#Claudia's encouragement aside

[apparitionism]

Bonus 2

Here’s the second part of a holiday story, begun in part 1, about how Myka and Helena, in a vaguely season 4 world in which nobody’s going to go to Boone but through which they have thus far been separated, are reunited for a day-before-Christmas-eve retrieval in Cleveland. Helena has been summoned by Claudia to serve as Myka’s backup, for Pete is spending some holiday time with his family... but as it turns out, the retrieval is necessary because—plot-semi-twist!—Pete Christmas-gifted his cousin, who is a bigwig at an accounting firm, with an artifact, a pen that apparently has something to do with Santa’s naughty/nice list. Which said cousin used to confer end-of-year bonuses—and penalties. As this part opens, Myka is just beginning to process the fact that the whole situation is Pete’s fault...

(And no, I didn’t manage to bring this thing in for a landing in this part. Nobody faint from the surprise.)

Bonus 2

“Okay,” Myka acknowledges, because what else can she do? The fact is that in any Warehouse-related context, “coincidence” is a non sequitur, and she begins formulating a plan to Christmas-gift Claudia with a T-shirt featuring that sentiment. How fast can she get a custom T-shirt made?

The irony is that Claudia would know.

“Yeah,” says Pete’s cousin—Pete’s cousin! She might be affirming the Claudia-irony in Myka’s head, or the situational irony Myka is now stuck in, or any of the vast array of ironies that make up the Warehousian unfolding of time itself. Myka would not have expected Pete’s cousin’s words to contain multitudes. And yet.

“He told me it was the kind of thing he thought I’d like,” that cousin continues, “and he was right. Effects aside, it’s a gorgeous implement. Perfectly balanced... which I guess works on an existential level too, doesn’t it? Naughty, nice.” She shifts the pen to rest a delicate crosswise on an extended index finger, testing its equilibrium as a chef might a knife.

The pen—or is it merely a different species of knife?—basks in Nancy Sullivan’s regard. “Resonant little instrument,” she says, with clear affection. “Anyway, we were talking about Pete.” A different sort of affection now colors her voice. “He went into this big production-number apology about it being sort of secondhand.”

“Oh?” Myka says, distracted by pens, knives, resonances... but, right, secondhand. Of course it’s secondhand. No new item could be an artifact. Or could it? This seems like a Steve-conversation topic.... and it certainly beats “H.G. is god knows where” for philosophy.

“Not because it’s not new,” Pete’s cousin says, apparently reading Myka’s mind, “but because he initially was thinking he’d give it to somebody else.”

Myka repeats her interrogative “oh?”, but she’s getting a feeling again.

“Yeah,” says Nancy Sullivan, and Myka really has to applaud her talent for broadly applicable affirmation. “He said he wanted to give it to his partner because, and I quote, ‘she likes the old-fashioned stuff,’ but then he realized he shouldn’t because, and I also quote, ‘she’s got this whole family feathery-pen dealy-thingy and I don’t want to upset her.’” She waves the pen again, this time directly at Myka, like a conductor imploring the oboes to pick up the pace. “And he told me his partner’s name,” she concludes.

“I’m sure there are lots of Myka Berings in the world?” Myka tries, weakly, raising her hands as if to offer Nancy Sullivan all those other Myka Berings. The last vestige of defensibility... then her hands drop, because really. She looks at Helena in apology, with only an indistinct, tangled sense of what she’s apologizing for. I’m sorry I occasioned this is part of it, yet there’s a deeper fault she feels but can’t quite ideate, one more consequential than an anodyne “oops.”

“Listen, he’s a really good guy,” Nancy Sullivan says.

“I agree completely,” Myka assures her. But in the interest of full disclosure, she adds, “Mostly completely. I mean, I’m going to kill him for this.”

Helena says, “Are you.” Her tone brings Myka up short: it’s impossibly knowing, suggesting insight into everything Myka has been thinking, about someday and talking and things.

Again with the reading so right.

Myka would love to have the panache to do more than glance furtively at Helena, to pull off a playful, similarly knowing response, like “that depends on my backup” (or something actually clever that will doubtless occur to her during some post-holiday post-mortem). Instead she goes with a not at all interrogative “Oh.”

