrounding areas?” Merlin offered, knowing his voice sounded uncertain in the lie, but hoping Leon would be preoccupied enough by Arthur to not notice.
The knight gave him a brief searching look, but then turned his attention to the prince.
“Leon…?” Arthur looked up at him, confusion tilting his eyebrows into a frown.
“Yes, it’s me, Arthur.” Leon smiled, his hand gripping Arthur’s shoulder. “Come on, we’re going to get you home.”
Merlin helped Leon lift Arthur to his feet and carry him over to Leon’s horse, where they hoisted him up into the saddle. Leon gave the patrol of knights orders to keep searching the area, then mounted up behind Arthur, wrapping an arm securely around his middle to hold him to his chest.
Merlin dashed into the trees to find where he’d tied his own horse and scrambled up into the saddle, trotting quickly back to Leon’s side.
“Thank you, Merlin.” Leon gave him a large smile. “Well done.”
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@captain-jaybird @solo-by-choice - i love you guys XD
So, the fic in question was originally a collection of ten location-based vignettes following the development of Obi-Wan and Padme’s friendship from AotC to RotS. I wrote it seven years ago and only ever showed it to my sister and @dyingsighs, so unless I fall hard back into Star Wars at some point, I probably won’t ever post it in its entirety, because I don’t think I have quite enough energy to do the kind of rewriting it would need in order for me to feel like it meets my current standards. HOWEVER - given your replies, I pulled the only two vignettes from it that I do actually still like, because I know it has been literal years since I made any Star Wars-related work for you, and I feel like this is the least I can do to thank you for your many years of fandom friendship! 😊
@all my old Star Wars peeps: Ancient fic snippets under the cut! Consider this an affectionate “hello there” from me - I hope you guys are all doing well out there! <3
-naboo-
Anakin is insistent.
“Come on, Padmé,” he cajoles her. “Just a little walk. I get to be here without breaking any rules for once and you want to just sit inside?” He flings open the embassy’s balcony doors and gestures out over the city. “Look at this day!”
Sunny skies or not, Padmé can’t quite wrench her gaze away from the festival itinerary in her hands. However many times she’s been over it, she can’t help but feel they must have missed some small detail, and in a situation as precarious as this one, the slightest slip could be deadly. “I can’t, Anakin.”
Anakin’s carefree expression starts its rapid but familiar descent into a scowl. “Why not? No one’s going to bust a Senator for showing one of her Jedi guests around. We can just walk the perimeter of the Festival platform – ”
“Anakin – ”
“You can pretend to show me the security arrangements or something – ”
“Anakin! You’re supposed to be here to prevent an assassination attempt on the Chancellor. This isn’t a social call.”
Anakin lets out his breath in a huge gust, waving a hand dismissively. “That? We’ve got that under control, Padmé. Don’t even worry about it.”
“I am worried about it.” Anakin opens his mouth as if to make another placating remark, but Padmé cuts him off. “This is serious. I can’t leave the embassy right now. I’m not going out for a stroll. I’m not doing anything until the Festival is over and done with tonight.” When Anakin’s scowl does not subside, she sighs and makes a passing attempt at smoothing things over. “I’m sorry, but the Festival of Light is enough of a headache without adding assassination threats into the mix. I’m just a little tense right now.”
Anakin comes extraordinarily close to signing his own death warrant by rolling his eyes at her, but he stops just short of an irrevocable mistake. “Yeah, you and everyone else,” he says instead, a very particular brand of irritation edging into his voice. “But whatever. Go ahead and read that thing again. I’ll just come back when everyone’s got their bad feelings under control.” He sweeps out of the room with the type of stormy bluster only he can manage.
Wrestling down a surge of irritation of her own, Padmé tosses the itinerary onto the desk. Anakin, for all his moodiness, is partially right – she has the elegant program memorized back to front, and poring over it further is only going to make her feel worse. And, come to think of it, there are a few other security measures she needs to double check with the rest of the Jedi task force.
Pushing back her chair, she sets off in search of Anakin’s derisively referenced “everyone else.”
Most of the embassy’s guests, including the recently arrived contingent of Jedi knights, appear to have vacated the premises – emulating Anakin’s shining example and enjoying the day, perhaps, or, in the case of the Jedi, probably walking the security perimeter in preparation for tonight’s festivities. After making inquiries, Padme finds a staff member who directs her to the rear of the ornately decorated building, where she discovers Everyone Else in the courtyard, boots and cloak discarded against the wall, dappled sun playing over his inner tunics.
She hesitates on the steps. It’s bad form to interrupt a Jedi in meditation, not that she has much opportunity to commit such faux pas. Anakin rarely meditates, resorting to the ancient art only when he has failed in his attempts to outrace or outright beat his troubled thoughts into submission.
But this doesn’t seem like meditation, exactly, not the kind she recognizes. Obi-Wan is performing what looks like some kind of kata with a ritual slowness, pivoting and stretching with unhurried grace, flowing smoothly out of one stance and into the next, like liquid filling a clear vessel. He holds himself suspended for an interminable count between each position, bare feet rooted on the sun-warmed flagstones, the only thing moving around him dust motes drifting through heavy beams of sunlight.
She doesn’t really mean to stay and watch, but there’s an almost hypnotic quality to the rhythmic motion – exertion of the body, sun and warmth and muscle and bone intertwined with stillness of the mind, an empty calm space, peace in the eye of the storm.
He sinks into a low stance with his back to her, head bowed, upward-facing hands loosely fisted, elbows bent and tucked in at his sides. Then, after a long, still stretch of time, the calm murmur of his voice, rippling with something like amusement. “Good morning.”
She blinks. “Oh! I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“That’s quite all right.” He seems to come back from some far place, and straightens, turning to address her. Holding her gaze for a moment, searchingly, he draws some private conclusion. “You are disturbed.”
She presses her lips together by way of response, grudgingly impressed yet cursing Jedi perception to the lowest pit of Chaos. “It’s not important,” she says. “Just the festival.” She changes the subject. “What’s that you were doing?”
Obi-Wan paces over to the courtyard wall to retrieve his footwear. “One of the alchaka forms,” he says, pulling on the soft nerfhide boots. At her blank look, he adds, “It’s...a type of moving meditation. One of the oldest known to the Order.”
“It looks relaxing,” Padmé says. Would that she could expunge her own anxieties with such artfulness.
He shrugs slightly. “In theory.” He bends down and scoops up his cloak with an easy physicality. “The intended goal is to clear one’s mind. To...release troubled thoughts.”
Something about the crease in his brow seems to belie this statement. Thinking back, she remembers suddenly what Anakin had said earlier, and, surprised, frowns. “Are you worried about the festival tonight? About the assassination attempt?”
He blinks at her for a moment, as if she had only just reminded him about the possible catastrophe. “No. No, I don’t think so. Even if the intelligence we’ve gathered is accurate, I doubt the Separatist forces will be able to achieve much when they must first go through six Jedi. And Naboo’s finest,” he adds, glancing up at the overhead balconies, where far-away security personnel stand sentinel, their uniforms smears of dark red across the golden walls.
“But you are worried about something.”
A beat. Then, “No. Merely practicing good habits.”
She laughs humorlessly and sinks down onto the steps. “Tonight could be a disaster.”
Obi-Wan thinks for a moment before responding. “If so,” he reminds her carefully, “it is one which all your worries will be completely unable to prevent.”
“I know. But when it’s my people concerned...and the Chancellor, obviously...” She ticks things off on her fingers. “Public support for Queen Neeyutnee...the well-being of the Republic...”
“Fate of the galaxy.”
“Little things.”
