#Anti flash cast

[drnotreallystrange]

True love will not be denied

Man, C*n*ice is back at it with the so very lovable J.R. Smith.

Note how some of her stans (ex-stans?) are starting to see the light with respect to her true character, something which we have been saying FOR YEARS.

hahaha this is so funny, I could have written that, and I cannot stand cp, but I didn’t.

[bluecrocss]

Yes. You are racist. (Buckle up, this is gonna be a long one)

So approximately half a year since the premier of the Disney+ Percy Jackson show, and almost two years since the announcement of the Trio's casting, I would like to take this moment to look back at the insane, racist and anti-black backlash that was launched at Leah Sava Jeffries and a few other cast members from the PJO fandom.

I'm not concerned with the trolls who are openly racist, who resorted to racist slurs and outright threats, everyone agrees that they "took it too far". I want to talk about the rest of you, the "I'm not racist, but.." people, the "What's wrong with wanting book accuracy?" people. Just to let you know, for the unasked question... yes, yes you are.

I've noticed the Percy Jackson fandom has been lording some weird superiority complex over a certain *unnamed* fandom that has fallen out of grace due to their recently outed bigot of an author. But honestly, y'all are not much different. The amount of vitriol and anti-blackness I have seen from this fandom (beyond just bullying a 12 year old girl), y'all don't have a leg to stand on.

Below is a breakdown of the most common arguments I have seen used to justify y'alls absolutely insane bigotry. I am going to explain why none of these justify the amount of anger and vitriol y'all have sent towards Leah, Rick or any of the cast.

I am not here to argue, and this is not a democracy. I am giving you a chance for some self-reflection and to understand that this pattern of violence directed towards POC actors (mostly black women) has never been justified in the name of "book accuracy"/"comic book accuracy"/"ending forced diversity" or whatever other excuses y'all try to make up.

If you still try to justify or argue further for any of these points, I will just block you. I am not coddling you through your racism. If anyone has seen any other dumb arguments floating around that I might've missed, feel free to sound off in the comments.

She's not book accurate:

Neither is Percy, Luke, Grover, Dionysus, Poseidon, and just about every other named character.

Rick already made it clear that physical features were not the priority with casting, rather it was actors that embodied the role. So why are the biggest complaints about Annabeth and Zeus? 🤔

What? You're gonna say everyone else got backlash too? I see you trying to obscure the main issue by playing dumb 😉

See my friend, yes, there were one or two comments about how Percy's hair should be black or how Luke is supposed to be blonde, but as soon as Leah was cast, none of those actors got any significant backlash. In fact, Walker and Charlie literally have an army of fan girls at their beck and call, calling them the perfect Percy and Luke, despite neither being "Book accurate". But then again, have we not observed the pattern of White boy of the month vs WOC to hate for the year? (Yes, I know Charlie isn't white. Further adds to the irony, doesn't it).

Why include character descriptions if you won't stay true to them, you cry? Well, my dear sweet moron, see, books and TV are two different mediums. Because in literature, you can't *Literally* SEE the characters, the author has to add descriptions to paint a picture in your mind, in TV... that's not an issue. So unless the character's appearance is necessary to the plot (like Luke's scar, or Nico being Italian) the show runners can actually focus on more important things.. Like ACTING and PERSONALITY.

2. It's just not how I imagined her:

News flash, babe! ANNABETH ISN'T REAL. None of these character are. They are concepts that originated from the brain of Mr. Rick Riordan. It doesn't matter how YOU imagined her. There are millions of people who read these books that imagined her several different ways. When the creator of the character watched Leah's audition and said, 'Yes! She embodies the character I created!", your imagined version of Annabeth ceased to matter. And guess what? The books still exist... they have not been burned. Your version of Annabeth has not disappeared. Go read the books.

3. Zeus can't be black/Gods have to be Greek/*Insert Character* can't be black:

Y'all did not read the books, I swear. You have to be fake fans looking to troll atp.

The gods move based off the center of western civilization. They change their forms/environment to reflect the culture they are occupying (they did it with Rome, now they're doing it with America). The gods change forms all the time. How we see them is not their true form as a mortal would disintegrate if they were to see their true form.

America is a cultural melting pot (specifically NY where Mount Olympus is now based). If the god's choose forms that reflect the current society they inhabit, they could literally be any race (keep in mind NYC is only 33% white).

All of this is literally SPELLED OUT in the Lightning Thief.

Furthermore, if you're going to push the ethnically Greek thing... Poseidon is British with a British accent and Hermes is Latino. The only ethnically Greek actor is Dionysus (who still doesn't look book accurate). Y'all are sounding like some white supremacists because do you forget that race is a social construct?

Before the advent of the transatlantic slave trade, I can promise you that the Greeks and the Anglo-Saxons did NOT view themselves as the same people. Why are y'all not taking issue with Poseidon's actor then?

Also, Percy Jackson has canonically had a slew of explicitly black demigods since the second book (including Harriet Tubman, which I have mixed feelings about 😭), so I genuinely have no idea where some of y'all are going with this point.

4. She was our smart blonde representation:

Don't pmo. I swear to God!

White, blonde women have NEVER been excluded from Hollywood. Representation is not something you lacked. The dumb blonde stereotype was a simple branch off of a larger misogynistic "dumb woman" stereotype. It has not truly been relevant since the mid 2000s outside of childish jokes.

This iteration of Percy Jackson will probably not go beyond the first 5 books, based off pacing and the age of the actors. So here's a fun game: 5 bucks to the first person who can find me a quote in the first 5 Percy Jackson books, where Annabeth laments her insecurities about being blonde (hint: there aren't any).

Also, her blonde hair does not hold her back at Camp because she is head of the Athena Cabin who are highly respected (and guess what?), ARE ALL BLONDE!

Her insecurities about her hair color are two or three lines at most in the later books, not this fundamental, core part of her character y'all all of a sudden wanna pretend it was. And guess what, as a non-blonde black girl, I was able to read those scenes of Annabeth feeling undervalued because of her looks and relate to her even if she didn't look like me at the time.

Why all of a sudden can y'all not do that with a black Annabeth? By every metric black girls are undervalued for their intelligence in academia more than white girls are, regardless of hair color. So your little representation of a woman undervalued by her looks would still hold. Do y'all dehumanize black women so much, that you are incapable of empathizing with show!Annabeth's plight in the way I could with Book!Annabeth simply because she doesn't look exactly like you?

Your issue isn't that she isn't blonde, it's that she is NOT WHITE.

Furthermore, Becky Riordan had tweeted previously (before the show was even cast) that Annabeth never needed to be blonde (probably recalling the BS y'all put Alexandra Daddario through), so even if they cast a white Annabeth, the blonde hair was never a guarantee. the author and producers all agree that it was not a significant part of her character. It's been a non-issue since day one.

Also, stop acting like smart blondes are rare in media... If you don't go watch some Legally blonde, Iron Man (Pepper Potts), Zack and Cody (Maddie), Liv and Maddie, FMAB (Winry), Captain Marvel, She-Ra, Buffy, The boys (starlight) etc. etc., and go sit down somewhere 🙄🙄🙄 (those were literally all things I've watched recently, off the top of my head, btw 💀)

5. It's not about race, but...:

Yes it is. It was always bout race. No other actors got as much hate as Leah. Her grandmother and other family members on IG had to mute their comments because they were getting so many threats.

Alexandra Daddario had to come to her defense on Twitter. Rick had to put out an official statement on his website. This girl has endured years of psychological torment for simply having the best audition. No one else is book accurate, no one else is ethnically Greek (except Jason Mantzoukas). Walker literally has British and German ancestry.

Why was she being called racial slurs on reddit and in youtube comments?

I know what you're gonna say, "I actually had problems with the entire cast", "I actually had a bigger issue with Walker's hair color", blah blah blah. Then why aren't you in Walker's comment sections? Why are you only making your displeasure known on posts defending/advocating for Leah? Why is she always your first example of 'wrong casting"?

Well, she "looks the most different"... Look up the term "scapegoating".

"Oh, I don't agree with the harassment. I just don't like the casting." Guess what? She's already been cast. They are not going to uncast her. What do you get out of still complaining about it.

All the vitriol you're stirring about her when you complain about her on Social media, it is directing people to send her hate, even if you're not writing it directly. It's is not enough to "not agree" with the racism, it is your duty to actively prevent it. And btw, these are young gen z actors, they are active on social media. They see the edits of themselves (even comment on it) and they most likely see these little "harmless" complaints you're posting. Are your upset feelings really worth contributing to the racist dogpile on this poor girl?

6. Why couldn't they atleast give her blonde braids?:

Why should they? Y'all wanted blonde because of the "dumb blonde" trope... that doesn't apply to POC.

A blonde black girl is gonna be viewed the same as a non-blonde black girl (or at worst, someone might decide she's "ratchet" or some shit for wearing colored hair). What difference would it make?

Why shouldn't Walker dye his hair, then?

7. Annabeth has Gray eyes:

Less than 3% of the global population has "gray eyes". Even if they cast a white actor, they would've needed contacts. Her being black is not the reason Annabeth's eyes aren't gray. Simply put, it is a plot element they removed, like the whole "names have power" element, or Ares having flames for eyes, or Dionysus using his powers to grow strawberries at Camp.

That's how adaptations work. Unnecessary plot elements are cut to save time and budget. This has nothing to do with her casting. They probably also didn't want to make child actors wear contacts (not a new practice).

8. Even if Rick chose her, he was wrong/Disney is forcing him to be okay with it:

Where do I start? Rick created the character. He can't be wrong. Do y'all have no self-awareness? Death of the author has no place here, because y'all are hung up on an aspect of the character that is not relevant to her arc or development.

Y'all's justification for wanting a "book accurate" Annabeth is that she was such an inspirational and important character growing up, and yet your behavior is so in conflict with the character you claim means so much to you. You're narrow minded, dismissive of bigotry and injustice, and disrespectful to the wishes of the creator of your favorite character; everything that Annabeth would never be. Y'all were never genuine fans of the books. You're bigots that needed an outlet for your rage.

Keep in mind, Rick has said countless times that PercaBeth directly mirrors his relationship with his wife. Y'all think he would have allowed them to cast someone who doesn't live up to the woman who has been by his side for decades? The mother of his children?

Regarding Disney forcing him, show me one piece of direct evidence that proves Disney in anyway pressured Rick to cast her. Cuz if you can't, that's baseless speculation. And if you have to resort to baseless speculation, maybe try to examine why it's so important to you to hold on to this belief.

9. So, I'm racist because I hate "race swapping"?:

To start, there is a difference between "race swapping" and "color blind casting". Often times, when y'all complain about the former, you're actually mad about the latter.

It would be "race swapping" if Rick and the team decided ahead of time that they wanted a black Annabeth and ONLY allowed black actors to audition. But the actual reality was that they accepted auditions from everyone (there were white actors and non-black poc that also auditioned for the role) and chose the best person who embodied the role. They didn't "make Annabeth black" and they didn't "make Zeus black", they cast black actors for those roles.

Y'all think you're being slick with your wording. Dismissing that is implying that they did not earn their roles fair and square. Which is racist. It's the equivalent of going up to a black college student and telling them they only got in because of affirmative action. You're dismissing the achievements of a person solely because of their racial background.

For all you people complaining about "unfairness" and "forced diversity", I would think hiring based on merit would appeal to you 🤔

71% of theatrical Hollywood leads were white in 2024 in comparison to 29% POC and you still think "black washing" is a thing? You still get this angry over a black person fairly earning a role because you think in a time where Hollywood only knows to do remakes and adaptations, that the majority of lead roles still *have* to be reserved for white actors?

Once again, white people have never been excluded from Hollywood for being white. Representation has never been something you lacked nor is it something you can lose. Your anger comes from seeing a black face where you think they don't belong. Because you feel you are owed a disproportion of representation in Hollywood.

10. Woke agenda/DEI/Forced Diversity:

If you are unironically using any of these terms in a negative light, it's already too late for me to reason with you. Look up the term "dog whistle". If you are sharing the same terminology with Elon Musk and his fanboys, maybe reevaluate some things.

POC are objectively underrepresented and have been historically excluded through actual laws and policies in Hollywood. There is no such thing as "forced diversity", you have bought in to a right wing conspiracy theory.

"Woke" is a term that was intentionally appropriated from the black community. It originally meant being aware of injustice and systematic threats to the community and is now being weaponized by bigots. Good job.

Diversity and inclusion is a good thing.

11. But POC deserve to have their own stories told:

We do. And we have been fighting for it for over a century now, and we've made great strides, no thanks to y'all.

No thanks to y'all gaslighting us about how little representation we get or that representation matters at all. No thanks to y'all pushing the idea that POC can't sell globally and obscuring POC actors in international promos. No thanks to y'all continuing to whitewash even to this day (Bullet train, the beguiled, gods of Egypt, atla, every portrayal of Jesus ever, etc.). No thanks to y'all calling every piece of media that has more than one black lead and more than one queer couple "woke". No thanks to y'all throwing a fit every time a black person in a fantasy setting isn't a slave.

Fact of the matter is, y'all never cared about POC "getting their own stories", you're only parroting our own words back to us now as a politically correct way of saying, "leave white roles alone" lmao

Well fun fact, actors of color getting opportunities to play lead roles and allowing poc to "tell their own stories" are not mutually exclusive. If y'all cared that much, instead of bullying a 12 year old actress, you could actually support up and coming independent POC writers, directors, and studios 😱

12. Studios need to stop "setting up" actors of color:

Do me a favor and google the term DARVO.

Your racism is not the fault of the studios for giving a POC actor a role that they earned. It is not up to the rest of society to tiptoe around racists to avoid their vitriol. It is our responsibility to hold them accountable and protect minorities from unwarranted hate. At most, you can say it's the responsibility of the studios to provide adequate support to POC actors who face this backlash.

At the end of the day, Hollywood only allows very few spots for POC actors (especially WOC), while simultaneously pushing a new white boy every month to put in everything. Putting minorities in these roles that are usually closed to them, usually opens the door to more actors of color than before.

Brandy being cast as Cinderella did a lot to push her into the mainstream (yes, she was already extremely famous in the black community atp), Halle Berry being the first, black, bond girl literally shot her to icon status, and even going as far back to what Anna Mae Wong did for Asian American actresses with her "femme fatale" roles.

At the end of the day, even with the backlash, *some* rep does more good for POC actors than *no* rep. The solution to racist backlash isn't to take away those opportunities, but rather to not be racist??? 🙄

Also, for everyone that claims that "POC race-swapping" is just as bad as "white-washing", despite white washing having a longer history and objectively causing more harm, note how the backlash to white washing never lasts as long as the harassment that POC get.

Like, no one brings up Scarlett Johansson's ghost in the shell role anymore, but you can best believe Candace Patton is still fending off racist trolls. As much as people hated the atla movie, people moved on quick from Nicola Peltz playing Katara since she was just a kid that accepted the role (re: daddy bought her the role), but y'all would not have any of that consideration for Leah Sava Jeffries.

But I digress...

13. What if we made Tiana white? Wakanda white? Hazel white...:

Ah, my favorite inane point. I was so excited to get here :)

See, I could start out by pointing out how "White washing" and casting a POC actor as a traditionally white character are not equivalent.

I could point out the history of hollywood ACTIVELY excluding POC actors and POC stories. I could point out how grossly over represented white people are in hollywood. I could point out that POC characters are so few in comparison that whitewashing them causes actual harm, where white people have never lacked rep.

I could point out how, because poc characters and stories are so often tokenized that their racial/cultural background is often directly tied to their character's identity, in opposition to a lot of white characters, since hollywood treats white as the "Default".

See, I could make all those points, but the thing is, the people who make this argument already know all that. They are trying to waste time by drawing me into a pointless circular argument that will sum up to "fair is fair", while ignoring all the context and nuance I previously provided.

So you know what? Forget it. Let me play your game.

I am actually fine with a white Tiana. Would it make sense, for her and her family to experience Jim Crow era racism, in the south while white? No. But we can look past it. Disney was never known for historical accuracy anyway 🤷🏿‍♀️

However, in exchange, the live action frozen will have a black Elsa and Anna, live action Rapunzel will be black, live action Merida will be black, we're re-filming Cinderella and Beauty and the beast to cast a black belle and Cindy, snow white will need to be recast as black, and we also get aurora whenever the live action sleeping beauty is announced. But then y'all can keep Tiana, deal?

You want a white T'Challa? Fine! (I'm partial to Ryan gosling), in the meantime, we'll be recasting Iron man, Captain America (Steve version), Bruce banner, Thor, Loki, hawk eye, black widow, ant man, captain marvel, Bucky, Peter Parker etc. All the avengers and their side characters, then y'all can have Sam Wilson, war machine and the whole of Wakanda (will it make sense that a sole, hidden, African nation is randomly made up of white people? Who cares? We get the avengers!).

You want white Hazel? You got her! I hope you have no problem with us taking Percy, Nico, Will, Poseidon, Jason, calypso, Rachel, Tyson, Silena, the stoll brothers, Sally Jackson, Hades, Hepheastus, ares, etc. But y'all can have Hazel and Beckendorf.

If we're gonna do this, let's commit all the way. Fair is fair, after all.

14. Leah isn't as "pretty" as Book Annabeth/Movie Annabeth:

I wish I could say this wasn't a genuine point I had read, but when all else fails, they will always go for a woman's appearance.

Now first of all, as a rule, I will never hold black women to white beauty standards. Our hair will never be long and silky enough, our nose will never be narrow enough, our skin will never be fair enough and our eyes will never be light enough (Might I recommend Toni Morrison, when you get the chance?). But Leah is unfairly gorgeous idc what any of you say, and you're not gonna have me use my defense of Leah as an opportunity to bash Alexandra either because she is also beautiful. These two queens slayed to the best of their abilities within this toxic ass fandom.

I find it funny, however, that so many of you harped on the "blonde" issue because you thought it was important that Annabeth be seen beyond just her looks, but quickly devolve to bashing an actress's looks when it comes to why she's not right for this role 🤔

I would also like to sincerely apologize that the 13 year old girl they cast in the show, wasn't as sexually attractive to you as the 24 year old woman they cast in the movie and sexualized through like 25% of her screen time (I'm actually not sorry. You're very weird if this is an actual point for you).

15. I don't agree with sending hate to the actor, but she's just not right for the role:

Once again, what are you doing by complaining about her casting on no other basis than her race?

The creator of the character said she embodied the role. She has already been cast, and Disney would be in a legal/production hell to recast her atp. Just because you're not directly leaving comments on her social media doesn't mean you're not part of the hate mob.

No matter how you look at it, your issues with her casting come from a very entitled and narrow-minded place. When you join in on these dialogues you are bolstering a sentiment that pushes more people to harass this teenage girl. When you leave these "harmless" complaints, on show content, fan posts or posts defending her, she's liable to read them because the cast regularly interact with fans online.

What do you have to say that is so important that it trumps protecting a young girl from the long-staying trauma of racism, of being told she doesn't deserve something she worked for because of how she was born?

16. I can't even criticize the show without being called racist:

Get. Over. Yourself.

Y'all are not the victim. Have fans of the show gotten protective of Leah and the young cast? Yes.

With good reason. This fandom is unbearably toxic.

Racism outweighs your need for a "perfect adaptation", sorry.

If you explain yourself properly and keep your critiques fair (like, even I don't think this was a perfect season, and will be sharing my thoughts shortly), no one is gonna call you racist.

You're preempting with that because in all honesty, you're probably planning to use your "critiques" of the show to pivot to one of the many points that I just outlined, and you want to pre-empt the criticism.

If a black Annabeth is the end all be all for you, just don't watch the show, no one's holding a gun to your head. Geez.

17. I'm Black/POC and I don't agree...:

Hey, Candace Owens... No one gives a shit.

First of all, for all the "I'm POC and I don't agree" people, you don't speak for us. Anti-blackness is rampant in just about every culture globally. You being not-white doesn't somehow make you less prone to hating black people.

But for the "I'm black and I don't agree" leftovers (assuming you're not just a 👩🏼‍💻 behind a keyboard). Black people are not a monolith. You're not obligated to think a certain way because you're black.

But consider why you're putting yourself up as a barrier to protect this hate mob. It's one thing to just state why you don't like Leah's casting, but to start off your spiel with "I'm actually black" as a way to weaponize the very identity politics you're critiquing... very strange. Not to mention, what are you defending?