Nancy Sullivan looks from Myka to Helena. Then she says, “Okay, revision: A really good guy who might be hanging onto some unreasonable hope.”

Myka wishes she could keep from glancing yet again, now, at Helena—now as she grasps the fullness of her underlying error, now as she formulates a hopeful plan regarding someday saying out loud “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize that he had any such hope and that I didn’t make completely clear that any such hope would never have been anything but unreasonable”—but the wish doesn’t work. She glances... thus proving Nancy Sullivan’s point.

“He didn’t mention you,” Pete’s cousin tells Helena. “I think I see why.”

“I’m both offended and pleased,” Helena says, with her customary little thank-you head-bow.

Rather than luxuriating in the familiarity of that head-bow, Myka tries to head off a more detailed discussion of Helena’s role in it all (and what a nondescriptively limp phrase that is) by observing, “The sixth-sense thing is quite the family trait.”

“Ah. Sure. You’ve had experience,” Nancy Sullivan says, a little droop in her voice.

Has she taken Myka’s words as criticism? Myka hurries to reassure, “Sometimes it’s very helpful.”

“But. Other times.” This is heavier, and now she must be referencing her own vibe-related experiences.

“Your family get-togethers must be really... charged?” Myka tries.

Nancy Sullivan offers another all-encompassing “Yeah.” Then she laughs. “But at least we don’t have a feathery-pen dealy-thingy like your family does.”

Helena clears her throat, an attention-garnering ah-ha-hem, as if it’s in the stage directions preceding her next line in some farce. She inclines her head: more stage-direction drama. Finally, “You do now,” she says in benediction.

Nancy Sullivan’s jaw drops. “Wow,” she says, and “wow,” she repeats. Then she laughs again and says, “He really should’ve mentioned you.”

Myka might laugh too, but she is preoccupied by the way in which Helena’s well-chosen articulation has persuaded her body to remind her that it and she have reached no mutually satisfactory agreement about appropriate reactions.

And that in turn sparks Myka to a realization: once the retrieval is accomplished, there may be a nonzero chance that she and Helena could enjoy a bit more of that liminal together-presence...

Myka’s body makes its best effort to crash through the gauzy ideating her brain would prefer to do about what such time could entail, and after no small amount of nethers-vs.-cerebrum struggle, she manages to propose, truce-wise, a simple Let’s just hope it exists.

Surprisingly, body and mind are willing to shake on that, giving Myka leave to slip on a glove and pronounce, “Just give us the pen. Then it’s over. Mostly. The money will probably revert... so you’ll most likely have to redo the bonuses the old-fashioned way.” Hearing herself, she amends, “Well. The regular way.”

“I don’t mind redoing. But reverting...” Pete’s cousin tightens her fingers around the artifact, pulling it near to her body as if she might be considering, for one last “maybe,” the idea of punching her way out.

Myka tenses, and she doesn’t need to cast a glance to know that Helena is doing the same.

She glances anyway... and indeed, Helena alive with wiry readiness is a sight worth the seeing. So worth it, in fact, that Myka is genuinely, if improperly, disappointed that said sight doesn’t cause the truce to collapse.

After a moment, however, color returns to Nancy Sullivan’s knuckles, and Myka removes the pen from her slackened grip.

But then Nancy Sullivan cocks her head. “Is it really over though? I feel like something else might be happening.”

No. No. Absolutely not. “Something else is always happening,” Myka says, affecting nonchalance as she slides the feathery foolishness into a static bag, ignoring its yipping sparks of protest. “Don’t worry about it.”

Nancy Sullivan casts a skeptical look at the barky little bag. “If you say so. Anyway seeing Pete’s face when I tell him you and I –and he and I!—are fellows in family feathery-pen dealy-thingies now? Might end up being the second-best end-of-year bonus of all, given everything.” There’s a little mockery in her voice, echoing the cousin Myka knows so well.

“And the best such bonus?” Helena inquires.

“Docking Bob’s pay,” Nancy Sullivan says instantly.

Myka snorts, and Nancy Sullivan turns back to her and says, “Are you okay with me being glad we met?” Like she’s mostly but not entirely sure of the response she’ll get, and that’s another echo.

“Only if you’re okay with me being glad too,” Myka says, her own voice sounding a familiar note—one she’s pretty sure Pete would recognize.