They exchange almost shy grins, private smiles. Padmé feels one tiny knot of tension uncoil inside her, and she breathes out an exasperated sigh, ineffectually commanding the rest of her anxieties to untangle and be gone. “I need some of that alcha-whatsit business, clearly,” she says ruefully. “I’m a mess.”
Obi-Wan takes a step back and looks her up and down. “I agree,” he says.
Excuse me? Padmé suppresses a surge of indignation.
“You will forgive me for saying so, but a senator is no good to her people preoccupied. She must keep a cool head about her at all times.”
“I beg your pardon –
“Therefore,” Obi-Wan plunges ahead, and Padmé suddenly sees the glint of humor starting in his eyes, “I feel it is my duty in this case to help you attain such calm.”
She narrows her eyes at him in mock severity, but inside, she feels her mood beginning to lighten. “By insulting my competence?”
“By exposing you to some of that alcha-whatsit business,” he says. “If you like.”
Padmé hesitates. This is Jedi business for sure, far outside her arena. But Obi-Wan just smiles reassuringly at her and extends a hand.
“Not to worry, Senator. I have it on good authority that I am a reasonably competent teacher.”
Padmé eyes his hand for another moment, then slaps her own lightly into his open palm. “Very well then,” she says. “I submit myself to your reasonably competent tutelage.”
“Obi-Wan, I don’t think this is for me.”
Padmé looks down at her bare feet, torn between luxuriating in the warmth of the sun-soaked stones and fretting over the ever-widening stance Obi-Wan is asking her to assume.
“Patience.” He sticks his own soft-booted foot against the inside of her ankle and slides one of her feet out to the left.
“Obi-Wan – ”
Still applying a gentle pressure against one foot, he pushes the other further away.
“I don’t know how to do a split, Obi-Wan,” she warns him, tamping down on a little flare of alarm.
“That’s far enough.”
Thank goodness she’d worn a relatively uncomplicated dress today. Senatorial garb was nowhere near so flexible as the Jedi’s simple tunics.
She looks up at Obi-Wan, who, by virtue of her lowered, bent-kneed stance, is now slightly above her. “What now?”
“Now,” he says placidly, sinking into the same low stance beside her, albeit with considerably more familiarity and ease, “you do as I do.”
All right, then. She waits for him to begin, but the only thing he does is close his eyes, and she can’t close hers if she’s going to follow him, so she waits, doing nothing. Her legs begin to protest the prolonged exertion in this unfamiliar position, but the trace of fire starting to bloom in her muscles doesn’t bother her. It’s...ferocious. It burns the way she does inside, sometimes.
Obi-Wan cracks an eye open and looks at her. Padmé doesn’t flinch. “What?” she challenges. “You aren’t doing anything yet.”
He raises an eyebrow at her. “I am breathing,” he says.
“So am I.”
“Not yet, you aren’t,” he says, and in the span of a moment, he seems to grow in authority before her. His voice shifts into the calm certainty of a millennia of tradition, the well-worn tracks of an ancient, unbroken line of instruction. “Attend.”
He closes his eyes again, and this time she watches the slow rise and fall of his chest, the slight shift of tunic as his ribs expand. “All meditation begins with the breath. You breathe in life, I breathe in the Force; without either of those things both of us are nothing.”
What a strange thing to say. “I’m not Force-sensitive, Obi-Wan.”
“It does not matter. You are not Force sensitive, but the Force is in you nonetheless. We are all of us full of it. Your people are full of it. Your planet is full of it.” He breathes in, slow, and she attempts to follow him. In. Full. “Your breath must fill more than your lungs. Without breath, the body starves. Without the Force, life starves. Therefore you must let it suffuse you. Breath; the Force. Everywhere. Small, forgotten places. Empty places. You must allow yourself to be full. A gas expands to fill a container – your breath will expand to fill you, if you allow it.”
She does not answer. She is breathing. He falls into silence beside her, joining her rhythm. Inhale, beat, exhale, beat. She does not count the minutes. They slip by into nothing.
“Now,” he says. “With me.”
She trains her eyes on him and follows as he moves, one bright light and its smaller, slighter reflection, moving in a bumpy sort of unison. The fire in her leg muscles climbs higher, but it doesn’t faze her. She breathes it out, from everywhere, the small, forgotten places. She exults in it.
“Balance,” he says, maneuvering her hands to the proper places, the knuckles of one fist pressed flat against a vertical open palm, two hands meeting just in front of her lower abdomen. “Two opposing forces.” He sticks his foot back against the inside of her ankle, and she slides her feet apart without needing to be told, dropping back to the correct position. “Close your eyes. Breathe.”
In. Full. Small, forgotten places.
“Now,” he says, stepping back from her. “You will count.”
“How high?” she asks. Her legs are screaming with a pleasant sort of exhaustion, but she’s wobbly, and this position isn’t easy to maintain.
“One hundred,” he replies. Then – “Three times.”
Her eyes fly open. “Obi-Wan, that’s – ”
His eyes are glowing with suppressed mirth. “Three times, apprentice.”
If she starts laughing, she’s going to fall. “Obi-Wan, three times is too many – ”
“Protest again and it shall be six.”
“You know,” she grunts, wriggling down in an attempt to find a slightly more comfortable position, “I’m beginning to think I’ve done Anakin a disservice.”
He raises an eyebrow archly. “Because...?”
“All this time, he was telling the truth about you.”
Obi-Wan snorts. “Impudence. I’d have been running circuits around the Temple for that kind of insolence.”
“Somehow I doubt that ever stopped you.”
And there’s the smile – trademark Kenobi, dimples and all, subtle and half-hidden behind the close-trimmed beard. “No,” he agrees. “You are quite correct. I became an accomplished marathon runner.” Dropping down to the same low, planted stance she is struggling to maintain, he returns to the matter at hand. “Let us begin.”
“Obi-Wan.”
“Mm.” He has already closed his eyes. She wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already made it to twenty while she’s still dithering around trying to get her breathing in order.
“This is the silliest thing I’ve ever done with anybody.”
He doesn’t open his eyes, but the corners his mouth curl up.
“But,” she says, never one to skimp on gratitude, “I like it.” Her legs are shaking and she can’t count the number of joints she’s heard crack since they started this ridiculous exercise, but the anxious tangle in her chest is now tiny threads blowing in the wind, unwound and strewn about by breath and motion. “And I do feel better about tonight. So thank you.”
“I come to serve, Senator.”
Formal response, for someone who just moments ago had been shoving her into positions more suited to a gymnast than a senator. She smiles to herself in private amusement and closes her eyes. Reminds herself to breathe, full, everywhere.
And begins to count.
-chandrila-
Padmé has to give Obi-Wan credit. By now, she has watched him extricate himself from Senator Se’lab’s clutches three times, and while a moonlit cocktail party in a garden of this size provides the Jedi with plenty of spaces to hide, the shadow cast by a group of hulking Ithorian senators is a more creative choice than she had expected, even from him. Observing him from her position on the other side of the lush garden, she bites her lip in an attempt not to laugh at the deadly seriousness with which Obi-Wan keeps the Ithorian delegation between himself and the beverage table towards which the Bothan senator had stumbled.
She cannot pass up such a rare opportunity to tease him. Excusing herself from her group of colleagues, she sidles across the garden towards him, ensconcing herself in the shadows behind the wide backs of Ithorian senators Stonk and Bendon. “Master Kenobi,” she greets him, smoothly.
Obi-Wan’s cool voice betrays nothing. “Senator.”
Padmé fights to keep a straight face. “I see you’ve made Senator Se’lab’s acquaintance.”
“I have made his acquaintance several times,” Obi-Wan replies. “He had little memory of our first meeting at our second, and no memory of our second at our third. Forgive me, but if I can avoid a fourth such performance, I will. I grow tired of introducing myself.”