The black community is coming together to defend one of our own, a kid who has been receiving death threats since she was 12, and this is when you feel the need to back the opposition?

I mean whatever... sometimes the house slaves would snitch to the master. There will always be some of y'all in the woodwork. It is what it is.

But when the exact ideology you defend is turned against you, when a Baltimore elected official is being accused of getting his job through "DEI", when conservatives are claiming that they wouldn't "trust a black pilot", don't decide that's where you'll finally draw your line in the sand.

All that being said, This is my Annabeth:

May every tongue that rose against Leah Sava Jeffries Shrivel and die in 2025 🙏🏿 My girl will keep winning ❤️

(video by @/waleahhasmyheart on TikTok)

[cheriecelestial]

Angel Pt.1

pairing*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Red Hood!Jason Todd X fem!reader

disclaimer*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ fluff. slight suggestive content (?). swearing. canon typical violence. kinda long. not proofread !

a/n*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ based on that one prompt “Wow ! You’ve grown so much since I last babysat you” “I want to rail you so bad”. Reader is like 26 and Jason is 19-20. Set in the WFA verse + joyfire are a team. Kinda non canon complacent. Smut in part II

Part II

Under the nocturnal skyline of Gotham perched on a towering building was the vigilante anti- hero Red Hood watching, observing the city like a hunter stalking its next prey. His jacket whipped against the wind of the boisterous and animated city. He closed his eyes and listened to song of wailing sirens and the distant cries of people, ready to respond to the city's calls for help.

Gotham was a city that, much like its vigilantes, thrived in the night. The city was hued in the rapturous and vivacious of the nightlife. Neon signs flickered casting flashes of colours across the pavements of the night clubs. People scattered across the pavements like ants, some making their way home from a tiring day of work, others more aimless and leisure - their destinations less defined and indulgent. He pulled out his grapple hook gun and shot to a building a few blocks away from where his bike was parked.

In the shadowed alleyways, Red Hood felt a sinister presence stir. He kept walking without letting them know that he noticed their presence. By the footsteps, he could tell six no.. seven. Four of medium build and three a bit more burly. Judging by their lack of ability to mask their footsteps, he could guess they're amateurs. Well in all honesty, almost everyone was an amateur compared to him. Slowing his pace, Red Hood's hands instinctively moved to his holster, anticipating a potential confrontation. Nothing beat the thrill of beating up bad guys. However, amid the approaching group, he discerned another set of footsteps — urgent, lighter, tinged with fear, and most importantly heading directly toward him.

He felt someone clutch the lapel of his jacket desperately. "You're a vigilante, aren't you ? Please help me sir. I think there are bad people following me." Red Hood looked to his side and saw a woman much shorter than him and shaking like a leaf in wind. His breath caught in his throat as he stared at her. It had been almost a decade since he had gazed into those warm large eyes—a fragment of his childhood that he had long relegated to oblivion. Jason Todd had what most would call a troubled childhood. Abandoned by his birth mother and the only other one he had dead from drug abuse and an even worse father who died the hands of Two Face. Tossed through the foster system, he eventually found himself on the unforgiving streets of Gotham. Amid the darkest moments of his youth, one saving grace remained —his angel,Y/N L/N. One he completely forgot about when he assumed the mantle of Robin.

"Help me please." She implored, her voice trembling and on the verge of breaking - the same one who would calm his raging storm on bad nights and tell him that he was going to be okay, and in the moment he swore he was. Her gaze shifted between the men and the vigilante, moving closer to him without realizing to shield herself from the villains in the shadows. Almost as if in a trance, he raised his gloved hand to caress her cheek as if to check if she was real or not. "Just follow my lead." He spoke in a low tone and the woman nodded frantically. His hand encircled her wrist and he started running, dragging her behind him the second he heard the thugs charge. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't think twice before starting a fight and having it his way. But he couldn't bear endangering her in the slightest so getting her to safety was the only viable option.

Her breath came in rapid gasps, and beads of sweat glistened on side of her forehead as they navigated the maze of alleyways in their path. The flickering glow of distant streetlights created fleeting glimpses of their pursuers. Her heart pounded in her chest like the strumming of a frantic drum as adrenaline pumped poisoned her veins. Jason noticed that she couldn't run fast enough to outrun the thugs with her stamina. "Sorry about what I'm about to do”,he warned in a hushed whisper and without hesitation, he lifted her over his shoulder and began running. Y/N gasped, clutching onto the vigilante for dear life. Wind ruffled her hair as she watched the vigilante leave behind their pursuers effortlessly. "You know if this vigilante thing doesn't work out you could try out for the Olympics." She muttered not realizing she said it out loud. Red Hood let out a gruff laugh, "I could but I like beating up bad guys and saving people such as yourself just a tad bit more angel." Y/N blushed at the nickname but waved it off as commonplace banter.

He set her down next to his bike. And took off his chocolate coloured jacket and draped it around her shoulders. "How could I ever thank you?" The h/c haired woman smiled at him with a smile so infectious that the corners of Jason's lips curled up without his realising under his mask. "Don't thank me just yet princess. They aren't near done." Y/N blinked in confusion and followed Red Hood's line of sight where she saw three black cars racing towards them. Her features morphed from relief to horror and alarm in the blink of an eye.The vigilante revved his bike and looked at her,"What are you waiting for?" The woman looks at the approaching cars and back at the vigilante, contemplating her options and got on the back of his bike. His hand envelops her and plants it onto his waist as if silently asking her to hold onto him. Y/N flinches at the contact as it she touched something really hot and retracted her hand.

The masked vigilante plucks a helmet out of the saddlebag and strapped it on her head."You might want to hold on angel." Y/N hums in acknowledgment and holds the grab handle behind the seat. Jason rolled his eyes at her refusal to hold onto him and revves the engine making her lurch forward and crash into his back. Realising that doing this any other way apart from his was futile, Y/N timidly encircled her arms around his waist.

The vibrations of the engine shook her whole being as he raced down the streets. The streets, trees, people blurred in her peripheral vision and she started feeling light-headed. Gathering all the morsels of courage she could find, she looked behind her to see the thugs chasing them. They hadn't lost the three cars and things just got worse when she saw a man peek his head out of the window with a fun in his hand. I'm so dying today. She clasped her hands tighter around him and pressed her face against his rigid muscular back in fear.

Sensing her unease, he looped his arm around her waist and pulled her infront of him. Y/N let out a yelp from the suddenness of the contact.

"What are you -"

"You don’t want your back facing them when they start shooting soon." Y/N looked over his shoulder to the thugs and then sunk back into and then sank back against his chest.

"You know if it makes you feel better just know this is an average Tuesday for me." Y/N blinked at him incredulously and in a small voice muttered,"It's Thursday today." A nonchalant shrug was all the answer he decided to give her. How the hell does he manage to remain calm through it? I'm on the verge of a panic attack and he's swerving as if this is a joyride in his kingdom. And in that moment if someone said that he was the king of Gotham, Y/N would find it hard to refute it.

The bike picked up speed causing the h/c haired woman to crash against his chest harshly. It was as if the pressure of the wind glued her against him. To calm herself, she decided to try concentrating elsewhere. Absentmindedly trailing the ridges of his armour and the red bat symbol on his chest. She heard whispers and rumours about Red Hood, the prince of crime, the scourge of the underworld—an outlaw employing more lethal methods against crime than Batman. Despite initial conflicts with Batman, he was acknowledged as a Bat vigilante some time ago. This man was dangerous and unpredictable then why did he feel so familiar to her ?

“I know I have god-tier pectoral muscles but I’d appreciate if you stopped distracting me like that.” Red Hood quipped, sounding almost smug at her fascination. Heat rushed into her cheeks and she quickly withdrew her hand, realising how inappropriate that must’ve felt and hastily clarified,“ I’m so sorry, I’m not a pervert I swear.” Y/N felt his chest rumble with a chuckle.

“Hold on.” Red Hood skidded the bike across the road with a loud screech, making Y/N wince at the sound of the metal scratching against the gravel. He loaded his gun with one hand still wrapped around Y/N protectively and aimed at the tires of the approaching car. “I’d suggest for you to not look at it.”Y/N averted her gaze and moments later, she heard a series of crashes and explosions.

“Jesus Christ I thought I was going to die !” She exhaled in relief. Red Hood turned his face towards her slowly and looked at her as if deadpanning through the mask,“ I’m here you know. What makes you think I’d let you die ?” He retorted taking full offence of her words. “I- I didn’t mean it like that -” she stammered, partly scared to offend the vigilante.

"Whatever I'll drop you off." Jason rolled his eyes and patted the seat behind him. Y/N hesitated, remembering her mother's warning about getting on bikes with strange men, but given her current situation, she realized it was too late to dwell on that now. With no one pursuing them, the ride felt much more pleasant. The speed and the wind against her hair seemed to turn her blood to gasoline as the air dissipated from her lungs. Adrenaline fueled activities weren't for her, at least that's what her sense of self preservation told her. Y/ N pressed her cheek against Red Hood's back. Vigilantes had a symbiotic relationship with the city and as was a common saying in Gotham "The less bats you run into the happier your life is." She knew that this encounter might be a fleeting one, so she decided to relish the moment for now.

Feelings and thoughts were long forgotten, where everything faded into the background and only her physical self exists and the dancing lights at the hazy edges of her vision offered an intoxicating taste of freedom that was indescribable — stripped of obligations, responsibilities and consequences.

Y/N almost doesn’t notice when he stopped the bike. “Do you plan on holding onto me for long ? Not that I mind but we’re here.” Red Hood hopped off the bike and Y/N took off her helmet and hung it onto the handlebar. She scanned her surroundings, they were in front of a five star hotel with sports cars parked on either side of of the road. “Why are we here ?” The woman asked following behind the masked vigilante. “Well for one I don’t know your address so I can’t drop you home and second it’s too late so you should stay the night at a hotel and go home in the morning. It’s safer that way.” Y/N stared at him in disbelief,“ But I don’t have the kind of money to rent a room in a place like this.” Red Hood retrieved a key card from his pocket and placed it on her palm,“Who said anything about paying ?” The h/c haired took it reluctantly and slowly walked to the entrance of the hotel, looking back at him again and again. It wasn’t until she was inside the hotel that she saw him drive off. Y/N walked to the concierge desk and showed her the card. The receptionist eyed her with suspicion considering how she looked so out of place compared to her opulent setting. “Please fill this form. It’s for security purposes.”

The form asked things like her address and her phone number. As reluctant as she was, the receptionist looked like she wasn’t letting her through unless she filled it. Wary of the dangers of misuse of information, Y/N tried to keep her responses as brief as possible. Paranoia was the best friend of a Gothamite considering everything that went down in this hellhole. It was good to always assume the worse and subsequently prepare for it.

The receptionist offered her a tight smile and walked her to the suite. Calling it a suite was an understatement since it was the penthouse on top of the hotel. Just how rich is this guy ? Y/N assumed that the house was a property he didn’t live in because the place lacked personal touch. Either that or he was a real minimalist which was unlikely considering bat vigilantes’ love for theatrics. Y/N wondered if all the bat vigilantes were like a huge family with Batman as papa bat. Where would Red Hood fall in the hierarchy ? If she were to guess, she’d say he was probably the black sheep of the family. Y/N looked around the house, it was one straight out of architectural digests with its high ceilings and cool grey and white interior. She looked at the time and decided it was best if she hit the shower and go to bed and finally put an end to this crazy day.

Jason Todd checked into the hotel the next morning and was greeted by the overly friendly receptionist, personally he didn’t mind fangirls but anyone with even half a braincell knew the risks of being a vigilante groupie. She passed him the form that Y/N filled. He couldn’t help but smile at the form. Filling her work address and a phone number both which were most likely false give the conspicuous number of 7’s in the number ? She’s smarter than most civilians, he’d give her that. The penthouse looked almost unhampered with. His jacket was neatly folded on the dining table with a note reading “Thank you so much for saving me. Regards.” The tone of the note was clear ‘I appreciate you saving me but I hope we never meet again.’ Jason pocketed the note and left the penthouse. Fates had been kind enough to reunite him with his angel and he’d be damned if he let her get away .

“Yoohoo Y/N to earth. Anybody home ?”Y/N’s coworker snapped her fingers in front her face, snapping her out of her reverie. “Sorry about that Steph.” Y/N apologised with an awkward laugh. Stephanie Brown, albeit several years younger, was one of Y/N’s closest friends. She was a bubbly and cheerful soul anyone could tell that by the first impression she projected.

Since the night almost a week ago with the mysterious vigilante, Y/N often found her thoughts plagued by him. Curiosity of where he would be or what he would be doing right now. Her eyes often looked for any news of him while watching the news. I really have to stop thinking about him, even though they lived in the same city, the odds of them running into each other were minute.

The door opened and the bell on top of it clanged, announcing the arrival of a customer. “Mornin’ ladies.” The customer greeted. Y/N turned her attention at the newcomer at the counter. “Good morning detective !” she greeted the customer with a bright smile.

Dick Grayson served as a police officer under the GCPD and was one of the cafe’s frequents. From experiences of her own childhood, Y/N consider the police nothing but corrupt individuals on payroll of powerful people who bullied those weaker than them. But detective Grayson was one of the good and honest ones. He played a massive role in restoring Y/N’s faith that there were those in the police force who could be relied upon and ones that fought for a better Gotham.

"I'll go with the..." he glanced at the menu, a ritual he often performed. "the regular?" Y/N finished his sentence. He responded with a smile, revealing his dimples. "I never understand why you bother with the menu when you always order the same thing," she remarked. He shrugged nonchalantly, as if saying 'who knows.' A smile crept onto her face as she made his order.

“So how’s everything with the family ?” Y/N asked, making small talk. Beyond his consistent ordering and punctual 9:00 AM café visits, he frequently shared his sibling issues. "Oh, where do I begin? My brother is acting up, yet again. He pulled some crap about a week ago. He broke one of Dad’s rules, even though he said he did it to help someone but Dad was just not having it."

“ Which one ? The cool rebellious one or the little gremlin one ?” Y/N laughed sympathetically. She didn’t feel the need to probe and ask much but she always lent an ear to a friend so naturally she knew them by characteristics and not by name. From what she knew, Dick Grayson had three younger brothers - the broody rebellious one, the caffein addict smartass and the 4 foot gremlin edgelord from hell.

“The rebellious one.” he sighed wearily. Y/N placed his order on the counter, including a small pack of cookies. “On the house. You could use some sugar anyway. They’re free testers before we put them on the menu.” Dick accepted the coffee and cookie packet, flashing a bright smile. “Thank you so much. You’re an angel.” An odd feeling resonated within her when Dick called her that. That’s what Red Hood called her. Somehow the way the word rolled off his tongue seemed so different compared to when anyone else said it.

“Hey Dick do you mind if I ask you something ?” Dick nodded, taking a sip of his coffee. “What do you know about the Red Hood ?”

Dick choked on his drink and burst into a fit of coughs. It took him a while to compose himself. “He’s alright. I mean he does help the GCPD I guess but he’s too unpredictable and we don’t exactly approve of his methods. He doesn’t hurt innocents but he’s bad news. Why do you ask ?”

“No reason.”Y/N brushed off the inquiry, and although Dick seemed skeptical, he left after leaving a tip. There. Is your curiosity satiated ? Even Dick said he’s bad news now can we stop thinking about him ? Her inner conscience reprimanded her.

Y/N's weary steps echoed in the quiet street as she walked home from work at night. The flickering light from the street lights streetlights casted long almost sentient looking shadows. Her thoughts — a mix of the day's challenges, the longing for the comfort of home blurred into oblivion when a strange chill crept up her spine with a sense of foreboding. Cautious of her surroundings, Y/N constantly kept watch around herself. Just a few yards before her apartment building, she heard their neighbourhood strays agitatedly hiss to something near the dumpster. Not wanting to get involved in whatever trouble Gotham had brought to her feet, she fastened her pace. Suddenly, a flash of vibrant red —the same shade she had been secretly craving to see in the past week, caught her eye.

“Red Hood ?” Y/N stepped into the shadows cautiously as if ready to flee at the first signs of trouble.

“Angel ?” He asked gruffly. Y/N walked closer and found him against the wall, clutching his side. His wound wasn’t a death sentence but needed to be tended to quickly. Her eyes widened in horror when she noticed the crimson coating his fingers,“You’re hurt !”

“ ‘Tis but a scratch m’lady.” He let out a pained laugh seeming to ease her nerves. “We need to get that treated.” Y/N urged. She knew that vigilantes couldn’t just walked into hospitals to get patched up because of the whole secret identity thing. And she also knew that taking it upon herself to treat him would go against every plan of self preservation she had. But she owed him his life. I’ll pay off my debt and we’ll never meet again. Y/N mentally decided and looked at him with newfound determination in her eyes. “My apartment is just upstairs. I have a first aid kit. Come with me.”

Red Hood gazed at her, momentarily lost in thought, then lifted his other hand to gently stroke her cheek. Y/N flinched at his touch, making him withdraw his hand. “Sorry I thought I was hallucinating you because from the blood loss. ” He admitted meekly. Y/N sighed and placed his hand over her shoulder. “Can you stand?” The masked vigilante nodded, rising slowly with a grunt.

Swallowing her rising concern, she brought him to her house and beckoned him towards her couch. Red Hood’s every step betrayed a hint of discomfort, his grimace almost visible even behind that signature mask. The second he dropped on her couch, she disappeared. He caught flashes of her running around the house like a busy bee at work. In seconds, she produced a first-aid kit and knelt next to him. “Lift your shirt.” She maintained her clinical tone, but the concern was evident with her eyes trained on the wound.

“Angel you know if you wanted to –” Jason started with a cheeky tone but was cut off by a stern glare, “Ahem yes ma’am”

Y/N breath hitched every so slightly when she saw the injury. It didn’t look like a bullet wound, the malformed spindle shape resembled a stab wound. “I’m sorry I don’t have any anaesthetic.” She didn’t look up from the wound as her cotton swab glided over the grevions injury. Shifting her elbow to his other hand on his thigh, Red Hood tilted his head seemingly questioning her,“ You can hold my arm and squeeze it if it hurts. I’ve heard that helps.”

“Appreciate the gesture angel but I’m pretty sure I’d snap your arm in half if I did.” His tone was both dismissive and endearing. Y/N didn’t insist, given his strength what he said was probably true. Vigilantes were exceptionally trained, surpassing conventional human limits. Unlike the caped metahuman from Metropolis, the bat vigilantes were more cryptid in nature. None would be where they came from and where they went. Invulnerable and insurmountable. Despite him being in a position that would render others vulnerable, he appeared unfazed, akin to a wounded yet formidable beast. There was a natural aura of dominance and power about him. They don’t call him the Prince of Gotham for no reason that’s for sure.

“You’re good at this. Like one of the best I’ve seen.” He spoke up, seemingly trying to come off as capable of being civil. “Well three years of med school. Some stitching is the least I can do.” She explained. Red Hood visible froze for a good second and inquired,“ You’re a doctor ?”

Y/N scoffed,“ Look around. Do I look like one ?” Red Hood looked around her apartment. Although well maintained, an ode to her efforts, the apartment was old and almost pitiful . Most of the furniture looked second hand and cheap. The curtain rods were rusted and the paint was peeling off from the walls with damp spots on the ceilings.

“You dropped out ?” He guessed. “Yeah. Couldn’t afford it.” She chuckled bitterly.

“Didn’t they offer scholarships or something ?” Jason was aware of Wayne Enterprises’ scholarship programs for talented students. When Bruce took him in, he assured Jason that if Y/N met the criteria, she would be enrolled in the program. Y/N’s intellect had always impressed Jason since childhood, he remembered that she would often sneak into libraries and memorise books worth of stories to recite them to Jason to help him sleep. There was just no way she wouldn’t be accepted into the program.

“They did but that didn’t pay bills. I needed to find a job to pay for my mom’s hospital bills.” She kept her response short, clearly not wanting to delve deep into the topic. “Work for me.” The statement was like a whiplash for Y/N. Work for him ? There weren’t many things Y/N had to take a double take for but this proposition was entirely unexpected. It caught her off guard, she stared at him incredulously with widened eyes. Red Hood was know for operating in the gray areas between legality and criminality and wasn’t exactly your quintessential example of a righteous lawful hero.