After a nod, Nancy Sullivan turns to Helena. “I’d say it to you, but I feel like there’s something extra going on with you, like—”

Myka steps in: “Honestly, always,” and then she’s hustling Helena out of the office even as Helena chirps, “I’m both offended and pleased by that as well!”

Back in the elevator, Helena speaks first. “I did not expect that,” she says, sounding entertained by—practically bubbly about—the entire scenario.

“I should have,” Myka grumbles.

“You’re too hard on yourself.”

“Oh god no,” Myka says, involuntarily. “Too easy if anything.”

Helena’s eyebrows rise, and her eyes accuse. “I’ve known you for no small amount of time,” she says.

Myka’s previous review fights that statement, but she doesn’t speak of it.

Her lack of response prompts a heavy I-am-no-longer-entertained sigh. “Must I return to the phrase ‘your truth’?”

“Please don’t,” Myka says. That’s also nearly involuntary, but it sounds too harsh, like she’s dismissing as unimportant that bookstore interaction, as well as the entirety of those in-extremis manifestations of herself and Helena. Rather than apologizing for that, for surely it would prove far too entangling, she tries to draw Helena’s attention back to the entertainment. “I like Nancy Sullivan. She reminds me of Pete and his mom.”

“Pete’s mother? I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”

That’s a bit more jousty, backed by curiosity. Good. “She’s a Regent,” Myka says, for it’s the most salient piece of information she has about Jane Lattimer.

Helena stills. Her jaw hardens. “Then perhaps I have indeed had the... pleasure.” Cold. Cold. Cold.

You idiot, Myka scourges herself. Why couldn’t she have done the normal thing and left Pete’s mom as “Pete’s mom”? But now, but now: now she’s seen this wound, down there under the ice, and she wants to test that ice, but she can’t, regardless of her wish and want to know know know, to know everything Helena has been put through, so as to know whom to hate (and she hopes that doesn’t include Pete’s mom) and whom to someday thank (and she double-hopes that does include Pete’s mom). “Anyway I think the cousin had the right idea,” she says, pushing back to the now, to what just happened. “Using an artifact to do what are really decent things, even if they were judgmental.”

“Rather Old Testament,” Helena says. “Strangely inappropriate for this holiday, no?” She asks that like she’s really thinking—wondering—about it.

Myka congratulates herself on having provided a distraction, however minimal, from whatever Regent-pain her unthinking reveal caused to surface. “I hadn’t thought about Santa being more Yahweh than Jesus,” she says, to enhance it, “and I’m not sure what it says about my position on salvation that I genuinely wish we could have let her keep that pen. Or even better, if we could maybe ferry it around to deserving arbiters... wouldn’t that contribute to the greater good, even if it’s in a judgy Old-Testament way?”

Helena’s face moves as if she’s about to answer, but before she can, a rupturing screech of metal-on-metal complication resounds decisively through the space, and their ear-popping descent slows, slows, slows...

...and stops.

After an appropriately irony-bearing pause, Helena says, “This elevator seems to disapprove of your suggestion. Or perhaps it’s your theological indecision that displeases?”

All Myka can manage is an extremely resigned “I am not surprised.”

Efforts to summon help strengthen the “disapproval” interpretation: they’re fruitless. No one answers the emergency line, and this mirrored box is, according to both their phones, the place where cell service goes to die. Or where that service is interfered with by a theologically offended pulley-based mechanism.

“I genuinely cannot believe we’re stuck in an elevator,” Myka says. It may be the most true statement to which she’s ever given voice.

After a beat, however, she concedes, “But of course I can.”

Helena casts her gaze around. Once again, exaggeratedly stage-direction-y. “At least it’s reasonably well-appointed. For an elevator in which to be... stuck.” She seems to relish articulating “stuck,” so she’s back to being entertained. Not quite bubbly, but definitely entertained.

Myka can’t get past her annoyance with the elevator’s disapproval, so she says a peevish, “I don’t like mirrors.” She’s painfully aware now that they cover not only the walls, but also the ceiling. She can’t even look heavenward in supplication, sarcastic or otherwise, without regarding herself. It really is too much.

Given that no other communication technology is working, she resorts to the Farnsworth. She gives thanks for Warehouse mojo, or whatever enables it to elude the elevator’s wrath, when Claudia answers with, “No info on ‘lists, making them’ yet.”