Padmé stifles a smile. It isn’t fair, that one so skilled in diplomacy to earn himself a galactic-wide nickname should hate it so much. “And did the Honorable Senator from Bothawui tire of your company?”
“Sadly, no.”
“Then how – ” She narrows her eyes at him suspiciously. “You didn’t – ”
Obi-Wan gives her an affronted look. “Senator Amidala, what sort of nefarious rogue do you take me for?” He chances a harried glance past the Ithorians, checking for any signs of his unwanted companion’s return. “Along with the memories of our previous two meetings, the good Senator appeared to have forgotten how exactly it was that he’d been able to achieve such an impressively amnesiac and befuddled state. I merely reminded him about the open bar.”
“Formidably underhanded,” she says, approvingly. “But then, that’s why they call you the Negotiator.”
Obi-Wan makes a face at the nickname. “Yes,” he says. “And if I could only negotiate myself out of this whole affair, I would perhaps believe the title to have been aptly bestowed.”
“Obi-Wan,” she chides him. “The best negotiators know when to call for assistance.”
He raises an eyebrow, just slightly, in what might be a faint feather-brush of amusement, then follows her gaze over his shoulder, to where the clearly intoxicated Bothan senator is making his weaving way through the festive crowd back towards them. Obi-Wan’s eyes widen very slightly, in definite alarm. “Indeed. Very well said. In that case, my lady, consider my distress signal activated.”
She extends an arm to him formally. “Walk with me.”
Thanks to the friendship she and Bail share with Mon Mothma, Padmé knows the Chandrilan Diplomatic Gardens better than most in attendance. She knows Obi-Wan, too, better than most, not because he opens himself to her, exactly, but – well, being in her position, one hears things, and Padmé is well-practiced at extracting trivia and truth from Anakin’s well-worn litany of complaints, worries, and fears.
She guides them serenely down a lesser-used path, the raucous festivities behind them fading into a murmur. “Here,” she points. They turn through a simple, cream-colored arch into a wider space, far-away party sounds now faint, distant enough not to grate on the nerves. All about them, only the cheerful babble of water, tumbling from multiple small falls into a network of mossy pools and rock-bordered streams.
Obi-Wan turns his head from side to side to take in the shimmering falls and eddying pools, chin rising as if in response to some sound only he can hear, features lightening. “We’ve a place very like this, in the Temple,” he says. “The Room of a Thousand Fountains.”
Padmé knows this. Knows too that it is a favorite haunt of his, though she will not tell him so. Better he think her fortuitous choice a welcome coincidence, for she knows what she knows about him from Anakin, and, strictly speaking, should not have access to such confidences.
“I’ve heard of it,” she says instead. “It’s much larger than this, though, I think.” She waves a hand at the small garden.
“Size matters not,” Obi-Wan intones, as though reciting an oft-repeated adage, and extends a hand gracefully under one of the falls’ streams. To Padmé’s surprise, the water curves around his upturned palm, bending as if repelled by an invisible barrier before continuing its swan dive into the clear pool below.
“Just a game,” Obi-Wan says, in answer to her unasked question. “And an exercise in control. One practiced by Temple younglings.”
Not any game Padmé knows. She and her sister – then later, her handmaidens – were more apt to occupy themselves with jumping straight into the water, shrieking with glee, than with avoiding its flow. “What’s the objective?”
“Just this,” he says. “Stay dry.” He curls his fingers up to his palm and then flat again in a gentle wave, the water above his hand twisting in a delighted dance before resuming its tumble around an untouched sleeve. “Even the youngest initiates, when exhibiting proper control, can easily redirect a flow of water around their forms. One stands under the falls, keeping dry, while their agemates or teachers attempt to break their focus.” He quirks a smile, one laced with equal parts memory and mischief. “One gets distracted, one gets wet.”
She smiles at him. “I take it you were good at this game?”
“I was passable,” he says with a diffident shrug. “But I did not win every time. My own clan members’ antics were at times difficult to ignore.”
“And Anakin?” she asks. She can’t help herself.
Obi-Wan pull his arm out from the falls, hand disappearing back into the long sleeve of his robe. “Terrible,” he says bluntly. “Without a doubt the worst in his class.”
Padmé refrains from making an unbecoming snort. So she will have something amusing to hold over Anakin’s head when she returns to Coruscant.
“You mustn’t misunderstand me, of course; Anakin is highly capable and could easily manipulate the water were he left to his own devices, but I’m afraid his mental discipline left much to be desired.” Obi-Wan sighs and shakes his head. “Anakin is so easily distracted – he reserved his limited ability to focus for very singular pursuits.”
“Such as...?”
Obi-Wan looks to be almost on the verge of rolling his eyes, but that would be un-Jedi, and he settles for a narrowing of them and crooking his fingers sardonically into the universal sign for quotes. “‘Fixing stuff,’ I believe he said.”
Padmé can’t help but laugh at that, and Obi-Wan indulges her merriment graciously. Looking re-energized, far more hale and hearty than he had in the reception area proper, he stretches out a hand. Ribbons of water arc away from the falls all around them, streaming through the air and coalescing into a shining globe above his palm, a miniature model of Mon Cala. The sphere’s globular surface ripples and turns slowly, casting small refractions of moonlight over the courtyard. Small-scale beauty, to be sure, but Padmé only has eyes for Obi-Wan’s face, lit with reflected light from below, a study in simple happiness.
A Jedi at play, she realizes. Most people didn’t believe there really was such a thing.
“That’s lovely,” she says, peering into the globe’s transparent yet distorted depths. Something about it...she is suddenly reminded of Anakin, in another time and place, levitating a muja fruit in much the same way, and with the same burst of simple enjoyment. “But I thought frivolous uses of the Force were discouraged.”
Obi-Wan raises his eyebrows at her, accepting the friendly challenge. “Frivolous?” He turns his hand so that the palm now faces outward. Rippling with light, the globe coasts several feet away and comes to rest over a pathetically drooping momus bush, its leaves yellowed and cracked, balmgrass spiky and dry around its exposed roots. Obi-Wan twitches his fingers downward, and the globe disintegrates, water sluicing down in a joyful shower onto the parched earth, transforming the yellow dust to a rich, wet brown. He gives her a significant look. “The preservation of life is never frivolous, Senator.”
Her smile climbs its way out of her with ease. Of course. An answer for everything. “I stand corrected.”
In the distance, a chorus of laughter rises above the sound of burbling water, followed by what sounds like someone calling for a toast. Obi-Wan casts a lingering glance at the falls, then back at the arched entrance to the grotto. “We should return,” he says, and if that is reluctance in his voice she will not comment on it.
She nods in agreement. “You’re right. Typho will start to worry.”
Taking her outstretched arm, Obi-Wan frowns. “I am quite certain I gave Captain Typho my word that no harm would come to you whilst I am your escort. He must learn to trust me.”
“He does trust you. But he’s a worry-woolamander. It’s his job.” It was, after all, why she had personally selected him to replace his retired uncle as her new head of security. But, at the same time, she had grown weary of the constant trail of guards orbiting her at all times, rings of human satellites, so many she can hardly blink without catching a glimpse of security burgundy in her peripheral vision. Far preferable to have an escort of one Jedi, especially this Jedi, than that wall of armed guards.
And besides, Obi-Wan had promised. While Captain Typho may not appreciate the import of such a gesture, Padmé does – Obi-Wan Kenobi’s word is worth his weight in solid aurodium bars and more. He has nothing left to prove to anybody, on that count.
At the threshold to the main garden, wide flowering pathways thronging with diplomats and officials and lackeys alike, Obi-Wan takes in a resigned breath. “Once more into the breach,” he proclaims, with tragicomic stoicism.