“Not in the way you’re imagining.” He hooked his free hand under her chin, gently closing her agape mouth. His tone was soft and reassuring,“ I’ve been meaning to find a backstreet surgeon to stitch me up. Comes in handy for a guy like me. I’m sure you understand angel.”

“B-but why me ?”Y/N stuttered, avoiding eye contact as her nerves threatened to overwhelm her. She could feel a chill of nervousness and panic creep up her spine. What if he got angry if she refused ? Jason noticed the change in the air around her and the stiffening of her muscles in panic that she was clearly trying to hide from him.

“Because you’re convenient. Your place is easy to get in and out of undetected, you’re talented and most of all —“ He gently lifted her chin to meet his gaze. Y/N let out a shuddered breath as Red Hood stroked her cheek with the back of his gloved hand. “— you fear me enough to not go around squeaking to the wrong people about me. No ?” Jason couldn’t help but relish in the reaction he elicited to the feeling of the leather gliding against her cheek in a silken featherlight touch. How adorable.

Y/N swallowed nervously before nodding slowly. A beat of silence passed and she let out a small sigh, recollecting herself and weighing her options. “How much are we talking ?” She asked him in a low voice. Jason could hardly contain his excitement, grinning wildly under his mask. A sense of pride washed over him as her first question after his offer focused on the financial aspect.

“Let’s see how about 2 grand a month ? Too less ? 3 grand ? 3.5 ? That enough ?”he suggested eagerly. Y/N’s eyes widened in disbelief, almost bulging from their sockets. Without waiting for her response, he added, “Plus, there’ll be extra incentives when I’m feeling generous.”

“All that for some stitching ? There has to be a catch.” She reasoned. It seemed implausible that he would offer such a substantial sum for such a minor task. Jason chuckled," You’re smart. I like that in a woman. And to answer your question, it’s not just stitching. It’s about your discretion and loyalty. It’s a complete package. Plus that sort of money is pretty much pocket change to me.”

“And if I were to betray your trust ?” Y/N asked in a hypothetical sense, of course she had more sense than to betray someone of his stature and power. “Do you really want me to answer that ?” He countered sounding equal parts smug and menacing. Y/N shook her head in negation and continued stitching his wound. The process of stitching became a meditative rhythm - the needle piercing the skin, the pull of the thread, the knotting, and the slight twitch of Red Hood’s muscles with each stitch.

“I’ll take it.” She muttered. Jason was grateful for his mask and injury otherwise, he might have been unable to hide his urge to jump up and punch air in celebration. Agreeing to his proposition marked just the beginning of his grand plan for making Y/N his and for now, everything unfolded according to his wishes and he couldn’t be happier.

Y/N wrapped gauze around the wound and secured it with a metal clip. “Normally I’d suggest a few days’ rest but I have a feeling there’s no point in saying.” Red Hood commented with a shrug as he inspected the injury. Y/N rose and fetched him a glass of water from the kitchen, setting it on the table. “If you’re trying to get me to remove my helmet, it won’t work.” he remarked. As much as his distrust stung, Y/N rationalised that it was typical for someone like him.

She retrieved a scarf from the coat rack, folded it and tied it around her eyes before taking a seat on the edge of the couch, keeping a respectable distance from the masked vigilante. "What's with the blindfold angel ?" Red Hood asked, his tone tinged with amusement.

"Isn't trust earned through actions?" she responded. Y/N heard the thud of his helmet being placed on the table. Jason seemed genuinely impressed by her gesture. His gaze lingered on her figure as she remained motionless, noting how much she had changed since his childhood memory. Yet her kindness to those in need while still keeping herself guarded from those who would abuse it still remained unchanged. Jason’s hand twitched with the impulse to touch her. To hold her. He wondered how her face would look in his palms with her bare body melded against his own.

“ ‘Suppose it is.” Jason chuckled as he downed the glass of water and put his helmet back on. “I’m finished. You can remove that blindfold now, although it does look adorable on you.” He noticed her chest rise with a sudden hitch, and her cheeks flush red. Y/N couldn’t help but feel a bit embarrassed, knowing the other implications blindfolds carried. As she removed the scarf and looked around, Red Hood had vanished without a trace. Her window was open and it was as if disappeared into the wind just as he came. She got why the bat vigilantes were often likened to cryptid beings and phantoms. Y/N was left to ponder over the events that had unfolded. Under the glass of water she offered him three hundred dollar bills were tucked. “I suppose I’m now working for the Prince of Gotham now.” Y/N mused to herself, realizing her attempt to avoid getting involved had failed miserably.

Jason's parents engaged in another round of screaming matches, this time he decided he’d had enough and thought of running away. Despite previous fleeting thoughts of escape, each time night fell — he faced the harsh reality of lacking sustenance and shelter. Convinced that the streets offered a marginally preferable refuge to the shithole he was force to call home, he wandered aimlessly till he found himself at the dumpster of a bakery. He knew shops like those threw away left overs even though they could’ve given them out — Jason saw it as a glaring manifestation of selfishness of adults.

He hid behind the dumpster and waited for someone to come and throw away the leftovers. After waiting for almost half an hour, the sound of the door opening caught his attention. Glancing cautiously from his hiding spot, Jason spotted a young waitress walking out. She was likely just a few years older than himself, a middle school or a high school student maybe, he thought to himself. As she approached to dispose of the food, she paused midway. No way did she see him ? Jason shrank back against a cardboard box, hoping she wouldn’t notice him.

“Hey kid you can come out. I already saw you.” the waitress said softly. Jason slowly crawled out and approached her. He eyed the tray of leftovers in her hand, wondering if he could snatch them and escape quickly enough ? The waitress seemed to notice this and raised the tray above his reach. “Against bakery policies kid. Where are your parents ?” She asked. Of course she wouldn't be generous enough to offer him any. In his mind, all adults were rotten to the core and selfish —why would she be any different ?

Jason scoffed,“ Does it matter ?” His statement was met with a sigh from the waitress, her expression conveying annoyance, a scene all too familiar to him. Bracing himself he said,“ Just do it already. I’ve had it from guys thrice your size.” Jason was well acquainted with the drill with diner employees — catch a few shoves and slaps, pretend to go away and wait for them to leave and then come back pick up the food.

He shut his eyes and waited for her to slap and swear at him to drive him away like everyone else. Yet moments passed but the expected blow never came. Instead, Jason felt a gentle pat on his head and looked up to see her smiling empathetically, though her eyes betrayed a hint of sadness. Wondering why she seemed so melancholic, he accepted the loaf of bread she offered and wolfed it down. “Won’t you get in trouble for this ?” He asked. With a forced laugh she admitted,“ I probably will but I can’t let a kid hungry now can I ?”

“I won’t tell anyone.” The young boy promised earnestly and she returned his smile. His gaze fell upon her nametag—Y/N L/N. Maybe not all adults are bad.

It had been barely four days since she last saw him that she heard from him again. In the dead of night, her doorbell rang. She approached the door cautiously and grabbed a baseball bat from the umbrella rack as a just in case. She didn’t hear any movement on the other side of the door so she cautiously opened the door, peering out. To her surprise, she found only a small, shoddily wrapped parcel resting on the floor with her name written in red.

There was no one except a small poorly wrapped parcel on floor with her name on it. Retrieving it, she carried it inside. Within the parcel lay a modest yet exquisite golden necklace accompanied by a handwritten instruction manual. Observing it she realised it was one of those necklaces that acted as an SOS signal. The parcel also contained a big folded piece of paper. Unfolding it, she discovered a map of Gotham City with specific locations ominously marked in red and the stark warning “DO NOT GO” emblazoned in bold letters. Y/N couldn’t help but smile at his thoughtful gesture, maybe this is not all that bad.

Over the following days, Red Hood would appear unannounced giving Y/N enough jumpscares for lifetime, when she would walk into her living room and find him bleeding out on her couch. He wasn’t much of a talker which wasn’t a surprise.

His injuries presented a variety of shapes and sizes each time he visited, but recently, his injuries bore uncanny resemblance the markings of knife wounds. Some were superficial, while others cut deeper. However, considering the depth, placement, and angles, Y/N questioned whether they were the result of his typical fights. "Are you testing my loyalty? Seeing if I'll betray you?" Y/N clenched her teeth with silvers of anger and frustration glinting in her eyes. Red Hood appeared slightly taken aback but remained silent in response to her outburst. "Do you really think I wouldn't notice ? Either that certain type of knife has become Gotham’s thugs number one choice or you're doing this to yourself. Why ?" She pressed further.

“ I knew I shouldn’t have made it so obvious.”Jason wasn’t accustomed to others fussing over his safety. Typically he received, at most a pat on the back from those who worked alongside him, knowing he had endured much worse and could handle it. Her anger and frustration hinted at concern, echoing the tone when he would go and pick fights with boys twice his size.

“What’s that supposed to mean ?”

Red Hood let out a sigh and awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. “Listen, I enjoy spending time with you and I wouldn’t bother coming unless I needed medical attention. So you know —"

“— So you cut yourself ? To hang out with me ? What’s wrong with you ? What if you actually got into a fight with those injuries ? What if you got hurt for real ? You could really get hurt. How could you do that to yourself ? ”

Jason lowered his head in remorse, realizing he hadn't fully considered his actions. Despite understanding her perspective and acknowledging the wrong in purposefully hurting himself for her attention, he couldn't deny a secret sense of satisfaction. "I’m so sorry," he muttered his apology, genuinely meaning every word. Y/N released an exasperated sigh and took a moment to compose herself before speaking again. "Next time, just ask. It's not that complicated."

Jason's head lifted with hopeful curiosity, resembling a puppy eager for a treat. " I can do that ?" he asked tentatively, unsure if her words were genuine. Jason blinks, and then smiles. Her words cause something to stir within him, a sensation of warmth and affection he hasn't felt in a while. Y/N nodded and got up to dispose of the bloody cotton swabs in the kitchen. Jason’s eyes followed her eyes, watching closely and to see if she was still mad at him. Y/N was a pretty forgiving person but in all honesty, he did mess up pretty bad. She returned and settled back down with a sigh, causing a slight nervous flutter in Jason. “So what do vigilantes when they’re not fighting bad guys ?” Y/N initiated as an icebreaker, much to Jason’s relief. It’s not like he could say ‘hey I’m in love with you please hang out with me with marriage in mind’. Wait marriage ? Where did that come from ? Images of Y/N in a white gown walking down an isle flashed through his mind. Y/N Todd. That had a nice ring to it, Jason mused silently. He had heard that Bali was a popular honeymoon destination but Y/N once told him that she always wanted to see the stargazing so the Atacama desert isn’t a bad destination either.

“Um earth to Red. You still here ?” Y/N waved her hand in front of Jason who seemed to have spaced out.

“Red ?”Jason asked sounding positively amused by the unexpected nickname. She shrugged and replied,“ Calling you Red Hood seemed too long, so Red it is. Not very creative, I know.”

Jason chuckled,“ I’ll allow it. And to answer your question, vigilantes don't have much time for leisure. When we're not fighting, we’re either training or passed the fuck out from exhaustion.” Y/N felt tired just hearing that, understanding the reasoning behind it, but the question remained: he wasn’t wasting time by being here, was he ?

“Seems like there’s no room for hobbies?” Y/N quipped, eliciting another soft laugh from Jason as he visibly relaxed. "I suppose so but pros can squeeze in time for special things here and there." he replied, his voice still quiet but now tinged with a smile. His body language seemed brighter and happier, and for the first time since she saw him actually looking relaxed.

Y/N reached for the TV remote, flipping through channels before tossing it onto his lap and standing up. “I’m going to fix myself something. Do you want anything?” she asked politely. Jason shook his head, declining, “I’m good.” Y/N walked to the kitchen and started making herself popcorn. What sort of movies and tv shows would vigilantes enjoy ? She guessed they might lean towards crime-related or action-packed content, but then remembered her friends’ complaints about the inaccuracy of such portrayals.

“Seriously Janet ?! There’s no way you’re picking that dress. Just cuz it would look good on Jessica doesn’t mean it would suit you ! I can hear the wails of the colour theory all the way from here.” Jason shook his head, sounding genuinely disappointed. He probably didn’t even notice Y/N shuffling closer to the television, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. So I guess that answers my question.

“That’s an interesting choice.”

Jason rolled his eyes and diverted his attention back to the television again. “What ? Can’t a man enjoy some good entertainment ?” He retorted. Y/N laughed lightly dismissing his remark,” No no it’s not that. Personally I’m more of a k-drama and anime girlie but I hold nothing against reality tv.” He nodded in acknowledgment of her preferences and resumed watching. Sitting beside him, Y/N observed as he commented on almost everything the people on TV said, finding herself amused by how much more entertaining his live commentary was compared to the actual show.

Minutes rolled by and after almost a couple hours, Y/N got up to go use the washroom and when she returned he had vanished once again, as was his habit. A small note lay where he had sat on her couch earlier. She picked it up and read, “Had a great time. Thanks for today - R” Y/N chuckled and shook her head, Damn these bats and their theatrics.

Jason would show up every three four days, most of the time unharmed thankfully. The two would do a variety of things like watching movies and tv shows together, playing board games and video games and just talking in general. At first it was just discussing their common interests but eventually he would sporadically divulged minor, unimportant details about himself. Some things she was able to piece together were that one, the bat vigilantes was a dysfunctional family with Batman as their patriarch. Second, the Red Hood worked alongside Starfire and Arsenal as his teammates. And third, that he had to be the biggest classic literature nerd she had come across.

“What do you mean your best friend tried to set you on fire while you were taking a shower ?! Didn’t you like lock the door or something ?”

“Locked doors don’t really do much to people like us angel.”

“So who’s your favourite bat sibling ?” Jason fell silent at her question, contemplating the answer. “Well that’s a tough question. I have my set of challenges and grudges with all of them. We’ve tried to kill each other atleast once. More so with my brothers than the girls. I’d say I get along pretty well with spoiler and batgirl. And if you ask about my brothers, I’d say Nightwing. He’s the funny nice one, Red Robin’s the smart, loyal one and Robin is the little obnoxious one.”

Y/N chuckled,“ Guess the article checks out.”

“What article ?” Jason asked curiously. Most of his intel came from law enforcement agencies databases, informants, surveillance technology, his fellow vigilantes and his own investigative work so he didn’t really feel the need to keep up with the cheesy articles in Gazette.

“The cinnamon roll tier list !” Y/N’s eyes sparkled with enthusiasm.

“The what now ?”

“So there’s this popular meme going online,”she started to explain,“ so there are four categories - first, looks like a cinnamon roll, is a cinnamon roll. In that category are the signal, the spoiler and nightwing. Second, looks like a cinnamon roll, could kill you. That one is for Red Robin and the Robin. Third, looks like could kill you but is a cinnamon roll, that one is for Batgirl and the last is -” she paused because she knew the next tier on the list might potentially sting him.

“Looks like could kill you and would kill you ? Let me guess that’s one for me ?” Jason chuckled humorlessly, fully aware of the kind of reputation that preceded him. He wondered if she held the same perception of him. Y/N remained silent, neither confirming nor denying his statement.

"You know, you don't need to constantly worry about offending me. Believe me, I've heard far worse than anything your pretty mouth could say to me." Y/N couldn't help but feel upset, while his words were true, there was more to it than that. She wanted to express that she wasn't entirely afraid of him, but that wasn't entirely true either.

“Anyways – ”She interjected, clapping her hands once to shift the flow of the conversation,“ I got a new video game from a friend. Let me go get it. DO NOT DISAPPEAR. I’m serious it’s creepy.” Jason responded with her a cheeky salute,“ Yes ma’am.” Y/N disappeared into the bedroom briefly and returned with the DVD. When she came back she noticed Jason had reclined on the couch, appearing to have dozed off.

“Red ?” she asked softly, approaching him. She tried to get his attention again, but he remained unresponsive. He must’ve fallen asleep, she figured remembering what he said about his schedule. Retrieving a blanket from the side of the couch, she gently covered him. She sat there for a while, observing him as he slept. Watching him like this felt natural and familiar. Leaning back on the couch herself, she tried to unwind in the peaceful silence. Y/N couldn't help but admire him and all that he had achieved. Finding a friend in such an extraordinary circumstance was something she had never anticipated.

After a while, a somewhat wicked notion crept into her mind. She tried to shush the voice. Hanging out with Stephanie was sure working its magic, she thought to herself. It was a harmless little prank really, surely he wouldn’t mind. Against all logic and rationale, she decided entertained the idea. Tiptoeing to her closet, she retrieved the item from her closet and cautiously returned, double-checking if he was asleep. Here goes nothing.

[ferritins]

THIS TORNADO LOVES YOU | S. RILEY

SUMMARY: Simon takes a step you never thought he would, in a way you’d never imagine.

NOTES: the endearment ‘pet’ is used once, in an “author grew up in The Midlands City God Forgot AKA Leicester” way, not the kink way. credit for the idea for this piece goes to @bleuu-moon, who’s post about Simon letting you take off the mask has been living in my head rent free bills and utilities included for ages.

disclaimer; whilst I’m down bad for fictional men who are taller than me, I also an anti-militarism pro disarmament pacifist. COD and other military games a recruitment tool for the armed forces, and PMCs are just a way for governments to outsource war crimes to avoid The Hague. do not enlist; big oil and genocidaires are not worth dying for and armed service will chew you up and shit you out to die as soon as you are physically or psychologically incapable of dying for the sake of capital.

You come home to Simon illuminated by your television, scant blood splotches blackish on his fatigue sleeves.

“Um. Is any of that yours?” You venture, dropping your keys in their designated dish, casting a careful eye over your lover. “I thought we had come to an agreement about you actively bleeding all over my sofa cushions after last time.”

Simon grunts.

You roll your eyes.

“Words, love.”

“Just got back from Santo Domingo.” You hiss a quiet breath through your teeth, wincing as you turn to hang your coat; the boys had been following an organisation of information brokers trading in NATO military intelligence, the kind of people with whom contact was both rare and in its eventuality, incredibly bloody.

Nevertheless, Simon has never been someone who is particularly receptive to sympathy; by the time you turn back around to face him, your face is carefully neutral.

“Did you achieve your mission objective? Wait, more importantly, you didn’t answer my question; are you bleeding?”

There’s a bitter little chuckle. “Affirmative to the first, negative to the second.”

The air sits heavy as you and Simon watch one another, flashes of colour and light bouncing off the skull of his mask like a nightmare in Technicolor.

Just when the tension reaches the point of being unbearable, Simon speaks.

“They knew your name.” He says, voice basso profundo with his gathering fury.

A frisson of fear runs down your spine — not at Simon, not after all this time, but at the information — before dissipating like cigarette smoke in a hurricane.

It’s a target on your back, sure, but it is one of dozens. Your career has made you many enemies.

“They trade in military intelligence, Simon, which is pretty much my entire area of specialty.”

“Do you think this is a joke?”

“Do you think I’m a shrinking violet? What, should I give up my Lance Corporal’s stripe and my job? You met me when I was working signal intercept radio intelligence on RAF Ascension Island, for God’s sake.”

“You’d be safer.” Simon’s voice has taken on as much of a pleading tone as he’s capable of.

“I’d be miserable.” You retort.

“Fuck.” Simon snarls, a savage sigh of breath leaving him. “You know I’m not gonna leave your side after today, pet? Gonna get sick of my face.”

“If this is supposed to irritate me into obscurity, it’s not going to work. I like the mask, and having six foot eight of perfectly built spec ops soldier at my back isn’t exactly a hardship.” You snarl.

“Simon’s head tilts, predatory.

I”I said my face, lovie.”

Your heart starts hammering.

“”Simon, you’ve not been barefaced in front of someone in nigh on a decade. Your personnel file doesn’t have a photograph of you, and the only one that exists of you is redacted so far only His Maj can see it. For fuck’s sake, you’ve torn men’s throats out for so much as touching your mask.”

“Simon hums an affirmative, a mocking note under the tone of it.

“So now you’re scared of what intelligence gathering can lead to? Scared I’ll tear your throat out, hm?”

“Fuck you.” You snarl. “I’m not scared of you. I’m not going to let you violate your own autonomy and boundaries to prove a point, you supercilious son of a—“

“You’re the one taking it off.” Simon interrupts.