“We dealt with that,” Myka tells her. “New problem.”

“Another artifact?”

“Who knows? Maybe Pete’s in an elevator somewhere else in this town making bad decisions, and they’re redounding to our detriment.” She’s vamping. Stuck in an elevator with Helena, she’s vamping. Instead of simply basking in such fantasy-made-fact, she’s vamping.

She doesn’t bother wondering whether Helena knows she’s doing that; if this little adventure has done nothing else, it’s reminded Myka that Helena always knows. It’s both wonderful and terrible to be so legible, particularly to someone Myka so often finds frustratingly illegible.

“I’m not following,” Claudia says.

Speaking of illegible: Myka, heal thyself. “We’re stuck. In an elevator,” she clarifies.

Claudia makes a noise that, impressively, marries a gasp and a snicker. “Are you really? Or did you push the stop button, like people do?”

“Like people... what?”

“When they want to have a little uninterrupted chat,” Claudia says, pedantic, as if now she’s the one who’s “clarifying.”

“Nobody does that in real life,” Steve says from offscreen. Myka is pleased to know he’s around.

“Myka just did,” Claudia insists in his direction. “Didn’t you,” she insists at Myka.

“If I did,” Myka says, “why would I be calling you to get us out of here?”

“Yeah, why would she?” Steve asks, but from farther away.

Don’t leave! Myka wants to exhort. She would never admit to needing backup in a counter-Claudia sense... but she does appreciate when Steve provides it.

“Oooh, because maybe the chat didn’t go so well,” Claudia says with great, and to Myka’s thinking entirely inappropriate, relish.

Trying for calm pragmatism, she says, “Wouldn’t I just... unpush the stop button then?”

“Myka,” Claudia says. It’s the most chiding, disappointment-laden use of her name Myka has ever heard, even when measured against all the times her father has uttered those two designating syllables. “Believe me when I tell you I’m a fan,” Claudia goes on, turning mollifying, “but you really need to lean in when it comes to tropes.” Myka can’t imagine how to respond to that, so she doesn’t. Claudia sighs—seemingly everyone’s preferred go-to when Myka fails to produce words—and says, “Did you try calling maintenance? Pushing the emergency button? Using your cell?”

“Yes, yes, and no service. Do you genuinely think I don’t understand modern communication technology?”

“I think you pretend you don’t understand newfangledness all the time. Particularly when you’re trying to show off how sympatico you are with H.G., who incidentally doesn’t seem to be piping up like I’d expect. Did you knock her unconscious after your terrible chat? Or maybe during it?”

Helena has indeed been very—very surprisingly—quiet while Myka has explained the situation to Claudia. And she doesn’t step in to help Myka out now. So much for any counter-Claudia backup.

“There was not a chat,” Myka says.

Helena is regarding herself in the mirrored ceiling.

“But there could be one now?” Claudia nudges. “Let me see if I can see what’s up. I’ve got cell service.” She disconnects.

Helena abruptly abandons her ceiling self-contemplation, focusing her gaze upon Myka. It’s disconcerting. “Are you attempting to avoid an uninterrupted chat?” she asks.

Myka can’t suss the question’s sincerity. And notwithstanding all her ideas about talking, she suffers a cringing internal “yes.” Externally, however, she says, in what she hopes offers at least a veneer of sincerity of her own, “No.”

She doesn’t follow up by asking “why would I be doing that,” because Helena would probably have a guess. And because that guess would probably be accurate: “You are a coward,” Helena might say, and Myka would regrettably have to either tell the truth and agree, or lie and disclaim any emotional investment in whatever the outcome of such a chat might be.

Silence. Longer than it should be... or is it as long as Myka deserves?

You wanted time together. Don’t bellyache about the form it takes.

“Your objection to mirrors,” Helena eventually says.

“What about it?” Myka asks. Her very soul flinches.

“What is it?”

Myka has never before stated her dislike of mirrors aloud, and she regrets having done so now. To play it off, she says a dismissive, “An artifact.” And yet the truth is that despite the unnerving nature of her interaction with Alice’s mirror and how it continues to prey on her mind, it isn’t really that—or rather, that only intensified her dislike.