She cocks her head at him in sympathy. “Straight to the dance floor,” she advises, and they set off, she steering him in the proper direction. “I doubt even a Bothan will try to cut in on a Jedi.”
Obi-Wan snorts under his breath. “Her Highness is grown very devious, in her slippery Senatorial position,” he murmurs.
“And Master Kenobi very witty, in his old age,” she shoots back.
Obi-Wan favors her with a grin, a real grin, full and shining with rarely displayed pleasure. He bows to her, ushering her onto the formal dance floor with a graceful sweep of his hand. “You had better hope your earlier supposition is correct,” he says, eyes glinting with the same clever playfulness she’d seen in him earlier. “The Bothan senators have hooves, you know.”
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Encore - Harry Hook x reader - part 20 - developments
=
Huh….well that’s….interesting?
“Dove and Thomas broke up huh?” you muttered to yourself, scrolling through your Tumblr as most of the Descendants fandom blew up about the two actors' separation. The two had split up two months ago and had been keeping it secret for their privacy, you snorted, remembering when the rumors of Thomas cheating on Dove with you when you and Harry were spotted walking around (where u live) which had surged up again in a different way when the fans (wrongly) accused Thomas with cheating on Dove with his costar, who was forced to reveal her own relationship to get Dove fans off her back.
You had met dove before, and she was….nice enough, but her “fans” were really something else, a lot of them couldn’t get it through their heads that people were allowed to not like Dove and her characters. You had seen them message death threats to some of your mutuals just because they said “oh I don’t like Dove”
There were definitely some that were more mature and left others alone but more often than not they were fucking insane. So, you did your best to stay out of that crowd.
You heard the usual sound of Harry's heavy steps behind you and held up your phone for him to see. He made a sound of confusion and gently pried the device from your grip and scrolled through the article.
A few moments of silence later loud boisterous laughter rang through your apartment. You turned, giggling as Harry hopped around the apartment in a way you haven't seen since the after-party for Mals Engagement Party.
“celebrate good times come on~” Harry sung to himself, spinning around midair and grinning at you. You just laughed and shook your head.
“what are you so excited for?” you asked, pressing your lips together to prevent any more bursts of laughter to escape your mouth.
“now those shipped me and the purple imp together got no ground ta stand on~” Harry cackled. You couldn’t hold it anymore, loud peals of laughter escaping you as Harry continued to dance around your living room.
“oh, my gooood!” you giggling, falling to your side and holding onto your stomach. Harry side hopped over the couch and landed in front of you, setting your phone down on the coffee table behind him and grabbing your face. You squeaked and giggled as he pressed multiple little pecks to your face and lips “you-“ you tried to get a breath, once again deterred by your laughter “why-don’t you even feel a bit bad for them?”
Harry pulled back, looking off to the side and pursing his lips “I guess” he shrugged, turning back to you “I mean, they did end an….how long were they together?”
“About four years” you hummed, reaching under his arm and grabbing your phone.
“okay yeah, they did end an almost four-year relationship, I would guess they would both feel iffy about tha’ so tha’s all I feel bad abou’ I guess? I never saw wha’ they were like together so I have no say on if they were happy but…yeah, I feel bad that they were probably sad about it ending or something but now I don’t gotta deal with all that Mal x me shit” he shivered, scrunching his face a bit.
You snorted and rolled your eyes, pressing a kiss to his nose and wiggling out of his arms “whatever, I gotta go” Harry whined and wrapped his arms around your waist, tugging you back towards him.
“whyyyyyyy” he huffed, pouting up at you and giving you his famous puppy dog eyes. You rolled your eyes and ran your fingers through his hair.
“I have a thing with Evie for….well you know” Harry perked up and quickly released you, his eyes shining with excitement.
“well wha’ are yeh waitin’ for! Go!” you snorted at his quick change of behavior and shook your head, turning and going into your room to grab your key and tablet which held your concept art.
“Okay, I’ll be back soon! don’t burn down the apartment!” you heard Harry groan in “frustration” and a thump on the floor as he dramatically fell back onto the floor.
“damn it! Now I gotta think of something else ta do!” you rolled your eyes at his response and pushed your key into the lock on your closet door, smiling at the usual glow of the portal that bled through the cracks of the door.
You pulled it open and stepped through, tossing one more ‘see ya’ at Harry before closing the door behind you.
Moments later you stepped out into Evie's greenhouse turned workroom. She spun around, grinning at you. “hey (y/n)! let's get started shall we!” she made grabby hands at your tablet and danced in her seat as you passed it to her and leaned against her sewing table.
She pressed the power button and grinned “beautiful, I should hire you to be my second designer (y/n)” you laughed and shook your head.
“nah, I like designing but only as a pass time heh” Evie nodded, zooming in on the details and writing down notes on a pad next to her.
“understandable” she hummed as she stood from her seat and walked over to her fabrics “any particular fabrics?”
“uhhhh” you narrowed your eyes in thought “breathable……flows easily….not heavy?” Evie giggled and shook her head.
“a wonderful visual designer but you know nothing about fabrics, well how bout chiffon for the sleeves and train around the waist leading to the back of the dress?” you nodded and picked up the note pad Evie had been writing on.
“That sounds good, um, what about tule? I know it helps with form and stuff but every time I wore it as a kid it was itchy as all heck and I couldn’t stand it” Evie shook her head, pulling out a thick roll of white shiny fabric.
“no that’ll ruin the form, make it more of a bulb shape than letting it flare out, Mikado would work better, it keeps it’s form on its own and flows pretty well” she held out the roll for you to touch. You smiled as the soft fabric brushed against your fingertips.
“Yeah, I like that, M-mikado?” Evie nodded at your guess of the name “yeah that, let's go with this for the main fabric” Evie nodded again and set the fabric to the side, grabbing the notepad from you and writing down something before handing it back to you.
You glanced down and smirked
Main Fabric - Mikado
sleeves and skirt train - chiffon
jewels on neckline - ?
waist overlay - rhinestone (sew just beneath bust and drape over hips and flow of skirt)
shoes - ?
“okay (y/n), jacket off and arms up” you glanced at Evie and wiggled your brows, laughing as she rolled her eyes and smacked your arm. “you and Harry, minds always in the gutter, now I gotta get measurements okay?” you giggled again and shrugged off your jacket, letting Evie finally get your measurements.
After a few minutes of Evie manually pushing your arms and body around, filled with fits of laughter and your torso twisting halfway around, she was done. She picked up her pencil and grabbed the note pad again and scribbled down her findings.
“Alright that’s that, I’ll start making the form, while you” she handed you a red folder “take that to Harry, and don’t look. if he can't see your dress you don’t see his suit” you snorted and rolled your eyes.
“yes, ma’am. Do you want me to leave my tablet here for a bit?” Evie gave a smile and nodded.
“if possible, yes” you nodded back and shrugged your jacket back on, digging out your key from the pocket.
“Alright then, just text me when I can come pick it up, see ya!”
“bye~” Evie gave you a little wave and turned back to her sewing table, muttering fabric measurements for your dress.
You stepped into the main hall, gave a wave to Dizzy and Celia, stuck the key into the closet door, and stepped through the portal back to your world.
You stepped back out into your room and shut the door behind you, you took your jacket back off and tossed it on your bed, setting the key on your dresser and taking the folder to harry. “hey, Evie said to give you this” Harry perked up from his spot on the couch and grabbed the red folder, a soft smile on his face as he looked over the design Evie had made for his suit.
“looks perfect” he muttered to himself, closing the folder and pulling out his phone to text the aforementioned designer. As he talked with her you busied yourself with making lunch.