“You’re insane.”

“If you’re not going underground to wait this out, I’m gonna be living in your fucking shadow, sweetheart, breathing in your every exhale, and I can’t do that when all they know me for is the mask. The next person to so much as look at you sideways is going to die, slow and bloody, and my face is going to be the last thing they see.”

Your next inhale is shaky. Simon, sensing blood in the water, goes for the kill.

“Either you can look me in the face, acknowledge what you’re dooming anyone who hurts you to, or you back down.”

Even as you’re swinging a leg over both of Simon’s to situate yourself in his lap, you’re aware of how hideously stupid what you’re doing is.

Bolstered my nothing but bravado and an inkling of curiosity, and with your pulse rabbiting, you slowly pull up his balaclava, revealing his face to you piecemeal; a strong jaw, a bottom-heavy mouth, a patrician nose broken thrice and healed right only twice, whispers of long blonde eyelashes, and brown eyes, dark as bitumen.

On anybody else, the features would be discordant, too much dissonance to be cohesive; on Simon, they work.

His face is arresting, more than handsome; you can’t help but look at him.

His top lip is pulled up into a perpetual snarl on the left by a long deep furrow of scar tissue that starts just under his eye.

There’s a silvery scar about a half-inch long from his hair line, and his cheeks are dotted with faint demarcations; nicks from shrapnel and knifepoint, you assume.

All flat eyes and scarring, this is perhaps this most dangerous Simon has looked to you in a while.

“I’m not going anywhere.” You say, referring to both your job and Simon’s unmasking. “I’m not backing down.”

Simon is a big man, and has a surprising amount of heft to him, even when he's not trying.

His hands are large enough that even the love tap to your rump has you tipping into him. Your front is pressed to his, and you're looking up, up, up into his eyes, bearing witness to the way hunger floods them, a hungry kind of dark pouring into his gaze like an oil slick in the Mediterranean Sea.

“And I’m not backing off. Hell or high water, death or desertion; we’re in this together for good now, you and I.”

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this has been in the development hell folder of my Google docs for like two months so if it’s shite that’s no longer my problem I’m afraid 😭🙏🏽 thank you for reading! please do not recommend/repost on TikTok.

[sonyaheaneyauthor]

How Russian colonialism took the Western anti-imperialist Left for a ride

Blindness to Russian colonialism distorts Westerners’ view of the Ukraine war

"Fucking shit Russian car," my driver spat as a Lada sedan passed us on the highway from Georgia's capital of Tbilisi to Stepantsminda during my trip there in 2019, shortly after our long conversation touched on Russia's 2008 invasion of Georgia.

His momentary flash of anger was an eye-opening glimpse at the consequences of Russia's steadfast refusal to let go of the 14 nations whose independence following the 1991 collapse of the Soviet Union dictator Vladimir Putin infamously called "the greatest geopolitical catastrophe of the century" – not to mention the ethnic minorities still under Moscow's yoke – and its brutal punishment of Georgia and Ukraine for daring to seek a bright future outside of Russia's sunless orbit.

The full-scale invasion of Ukraine has cast a long-overdue spotlight on Russian imperialism and colonialism, yet many Westerners fail to grapple with how Russia's colonial legacy continues to this day and is part and parcel to its war against Ukraine and descent into fascism. Consequently, many end up whatabouting, excusing and even overtly sympathizing with an empire whose colonial practices mirror those of historical Western European empires in cruelty, chauvinism, thievery, exploitation, cultural erasure, racism and genocide and that is now ruthlessly attempting to conquer one of its neighbors.

Russia displayed that ruthlessness last week when it lobbed missiles at Odesa, damaging port and grain storage facilities as well as its historic center, a UNESCO World Heritage site.

"They're interested in lands and influence and a buffer zone between them and the West, in sea access – but not in people and not in culture," said Ukrainian Parliament adviser Yuliia Shaipova who, together with her husband, Aspen Institute NextGen Transatlantic Initiative member Artem Shaipov, was at home in Odesa after hiding in a nearby bomb shelter.

Yet, Westerners safe from bombardment like long-shot third-party presidential candidate Cornel West continue to accommodate Russia. In a July 13 interview with CNN's Kaitlan Collins, West called Russia's invasion "criminal" but insisted it was "provoked by the expansion of NATO" and is a "proxy war between the American Empire and the Russian Federation," adding Neville Chamberlain-esque icing on the appeasement cake by proposing Ukrainian territorial concessions to Russia.

The tell in West's remarks was calling the U.S. an empire but referring to Russia by its de jure name, implicitly erasing its imperial, colonial character. It's a common tendency among the segment of the left to which West belongs, one that Kazakhstan-born Pitzer College sociology professor Azamat Junisbai attributes to ignorance and a myopic, know-nothing focus on American imperialism to the exclusion of imperialism by other nations.

"They're kind of imperial about their anti-imperialism," Junisbai said. "There's something very provincial and strange about it where you literally do not know anything about what's happening beyond this one issue you care about."

While West and other leftists blame "NATO expansion" for provoking Russia, Junisbai compares NATO membership – which, after all, the former Warsaw Pact and Baltic countries all sought voluntarily – to a restraining order against an abusive partner.

"People don't recognize that there was an abusive relationship, that there was colonialism," he said, speculating that blindness to Russian colonialism could be due to a failure of Western education systems as well as Soviet propaganda and leftist valorization of the Soviet Union as a foe of Western imperialism. Another potential culprit is knee-jerk distrust toward American foreign policy popular among some leftists and alternative media that leads to a simplistic "the enemy of my enemy is my friend" worldview.

"People, I think, just get so wedded to their vision of themselves as fighting 'The Man,' fighting the power that they are blinded and taken for a ride by Russia, in this case serving as useful idiots," Junisbai said.

Both Yuliia and Artem Shaipov pointed the finger at academic studies of Russia in the West that view it through Moscow's imperial lens. The two have published articles advocating for a "decolonization" of Russia studies and greater attention to how veneration of the "great Russian culture" – such as the genocide- and conquest-glorifying literature of Mikhail Lermontov and Alexander Pushkin – has provided a conduit for Russian imperialist ideology to sneak into the Western mind.

"Part of the reason is that it's Western academia that kind of perpetuates this imperial understanding of our region that benefits Russia's imperial policies," Shaipov said, pointing to how Western academic institutions place Ukraine and other post-Soviet nations under Russia's geopolitical umbrella of "Eurasia." "It speaks volumes about the reasons why still many people in the West see Ukraine and other independent states as the sphere of influence of Russia."

The resulting sympathy for Russia's imperial worldview finds expression among Western academics, media personalities and activists who deny Ukrainians' agency in repeating the Kremlin conspiracy theory that Ukraine's 2014 Revolution of Dignity was a "U.S.-backed coup" – as if Ukrainians couldn't have removed outrageously corrupt Kremlin stooge Viktor Yanukovych from office after his security forces murdered over 100 peaceful protesters without foreigners pulling the strings – or characterize former communist nations' NATO membership as provoking Russia rather than protecting them from it.

And it's a mindset rooted in over 400 years of imperialism and colonialism that caused atrocities as horrific as those of Spain or Britain.

Russia's conquest of Siberia starting in the 1580s, for instance, included the enslavement of indigenous peoples whom it forced to pay tribute in the form of furs known as yasak on pain of death, resulting in starvation as people struggled to meet yasak quotas instead of feeding themselves in a system some historians have compared to Belgian King Leopold II's enslavement of the Congo. Russian Cossack gangs raped and murdered while Orthodox missionaries stamped out native religions and alcoholism and smallpox decimated local populations. Today, indigenous people in Siberia and the Russian Far East frequently live in poverty while Moscow strips their lands' rich natural resources to line the pockets of oligarchs and fuel the glitz of cities like Moscow and St. Petersburg, while their men disproportionately make up the cannon fodder that Russia sends to the Ukrainian front.

"If we take the Russia that is situated behind the Urals – the Central Asian part of Russia, the far East Asian parts of Russia, the [northernmost parts of Russia] – the cities are just being used for extractive purposes, so [the Russians] don't care even about their own people and minorities that are in Russia itself," Shaipova said, noting how nearly all of their enormous wealth goes to the Russian metropole. "So basically, take Norilsk or Irkutsk – those cities look like an atomic bomb has exploded there."

In the Caucasus, where Russia vied with the Ottoman and Persian empires for power, the Muslim Circassians, who had inhabited the area for millennia, resisted Russian domination. So in 1857, Tsar Alexander II ordered their expulsion to the Ottoman Empire under a proposal by Count Dmitri Milyutin, who said it would "cleanse the land of hostile elements" and open their farmland for Christian settlers. The result was the Circassian genocide in which nearly the entire Circassian population was killed or expelled to the Middle East, where most Circassians live today.

Junisbai's own life is a testament to Russia's thorough colonization of his country, which began in earnest in the 18th century after Russia conquered it. His mother tongue is Russian rather than Kazakh thanks to generations of Russification that made learning Russian essential to get ahead while casting indigenous languages by the wayside. That led to him being conditioned to look down on Kazakhs who could not speak Russian properly while growing up in Almaty, whose population during the Soviet era was about four-fifths Russian and had only two Kazakh-language schools in the early 1980s, while Kazakhs largely lived in rural areas. Meanwhile, his great-grandfather was a member of the Kazakh intelligentsia, for which the Soviets executed him at Omsk in 1935 during Stalin's purges. Consistent with Russia's pattern of extractive relationships with its colonies, Moscow picked Kazakhstan as the place to test nuclear weapons, Junisbai's mother growing up only a couple hundred miles from a testing site.

The 2022 invasion of Ukraine brought to the forefront the issues of language and Russian colonialism that Junisbai had been thinking about for a while. Today, he spells Kazakhstan's name as "Qazaqstan," reflecting the native pronunciation, rather than the more common Russian-based spelling.

"This invasion – just the scale of it and how blatantly imperialist it was – was a point of no return," he said, regarding how it got him thinking more about those issues. "Like how strange and horrible it is that I am stuck with Russian, and it's like having something stuck in my body, and I cannot remove it."

In contrast with its terrestrial empire building, Russia didn't have as much luck overseas, as its North American and Hawaiian colonies proved unsuccessful, along with its lesser-known attempt to partake in that most infamous example of European colonialism, the 19th-century Scramble for Africa.

Russia's covetousness toward Ukraine differs somewhat from its other colonization activities, but comes from the same underlying desire to subjugate. It stems from the popular myth that Russia is the legitimate heir to the medieval state of Kyivan Rus, centered on modern-day Kyiv, which Putin cited in a July 2021 pseudohistorical essay denying Ukraine's right to sovereignty, "On the Historical Unity of Russians and Ukrainians." But as Ukrainian historian Serhii Plokhy points out in his new book, "The Russo-Ukrainian War," although the Grand Principality of Moscow – later called Muscovy – derived much of its culture from Kyivan Rus, 15th-century ruler Ivan the Great invented the myth of Muscovy's inextricable link to it by declaring himself the sole legitimate heir to the Kyivan princes in order to justify his conquest of the Republic of Novgorod.

"The independent Russian state, born of the struggle between Moscow and Novgorod, resulted from the victory of authoritarianism over democracy," Plokhy writes.

Shaipov said Muscovy inherited its political culture not from Europe, but from the Mongol Empire of which it had long been a vassal.

"This is their political tradition of authoritarianism, oppression and continuous imperial conquest," he said.

Ukrainians learned that the hard way in the mid-1600s when Ukrainian Cossacks rebelled against their Catholic Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth rulers and established an independent state, seeking protection from their Orthodox co-religionists in Muscovy. But after helping them achieve victory, their Muscovite allies sought to dominate them, leading to another Ukrainian Cossack rebellion in 1708 that soon allied with Sweden. Muscovy defeated them at the Battle of Poltava in 1709, and in 1721, under Tsar Peter I, Muscovy became the Russian Empire.

In other words, Russian claims of lordship over Ukraine are about as credible as if British leaders called decolonization a "geopolitical catastrophe" and then dredged up medieval manuscripts to make the case against Irish independence.

The Russian Empire collapsed with the 1917 October Revolution, but that tradition of authoritarianism, oppression and imperial conquest persisted as the empire got a new coat of paint, trading tsars for commissars and rebranding as the U.S.S.R.

Numerous nations under Russian rule for centuries declared independence – including Ukraine as well as Belarus, Georgia, Armenia, the Tatar-led Idel-Ural State and others. But the Bolsheviks quickly invaded nearly all of them, forcing them into the newly established Soviet Union, which reoccupied the Baltic nations after World War II, leaving only Finland independent. In Ukraine, Stalin caused the Holodomor, a genocidal famine that depopulated most of the country's east, allowing its resettlement by Russians. In 1944, he accused indigenous Crimeans – for whom even the term "Crimean Tatars," Shaipov noted, is a misnomer with colonialist undertones – of collaborating with the Nazis and deported them all, allowing Russians to become a majority in Crimea too.

Those malign political traditions continued after 1991 as Russia crushed the fledgling Chechen Republic of Ichkeria and Tatarstan and sponsored pro-Russia breakaway states in Moldova's Transnistria region and the Georgian regions of Abkhazia and South Ossetia, where Russia used false accusations of genocide as a pretext for its 2008 invasion, a tactic it would rehash in Ukraine six years later.

And they live on today in Russia's nationalist, imperialist, bloodthirsty and downright genocidal "Z" propaganda for domestic audiences.

Even Russian liberals remain far from untainted. While Westerners lionize Alexei Navalny as a freedom fighter, Junisbai highlighted his history of racism toward Central Asians.

"Navalny is not really well-liked in Central Asia because he's the person who contributed to hate crimes against Central Asians in Russia," Junisbai explained, lamenting how many Westerners continue to see that part of Navalny's past as marginal.

Navalny also drew scorn for a series of tweets on July 25 in which he called Russian war criminal Igor Girkin a "political prisoner" following his arrest for criticizing Putin.

Shaipov and Shaipova pointed to how Jan Rachinsky, the head of Memorial, rejected the idea of Russian repentance for waging war against Ukraine in his Nobel Peace Prize lecture last year.

"This understanding of themselves as an empire is part of their national identity, and this is also what concerns the so-called Russian liberals," Shaipova said.

At the same time, Junisbai said people inside Russia consistently fail to acknowledge their nation's colonial history.

"The surest way to offend a Russian person is to talk about colonialism or Russians as colonizers," he said

Instead, Russians overwhelmingly view themselves – in true colonialist form – as having civilized Central Asians, believing they were illiterate before Russia introduced Cyrillic, despite Junisbai's grandfather having written in Arabic script, and that if not for Russia they would still be riding horses and living in yurts.

"It's just like, 'we built your schools, we built your hospitals – how dare you be disrespectful, how dare you not appreciate us,'" he said.

This lack of self-awareness stands in stark contrast with European nations that decolonized and, although in fits and starts, today seek to atone for past injustices. In 2021, Germany formally apologized for genocide in Namibia in the early 1900s, while Queen Camilla declined to wear a crown at King Charles' coronation bearing the Kohinoor diamond, which Britain plundered when it ruled India.

Shaipov and Shaipova said Russia must also undergo decolonization, a process the world should not fear.

"In order for them to heal, they need to go through this healing process and repentance so that they can reconcile with neighboring countries and with the peoples that populate the Russian Federation," Shaipov said.

But Russia must first remove the Harry Potter-like invisibility cloak that has long allowed its colonial legacy to go unnoticed.

"Once you tear it off, then people can see the horribleness – like, how could people side with an abuser and against someone who's trying to take out a restraining order against this abuse," Junisbai said.

[kimberbohwrites]

As promised, the smuttiest chapter I have EVER written. Please enjoy. AKA the much anticipated, "Rolan in Rut" Chapter Hope for the Gate Chapter Three Word Count: 3,328 Rated: Explicit -- MDNI! You have been WARNED. READ ON AO3 (or continued below) <Chapters 1&2 Please don't forget to kudos/comment/like/reblog <3 Rolan x Tav art by @ ORANGEKITTYENERGY on tumblr

Summary: Eight months after the events of 'All I Wanted' (my first Rolan x Tav fic [see series]), Tav and Rolan’s relationship is tested by tragedy and turmoil. There will be drama, romance, political intrigue, action, and of course — smut. Is our favorite tiefling strong enough to handle it all and hold on to the girl? Tags/Warnings: Rolan, Tav. Post-Canon, Fluff and Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Porn with Feelings. Porn With Plot, Tiefling Biology, Tieflings, Rolan in Rut, Anti-Tiefling Racism, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Smut, Breeding Kink, Breeding, Knotting, Penis In Vagina Sex, Masturbation, Scent Kink, Oral Sex, Cunnilingus, Vaginal Sex, Shameless Smut, Creampie, Smutty

If Rolan had felt more himself, he might be embarrassed about how quickly his dignity was left behind. It is as if something breaks in him as the hours crawl toward the time when Tav and him had agreed to meet. It was agonizing. He’d been in rut before, but it had never felt so acute.

Even her scent left behind on his desk fuels the madness. He knows she’s busy getting ready for their unplanned holiday and he knows he mustn’t bother her. But the fever and aches were growing steadily worse with each passing hour. The only balm for him came in the form of his desk. As he resigned himself to finding relief, a hint of too-familiar shame rises in him but was quickly washed away in the tidal wave of need currently housed within him.

It wasn’t something he was proud of, but he’d grown desperate for her.

Resting his head down and his face flat on the desk he took a deep breath of her scent that still lingered on the wood. His cock grew achingly hard but the rest of him felt a sense of relief, like a cool breeze on sun-scorched skin, the pain remains but the relief is welcome. Taking another deep breath, he freed himself from his pants, taking his throbbing length in hand as he closed his eyes and conjured the image of his Tav.

Trying to bite his lips to contain the muffled groans proved of little use, his desperate pants and whines were still audible even with his face against the desk. He felt filthy, face pressed to his desk as he stroked his cock to her scent and his fever-fueled imagination. He wanted to find her right now and take her, against whatever surface of the Tower he found her nearest.

He needed to be inside her, to ruin her, to make her scream his name.

Stroking faster he felt the pressure build, the bulbous knot at the base of his length already forming. Gods he was desperate to knot her. He needed to feel her squeezing against him as he claimed her. His hips began to rut into his hand as he worked himself closer to the edge, wondering how she would feel stuffed with his knot.

His mouth had slackened as he got closer, now drooling onto his desk as he panted and moaned like nothing more than an animal. He needed Tav, alone. He needed to fuck and fill her and claim her as his mate. His imagination flashed with images of her beautiful core dripping with his spend and it propelled him over the edge. He came so hard he felt lucky he was already face down on his desk as his head reeled.

With each pulse of his cock, he let out a whine of relief as he coated the underside of the desk, his hand and his lap.

—*—*——*—*—

Rolan sat up with a start. His head felt fuzzy as he realized that he must have passed out at his desk. It couldn’t have been for too long judging on the state of things. With a mutter he cast a quick spell to clean up the mess around him. As he ran a hand through his sweaty hair, the other dropped into this lap and found himself still quite hard. He let out a groan of frustration. He’d expected the relief of such a carnal act to last longer but he had never experienced a rut so intense.

Quickly fixing his clothes and appearance with another simple spell (though even the little spells seemed to drain him in his current state) he stood from his desk. The effort making him reach out to the smooth surface for support. His head rushed as the room spun around him.

Zurgan, no more magic for right now. He thought to himself.

He needed to reach the portal room up in Ramazith Tower and meet Tav. He could barely hold himself upright in his current state of, desire. And using magic seemed to no longer be an option.

Looking down revealed the additional challenges of his situation. Though his clothes were clean and fresh once more, the obviousness of his arousal was quite clear to anyone who looked upon him.

Panic prickled at his forehead as his heart began to race. He chided himself, he was no better than a horny young man — it was humiliating. He was better than this. As his thoughts began to consume him threatening to take him to a dark place, a small knock sounded at the door.

“Rolan?”

Tav’s voice cut clear through the panic and right to him. Peeking her head in the door with a smile, she let herself the rest of the way in when she noticed him leaning against the desk for support.

“I thought you might not be feeling well.”

She bit her lip nervously as she approached. Rolan fought the urge to throw her down on the desk, rip off her clothes, and bury himself inside her.