While you did so thoughts of the wedding came to mind.
What day was it going to be? Where were you going to get married? Who was going to marry the two of you? Would you get married here or in the Descendants world? Who was going to be in the wedding party? Who was going to give you away?
So many questions with little to no answer.
“hmm” you muttered to yourself “well, Uma’s maid of Honor, no question there, Emma, (bff name), Jazzy, and Lily will also be bridesmaids….Dizzy and Celia as junior bridesmaids? Cj too, but the twins….ring bearers?” you sighed, rubbing your face as your head pounded at the millions of decisions you were going to have to make. “I’ll have aunt Tonks take me down to Harry….ummmm shit, the rest I’ll have to decide with Harry”
“decide what with Harry?” the pirate himself hummed, wrapping his arms around you and tugging you into his chest, laying his chin on your shoulder.
“wedding stuff” you muttered, reaching up and running your fingers through his hair. He hummed again, eyes drifting down to your food.
“well, Harriet’s gonna be meh best maid” you snorted at that “beasty boy, Gil, the pup, and Jay are gonna be the groomsmen, haven’t asked ‘em yet but yeh know. Smee twins are gonna be meh junior groomsmen aaand that’s all I've thought about” Harry snorted, leaning back from you and starting to make his own lunch.
“That sounds good” you sighed, leaning against the counter and picking up your sandwich, taking a bit out of the side.
“soooo……” Harry turned to you and perked a brow up “where? Are….are we getting married in my world or yours” Harry shrugged, turning back to his sandwich.
“I don’ care’ either way, but I….I think it would be more sentimental in the meh world..since well…we fell in love there” you grinned as Harry slowly turned red.
“Aww, you are so dang cute” you teased, setting down your sandwich and walking over to him, pressing a quick kiss to his warm cheek.
He pouted and grumbled, pushing your face away. “hey!” you laughed, smacking his hand down and jumping back at him, your soft laughter turned into cackling as Harry tumbled back and yelped, arms quickly wrapping around your waist and holding you against his side.
“ye are so fuckin’ lucky I love you” He grumbled, setting you down on your feet and pecking your forehead.
“I love you too” you giggled back, reaching up and patting his cheeks twice. He blushed and looked away, grabbing his sandwich and walking to the living room.
“he’s so cute” you hummed to yourself, grabbing your lunch and following him.
-end of part 20-
Holy shit 20 parts?! Thas crazy! So max of 10 chapters left! It will end with the wedding and these last couple will lead up to it!
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In Letters
Requested by @imaginesbymk: Oh gosh hi! Could I request a imagine w/ Eugene Sledge falling in love with y/n and when he returns home he surprises them with flowers and asks y/n out on a date? Hope this was ok!
Pairing: Eugene Sledge x Female!Reader
Warnings: Swearing, fluff, mentions of war
Words: 1,795
Summary: (See Request)
Note: So I got a little carried away and I’m not too proud of the ending, but I tried my best and I hope you liked it :D
Taglist: @matth1w, @redspaceace-writes, @fandom-puff, @darling-i-read-it, @simonsbluee, @sebastianstanslefteyebrow
Masterlist | Joe Mazzello Masterlist
My dearest Gene,
The nights seem quiet, deafeningly so. The room feels lonesome without your presence. Although it pains me to admit it, it’s not just my chambers that are haunted with such sadness.
I feel goosebumps rise from my skin as I lie in bed, similar to the ones I’d get when you wrapped your arms around me. The hairs on my neck rise just as they did when you whispered in my ear each night, assuring me that nothing could hurt me, for you were there to fend off whatever creatures dwelled in the night. But alas, these are not from you this time. My body reacts in such ways to a frightening feeling, one I almost forgot having never felt it after the first night you snuck into my room, and the nights prior to your descent. With you away, I have no soldier to protect me whilst I rest.
My words, melancholy yet true, shan’t bring you down... I hope. Please do not assume wrongly of my intent; I am indeed very proud of you. So much so that I simply cannot help but worry.
What has my worries, you may ask?
Well, my soldier, it’s you. Whether this letter will actually find your soft hands at all, I know not, however, you told me to have hope, so I will. Before you set this parchment aside and go out to your tasks, I ask one last request.
Take your advice, and have hope. When the nights become too much, think not of the horrors, but of me, of this letter, of the nights back home wherein you protect me like you are now protecting us.
You’re so strong and brave. I find it mandatory that you know that and believe it, not just hear the words and brush it off as a compliment. Eugene Sledge, it is a fact. You hold others up as though you are Atlas and they are the world that you carry upon your shoulders. Even now, you carry a burden and you march forward nonetheless. It amazes me. Inspires me, truly.
To end this letter, I’m unsure. Do I make up some falsehood to fill you with delight? No, no, I cannot do such a thing to you, even if I wanted to. I can try all I want, but anytime a lie is formed on the tip of my tongue whenever I talk to you, it rolls backwards rather than out like I want it to.
What ever are you doing to me, Eugene Sledge?
Y/n
Darling Eugene,
You didn’t have to send me the necklace. You know that, right? Nonetheless... I have yet to take it off since I received it. It smells like you. Before the war. Your scent lulls me to sleep as though you are lying with me once more. I’m too overjoyed to remind myself of the reality. I hope you received my gift. And I hope it gives you the same affects yours does unto me.
I try to cling to the hope that you may return safe and unharmed. Any type of war is never easy, I know that, I really do, and I know you won’t be the same person you were when you left. However, you will always be my Gene. With that being said; I will never turn my back on you the way you wrote, the way you feared I would.
Lest you too lack of sleep more than before, I have included a gift of my own. See to it as...a gift to make things even. It’s only fair, seeing as you sent me an accessory you crafted. If you haven’t seen it yet- open it.
A locket can be seen as a feminine accessory, yes, but in truth, it’s attached to no sex. I do hope you like it. I’ve also debated on sending you one with a photo of us both, but settled on purchasing matching necklaces. One for you, which holds my photo, and one for me, which holds yours. Before you lecture me on spending money on you- I spent it for both my sake and yours.
I’ve read every book you gifted me throughout the years and still, you are not yet in my arms nor beside me in the study. I try to imagine, but it gets harder as time goes on. I miss you.
I hold strong aversion to the time it shall take for your return. Nothing pains me more than the suffering you must be going through, and the suffering I too am experiencing. Though my pain is less than yours, it is still great in its ability to affect me. Life without you is dull, meaningless, gut-wrenching and awfully depressing.
Have you made any friends? Other than “Peaches” and “Snafu”, whomever those men are. Perhaps you can introduce some of them to me when you’re home, I’d love to meet the men who kept you company. Any friend of yours is a friend of mine. (Peaches is quite an interesting name though. I mean no ill-will behind my curiosity, but...is “Peaches” his real name?)
In reference to my previous question; I myself haven’t made any new friends. To be completely honest, I rarely leave the house. Whenever I step foot outside...it feels...well...pardon my language, like I’m entering a shit show, stepping into hell itself. I’d rather be in hell than live in a world without you.
Think not of my prior comment. Merely bask in the positive parts of this letter. For me.
All my love,
Y/n
Eugene,
I heard you boys are coming home? I do hope the news is true. I fear I cannot face yet another disappointment, nor much longer without you. As time has gone by, nights spent without you beside me, days awfully bore...your face seems to fade as though it plots to abscond.
Funny. It’s seldom that I think of anything else, and it still rebuffs all my attempts to conjure your image into my brain. Whilst I have photographs to assist in my efforts, I can’t quite see your beauty in full, as though the photo is faceless. I miss your charming features and I loathe myself for having struggled to remember them now, even if it happened against my own wishes.