“I think that’s a bit of an understatement actually”

He couldn’t help but sound tense when he answered.

“I thought that might be the case. I hope it’s okay, but I packed your things and have them upstairs and ready for you. The shop is closed, can I help you love?”

It came out in the next breath, before he even knew what he was saying.

“Marry me”

He felt his hand go to his mouth, but it was too late, even if he smothered himself right now the words had already escaped. Judging by the look of abject shock on her face, Tav had heard him quite clearly.

“Sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I said that.”

He quickly added and he heard Tav let out an uneasy breath.

“That’s okay, I know you’re not yourself right now… I was just surprised is all.”

She put a supportive arm around him as if to lead him upstairs but at her touch he jumped as if struck by lightning. He was barely holding on to the gentleman in him as his rut-addled brain screamed at him to mount her right there.

Her touch felt better than anything he’d felt in his life — so much so that he’d almost finished again on the spot.

“I think it’s best if I follow you”

“Right, sorry”

He could smell her arousal as she moved away from him, and he groaned before he could silence himself. Digging his clawed nails into his palms he said a silent prayer to any deity who might listen that he could just hold on a little longer.

He wanted to be gentle with her, she deserved romance but with each passing moment something wild grew stronger within him.

—*—*——*—*—

It had been a process making it upstairs, he’d needed to walk slowly. A combination of fever and arousal making the environment around him distorted and unfamiliar. Tav had been patient and kind of course, trying to keep ahead but always turning back to wait if he got too far behind. He began to feel uncomfortable in his clothing and not just because of his hardened cock pressed against his pants.

His tail swished behind him trying to keep him balanced as he followed her upstairs.

More than once, he found himself wanting to give up. The feeling of too uncomfortable to move almost overwhelming him, but when he saw Tav ahead he would find another spark of energy to keep moving.

Finally, they reached the upstairs of the tower and the room that used to house Lorroakan’s hideous book throne. He’d been as good as his word and the throne had been disassembled and organized back onto bookshelves first when he’d become Master of the Tower.

Knowledge was not a throne to horde and covet, he thought to himself angrily.

The grand space now served as the main library and the home of the permanent portals he’d been working on since Tav had come to stay. Currently only the portal to her home was functional, though he was almost finished with the one to Waterdeep.

When he crossed the threshold into the room, he found her leaning against a desk. Nearby was stacked luggage for both of them. He was immensely grateful for her, he’d focused so much on making sure the Sundries was ready that he forgotten to pack himself.

However, he was unable to voice any of these thoughts at current, his mind simply latched on to her form on the desk.

It was strange, but he was almost grateful for the crippling fever because he wasn’t able to feel his usual sense of anxiety. In truth, Rolan had panicked the several times he’d accidentally thought about what this experience might be like with Tav. He’d always been sensitive about his more infernal attributes even though she’d shown time and time again that she loved each part of him.

Some small part of him still believed it was a trick. Being reduced before her to his most base and primal instincts was something that had long worried him, but now that it was happening, he couldn’t be bothered to care.

The only thing he could feel was need. He couldn’t wait any longer. Not when she was a few steps away, so beautiful and all his. His intentions must have been clear on his face because she turned to him with a coy smile.

“Rolan, we’re almost there”

While his mind attempted to clear the dirty thoughts and take control once more, his body takes a step toward her as if acting on its own. Almost like he’s being pulled toward her by an outside force and that he can no longer resist. Truthfully, he doesn’t want to resist it. Tav makes no attempt to move away, looking up at him as he moved closer with her big beautiful green eyes. Her chest rises and falls gracefully with anticipation. Rolan forgets to breathe when his eyes meet hers.

The last shred of his control is ripped away when she nervously bites her bottom lip again. He’s on her in an instant, his tail coiling around her back to pull her in even though there is no closeness that will be close enough ease the way he burns for her.

“Need you, please”

His words are moaned into her lips between hot, desperate kisses that begin to drag south down her jaw.

“Rolan”

“Please, let me have you, I’ll try to be gentle”

He whines the request as he sucks and licks at the spot where her shoulder and neck meet, feeling elated as her body shivers against his.

“Yes, gods Rolan, yes”

Tav pulls him back to her lips and kisses him hard. His hands reach out to hastily strip her of her clothing. Their kisses turn frantic, teeth and lips against one another as he finally divests them both of their clothes. Certain he’d probably tore his own robe a little in his rush but too desperate to care, he kicks the last of it away.

He pushes gently to lay back on the table, uncaring for the bottles and potion equipment rattling around as he positioned her perfectly and dropped to his knees. His tail latched around one of her ankles as his hands spread her dripping cunt open before him, his body now driven near-feral at the smell of her need.

His tongue is inside her pushing as deep into her and licking against the sweet spot inside her like candy. Her screams and squeals of excitement, her taste, has his cock dripping onto the floor beneath him. With a groan he realizes that before too long the knot at his base will swell. He needs to be inside her before that happens, but he is unwilling to take her without the proper preparation.

Excited at a challenge, he decides to finish her and quickly. Flattening his tongue out inside her to press against her walls, he traces the pads of his point and middle finger over her clit. He carefully avoids his claws in that sensitive area with what little thoughts his brain is still capable of making. The effect is immediate as her abs tense, her thighs tremble and he is just able to push her to her bliss before she bucks out of his grasp completely.

 When she finishes on his tongue and face it’s his name on her lips, screamed until she runs out of air and gasps for breath.

Her taste satisfies the itch and the fever somewhat, but it’s not enough. He barely waits for her to recover, now wild with lust he stands and flips her over on the table. Tav is now chest down on the surface, holding herself up by her tiptoes as she is bent over by him. Bottles tip and clatter to the floor, the sounds of breaking glass barely permeate his brain as her dripping cunt is exposed to him.

“Please Rolan, please”

She begs and mewls softly at him as he leaves wet kisses down her spine, tracing his tongue every few inches against the hot skin.

“Since you asked so nicely”

He groans it out as he straightens and grips his cock, running it up and down her dripping center to coat himself with her slick. 

“Tav… are you sure? This might… hurt or you could get… get pregnant”

He whispers and whimpers his concerns as he readies himself. Desperate as he is to be inside her, he needs to be sure that she wants this… wants him.

She turns her head slightly to see him from her periphery though she’s still bent over the table.

“Rolan…  I want you”

He can tell just from the glint of her green eyes that she has more to say but the moment is wrong. As much as he’d hang on her every word, he is grateful as he pushes into her with a desperate whine.

“Tav… fuck… You feel…”

The sentence goes unfinished as control slips from his grasp. His hips rut wildly against her backside as he bottoms out in her. The slight swelling at the base of his cock already has her squirming and his tail coils around one of her legs to keep her steady.

His clawed fingertips lightly mar the smooth surface of her skin as he clutches her hips and pulls her back onto his cock with each thrust. At first he’s not even aware of the stream of filth leaving his mouth until he feels Tav clench harder around his cock as his words grow obscener.

“Fuck, you feel so good around my cock. Going to knot you and stuff you and fill you.” He groans and another whine follows on its heels as his thrusts grow more desperate, “breed you all night and put a baby in you.”

She clenches and cums, squeezing him like a vice as she squirts and drenches him. His thrusts grow faster, harder at the feeling as he fucks her through her orgasm.

Her hands shoot out to grab the table edges for support, sending more supplies and glass crashing to the ground. It goes unnoticed as she gasps and chants his name like a prayer. When she feels his growing knot begin to slow his movements, she is only able to scream as her eyes roll back into her head and she finishes on his cock for a second time.

He’s so close now, desperate for release his thrusts growing shallower as his knot begins to hold him inside her.

“Mine, mine, mine, mine”

He’s unaware of how he chants the word with each shallow, desperate stroke inside her. Tears form in his eyes at the sensation, how she squeezes his fat knot as he frantically grinds into her. Her free leg, the one his tail isn’t wrapped around, kicks out and her toes curl. Though he’s barely aware, Rolan is grateful Tav is enjoying herself as well.

When he cums, its with a shout and a gasp as he unleashes pulse after pulse inside of her. Tears run down his face, whining at how good it feels, the relief of mating almost immediate. The sensations push Tav over the edge with his a final time as she barks out his name.

“Rolan, fuck!”

He rests his sweaty head against her back and kisses her skin softly a contrast to the brutal fucking he’d just given her. She murmurs in gratitude. His body lurches and shakes as his cock throbs within her, still releasing pulses of spend deep within her.

“How long are we…”

“It should go down within the half hour, but I can’t be sure I’ve never done this with anyone… never felt like this before.”

“I love you too, Rolan”

“You should rest”

“Gonna close my eyes”

She whispers already sound sleepy and he can hear her start to drift off, exhausted from the day of packing and helping him. His heart lurches in his chest as he gently leaves more kisses on her back, softly rubbing her shoulders to soothe her as she slipped off.

“I love you more, Tav”

He whispers it to her, unsure if she’s still awake enough to be able to remember he’s said it when she wakes. That’s okay because he plans to tell her a hundred times when she wakes again and a hundred more after that.

As the fever clears, the short window of relief allowing his other senses to function he takes stock of the room around him. Broken glass and scattered potion reagents clutter the floor around them, he knows he should feel bad about the mess he’s made.

Instead, when he sees Tav beneath him his heart swells, the situation they find themselves in is overtly sexual but all he and think of is how much he loves the freshly fucked woman currently asleep on the table. He’s glad she’s resting; he intends to spend the days that follow making her scream his name until her voice gives out.

But he’s also grateful she can’t see the tears that run down his face as he worships her sleeping form, gently stroking her skin and leaving light kisses in the wake of his fingertips. This woman, this beautiful, fearless, frustrating woman had become the most important thing in his life so quickly. It scared him sometimes.

—*—*——*—*—

Downstairs many floors and streets away, and blissfully unaware Cal strode toward the Tower after visiting Lia at the Forge of the Nine. As he rounded the corner he collided with a small figure, sending them sprawling onto the cobblestones.

“I’m SO sorry! I need to pay more attention!” He began to stutter out as he lurched forward to help the figure from the ground.

“Oh, clumsy me — I didn’t see you there”

As Cal reached out to take their hand and stand them up he gasped in surprise.

“Wait, you’re…”

“Fancy bumping into you here!” The monk that Cal had met that very morning said with a smile. The half-elf woman was breathtaking, soft, sweet, and almost delicate looking.

“How…”

Cal gaped as he aided the beautiful woman to her feet.

“My name is Venetia”

“…Cal! My name is Cal!” He awkwardly laughed out as remembered his name at the last second.

“Where were you headed Cal?”

Her voice sounded so sweet and when Cal looked in her eyes, her eyelashes fluttered hypnotically. He swooned at the sight; smitten the instant they’d made eye contact.

“Home”

He pointed to the looming Tower on the skyline. Venetia’s eyes seemed to light up, Cal’s heart raced at the sight.

“Can I walk with you?”

She asked it so nervously, so sweet and shy that Cal immediately said yes without further consideration.

“Of course!”

She fell in beside him, pressing close as they turned toward the Tower and fell into easy conversation.

Tag List: @forget-me-maybe @blckvchaos @halsinningiswinning @heytheresunflower @dutifullylazybread @sleketon666

@detectivesergeant @scandistar @orangekittyenergy

@ladyofcrowsandcoffee @honeybee-bard @klea221

@beaneburrito @tsabhira05 @cchickki @purpleasters-inseptember

@reverieblondie @barbwillbrb @stuffforthestash @crowwolf

Sign up for my tag lists here

[m-jelly]

Sacrifice

God Levi.

Part 2

People cheered and shouted with glee as you were dragged by your upper arms into the temple. The pillars stood high with dark flowers draping across the openings. In the centre was a statue of the handsome dark god of the night, moon, night nature and death. He represented so much and was so powerful.

Shame was eating away at you because the robe dress you wore caused you to flash your legs and chest a bit. You didn't do anything terrible to make you the sacrifice, they just grabbed you and dressed you to be it. Everyone seemed so sure that it had to be you and this was a divine calling.

Before you could fully admire the statue's beauty, you were roughly cast to the floor before it. The cheers became hushed for a moment and the chanting began. Prayers and songs filled the temple.

You sat up and looked at the statue to see it was gone and the sounds of the people had vanished. The temple was peaceful with the moon shining so brightly above you. It was almost like you were transported to the most perfect night, which meant the God was here.

"Welcome."

You whipped around to gaze at the most handsome man you'd ever seen. His undercut raven hair looked so soft to the touch. His eyes reminded you of the moon with how pretty of a steel blue they were. His skin was lightly tanned with perfect muscles. The only clothes he wore was a wrap-around robe on his hips.

He moved closer to you but saw you retreat a little. "Please, don't be scared."

You hugged yourself. "Will it hurt?"

"Hurt?" His head tilted a little. "What do you mean?"

You fought sobs. "When you kill me."

He knelt in front of you. "I'm not going to kill you."

"But...I'm your sacrifice."

He reached over and caressed your cheek. "You're not a sacrifice. I've never asked for one before."

You hummed a little as you felt your body tingle with pleasure at his touch. "I..."

"I made them bring you to my temple." He shifted closer to you before leaning closer and kissing your cheek. "I have watched you for a while. I want you as my wife."

You flinched. "W-Wife?!"

He pulled back to look deep into your eyes. "My name is Levi, God of night and death, and I want to marry you. You are the most beautiful being I have ever seen. I have watched you for a while. Your heart, soul and actions have moved me. I have desired you for so long." He cupped your face. "I will love you, care for you, adore you and spoil you for all eternity."

You felt your body heat up under his gaze. "You...you got the people to summon me...so...we could marry?"

"Yes."

You nibbled your lip. "Do you...love me?"

A cute blush caressed his cheeks. "Mm." He nodded. "I do. I love you so much. My love is one that knows it is for eternity. Don't worry about how I'll be with you. I won't rush you. I am happy to wait for your beautiful love and heart to be mine." He leaned closer and kissed you lightly causing an electric pulse of pleasure to go through you both. "I knew it. We're soulmates."

You nibbled your lip and looked away as your heart raced. "I look forward to falling in love with you and becoming yours."

He ran his thumb over your bottom lip. "You mean when I become yours. You will never be mine, I will be yours, a loyal and dedicated god to your heart."

tags under the cut.

@ladycheesington @levisbrat25 @nyxiieluna @li-anne @galactict3a

@youre-ackermine @thebobaprincess @2moth-anon2 @cypidity

@nbinairyn @bts-spnlvr12 @darkstarlight82 @emilyyyy-08

@levistealeaf @pelicanpizza @hideandgopeep @notgoodforlife

@demonic-bird @searriously @anti-cupid

[chaoticbiguysblog]

I've only been in the 911 fandom for the last 3 years and yesterday when RG came back on twitter was the first time I saw how toxic it can get. The amount of hate Guzman gets for something (controversial and indefensible) he said a few years ago, and has grown from it, is absolutely insane. And yk what the worst part is? A significant amount of the hate he gets comes from Buddies AND self proclaimed Eddie Diaz stans.....like, what's the logic here?

And these people stan Oliver, who is very close with Ryan, so again, what are we doing here? Why the double standards?Are people not supposed to grow? The high horse of morality (which really is just hollow virtue signalling) is so annoying.

I'm not saying you HAVE to forgive him, but to tell others who have forgiven him, a lot of whom are PoC (including myself), that they're minimizing racism and bigotry is bonkers. You can't forgive him, okay, don't interact with him and his fans but to wish nasty things including death on him is ridiculous, especially when he has talked about being su*cidal in the past. Calling him slurs and what not, y'all think you're better than him, well, news flash you're not.

If people who have grown, who have made improvements in their behaviour, and despite all of that work they've done, they're constantly reminded about the mistakes they made, then what's the point of any of it? Asking people to be held accountable is great, I'm very vocal about doing that IRL and on the internet but there should also be scope for forgiveness.

Constantly bringing it up, when people around him have said that he has grown from that incident is just shit stirring. Oliver and Aisha publicly called him out and distanced himself from him, and now they're close again, so clearly they've made amends. But If you think Ryan is a terrible person then you gotta call out the rest of the cast as well for hanging out with him, call out Ryan Murphy and Tim Minear for employing him but then the goalposts are moved. Bc it's not about accountability, it's about bullying someone YOU deem deserving.

Also, people call him anti-vaxx and what not, and yeah he posted like two stories on his Instagram (when a lot of misinformation was being spread about the pandemic), but this is a show that quite literally fired an actor from the main cast bc of his anti-vaxx stance, not to mention, he has most of his scenes with Gavin McHugh, it's safe to say he wouldn't jeopardize a kid's health. He gets called a Trump supporter when he on his twitter and Instagram has been very anti-trump.

If Oliver did all of these things, he would've been forgiven by now but people are so toxic about Guzman. And we all know why. We are so lucky that Oliver and Ryan are so supportive of Buddie and its fans despite everything the 911 fandom puts them through. Bc God knows if I was in their shoes, I wouldn't have been so kind.

[dailydragon08]

Closing The Tomb

Pairing: Luke Skywalker x F!Jedi!Reader   Summary: The sequel to Darkness Calls. Luke deals with the consequences of almost using the dark side to save your life, leaving you in suspense of whether he'll re-implement the no attachment rule in his new Jedi Order. With the ghost of Obi-wan pushing him one way while Luke's heart is pulled another, secrets are revealed and friendships are left hanging on the edge of a knife. Warnings: Slight anti-Jedi/anti "no attachments" rhetoric, mainly against the stringent rules the prequel era Jedi had. Major angst, with Luke struggling a lot and feeling very guilty. Reader gets a brief, nondescript leg injury at some point that heals quickly (realizing I injure reader's leg a lot specifically so Luke can carry her lol), mentions of Luke having insomnia and PTSD, slow burn, mutual pining, angsty ending that will be resolved in the final part 3 of this trilogy. A/N:  Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated, and my masterlist can be found linked in the pinned post on top of my blog. This fic is also included in my AO3 (DragonHeartstring360). Stay tuned for the final part 3 and enjoy!

**

You squinted to see through the oncoming smoky haze. Stars wheeled in a circle with a thin, glass-like pathway cutting through the middle of a dark sky. It glowed faintly, casting its reflections on none other than Luke’s terrified face. He stared straight at you before glancing at the two pieces of rope he was clinging to. Obi-wan Kenobi held one end while a man who bore a striking resemblance to Luke held the other. You recognized him as Anakin in his prime, except this Anakin’s eyes kept flashing yellow. Everyone looked at you before turning to each other, and chaos ensued. Obi-wan and Anakin both bore down on their ends of the rope and pulled as hard as they could.

Luke squeezed his eyes closed and grimaced, mumbling, “wait…no…I can find balance…with both—”

“No, you can’t,” the others said in unison before pulling even harder.

“Luke, just let go!” you yelled, but to no avail as the ropes suddenly wound their way up Luke’s hands to wrap around his arms like snakes.

Obi-wan and Anakin pulled even harder, and you could see the strain on Luke’s arms from where you floated above. You tried to yell your friend’s name again only to have him stare at you with horror—the eye closest to his old mentor it’s usual blue, the one closest to his father an ominous yellow—

Your eyes flew open as you hyperventilated. You clutched your bed sheets to reassure yourself you were home on the Redeemer before looking around at the cargo hold that Luke had lovingly converted into a bedroom just for you. You remembered how excited he was to show you the imperial shuttle once he’d finished his renovations. At first, you’d thought he was just excited to show you his work and were sad at the thought that he might leave soon after. There was nothing to describe the amount of relief and joy when you realized there wasn’t just one bedroom, but two—and Luke had proudly announced this one belonged to you and you alone and he’d love for you to travel with him, so you could both learn more about the ways of the Force and the jedi from each other and hunt for ancient texts and artifacts to help restore the order.

You sat up and took in the darkness of the hold. That had felt like an eternity ago and you could feel the anxious pressure building in your chest at the thought of things never being that easy, warm, and welcoming again. Luke had been avoiding you ever since the incident aboard the imperial cruiser. Amid some jammed communications, you had almost been sucked out of the ship’s porthole into space along with your attackers and Luke had barely saved you in time – but not before nearly slipping to the dark side to aid in his rescue. You knew he was ashamed of himself and could sense his turmoil through the Force any time the two of you were in close proximity (which was unfortunately becoming less and less). He was still polite, helpful, and kind, but there was a new distance and coldness to him that felt like a knife in your chest.

You swung your feet over the bed and half-heartedly stuffed some pants and shoes on. The fact that you were sleeping in an oversized shirt of Luke’s only added to your own turmoil as you shrugged a jacket over your shoulders. Padding through the dark, empty main hold of the ship revealed Luke’s bedroom door still wide open like it had been when you’d gone to sleep and R2 nowhere to be found. You quietly made your way down the landing ramp to where the ship sat on Khofar, where the two of you were hunting for yet another Force artifact to further your studies and the resurrection of the order. Crickets chirped as the moon hung full above with a gentle breeze. You thought how much you and Luke might have even enjoyed the peace of this place if he would just forgive himself.

Voices floated through the trees, along with the telltale whistles of an astromech and you followed, careful to make your footsteps as light and quiet as possible. A winding dirt path through the trees led to a small clearing with a fallen log. Luke sat with his back to you, and you recognized the glowing blue figure of Obi-wan’s ghost. R2 was nowhere to be seen and you wondered if Luke had sent him away. The idea that he had worried you; he took R2 everywhere with him and must’ve really been in a dire state if he told him to leave.

“…cannot tell you what to do,” Obi-wan continued as you quietly wedged yourself behind a tree trunk. If either of them sensed your presence, it didn’t stop them from talking. “It will be your order, after all. But I don’t think it was wrong for the Jedi Council to impose the no attachment rule during my time exactly for reasons such as this. One mistake does not guarantee your downfall, but as Master Yoda used to say: fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, and hate leads to suffering. A lesson your father unfortunately learned very well.”

“But there was still good in him,” Luke argued, his voice rough and strained from lack of sleep. This was the third night in a row he’d snuck off to converse with his Force ghost council—and would likely be the fourth day in a row of dark bags under his eyes. “And I managed to convince him to turn back to the good side and help defeat Palpatine because of our attachment. Isn’t that what you always thought was his destiny as the Chosen One: to destroy the Sith? How could I have convinced him to do that without our attachment? And I couldn’t even imagine where I’d be without Han or Leia…” His voice turned quiet and mournful. “Or Y/N.”

“This is your order, Luke. I cannot and will not interfere too much. There’s a possibility you could be right, and this could be a new age and era for the jedi where attachment isn’t as dangerous.”

“But without the danger of the Sith, wouldn’t that make it less dangerous? Couldn’t I make teaching about healthy attachment or connection versus unhealthy possession part of the training I give?”

A bird cawed low and long overhead and you glanced at the sky to see the first flecks of light shine through the trees. You hoped that didn’t mean Luke had been awake all night.

“Just because the Sith are less of a danger doesn’t mean the dark side is any less so,” Obi-wan continued. “You still need to be vigilant. It can still be a very slippery slope that’s difficult—near impossible—to come back from. The choice is ultimately up to you and I will respect whatever you decide. But keep in mind what you almost did because of your attachment.” He glanced quickly at your hiding spot before turning his eyes back to Luke. “More than one friend on this planet is waking, so I think it’s best you either start your day or get a few final moments of rest while you can. I will be here if you need further guidance on this matter.”

You stayed put behind your tree, but knew the resounding silence meant the ghost had faded into the morning light. Luke sighed long and hard before there were several rustling noises. When no footsteps followed, you peeked around the tree to see him sitting cross-legged in the brush with his back to you. For a moment, you admired the slope of it and how his perfectly tailored jacket clung to the toned muscle. Luke was so good at sensing you from much further away, there was no doubt in your mind he knew you were there. Was he choosing to ignore you? Or was he just really that tired that maybe he didn’t notice?

Either way, you suddenly felt very unwelcome and made your way back to the ship as quietly as you could. During your absence, R2 had also returned and was refilling Luke’s waterskin at the sink. He beeped sadly at you as you passed towards your room. You laid a comforting hand on his dome and knew he was feeling the weight of his master just as much.

With a wave of your hand, the hydraulic door closed behind you. You sat back on your bed, kicking off your shoes and flopping back to stare at the ceiling. What if Luke did decide to re-implement the no attachment rule? What would that mean for his relationship with his friends, his sister—with you? You doubted he’d send you away—at least, not at first. He’d never explicitly invited you to be part of his new Jedi Order, but he’d hinted at it several times. And why would he have made a whole bedroom in the Redeemer for you, reiterated that this was supposed to be as much your home as his several times, and still be taking you on Force-related missions with him if he was planning to give you the boot? But even if he didn’t ask you to leave, you weren’t sure how long you could handle this new cold and distant version of Luke. It was too painful—especially with your growing feelings for him, and what you had thought were his growing feelings for you. Maybe that’s why he was so afraid. He’d never really explained to you why his father fell to the dark side outside of something to do with a secret, forbidden marriage with his mother. But was that the whole story? You had a feeling not, but felt it wasn’t your place to ask either Luke or Anakin’s ghost. You’d never even spoken to any of the Force ghosts.

But if the old jedi had forbade relationships out of fear of it turning into a gateway to the dark side, weren’t they just giving into the very think they preached against: fear?

You sighed as you heard Luke’s boots thump up the boarding ramp. “Hi, R2,” he said sadly. You locked onto his Force signature in your mind, feeling his sadness, confusion, guilt, longing, turmoil, and a sense that he saw himself as unworthy to be the one to lead the jedi to a new beginning. Perhaps against better judgement, you sent a wave of comfort to him through your link and heard his boots stop on their way to his room just ahead of yours. You closed your eyes and leaned into the Force to sense every movement on the ship. His footsteps suddenly turned and halted just outside your door and you could sense him raising his hand to knock, then stop. He lowered it, then raised it, then lowered it again before running a hand through his hair and down the front of his face. He turned and quickly made his way into his room, and you could hear the muffled whoosh of the door behind him. The lack of returning comfort from him made your heart sink and you couldn’t help but wonder if it would just be best to get on a ship and go elsewhere, alone, after this mission was done to dull the pain for both of you.

~***~

Things remained just as stilted and awkward over the next few days as you and Luke stayed on-world. The jedi texts remained elusive, but the planet’s dangers didn’t. Many animals attacked you out of pure instinct to protect their home, and storms and rockslides from the nearby cliff were annoyingly common.

An animal had sunk their teeth deep into your leg at some point and Luke immediately went into protection mode, even carrying you to a secluded spot to clean and dress your wound. The return of his softness, care, and openness as he asked repeatedly if you were all right and if you could walk almost made you tear up in relief. However, once you confirmed you would be fine and could walk by yourself, it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. He still turned around to check on you many times as you continued your trek, holding out his hand to help you over any unsteady or slippery points on the ground. You relished the feeling of his warm skin against yours, eyeing your initials sewn in red on the new black leather glove you’d given him after his had been lost out the porthole. At least he hadn’t taken it off with a replacement he had lying around the Redeemer (and you knew for a fact he had some extras). That had to be a good sign—right?

Just as the two of you had put enough together to realize there was likely an abandoned temple somewhere up on the mountaintop, a torrential rain began. Luke was at your side in an instant, throwing his cloak over top of you and pulling the hood up over your head.

“This way! There’s an overhang!” he cried, R2 beeping urgently and zipping behind him.

He kept a firm hand on your back as he led you to a shallow lip in the mountainside that would perfectly shield you from the rain. It was small—so small, the two of you had to sit shoulder to shoulder while R2 tried to hide under a large leaf from a nearby plant.

The pounding of the rain almost drowned out the pounding of your heart in your ears as your and Luke’s breaths slowed. This was usually a time you wouldn’t hesitate to lean into Luke’s side or give his hand a reassuring squeeze, but you could still sense his deep anguish through the Force and decided against it.

The two of you had sat in silence before and it had always felt safe and comfortable. This time, it was the most awkward silence you’d ever experienced. You glanced at your friend out of the corner of your eye to catch his sad gaze before he quickly looked away.

“Luke, it’s okay—”

“I’m all right.” He looked anything but. The dark circles were still prevalent and he was beginning to look pale and gaunt. You hadn’t seen him eat much the past few days and he looked especially miserable in his soaked jedi blacks, his hair plastered to his forehead. You realized you were still wearing his cloak and tried to extend it so it wrapped around him as well. Where before he would’ve immediately leaned into you with a grateful smile, he kept himself stiff and stared straight ahead as if you weren’t even there.

“Luke, please, don’t torture yourself. I can guarantee you every jedi has done it at some point. It’s natural. It doesn’t make you—”

“Like my father,” he interrupted quietly, still staring off into the distance at something you couldn’t see.

“You’re nothing like him though,” you prodded gently, hoping this might get him to open up and let you back in. The distance of the last few days was about to make you crawl out of your skin.

“I am though. I have so many similarities to Anakin before his fall. I can’t become Vader—I can’t create another Vader. I—” He shook his head and turned away from you. “It wasn’t just a simple mistake. I have…to be a leader, I have to be able to set an example and protect people, I have to recreate an entire order…” He shook his head before turning to you, his face empty and distant once again. “I’m sorry. I’ll figure this out on my own.”

“But you don’t have to.”

Luke turned his gaze to his feet and was silent for a long time. “Once the rain lets up, we should make out way back to the ship. Then we can try to find a place to land on the mountain to find this temple.”

You sighed. “All right. It’s super foggy up there all the time from what I’ve seen though, so we’ll likely have to use the Force to land.”

He nodded before his silence once again felt like the closing of a tomb door.

~***~

A gentle tug on your nightshirt—well, Luke’s nightshirt—woke you from your sleep. You blinked your eyes open to see R2 by your bedside, chirping urgently with one of his retractable arms attached to the black fabric.

“R2?” you grumbled. “What’s going on?” You reached out through the Force to inspect the ship, realizing Luke’s Force signature felt much too far to be onboard. “Where’s Luke?”

R2 beeped again before letting go of your shirt and rolling towards the door. When you didn’t immediately follow, he whizzed back to your side and whistled again, this time more insistent before returning to the door.

“All right, all right, let me put some shoes on at least.”

You stuffed your feet into your boots, not even bothering to tie the laces in your haste before scurrying after R2. You followed him through the maze-like trees, doing your best to avoid the mud, but knew you’d be heard from a mile away with how soft the ground was. As you followed the astromech through the forest, familiar voices became clear and you couldn’t withhold your groan as you heard Obi-wan for what felt like the hundredth time this week. What bad advice was he giving now?

“…secret marriage with your mother,” he was saying as you neared the stumps they were both sitting on. “He seemed to fear something horrible happening to her in childbirth—or maybe even you and your sister. He seemed to think the dark side was the only way to save all three of you and allow you to live as a family.”

Finally sick of what was, frankly, Obi-wan’s bullshit, you stormed towards their spot. You were sure you looked extremely menacing in your pajamas and unlaced boots, stomping through the mud, but you didn’t care. “Maybe that’s because he was tricked!”

Luke looked back at you in surprise. The Force ghost sitting with him didn’t seem at all surprised by your presence, but you could see the sudden apprehension all over his blue glowing face.

“Y/N?” Luke said. “What are you—um—”

His eyes fell to your legs, but you didn’t give yourself a second to pause and think as you turned your attention to Obi-wan. “You know and have said yourself—because Luke told me—that no one in the order realized how dangerous Palpatine was, or at least didn’t act on their concerns at all, and just let Anakin get close to him because, by your own admission, you thought having an ‘in’ with the chancellor would be a good idea. You didn’t think for a second that maybe Palpatine was grooming him? That he was looking at the lack of comfort, safety, and being allowed to just feel your feelings like any sentient being should be able to do and played on that? You don’t think he provided everything to Anakin that the order wouldn’t specifically so it would all play right into his hands? And you still want to go around saying the ‘only’ reason he fell to the dark side was because he fell in love and had kids?”

“Unchecked emotions are not an option for a jedi—” Obi-wan began.

“I never said they were. But I’m tired of you making Luke,” you gestured to your friend, who was still staring at you in shock, “feel like he’s potentially ruined his entire future as a jedi because of one mistake he almost made—which I would like to point out he pulled himself back at the last minute and didn’t actually use the dark side—and if he ever makes it again, he’s going to become just like Vader. That’s not how that works and you know it. A jedi shouldn’t let their emotions control them, no, but to say they’re never even allowed to have them in the first place? That’s just ridiculous and you know it! If the jedi are going to hold everyone to standards of unattainable perfection, no wonder your order was so easily corrupted from the inside. Your order’s own hubris is what kept them from seeing what was happening right under their noses the whole time. No sentient being should be expected to never have ‘bad’ emotions or never make a mistake, and maybe if Anakin had felt more supported and like he had someone to turn to about his fears without getting excommunicated, he wouldn’t have turned so easily.

“Plus, we’ve met a few jedi who survived the Purge who went on to have ‘attachments’ and never fell to the dark side. I bet there were more jedi that just Anakin who had secret lovers and even children. You can’t tell me in a temple with ten thousand or more jedi that only one ever broke this rule because it’s so ridiculous and unrealistic to expect—”

Luke stood and put himself between you and Obi-wan. “Y/N, that’s enough. Please calm down. These accusations and the lecture aren’t fair to throw at Obi-wan when he’s just trying to help.”

Your eyebrows shot to your hairline. “You call this help? Ever since you started your nightly sessions with him, you’ve just felt even more guilty and confused and it’s only gotten worse. You’re not even sleeping or eating, and all over some rule that was likely hurting the order more than helping—”

“Y/N, stop—”

“No!” You gestured to the Force ghost’s crestfallen face. “Look at him! He knows I’m making sense. I overheard you the other night, and I think teaching healthy connection versus unhealthy possession to padawans is a great idea. They’ll feel supported while learning that there can be an unhealthy side to things if they’re not careful, but that having those feelings at a base level doesn’t make them evil and they can have someone to talk to about it without being villainized. You were so adamant about there still being good in Vader and bringing him back to the good side, even after everything he did. You know deep down that banning any and all relationships or ‘attachments’ or whatever you want to call them is toxic.”

Luke’s expression had become more guilty as you spoke, but now shifted to annoyed. “Whatever your opinions on this matter, you need to show Obi-wan more respect—”

“No,” Obi-wan finally said. “Stop.” He stood and took a few steps closer to you. “…She’s right. About everything.”

Neither of you bothered to hide your surprise as Obi-wan glanced at his feet before awkwardly folding his hands behind his back. “When I was a young padawan…very young, foolish and inexperienced…I was put on a mission with my master, Qui-gon Jinn, to protect a young woman from dark side agents who sought to terminate her and all the work she was doing to help her homeworld. We became close, and it was often just myself and her, since someone needed to stay behind to protect her while my master was the one to hunt down clues or chase our assailants away. We…” he sighed, looking up at the stars peeking through the tree canopy, “were naïve…and thought we were being careful…”

You sighed and shook your head. For all his blustering about “no attachments,” here he was revealing that he himself had broken the rule. You glanced at Luke as a gentle breeze blew through, rustling the branches above you. The fleeting moonlight revealed the shocked look on your friend’s face as he stared at his old mentor, and you could feel anger and slight betrayal building in his signature.

Obi-wan cleared his throat. “Anyway…I never knew during my lifetime, but once I passed to the Netherworld of the Force, I found out she had a child—our child. She never told me or the boy a thing about it and neither of them sought me out as a result. Luke, your father’s ghost could tell you more himself, but it’s likely true…his relationship with your mother was likely not the entire reason he fell to the dark side. We did allow Anakin and Palpatine to get close…and that was likely a mistake on our part. Palpatine had many years to subtly manipulate your father. The nightmares your father claims about seeing her dying in childbirth were perhaps even planted by the emperor himself. Perhaps if he’d felt he could be more candid without risking everything, things would’ve been easier.

“There’s one more thing I feel I should note while we’re all here…my son did continue the bloodline…and,” he took a deep breath, “his child—my grandchild—is…standing here with us.” He pointedly looked at you.

You stared back in open shock. You definitely hadn’t been expecting that. Luke turned to look at you, just as shocked. You couldn’t help but reach out to him for comfort, feeling the fabric of his jacket sleeve between your fingers as you gazed at a nearby tree, trying your best to process all the information.

Silence reigned for several minutes before Obi-wan interrupted with a hesitant, “Luke?”

Luke subtly slid his hand up so that his pinky finger wrapped around yours. The action nearly brought tears to your eyes, as it was the first return of physical affection you’d received in what felt like forever. “I just…” he started, then stopped, shaking his head. “You’ve been recommending that rule when you yourself couldn’t even hold to it…I feel a bit lied to, Obi-wan.”

“I’m sorry, Luke. Your friend here did give me her honest thoughts and it did give me a slightly new perspective. But you’re right, I should’ve been more forthcoming.”

“And to your own granddaughter,” Luke’s voice shook slightly on the last word as his finger tightened around yours.

“Yes…” Obi-wan turned to you. “I’m sorry. I was unsure how to reveal myself to you and didn’t want to confuse or upset either of you, so thought it would be best to keep some distance. But I see I have done that anyway and for that, I deeply apologize. But…yes, Y/N, you are a Kenobi. And Luke, I will support whatever you do or don’t decide to do with the new order. I trust your judgement and the two of you are both much wiser than I was at your ages. Whoever trains under either of you will be lucky to have you.” He sighed, turning back to his old pupil. “I sensed the turmoil in you, Luke, and just wanted to help, since I already lost your father to the dark side and didn’t want to risk losing you as well. But that is no excuse and I see I should’ve thought through my actions more beforehand. I am sorry.”

“I…I need some space to think,” Luke said before wrapping his whole hand around yours, giving you a gentle squeeze, and walking deeper into the forest. R2, who had been present and silently watching the entire conversation, began to follow him with a concerned beep. Luke placed a comforting hand on his dome. “It’s all right, R2, stay with Y/N.” You watched as the shadows of night swallowed him as he trekked deeper through the trees, leaving you and Obi-wan alone.

You sucked on your lip for a moment before turning your gaze to the man who was evidently your flesh and blood. “Well…um, hi, Grandpa.”

Obi-wan finally cracked a smile. “Hello there…I know I likely can’t say it enough, but I am sorry. Like I said, I was afraid of losing Luke to the dark side, but also afraid of watching you go through the same thing I did: the pain of losing someone you consider family and having to grieve them while they’re still alive.”

“I appreciate that…” You leaned against R2 as he whistled long and low. “But…I think the lessons from the past should be used to inform about the future—not cause fear that makes you run away from things and completely cut them off as options.”

“You truly are much wiser than I was at your age, and I am proud to call you my blood.” He paused, moving to clasp his hands in front of him so that the large flared sleeves hid them from view. “I think it might be best to give Luke some space until he feels comfortable summoning me again. If you are comfortable and feel you’re in need, however, please do not hesitate to summon me yourself if you feel the need.” He gazed at you for a moment before giving you another small smile. “I sense everything will be all right and as it should be with the two of you in time. Please, take good care of each other.” The ghost suddenly faded from view, his blue form scattering on the breeze like smoke before there was no trace of him left.

You sighed and buried your face in your hands. R2 gently bumped your leg as you groaned. “Maker, R2, that was…so much.”

The droid beeped sadly next to you.

“We should probably check on Luke, then head back to the ship.”

You followed the path your friend had taken to find yourself deep in the woods, only the scant slivers of moon through the canopy and the fireflies there to light your way. You sensed Luke’s Force signature getting closer and closer, until you heard soft voices floating over to you. Glancing between several trees, you saw Luke sitting with another Force ghost you recognized as Anakin Skywalker. They were deep in conversation and Anakin put his hand on his son’s shoulder as you heard the name Padmé float towards you several times. You quietly turned, motioning for R2 to do the same before leading him back to the Redeemer.

You barely dragged yourself up the boarding ramp before flopping down onto the couch in the main hold. The lights were dim, and you took an opportunity to let your head thunk against the back of the cushions. It was almost three in the morning and you were exhausted (but likely nothing compared to your counterpart), but determined to make sure Luke returned okay and headed to bed. You closed your eyes for a moment only to feel R2’s retractable arm poking your leg, surprised to feel metal against your bare skin.

You stared at the droid in surprise as he continued to poke your leg with questioning little beeps. You looked down and groaned as you realized. “Oh, for kriff’s sake.” No wonder you’d gotten some funny looks: before storming after Luke, you’d completely forgotten to put on pants and had lectured everyone in Luke’s shirt and your underwear. Sweet Maker.