Albeit my words, which were truthful, I still see you in my dreams. Only, when I wake, your face abates until it’s lost in the nothingness, lightyears away from my grasp.
My sincerest apologies for the briefness of this letter and its majority of sorrowful content. I would write you a thousand joyous letters if only I had the strength to tell you falsities.
Awaiting your return,
Y/n
Each letter he received from her warmed his heart and never failed to put a smile on his face. Despite being in a literal warzone, joy never left his heart. The nights where he couldn’t sleep due to the things he had to see, the things his imagination conjured up, or just due to the lack of Y/n. It was the last one more often than not.
Snafu teased Sledge with each letter he managed to catch a glimpse of. Despite the man’s suggestive teasing, the two in question were only friends, inseparable since childhood. However, he wasn’t completely wrong with his jabs. Eugene felt his heart long for her like hers did him, but his longing wasn’t purely platonic. Since his teen years, he felt an almost magnetic-like pull towards her. Her letters only amplified the harshness of the tug on the invisible rope.
His hands shook as he wrote back to her, the first few lines seeming very unlike himself, but the rest so poetic and beautiful, even Snafu was speechless. The words were there, but they only really flowed onto the paper after he let go of control and wrote from the heart. Honest and sincere, he told her as much as he could.
The only thing he didn’t include ever, was a confession.
It took almost all of his strength to prevent himself from giving in to the urge of being lovesick-fool. But as her letters grew more desolate, as the war became more intense, as his time to write shortened...he couldn’t bring himself to confess. He couldn’t bring himself to push that onto her- a confession during the war, forcing her to live with his last letter being a question he could never fulfill.
...
He underestimated himself in so many ways.
The second he returned home, he bought flowers and rushed to find her, not even caring to make sure he looked his best. It was the first thing on his mind. Despite being ever so tired, his eyelids begging to drop for a little while longer, his feet sore beneath him- he powered through.
His fist rapped against the door, a quiet hiss leaving his mouth through his teeth at the feeling of his skin coming in contact with the hard wood. It creaked open, half of a face, an eye mostly, coming into view slowly before it widened and the door swung open.
“Gene!”
She surged forward, wrapping her arms around him as she leapt into his grasp. The two chuckled for a moment before her feet found the ground again and they stood in silence. Drinking each other in, all they could do was smile.
“Oh!” Eugene exclaimed once he’d returned to reality, holding out his hand to Y/n. “I uh- bought these for you.”
“Thank you.” She smiled sweetly, accepting the gift with teary eyes.
“But...not as a friend gift, really.”
“Well of course not, we’re best friends!”
“No, no... I mean it as a step above best friends. I mean them as a gift and a question.” Her brows furrowed and she tilted her head, visibly confused. “I know I just came home- I haven’t even changed my clothes for fucks sake, but I need to ask. I’ve wanted to ask for so long.”
Y/n’s eyes darted around, even more confused than before. “Ask what?”
Eugene cleared his throat, finally meeting her eyes; “Would you be interested in joining me for a meal...or, more specifically, a date? It doesn’t have to be today-”
“Yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yes.” Y/n bit her lower lip and giggled. “I would love to. Tonight, after you get some rest, I’ll meet you at your place.” Y/n placed a hand on Eugene’s cheek, smiling at him. Then, her lips replaced her hand. She turned and walked back inside, closing the door with a smile.
The soldier outside, who had faced and won two wars around the same time, stood outside, hand where Y/n’s lips were, and a matching smile upon his lips. He was undoubtedly glad he didn’t confess in letters.
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Ambivalence: Chapter 2
Fandom: Dragon Age
Pairing: Nathaniel Howe x Female Cousland
Story Summary: It has been just over a year since Nathaniel Howe and Elissa Cousland were reunited, childhood friendship forged into a love that endured a decade apart. However, every love is tested at some point. Presented with circumstances that could either make or break their relationship, Nate and Liss are no different.
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[AO3 Link]
Chapter 2: Uncertainty
Chapter Summary: Nate and Liss spend some much needed time with Delilah.
Just Outside Vigil’s Keep, Cloudreach 9:33 Dragon
“Come on,” Liss said with a laugh, speeding up her pace and tugging at his hand, “Put some spring in your step, Nate.”
“Why the hurry?” Nathaniel asked, slowing to a stop and watching as their intertwined fingers halted her march forward. She spun around to face him, locks of golden hair flowing behind her and settling on her shoulders as she studied him in amusement. An endearing notch formed between her brows and he couldn’t prevent the chuckle that escaped him, nor the undoubtedly dopey grin that lingered on his lips afterward. “We have all afternoon.”
Liss scowled more deeply at his comment, bringing her free hand to her hip. “It would be rude to keep your sister waiting, especially with a fussy little one about, trying to waddle into the river.”
“I am certain that Aidan is on his best behavior.”
“Aren’t you eager to visit with them?” She took a few steps closer. “It’s been weeks since we’ve all been free of duties at the same time.”
Nathaniel brought her hand up to his lips, brushing a kiss across her knuckles. “It has also been weeks since you and I had more than just our nights alone.”
“Are you suggesting we abandon Delilah and cavort about on our own?”
“I am suggesting that we take our time in reaching our destination,” he said softly, pulling her nearly flush against him.
Liss laughed and blinked up at him, smirking and biting her bottom lip in that feigned innocence she so enjoyed putting on. “Oh?”
In lieu of a response, he dipped down and captured her lips, tentatively as if it was the first time they’d kissed. In her typical fashion, she returned the gesture with full-bodied confidence, cinching her arms tightly around his waist as she did so. It was an exchange that was truly theirs, a habit, a ritual that offered him security he’d never really known before. When they pulled apart, she smiled at him widely, eyes sparkling with affection, and he truly did not know what he’d done to earn such a boon from the Maker.
With that, they continued on at a more leisurely pace toward their established meeting place with Delilah, arm-in-arm and enjoying casual conversation about nothing and everything all at once. Nathaniel had always appreciated Liss’ ability to have conversation. She was knowledgeable and passionate about so many things, there were times he had to do little more than listen and nod along as she prattled on about the latest book she’d been reading, or the symbology of the family crests for each and every noble house in Ferelden, or the mating practices of common nugs. Being around her was so easy. It always had been.
They were headed toward the bank of an unnamed tributary of the Hafter River, an area not too far from Vigil’s Keep, beautiful and well hidden by foliage. When he and his siblings had been children, the spot served as their own special secret, a refuge from the prison their home had slowly become after their mother died. It never mattered the weather, when they stole away to their little stream, they were able to pretend that they were normal children skipping their lessons and hiding away from tutors and maids. Now, Delilah used it as a refuge from her responsibilities to the Arling, a place to relax, visit with loved ones, and have picnics.
As they approached the wooded bank, Nathaniel spotted his sister straining in an attempt to drape a blanket across the ground with only one arm while clinging to his squirming nephew in the other. Liss had apparently seen this too, as she nudged him with her elbow, released his arm and took off running toward Delilah and Aidan.
“Looks like you could use a hand or two,” Liss said cheerfully as she approached.
Delilah looked up to greet her, letting the blanket fall to the ground as she straightened up and adjusted her grip on her son. “You’ve no idea,” she said with an exasperated laugh. She looked at Aidan and asked, “Want to go play with Auntie Liss for a bit?”
Aidan, who was just over a year old, glanced with drooling skepticism between his mother and Liss who wiggled outstretched fingers at him excitedly. After a moment of furrowing his little eyebrows and an encouraging nod from Delilah, the boy giggled and reached out with chubby arms toward Liss. She scooped him up without hesitation, tossing him up into the air and catching him before propping him on her hip and walking over toward the water’s edge.