~***~

You bit your lip as you gripped the Redeemer’s controls. “Okay, help me out a bit here, R2.”

The droid tittered nervously from where he was plugged into a socket near the pilot’s chair. You looked nervously at the thick fog that enveloped the ship. You…sort of knew how to fly? You doubted you’d be much help in a firefight the way Luke would, but you could at least get from Point A to Point B—at least when Point B wasn’t covered in mist so opaque, you couldn’t see an inch out the viewport.

“Stupid kriffing flying,” you mumbled, “and stupid kriffing mysterious Force temple aesthetic.”

Normally, you would’ve relied on Luke for this sort of thing, but after returning from his talk with Anakin’s ghost, he’d crashed so hard, he hadn’t even noticed you quietly come into his room to check on him this morning. He was still sound asleep when you’d gently pulled his blanket to cover his feet, soft snores pouring from his open mouth, his limbs every which way, and his hair in complete disarray. It was likely the first good night’s sleep he’d gotten in days and you wouldn’t rob him of that. It was now eleven in the morning and he still hadn’t emerged from his room, so you figured you’d just go ahead and get the ship settled by the temple so all he had to worry about was waking up and stepping outside. But now you realized that might not have been the best idea.

Relax, you suddenly heard Obi-wan’s voice in your mind. Breathe. Drop your shoulders. Now feel the Force.

You did as bade, leaning so your back was flat against the seat and closing your eyes. You sank into the comforting feeling of life around you, sensing all the animals on the mountaintop scattering to the trees and bushes at the sound of your engines. You sensed a line of statues on either side of you and let the ship slowly sink down to the nearby ground with a gentle thunk. You opened your eyes and sighed in relief as you felt the landing legs of the shuttle settle into safe, sturdy ground.

“What’s going on?”

You turned to see a bleary, pajama-clad Luke in the doorway rubbing one of his eyes with his fist. He hadn’t put his glove over his cybernetic, the hole exposing the wiring laid bare for you to see. The two of you had shared enough private (and sometimes embarrassing) moments that you were one of the few people he didn’t bother to hide it from.

“We’re at the temple.”

He frowned and you tried not to chuckle at how adorably confused he looked with his nightshirt, shorts, and bedhead. “You landed the ship in the fog?”

You half-jokingly pursed your lips at him. “Thanks.”

“No, I just meant—I didn’t—I mean, you’re definitely capable—”

You stood and gave Luke’s shoulder a gentle pat. “Why don’t you go get some breakfast so you can function while we’re in there?”

He nodded before turning and stumbling over to the small kitchenette he’d installed, giving R2 a friendly pat on the way and making tea for both of you like he always did. The past few days, you’d found your drink waiting on the counter with Luke nowhere in sight and couldn’t describe the relief that flooded through you when he did his usual routine of bringing it to where you sat at the table with a small smile and shoulder squeeze. You could still sense some confusion and worry in him and he was quieter than usual—but at least the little signs of affection were slowly starting to come back and he wasn’t avoiding you like the plague.

Once you were both ready (and more coherent), the two of you headed down the landing ramp with lightsabers ready at your hips and an astromech fast on your heels. Although neither of you had found a full-fledged temple in your travels, plenty of places that held Force artifacts also seemed to hold a large amount of ghosts, dangers, visions, and boobytraps. The mist was suddenly much easier to see through now that you had your feet on the ground, which could only be a result of the Force itself.

You followed an overgrown, cracked cobblestone path lined with statues that had been worn away by the weather. You could just make out shapes of what seemed to be different jedi of all races: some were so eroded, you couldn’t even tell what race they were anymore while others were missing limbs, heads, entire upper torsos, and the like. You glanced back at the ship to see you’d landed it perfectly in the middle of the path and couldn’t help feeling proud of yourself. You turned to see Luke glancing at you and chuckled as he sensed your thoughts through the Force.

“Don’t get too cocky now,” he said.

“I mean, I did a pretty good job.”

He gave you another soft laugh. “That you did.”

At the end of the path were some unstable concrete steps leading up into a dark, black pit of a doorway. Half of it’s old fashioned double doors hung crooked on its hinges while the other half lay flat on the floor. You could see the roof had holes in many places while some rooms had crumbling half walls with nothing to shield it from the outside, making you wonder whether the elements had wrecked this place or a battle had.

Luke held out a hand to help you up the steep, crumbling steps, keeping a tight grip on you until you stood at the mouth of the void. The two of you took a deep breath in unison before descending.

~***~

The relief flooding through you as Home One came into view was indescribable, and you could tell Luke felt the same way from the pilot seat next to you. You glanced at him as he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, letting R2 take over. After several hours, you and Luke had managed to find the ancient jedi texts you were looking for inside the temple. Ironically, they had mentioned the no attachment rule themselves, but with a twist—categorizing them as a specific form of unhealthy possession instead of the encouraged healthy connection, just as Luke had described to Obi-wan. It seemed “no attachment” equating all potential relationships was added later. When you’d pointed this out to Luke as the two of you sat hunched over the old parchment, he’d merely nodded before moving on. But you could feel the conflict deep in him, as well as a bone-deep exhaustion that seemed it would take more than just a day or two off to undo.

Just as the Redeemer neared Home One’s hangar, Luke took the controls back over and expertly landed the ship in the bay. He kept his hands on the controls for a few moments and gazed out at the hustle and bustle in front of him, completely lost in thought.

After a few more minutes of this, you gently touched his arm. “Um…Luke? Are you all right?”

He startled before nodding. “Yes, sorry.” He unbuckled himself before standing with you and gesturing for you to go ahead of him. He hung back a few steps as you descended the boarding ramp and you felt your stomach twist as you sensed not all was right with him. Once your feet had hit the floor of the hangar, you turned to see your friend and his droid had stopped several steps up.

“Are you coming?” you asked, fearing the answer.

He hesitated, glancing behind you for a moment as Leia strode over to you from the other side of the bay. “I…think I need a few days to myself to work through everything. This was a lot to process, and I sense some important decisions about the new jedi order need to be made before moving forward.”

You sighed and let your shoulders sink, avoiding his gaze. You had hoped after everything that happened on Khofar, things would go back to the way they were before. Now, they were apparently in jeopardy all over again.

Sensing your turmoil, Luke descended the final few steps of the ramp to stand in front of you, putting gentle hands on your upper arms. “I will come back, I promise. I won’t just abandon you. I just want some time and space to myself to think and not be distracted by all the hustle and bustle of people through the Force.”

You fought the telltale burning of tears in your eyes. “But you’ve always taken me with you when you needed that before.”

“I know.” His own eyes reflected your sadness right back at you. “But you haven’t done anything wrong, and I promise this isn’t goodbye. I just need two or three days, then I’ll be right back. You have my word.”

“Luke!” Leia called with a smile as she got closer.

Luke raised his hand to wave before turning back to you. His eyes turned sad again as he gently wiped a tear away from your cheek you hadn’t realized escaped. “I’ll come back for you, I promise.” He hesitated, staring into your eyes for a moment with lips stretched thin, before taking your face between his hands and leaving a soft, lingering kiss on your forehead.

You tried not to cry even more as Leia finally caught up with you, wrapping her brother in a tight hug before looking at him in surprise. “You’re leaving again?” She glanced at you where you stood rigidly gripping your bag’s shoulder strap amidst the usual chaos of the hangar. “And Y/N isn’t going with you?”

“I’ll be back before you know it,” Luke said, trying to morph his face into something reassuring, but you could sense his own anxiety pouring through your connection. “Just two to three days.”

Leia glanced at you again before turning an almost scolding look on Luke, crossing her arms over her chest. “Jedi business?”

“Yes,” Luke said, quickly turning to go. You knew from past experience he was rushing to leave before Leia’s commanding tone made his resolve crumble. “I’ll have my comm on if there’s an emergency.”

And just like that, he and R2 disappeared into the ship. As the boarding ramp slowly closed, you had half a mind to jump in anyway and insist he take you with—but that wouldn’t have helped anything. And to be honest, after the experience of the last three days, you were much too exhausted to fight anymore.

You and Leia took several steps back as the Redeemer slowly rose up, turned, then sped out the hangar’s opening towards the darkness. You bit your lip to avoid a show of emotion in front of the princess—you’d never had to watch the ship you had come to know as home leave without you and it was jarring sight. Would your room ever feel the same again? Or would Luke decide he would honor the no attachment rule anyway, and your relationship would turn into something permanently cold, distant, and formal? Just two jedi who work together instead of two good friends. It didn’t help that he hadn’t given you any indication which way he was leaning.

“Okay,” Leia turned to you, arms still crossed over her chest and her brow stern. “Now what’s really going on?”

You finally met her eyes, unable to hold back the tears anymore as you continued to suck on your lip.

Leia’s fiery resolve crumbled and she immediately wrapped an arm around your shoulders. “Hey, what’s going on?” Some annoyance reentered her gaze. “What did my brother do?”

“Um,” you warbled, wiping some tears away with your sleeve as they fell down your face, “it’s a long story.”

Leia gently rubbed your back. “Well, it’s time for dinner.” She started gently leading you towards the back doors. “Why don’t we both order some food to my quarters and you can tell me all about it? See if I can help?”

You merely nodded, desperate for comfort as you leaned into Leia’s embrace. Once at her quarters sat in front of a healthy smattering of food, you tearfully told her everything. When you got to the part about Obi-wan’s bad advice, she groaned with a sweet Maker, staring at you in shock when you revealed he’d told you that you were also a Kenobi. She sighed and face palmed again at some of her brother’s actions and ended the story with a look on her face that was so annoyed, you knew that look alone would’ve shut the entire problem building over the last several days down in seconds. She tried to reassure you that Luke didn’t have it in him to leave you as the two of you ate, but you could sense her own frustration and worry through the Force.

After eating, you used her attached refresher to wash up, cry for a few minutes in private, and splash some water on your face so you weren’t a spectacle walking back to your own quarters—which hadn’t been used in months with how often you’d been out and about with Luke on the Redeemer. You realized you’d come to think of that set of quarters as your room much more than the one here on Home One and the thought almost made you cry again. You sniffled before sighing and doing your best to keep it together long enough to say goodbye to Leia and walk towards your own bed.

As you reentered the main area of the princess’s apartments, you found them empty, but could hear her voice floating from a side room. You quietly made your way forward to see her in a small den, sitting agitated, straight backed on the edge of a chair with a comm close to her mouth. You couldn’t make out the words, but heard Luke’s voice float through the comm back to her and it felt like your heart twisted and dropped into your stomach at the sound.

“Luke, you know I love you and I understand the immense pressure you’re under,” Leia replied, her voice quiet but still filled with a firm sharpness that brooked no room for argument, “but you need to get it together—”

You quickly escorted yourself out, your speed walking just a step down from running towards your room as you kept your head trained on your feet. The burning in your eyes was building again and you felt your chest constrict the closer you got to the familiar, but lately unused bedroom door, and couldn’t help reliving that feeling of a tomb door booming closed between you and Luke, sealing your fates.

~~~~

Taglist (please let me know via comment or DM if you'd like to be added): @kaleidoscope1967eyes @masterlukessaber @coffeeorsomething-irl @lxstfathier @rogue-kenobi @sonofthedunes @pomplalamoose @lex-the-flex @myevilmouse @ilovemarkhamill @goddessesofeverything @acupnoodle

[buttherainbowhasabeard]

The Boys: Why the Gruesomest Show on TV Is Also One of the Greatest

Brash. Brazen. Bonkers. Brutal. Bloody. Bawdy. Bizarre. On the surface, 'The Boys' is a show I should absolutely loathe, yet I love it. Why? Because it’s like nothing else I’ve ever seen before, and that makes it exhilarating! 

In this day and age of remakes, reboots, sequels, and prequels, 'The Boys' is a revelation. It takes everything we’ve come to know and love about the superhero genre and turns it on its head. Actually, it smashes its head in and flies off, covered in blood, with a big grin on its face. 

This alone is a great antidote to the "superhero fatigue” that so many of us have been suffering from. With the DC Universe currently in a Chapter 1 reset, and the Marvel Cinematic Universe in the midst of a very busy Phase 5, ditching the genre (and all the films, TV shows, and spin-offs you have to watch to keep up with it) has been beyond tempting.

In showrunner Eric Kripke's cleverly subverted script for 'The Boys' (based on a comic book series by Garth Ennis and Darick Robertson), each superhero, or "supe,” as they are dubbed in the show, is a satirical spin on a classic DC or Marvel character, even down to their collective name, The Seven (based on the Justice League).

However, unlike the more moral idols it takes its inspiration from, 'The Boys' is an R-rated romp that explores the ramifications of giving ordinary humans superhuman powers. Behind all the muscled supersuits and PR-manufactured wholesomeness, our heroes have become outright antagonists, and the so-called vigilantes have become our (anti)heroes.

Soldier Boy is an angry and arrogant take on Captain America. Homelander is a narcissistic, sadistic, and volatile version of Superman. Queen Maeve is Wonder Woman, if she were reduced to a cynical sidekick. All-American girl Starlight is an amalgamation of Mary Marvel, Stargirl, and Dazzler. Kimiko possesses a feral quality akin to that of Wolverine. Tek Knight is a BDSM-obsessed Batman. Black Noir is a masked mercenary in the same vein as Deadpool (minus the sass). The Deep is a dumb, perverted parody of Aquaman, and A-Train is a reckless Flash or Quicksilver. They even have their own Nick Fury of sorts, in the form of Vought International SEO Stan Edgar.

In the era of corruption, celebrities, and social influence, real-life supes would definitely abuse their powers and gaslight the public into believing every bit of righteous bullshit that came out of their mouths. They only (and begrudgingly) do good deeds to get more follows and likes, and most don’t like each other either, viewing teammates and partners as competitors rather than comrades.

This dark, disturbing, and at times hilarious take on the genre is what makes the show stand out amongst the rest. It easily offends, distresses, traumatises, titilates, and grosses you out. But it’s not just done for headlines and shock value. Every single chaotic, cruel, and unpredictable action is there for a reason. It forms part of a character’s motivations, it propels the plot forward, or it sets up a new and exciting direction.

Casting is another ingenious ingredient in the supe soup that is 'The Boys'. Household names (Antony Starr, Karl Urban, Giancarlo Esposito, Jensen Ackles, Simon Pegg, and Jeffrey Dean Morgan, to name a few) are mixed in with relatively new names (Erin Moriarty, Karen Fukuhara, Tomer Capone, Dominique McElligott, Aya Cash, and Colby Minifie). However, all performances are stellar. There isn’t one specific actor who carries the whole show or steals every scene (although Starr can be the most mesmerising). As an ensemble, they all have a role to play, and they play it scarily and consistently well.

Every episode is an intense mix of gratuitous violence, gore, sex, nudity, language, and drug use. Characters engage in orgies, bodies are mutilated and torn apart, heads are blown clean off, religious views are ridiculed, and political agendas are exploited. There are supes who are sexist, supes who are homophobic, supes who are racist, supes who are ableist, and supes cloaked in woke ideology purely for the purpose of infiltration and manipulation.

That being said, and for a show that always feels one scene away from being banned, 'The Boys' has shown incredible restraint when it comes to its ending. Five seasons was what was planned, and five seasons is what it’ll be. Despite top ratings for each season, a loyal fanbase, rich source material, and the potential to introduce dozens more supes and storylines, 'The Boys' can clearly see the value of quitting while it's ahead, and I salute them for it.

I’m confident that the fifth and final season will be f**king diabolical, and I can’t wait!

[tripleglitchwriting]

Ignition (Part 2)

GN human reader, Ratchet-centric

CW: Graphic injury, getting burned by water, unintentional fearplay, mild language, a solid block of angst, referring to a person as “it” (unintentionally)

You’d made pretty good time all things considered. The lightheadedness and constant nausea were a mere annoyance now. You were going to find where that noise came from and you were going to get help and you were going to survive this. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

Trying to get places with a broken leg and a dwindling supply of adrenaline was not your best idea. To be fair, neither was agreeing to go on a hike alone in an unfamiliar forest. For hours you clawed your way through the leaf padded forest floor (thank god for autumn), but as the sun began to set a familiar sense of dread crept into your psyche.

You could die here.

Keyword: Could. You’re too stubborn to sit in place and wait for a rescue or call for help in dense, unpopulated woods. Bursts of perseverance refused to let you lay down. Not long after your thirteenth short spout of energy, you began to regret your bullheaded pursuit. Not because you were tired or losing hope, but because you may have just found what you were looking for. And it was fucking huge. At least that’s what you could tell from the earth splitting footsteps and overarching shadow beginning to cast itself over you.

The thing towered above your already crumpled body. It didn’t even seem to notice you at first… until you involuntarily screamed very, very loudly. Then it looked directly at you. Shit.

Bright blue lights beamed down at you like the sun through a stained glass window. Not like a beautiful sunset, of course not, it was like the kind of light that blinded you and only you when you went to sit down. Its eyes alone pinned you in place, but once you regained your vision its face came into view. A realization came to mind, it was decidedly not a giant. That would be too easy. It was a giant ROBOT. Because normal mystical creatures were apparently too last century so you were stuck with this. And all that adrenaline you had so badly needed earlier came flooding back.

First, you screamed again. Then, in your frenzy, you tired to run away, immediately remembering why you hadn’t done so before. You kept trying though, and you kept failing. Its hand, which was bigger than your entire body, began to descend down on you. Before it could get halfway though, a very helpful bought of more screaming and one-legged kicking seemed to deter it. Good news! You weren’t dead. Bad news! It was making awful metal grinding noises now.

You could feel your heart pick up in speed and your breathing quicken to dangerous levels. Attempting to back away again you noticed its face scrunch up into a weird shape which was not what you expected for something made out of metal.

Inside you something snapped when it reached out again. Some primal fear ignited by pain and panic. More screaming lurched its way out of you, this time with an animalistic undertone you didn’t even know was possible. You tried to claw and fight against its fingers as they eased their way under your back, but they were too strong. Or you were too weak. Either way, the thing was lifting you up, images of kids with dolls flashed in your mind as you got closer to its face. You felt scrutinized, but it didn’t last long as another hand was placed on top of the one you laid on, sealing your fate in darkness.

Well, at least if you survive you’ll have one hell of a story to tell. Unfortunately that didn’t seem very likely, because you felt gravity abandon you as the thing walked away.

——————————

Ratchet felt horrible about the way it struggled and cried, but there wasn’t much he could do for comfort. He just needed to get back to the pod, maybe he could find some sort of anti-bacterial spray or something to seal the wounds, maybe a splint for that limb. Pit, he’d even just take some fresh water to clean it up.

Thing is he didn’t know much about treating organics, especially not ones he was unfamiliar with. In this case “unfamiliar” was putting it lightly. Eventually he stumbled back upon the pod, immediately looking around for something to help. There didn’t seem to be anything of much use, not if these things couldn’t withstand intense welding, and he highly doubted they could.

Quickly he looked back at his scans. There was some sort of water source nearby, if he could purify it maybe he could at least wash out its injuries. With no other option he strode off toward a small creek. He took a medical blowtorch with him to kill off any harmful bacteria that might be in the water.

Once there he got to work. Well, he would have if he had the hands for it. Very carefully he set the thing down on the ground, creating a quick storage container out of scrap from the ship and his blowtorch. Soon after the water was boiling, and he was ready.

The thing, in fact, was not ready. As evident by the painted screams it let out when he tried to wash out the wounds. He would just ignore this as more struggling, but its skin turned a shade of pink where the water had touched it.

Of course, the heat! This thing didn’t have the metal to protect its squishy body, he was burning it! Luckily he hadn’t done much, only a drop of the water really. Ratchet got to cooling the liquid off immediately, but when he went back to check on the thing its little optics were closed and it wasn’t moving. Frag, frag, frag. He did a scan of its body- and to his intense relief it was only unconscious. He had a lot to learn about this species, but for now he’d have to focus on making sure this one didn’t offline.

Some time later it looked a bit better- at least with all that grime off. He didn’t remove the coverings it wore, for all he knew that could offline it. Though, he did scan the things skeletal structure. It was… strange, and honestly quite impractical. Its denta showed it was most likely an omnivore, which would be helpful in getting it refueled later. The back molars were flat yet it still had sharp incisors, Wheeljack would be enamored. But Wheeljack wasn’t here, he remembered, and neither was anyone else he had ever known.

His spark dropped, but was subsequently interrupted by the things stirring. Its optics opened in a dazed confusion, at least that’s what he assumed anyway. Scrap, he hadn’t had the time to make a splint! When it fully woke up it seemed awfully aware of that fact, again attempting to move away but falling back all the same. He realized words weren’t going to help, so maybe actions would.

Ratchet knelt down lower to make himself look smaller- a behavior he’d observed in other wild creatures. He was a bit disappointed by the lack of a positive reaction but soon caught it glancing at his servos. It must not want to be grabbed again, and he couldn’t blame the thing for it. He only raised his servos up slowly with open palms, and placed them behind his back. This seemed to get a reaction, as it stopped trying to back away. Instead it tilted its helm and finally tore its optics off him.

It looked down at itself, noticing the lack of dirt and red energon. If its expressions were to be compared to that of a cybertronian, he’d say its face softened. It looked up at him again, still very hesitant but progress had been made. And right now, progress was all he could ask for.

[persephone1700]

Cruel World/Mattheo Riddle

Hello! This is the first thing I have ever write and dare to publish, so please be kind.

It is very short because the inspiration just came out of nowhere while I was bored and listening to music.

Also English is not my first language so please forgive any grammar or spelling errors.

It was an autumn evening when I apparated outside the woods of the manor, the cold and the rain made it difficult to see, the haze crept around the manor all the way down to the woods. The anti apparitions spell casted around the property made it hard to trace and prohibited anyone to apparate inside of it, as I walked towards it, the air turned colder.

It was quiet when I walked in. I knew the dark lord had been here, the scent of decay and dark magic reeked the ambiance.

I drew my wand out, at the ready, and casted a spell to trace any potential threats and to know how many death eaters were currently roaming through the corridors or in the alcoves. None, except for a single person located in the upper north wing. 

I knew who it was.

-Mattheo? Are you okay? - I asked as I ran up the stairs.

-Mattheo? - I asked again as I entered the wing where I knew his bedroom was located. I have walked these halls too many times before that, despite the dark, I knew them by memory.

No answer came. 

Something was not right.

A lot of things were out of place, broken things laid on the ground, shattered into tiny pieces, dust collecting everywhere, it looked almost abandoned. The door of his bedroom was closed but light emanated from within… if you focused enough, you could hear the small, almost quiet sobs.

-Go away – Mattheo´s voice was labored.

When I opened the door, my heart sank at the sight in front of me. 

He was sitting in a corner, hiding, like a small kid scared of the dark. His clothes were messy at best, some bottoms of his shirt were missing and there were blood spots staining it.

His eyes, the color of dark coffee and once bright, now puffy, and red, dulled by the tears. 

- He marked me. - he said as I entered in the cold shower and knelt beside him. - I didn't want to do it. He made me.

- It will be okay. I am here. Tell me what happened. - I said reassuring him as he began crying.

- He said it was time for me to take the place that belongs to me.

As he lowered his gaze, he raised his arm and showed it to me. His pale skin contrasted against the black ink displaying the serpent and the skull. The mark was freshly made, the edges were red, either from dark magic or because he had been scrubbing it.

-I refused. As I have done all these months, but he told me he had enough and that his son will not bring shame to his legacy. He brought in a muggle and ordered me to kill him. I could not do it...- he lowered his voice and hurt flashed through his eyes.

I sat in front of him and reached towards his face. Mattheo flinched at the touch, at first his body tensed, and as I began stroking his hair, he finally seemed to relax. I kept quiet, letting him continue the story.

-He was angry and ashamed that I refused in front of his most loyal generals. So, he cursed me. - he paused for a second, trying to keep away more tears that threatened to spill - He made all his closest followers watched as he casted a crucio on me. After they heard me scream for minutes, he finally stopped. Made them restrain me as he marked me.

He started crying and big tears began running through his cheeks as his lips quivered, sobbing uncontrollably.

His once immaculate features were now haunted by a deeper pain. 

All the light his eyes ever held was now gone. 

-He told me that no matter how hard I tried, I was no better than him. That the mark should serve as a remainder of my natural place. Of my heritage. That as the Dark Lord's son I should wear it proudly. 

-He is wrong. You are good. You are kind. You are compassionate. You are so loved. - I said, lifting his chin carefully, forcing him to look at me.

-No, he is right. No matter how hard I have tried to not become him, I will always be his evil son - he muttered in a muffled voice, lowering his gaze. - There's no use denying it, everyone knows it, why do you think everyone at school fears me?

-You are not him, Mattheo. I know it is difficult for you to see it now, but I see you for who you truly are, and I can swear to you that what I see is lovely. You are much more than just his son. Your heart is pure no matter the marks you bear.

His jaw clenched as the remnants of dark magic lingered. The darkness threatened to consume his soul. The dark mark now served as a reminder of the legacy he tried to outrun all these past years.

-I do not deserve you. You have been good to me no matter my past, you have always seen the best of me.

-I will always be here to remind you who you truly are. 

-¿Do you promise?

-Yes, no matter how difficult things get, I will always be by your side, and we will stand strong.

That day, I vowed to stand by Mattheo's side, to give him the love and support he needed to overcome the darkness that threatened to absolutely engulf him for the worst.

When the darkness finally took over him years after, the result was not the one somebody would have expected.

His pain did not break him. It did not make him bent the knee to his father, but rather fueled him to become the one who ended the dark lord and his reign of terror.

[xzerosparrowx]

Here is another little excerpt from the current Steddie WIP that I've been writing. In this fic Eddie still lives with his parents. It's still in its draft stage, but I like the dialogue and the vibe.

In this excerpt, Eddie is getting Alan out of jail.

-

They walk down the familiar hallway, the familiar anti-drug posters, that one flickering ceiling light that needs to be replaced until they reach a set of cells. Alan is standing, swaying slightly with sweat beading on his upper lip, his right shoe missing and his threadbare shirt ripped at the collar. 

“Eddie, my boy! You know how awful it is to sleep in here? They don't give you a fucking pillow, gotta be against the Geneva Convention or some shit,” Alan rambles, his words slurring as if he was still drunk. Alan is sober, it's just how he sounds now. 

“Did you get into a fight, again?” Eddie asks, leaning against the wall opposite, crossing his arms over his chest as Hopper unlocks the cell door.

“Some fuckin’ yuppies thought they were better than me. Fuckin’ assholes,” Alan mumbles as he stumbles out of the cell, Eddie and Hopper following behind him back out the hallway.

“College kids, Alan tried to steal one of their wallets,” Hopper amends to Eddie.

“Allegedly, I allegedly tried to steal their wallet.”

It is completely dark when they step outside, the street lights casting its golden glow on the pavement beneath “where’s the fucking car?” Alan drawls, staring dumbly towards the parking lot, no van in sight.

“You and Beth crashed my car, remember?” Eddie sighs, too tired to snap at Alan, too tired to care about Hopper staring at him.

“You should probably get it fixed then,” Alan answers unhelpfully, staggering his way towards the nearest bus stop, leaving Hopper and Eddie to themselves. 

“You know, if he was my Dad, I wouldn’t be paying for his bail,” Hopper says quietly and Eddie feels a familiar flash of anger, the burning embers of shame at the pit of his stomach.

“Good thing he ain’t your Dad then,” Eddie snaps, pulling out a cigarette from the crumpled box in his pocket and shoving it between his lips. He clicks the lighter, swearing under his breath when he struggles to light his fucking cigarette, he just needs a fucking light. Just needs something to fucking work for him. 

 “Just don’t let your parents drag you down with them,” Hopper says, taking out his own lighter and handing it to Eddie. 

“Look,” Eddie lights his cigarette, hands it back to Hopper and puts his own lighter back in his pocket, “I appreciate the whole good cop routine, but don't condescend to me about my fucking life, ok?”

“Ok.” 

“Thanks for the light,” Eddie mumbles in lieu of saying goodbye, turning on his heel and walking to the bus stop where Alan is sitting.

Eddie stands near Alan and all he can think about is the cut of money that he was supposed to give to Rick, the groceries, the bus fare, the water bill, the repairs for his van, the repairs for the plumbing. He will have to use the money from his actual job to give Rick his cut, and will have to spend the week eating slices of bread and canned soup-.

“I fucked up, didn't I?” Alan asks, staring out across the street at nothing.

“I was supposed to give Rick his cut, but I paid for your bail instead. So yeah, you did fuck up,” Eddie drops his cigarette, squishing it underneath his foot just as the bus rounds the corner to the street.

“I don't know why I'm like this,” Alan chokes out, his voice thickening and face crumpling before Eddie.

Alan Munson had a job once, was normal for a brief period of time where he was able to afford a house and go on a family trip to another state at least once a year. Eddie has vague memories of those years, too young to remember the details of the Grand Canyon or the beaches in California, now immortalised in photographs. Eddie hates looking at those pictures now. Hates seeing Alan almost losing it just as much.

“It's ok Dad, I'll figure it out.”

[loopy777]

Is Zuko a Gary Stu? A lot more people are becoming anti-Zuko especially after the comics. Thoughts?

Well, it depends how we're defining "Gary Stu." I tend to prefer a strict definition for it and "Mary Sue," that of a self-insert wish-fulfillment character. I also don't personally consider it to necessarily be a negative; one of my favorite fictional characters is George Lucas' Flash Gordon Gary Stu, Luke Skywalker.

But the common internet usages for the term typically translates to "character favored by the narrative and/or storyteller(s) to a degree that harms the story." So I'll address both definitions.

I don't think Zuko is any kind of wish-fulfillment character in the AtLA cartoon, nor do I think the narrative shows him any favoritism. In fact, I'd say the story goes out of its way to make things harder for Zuko than the basic character arc demands. It could've had him switch sides at the end of Book Earth, and I don't think there would have been much complaining. Likewise, the story could have had gAang come around to him a lot sooner in Book Fire, rather than spending entire episodes (and in Sokka's case a two-parter) reconciling him with the gAang one-by-one. I think his character arc is improved and given more impact by the desire to cover this extra rocky ground, although I also think 'The Boiling Rock' didn't need to be a two-parter and all of early Book Fire's filler episodes with the gAang should have been relocated to after Zuko's defection so that they'd have the added interest of showcasing the expanded gAang's new dynamic.

Ah, but then we get to the comics. I'm going to assume we're talking about Gene Yang's comics specifically, since Zuko has not appeared substantially in anything written by anyone else. It's easy to harp on these comics' use and treatment of Zuko, but I want to be clear that they're poorly written on pretty much every level. The dialogue is bad. Major plot threads are abandoned without comment. Everyone is mischaracterized. The humor is more juvenile than anything in the cartoon. What stories are told spin their wheels until they get wrapped up in a rush. There's bad, racist, pro-colonialism messages baked into them all. Etc and so on.

And yes, I do think these comics favor Zuko to their detriment and his. Gene Yang has admitted that Zuko is his favorite character in the cast. But even if he hadn't, we can see in 'The Promise' that the presentation has a lopsided preference for Zuko over Aang, the other main character of the story. Zuko is not portrayed as wrong for pressuring Aang to promise to kill him, despite Aang being uncomfortable with it and the whole idea being against Aang's major beliefs; compare that to the cartoon, where Zuko was portrayed as wrong and bullying in his attitude to try to get Aang to kill Ozai. In the matter of the former Fire Nation colonies, Aang and Zuko have opposing approaches, but rather than the story taking the stance that they need to compromise and mix'n'match their ideas, Zuko gets to utter the line, "I was right all along," while Aang has to be lectured by Katara, admit to being wrong, compromise with the Air Acolytes, and break off his relationship with his ghost mentor.

In 'The Search,' Zuko goes on to find his mother and learn her backstory, something that ends up not troubling or challenging him at all. She gives up her new identity to become his doting mother again and Zuko doesn't have a single doubt about it. He gets an adoring little sister in the form of Kiyi, despite her having a real problem with her mother choosing to become Ursa instead of keeping her familiar form. And his questionable treatment of Azula is not addressed; like Aang in 'The Promise,' she's the one who has to compromise (or in this case refuses to compromise).

You can see the pattern here of Zuko's presentation. This is where we can start to question if Zuko is Gene Yang's self-insert, but to do so, we would have to assume a lot of stuff about Gene Yang. For example, he breaks up Zuko's romance with Mai and then starts hinting at something with him and Suki; does that mean Gene Yang wants to date Suki? Then why bring Mai back so prominently in 'Smoke & Shadow' and then both go easy on her mistakes and break her up from Kei Lo at the end? Maybe Gene Yang wants a harem with both Suki and Mai, but if that's the case, then it's pretty odd that he ends his run on the comics with Zuko dating neither.

We could do the same for other aspects of Zuko's presentation (Does Yang want a tiny powerful Firebender as a little sister? Does he think all colonizers are awesome? Does he advocate denying first-amendment rights in times of danger? Is his favorite food to eat at winter time extra-spicy fire noodles?) But we'd probably run into similar questions we can't answer, leaving us to either assume way too much that would likely be wrong or admit that it doesn't matter.

Which brings us back to the much simpler idea of the character being favored beyond what is warranted. That helps with examining 'Smoke & Shadow,' where Zuko is actually portrayed as making some wrong choices for once in all of Yang's run of comics, like ordering his people's homes invaded and trashed on a vague hope that he'll find some information about Azula- but before that, he's somehow enlightened enough to make rainbow fire, and afterward, he solves everything with a quick apology to his people.

Usually, the narratives ignore Zuko's flaws and twist themselves into weird shapes to justify things. It's like Gene Yang started with the intentions of having Zuko make mistakes and grow over the course of the various stories, but then chickens out, so we're left with themes that feel incomplete or outright harmful. Zuko doesn't need to grow beyond his desire to have a Fire Nation elite (and their pet Earth Kingdom spouses and servants) rule over the former colonies forever, he gets to say, "I was right all along." He starts by locking Azula away in a straight-jacket, but then doesn't find a way to reconcile with her and treat her more humanely, because she goes fully homicidal and then runs away so he doesn't need to deal with her. But in 'Smoke & Shadow,' we get one example where, probably because Yang doesn't see it as that bad in the first, Zuko is allowed to temporarily be wrong before returning to a state of grace.

I think Gene Yang is trying to tell good Avatar stories. But, among his (many, many, many) mistakes, I think he's letting his favor for Zuko influence the stories he's trying to tell. He's trying to give his favorite character juicy dramatic material that lets him grow into an even more awesome character- but then he shies away from depicting his favorite in too harsh a light, ruining the whole thing.

The stories don't feel like they're going anywhere with him, despite him being a main character.

So if that fits with your definition of "Gary Stu," then yes, Zuko has become one in the comics. But he didn't start as one in the cartoon, and I don't think Gene Yang writes stories out of a desire for his favorite to marry Suki because Sword Girlfriend > Knife Wife.

Perhaps that's why he never got Maiko back together; he likes Mai too much to make her the one in the wrong, but then that would mean Zuko needs to learn and grow, and that can't be right. ;)

[winterwandersland]

on top of being racist, anti-black, and misogynistic, america is also the most transphobic, homophobic, xenophobic, and any other fucking -phobics and -ists you could possibly be. i genuinely hope that if you did not cast a vote (and you were able to) or did so silly goofy ahaha shit on your ballot or are any of the phobics/ists that i listed and the other post, please, and i mean this from deep down in my soul, like from the bottom of my heart, go fuck yourself. fuck yo mama. yo daddy. yo grandma. yo second cousin twice removed. yo great grandmama. yo cousin. yo aunt. yo uncle. yo step mama. yo step father. yo sister. yo brother. yo sister in law. yo baby mama. yo baby father. yo ancestors. yo husband. yo wife. yo partner. yo dog. yo cat. yo turtle. yo fish. yo bird. yo sugar gliders. yo snake. i hope yo lights get turned off. i hope yo car gets repoed. i hope a tree falls down and breaks through yo roof. i hope you get a flat tire in the middle of nowhere and have to walk five miles to get to a gas station and every car you try to flag down ignores you. i hope while you’re walk, three birds shit o you. i hope you get chased by geese. i hope termites eat the foundation of your house. i hope you get a flash flood warning and your roof starts leaking. i hope you jump and land on your ankle wrong. i hope you hold a baby and they hit you so hard in yo goddamn nose that you can’t help but to cry and they laugh in your face. i hope you get cheated on. i hope that there is never a convenience in your waste of a life and that your life is full of such inconveniences and you are forced to live with your pathetic life. you are a waste of breath and came out yo mama’s ass.

cheers bitch.

[rainbow-rebellion]

Supercorptober Days 29 & 30: "Stars/Magic"

Kara is seeing stars, and not the good kind. As she struggles unsuccessfully to pick herself up out of the rubble from the wall she was just blasted through again, she takes stock of her condition. Her head is spinning, there’s a sharp pain shooting down her left side, and she’s pretty sure she tastes blood. She’s having trouble focusing, but even if her blurry vision makes it hard to see the telltale green coloring her veins, the agonizing burn of the kryptonite currently coursing through her body is an all too familiar sensation.

Where did they even get kryptonite? Kara still can’t figure it out. With the resources of the new DEO behind them, the team had been able to thoroughly scour all of Lex’s old hideouts for any remnants, and Brainy had run signature traces for any they may have missed. And as far as she knew, Lena was the only person left alive who knew how to make synthetic kryptonite - unless someone else had finally figured it out.

Lena. Where was Lena? Kara squinted her eyes through the spots dancing in front of her and tried to find the brunette. She never would have let Lena come if she knew there was going to be kryptonite. How is Kara supposed to protect her if she’s incapacitated? (Much like she is now, unfortunately). Not that Lena necessarily needs Kara’s protection as much as she used to, not now that she has gotten so much more comfortable with her magic, and can definitely hold her own in a fight. But still, it’s Lena.

Kara is just barely able to make out the distant movements of J’onn’s blurry green, black and red form. Nia’s bright blue dream energy streaks across her view, then a flash of yellowish orange in her peripheral she knows is from Alex’s favorite blaster (her favorite one this month, anyways). Suddenly two concerned jade eyes swim into her vision.

“Supergirl, are you okay?” Lena’s voice is a balm to her ringing ears, the comforting familiarity of it soothing her ever so slightly. Kara maintains eye contact as best she can and manages a small nod, even as her features involuntary contort into a grimace. There’s a hand pressed firmly to her chest, followed by a faint whirring sound as Lena activates Kara’s anti-kryptonite suit. “God I need to upgrade your suit, this really should be a standard feature,” she hears Lena mutter with a hint of exasperation in her voice. Then a gentle command - “Just stay put while the suit does its job. We’ve got you covered.”

Lena quickly turns around and casts a protection spell to shield her from any further kryptonite blasts. Kara marvels at the wall of shimmering golden energy that materializes in front of her. Rao, this woman is amazing. As she feels the suit beginning to combat the effects of the green poison still weakening her body, she thinks about the many times that Lena has protected her or saved her life. Even though Kara is supposed to be the one doing the protecting. Has Kara saved Lena as many times? Honestly, she’s lost count of both tallies at this point. What she does know, with no uncertainty, is how lucky she is that her harrowing journey through the stars all those years ago somehow led her to this life, to this incredible woman now fighting by her side.

After what feels like forever, the superhero is finally able to stumble to her feet as the pain of the kryptonite subsides and her strength and other abilities slowly start to return. Just as she’s trying to get a read on the situation so she can rejoin the battle, she watches Lena’s protective wall of magic dissipate into the air. She realizes that while she was still down, the team had managed to subdue the criminals, and now J’onn and Alex are working on securing the hostile weapons while Nia dashes off to do a perimeter sweep. Still a little weak, Kara wobbles shakily when she starts to walk, and then Lena is by her side in an instant, arm wrapped around her waist to steady her.

“Hey you,” she says with a tender smile. “You had me worried for a minute there.”

Kara smiles back, even though Lena can’t see her face through the dark visor of her helmet. “I’m going to be just fine, thanks to you :zhao.”

“Khap :zhao rrip vahdhah.” Lena leans in and plants a light kiss on the front of Kara’s helmet, as the swirling blues and purples of a portal appear next to them. “Come on darling, let’s go home.”

———

Kryptonian Translations:

:zhao = love (used as a term of endearment) Khap :zhao rrip vahdhah = I love you too