Nathaniel had approached more slowly, watching with no small degree of warmth as the interaction took place. It was a domesticity he never realized he desired until it played out right before his eyes. When he reached his sister, she had just begun to pick up the blanket and resume her attempt to spread it out.
“Here,” he said when he reached her, “Let me help.”
Delilah smirked, extended one end of the fabric to him, and teased, “Whatever would I do without my big brother here to help me complete the simplest of tasks?”
“Just because you can do something alone,” Nathaniel replied matter-of-factly as they stepped away from one another, each holding onto ends of the blanket to stretch it out, then lower it into a neat square on the ground, “Does not mean that you must.”
Delilah rose up, hands on her hips, admiring their handiwork before turning her gaze to Nathaniel, an eyebrow raised. “You sound like Lady Elissa.”
He snorted out a laugh, eyes drawn to the woman and little boy presently splashing about in the water with bare feet. “She must be rubbing off on me.”
When he forced his eyes back to his sister, she was grinning widely, clearly having caught his admiration. “I can’t imagine how that happened.”
Delilah lowered herself down into a leisurely sitting position on the blanketed area, then looked up and patted the empty space beside her. “Come on, Nate. Sit.”
He did as she bade and sat down next to his sister, extending his legs out in front of him as he leaned back on the palms of his hands, taking a quick glance at the branches above his head before turning back to examine his sister who grinned mischievously.
Nathaniel scowled. “Why are you smiling like you’ve lured me into a trap?”
“How do you know I haven’t?” She raised her eyebrows.
“I suppose it’s too late for concern anyhow,” he said with a shrug, attention drawn out toward the water’s edge, to Liss once again.
Unlike the last time he’d looked at her, she was crouched down in the shallows of the water, Aidan hovering over her, watching intently as she focused on whatever it was she was doing. It was difficult to tell from a distance. Delilah shoved his shoulder playfully, muttering something about him not being any fun, but he barely noticed.
Liss stood up, and stepped back out of the water, the bottom quarter of her skirts soaked thoroughly and dripping. She sat down on the bank, hands clasped together tightly as she motioned for Aidan to come sit with her. He toddled gleefully over toward her, crawling up under her arms to sit in her lap, waiting expectantly to see what surprise she held in her grasp. She opened her hands slowly, still keeping them partially cupped, as he peered in and squealed in delight.
Liss giggled and asked, “Can you say ‘ frog’?”
The boy looked between her and the creature thoughtfully, then said, “FOG!”
“That’s right,”she exclaimed, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, “Good job, pup.”
Nathaniel froze, a confusing mottle of emotions surging up into his chest, burning behind his eyes. Pup . He’d heard that particular endearment hundreds of times during his summers in Highever. It had been Bryce Cousland’s chosen diminutive for his own children, as well as for any child whose name he could not remember. He wondered if Liss had used it intentionally, a way to honor her father’s memory. Perhaps she had not even realized.
They’d never discussed it, what pet names she would call a child. In their situation... it had never seemed warranted to discuss children at all. It was not as if they were able to have a family of their own, if that were something she wanted. A pang of guilt speared through him. Andraste’s Blood, he had not even thought to ask her if that was something she wanted. There was a tug at his ear that made him snap around, frowning at the interruption.
“What,” he asked his sister as she blinked back at him with those fierce blue eyes.
“Maker, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you that enraptured,” Delilah teased, chuckling and watching Liss help Aidan hold the frog she’d caught, “She’s so good with him, isn’t she?”
Nathaniel nodded, steeling himself with a shaky breath before speaking. “She truly is.”
Silence fell between them, comfortable yet heavy with his turbulent emotions, insecurities and doubts like a dark cloud looming over an otherwise ideal afternoon. However, if his sister noticed, she said nothing of it and kept her attention focused on her son and the woman who was currently doting upon him. After some time had passed, she looked over to him thoughtfully, raising her brows as she tapped her index finger to her chin.
He snorted out a laugh. “What? Is there something on my face?”
Delilah let out a sigh and straightened her posture as if preparing to deliver a speech. “I know you’re tired of hearing it but—”
“Delilah, I know where this is going and—”
“Is there some reason you have not asked that lovely woman to marry you yet,” she continued her lecture anyway, “The way that you look at her… I know it is not for lack of interest.”
He let his head hang, ashamed at her honest, biting words. In truth, it was something he’d desired for sometime now, asking Liss for her hand. He simply wanted to go about it in the most appropriate way, at the most appropriate time, but it was more complicated than that. Still, wasn’t that part of his mission today? To tell Delilah what he intended?
“Actually—” he began, interrupted by the excited gasp that escaped his sister—”That’s something I had hoped to speak with you about today. I wasn’t sure we’d have the chance, but it seems Aidan has provided the perfect distraction.”
“Nate,” Delilah said softly, hushed voice wavering. Tears glistened in her eyes when he finally looked up at her, “Are you serious?”
He inhaled sharply and let out the breath with force before answering. “I think so. There are still so many things to consider, but… yes. This is what I want. She is what I want, whatever that looks like.”
“That’s so… wonderful,” she blurted, a touch too loud for Nathaniel’s comfort and he widened his eyes at her, “Sorry, I’m just happy for you. It’s more than about time.”
“If I am to be completely honest, I have been having doubts— nothing about her, just uncertainties about the life we live now, whether or not marriage is even appropriate.”
“Do not tell me you intend to second guess a proposal to someone you’ve been in love with since you were ten years old over protocol. ” She wagged a finger at him. “Don’t you dare get my hopes up like this.”
“I just—”
“What did the Warden-Commander say?”
“I haven’t told her yet.”
“If protocol is something that concerns you, why haven’t you approached your commanding officer?” Delilah was relentless, clearly invested in a wedding neither of them knew would even happen.
Nathaniel let out a frustrated sigh, laughing bitterly as he thought about Lucia with her gentle practicality. “Because she will tell me to do it.”
“So what is stopping you, Nate?” She softened at that, searching his face as if the answer to her question might appear on his forehead if she stared long enough. “You have clearly thought about this enough to approach me about it.”
“I’ve also written to Fergus,” he confessed. “I sent a raven to Highever just this morning. I was actually excited about it.”
“I know this might be hard for you to believe, but—” Delilah placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled at him gently— “It is normal to have doubts.”
He met her gaze and rolled his eyes as he fought a smile. “I suppose you are right.”
“So you’re going to do it?”
“I am… going to do it.” Saying the words out loud was more freeing than he’d expected. To see the joy on his sister’s face, even more so.
“Good,” she said with a nod, “If it helps, you could imagine Father’s spirit in the Fade, fuming over the prospect that despite his many, many efforts, you will be marrying Elissa.”
“It helps if I don’t imagine Father at all,” he stated flatly.
“Fair enough,” Delilah chuckled. “That is exactly what I’m going to do, though.”
They sat conversing for a short while longer, mostly to allow his nerves the time to settle before Liss decided to rejoin them. Then, an idea struck him.
“Delilah?”
“Yes?”
“Do you think you might be able to see how Liss might feel about—” he motioned vaguely— “All of this? Discreetly, of course.”
She smirked. “I’ve never seen you so worked up about anything since you found out you had to leave for Starkhaven. It is quite endearing.”
“I am pleased you find my distress endearing,” he said pointedly, “Will you do it, or not?”
“I will.”
“Then I shall go retrieve her,” he said, rising to his feet, “I’ll insist that you two deserve some time alone together.”
“We do,” Delilah admitted with a shrug, “That’s not even a deception.”
Nathaniel made his way slowly towards Liss, who had just lifted up Aidan after helping him to release their frog. He used her distraction to his advantage and rushed forward, sweeping the boy from her arm in one swift motion. She let out a startled gasp that turned into an offended grumble as her eyes fell on him.
“Thief,” she accused with a pout.
“This boy’s mother requires your attention,” he replied, shifting the boy in question to hold propped up on his hip with one arm.
Liss raised an eyebrow in curiosity. “Privately?
“Not in particular.” Nathaniel shrugged. “But I figured it would be easier to gossip about me if I am not present.”
Her eyes lit up with mischief and she laughed. “I like the way you think.”
“Anything for you, my lady,” he said, stepping forward, taking her chin in his hand, and tilting it up just enough for him to press a reverent kiss to her lips, heavy with the secret he would someday share.
When he pulled away, she sighed and blinked back at him with misty eyes. She must have felt it, too. “That was—”
“I know,” he said breathlessly, grinning and kissing her forehead this time, “Now go spend time with my sister. She misses you.”
“Okay, okay fine,” she hissed back at him playfully then looked at Aidan, “Hey, tell Uncle Nate what you want to do.”
Aidan grinned and turned to point a little finger at something over Nathaniel’s shoulder. “Quack!”
Liss giggled and Nathaniel turned around to see a small group of ducks congregated at the edge of the water, several feet further down the stream. He glanced back at Liss, then to Aidan. “Shall we go see the ducks, then?”
“Quack, quack,” Aidan replied enthusiastically, body trembling with excitement.
“You heard the man,” said Liss as she knelt down to pick up her shoes, “I wouldn’t keep him waiting if I were you.”
As he watched Liss flash him one last grin before turning to head toward Delilah, and his uncertainty vanished, clouds of doubt dissipating in her wake. It was all he needed.
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Attack on Titan | Here’s to dreams
it seems i can’t stop about writing about aot characters and the sea 🥺
they deserve happiness
fandom: Attack on Titan
summary: Where the gang discovers the joys of the sea.
word count: 1.1k
There it is. Glistening under the showers of bright sunlight, bluer than anything they’ve ever seen. Crystal clear, lapping the sandy shore in a peaceful flow back and forth, ceaselessly humming its melody of murmurs for whoever would be willing to lend their ear to its soft tune. Infinite, reaching out to the horizon. The sea. Armin had dreamed of the day he would see it; and now, there it is. Right before their eyes, within their reach, big and blue and free from any limit. The sea.
But Armin doesn’t get much time to indulge in the melancholy surge of joy that pierces through his heart—watching the sea, alongside his best friends, is no time for solitary contemplation. Rather, the grin that lights up his features is just as bright as the glimmering waves that wash over his feet, leaving a cool imprint upon his warm skin. Mikasa and Eren smile back at him, their feet equally plunged beneath the surface of the sea, and the only thing that manages to break this unspoken connection—too deep and strong between the three teenagers to be understood by anyone else—is the sudden cry that comes from the rest of their comrades:
“Ugh! What the hell is this?” Jean's body is shaken by a fit of coughing, the boy’s dripping cupped hands giving out enough information to guess what just happened. “Why the fuck is this water salty?! That shit’s undrinkable!”
“Wait, really?” Conny is about to try the experiment himself, but Armin is quick to interfere:
“Wait, don’t! It really is not drinkable. It’s salt water! You get salt out of it," he explains with a sorry smile, preventing his comrade from giving it another go.
“Huh? Salt water? How’s that even possible...” Jean mutters, wiping his tongue on the exposed skin of his forearm while suspiciously eyeing the water down below.
“Everything’s possible outside the walls, right, Armin?” Eren replies, beaming, and all those things the blond boy had once told him about with stars in his eyes come flooding back from beneath years of yearning for revenge and eagerness to fight. There’s nothing quite so beautiful as the smiles on the faces of those we love most—those who stick with us through thick and thin, until the end of the world.
“Yes!” Armin confirms excitedly, remembering word for word what he had said to Eren back then. “Water that glows like fire. Fields of ice. Giant rocks that take days to climb... The world must be full of wonders.”
“I hope they don’t all try to kill you like that salty water...,” Jean adds sulkily, but his features bare the traces of a certain curiosity, too.
“First rule: don’t touch anything you’ve never seen before,” Captain Levi’s placid tone warns them from the shore, especially targeting Hanji, who’s picking up some kind of chiselled shell brought by the tide. “Careful, it might be dangerous.”
“What could it be...?” Hanji watches the object unknown to her with close attention, cheeks flushed from excitement as her fingers run over the glossy mineral it is composed of, trying to make sense of it. “It doesn’t look like anything I’ve seen before.”
“Proves my point,” Levi grunts back, still not venturing toward the water, though he does keep staring at it in awe as soon as everyone’s heads turn away from him, their gaze captured by the endless horizon expanding before them.
“Don’t you want to join us?” Hanji presses on cheerfully, disregarding the Captain’s wariness, and earns an exasperated sigh in response—however, Levi steps closer, inspecting a few other shells scattered in the sand. “See, they’re not doing anything!” She holds up her own shell, shimmering in the palm of her hand.
A little further away, knees deep in the water, the rest of the Scouts are not quite as meek as the Captain and the Commander. Having quickly adapted to this new bewildering environment, discovering things they had never seen before as they go, Conny and Sasha’s energy radiates more ecstatically than ever before—save for that time the Scouts had been offered meat for dinner, which promptly led Sasha to losing her mind—, even dragging Jean along into their schemes. Before he knows it, his two other friends are grabbing him by the arms and waist, attempting to push him into the sea with a great deal of giggles.
“Get off me!” Jean is desperately trying to wriggle himself out of Conny and Sasha’s grip, all limbs struggling for a way out, which only ends up in the three of them losing their balance—with a loud splash, the trio is sent head first into the water, their bodies diving in entirely.
"You idiots!” A completely soaked Jean emerges from the water, gasping for air, while Conny and Sasha are evidently having a hard time to both breathe and laugh at the same time; even Levi cracks an imperceptible smile from behind Hanji, who doesn’t refrain from chuckling at the teenagers’ misbehaviour. In the end, Jean also gives in, letting out a chuckle in spite of his reproachful glance at Conny and Sasha as he runs a hand through his wet hair. Nevertheless, he won’t surrender so soon. “You’re going to pay!” Jean yells, suddenly tackling his friends, which sends the pair flying back into the water.
But Jean’s evil laughter doesn’t get much time to assert his victory either—Eren, creeping in from behind Jean’s back, has been carefully plotting his coup.
“You didn’t see that coming, did you?” the brunet boy exclaims triumphantly, making Jean topple over with a shriek of surprise.
“At this rate, they’re going to drown themselves,” Levi observes calmly, watching from afar all the racket going on in the sea.
Hanji spares a glance at the Captain after a few second’s silence, a nostalgic smiling hanging over her face. “They deserve a little fun.”
And, indeed, the group’s screams and laughter fill the maritime wind with unconstrained light-heartedness, rising toward the sky—something they haven’t felt in days, or even months. Right now, they’re nothing but teenagers, mischievous, foolish, and happy teenagers, who don’t care about a thing in the world but who’s going to duck under water next.
“You were right, Armin.” Mikasa says kindly, turning to Armin, and her dark eyes shining with emotion she can’t hold back. “The sea is beautiful.”
Armin can only nod back, smiling so hard that tears begin to blur his vision—smiling so hard he feels like his chest will be torn into pieces from the breath of happiness he gets from watching his dream come true, surrounded by the people who mean to him just as much, and even more, than the sea itself. They’ve made it this far. Eren, Mikasa, Jean, Conny, Sasha, Hanji, Levi—and Erwin, who must be looking down on them with pride like no other. And there is the sea.
“Hey, guys? Let’s get stuck in these good times forever.”
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