But when Helena proposes, “Yet another ‘dealy-thingy’?”, clearly (and preciously) trying the phrase out in her mouth, Myka misleadingly (intentionally misleadingly) nods and says, “They’re all dealy-thingies.”

To that, Helena says, “Interesting.”

Myka would probe that word, but to do so might destabilize the ground, here in an elevator. Instead, for the moment, she tilts her head in the direction of the Christmas muzak, the literal elevator music, being piped in. “Oh, sure, that still works.” She gestures at the speaker, a thin dark stripe between two mirror-panels, from which the sound is emerging. The elevator is nothing if not insistent.

In truth, she doesn’t mind Christmas carols. She does mind the bowdlerization thereof, and isn’t that an attitude the dogmatic elevator really ought to share? O holy night, the stars are brightly... synthesizing? It’s wrong.

Now even her mind is vamping. Great.

Helena tilts her head toward the speaker, however, and Myka appreciates her willingness to be redirected. At least for a moment.

In fact, for all her vamping, mental and otherwise, Myka finds herself absurdly content to simply stand against a mirrored elevator wall and regard Helena... who in that instant of Myka’s acknowledged contentment seems to accept their predicament as unlikely to be resolved in a timely fashion: she sits down, of course elegantly, resting her back against her side of the box and stretching her legs (her legs, Myka’s body notes, just to let her know it’s still paying close attention) out in front of her.

The looking-down perspective is a bit disorienting—although at least this time it has nothing to do with being stuck to a ceiling—but Myka has no time to process it, for Helena’s next salvo, looking up, is, “You’ve been expecting me to remark further on naughtiness, haven’t you.”

Reading, yet again. “I kind of have,” Myka admits. It seems an overly judgmental statement, particularly given that Myka has to deliver it as if from an elevated bench. And yet... she kind of has.

“I’d rather not fulfill that expectation,” Helena says. “If we could speak of other things.”

Myka is a little thrown, but thankful. “That is entirely fine by me. What do you want to talk about?”

“Honestly?”

“Honestly,” Myka says, meaning it as an answer to either interpretation of Helena’s interrogative: Are you asking what I want to talk honestly about? or Are you asking, with honest intent, what I want to talk about? She hopes Helena will respond similarly.

“Something that interests you,” Helena says.

That’s not in any way what she was expecting. “Really?”

“Really.”

It’s a word similar to, yet very different from, “honestly.” What, in a real sense, interests Myka? In this moment, all she can think to say is “you.” And perhaps because her normal inhibitions are disordered, here in this stopped elevator, that’s what she blurts out.

And that seems, incongruously, to take Helena aback. “What about me?” she asks.

Myka can’t say “everything.” It’s the real answer (really), but it’s far too... big. For an unexpected reunion, an unexpected uninterrupted chat—although Claudia or rescuers could at any point interrupt it, which Myka should hope happens (should)—it’s far too big.

So: smaller. What occurs first to Myka is “where have you been”—but that would most likely seem accusatory. She needs something else. Something something something...

In the aftermath of the Warehouse not being destroyed, she’d felt herself full of hard-earned wisdom and bravery: enough, surely, to stop hesitating. Enough, surely, to act. Or enough, at the very least, to articulate.

“Wisdom” and “bravery” now seem nothing more than labels on empty containers, and so “faintheartedness” is the fullness with which Myka here initially accuses her today self. But as Helena breathes and waits for an answer, Myka revises that, gentling it to “caution.” And she adds “care.” Because she is trying to attend to, to appreciate, that breathing. And that waiting.

These might be nothing more than self-indulgently comforting shifts in vocabulary... but then again they might be akin to the shift from “Christmas” to “end-of-year.” Gentle. Inclusionary.

The something something something that occurs to her—because in attempting to avoid her own reflection, she is confronted instead with multiple Helenas—concerns a topic she probably should censor but doesn’t: “When you were a hologram... or a projection, or whatever we should call it... did you have a reflection?” She then reflexively backtracks, “It shouldn’t matter? But I don’t know.” That last, she means both ways. She doesn’t know: whether the reflection existed, or whether it matters. But maybe it’s a sneak-up on things, because she shouldn’t ignore things, and because a seemingly inconsequential tangent might tiptoe toward importance.

“I don’t know either,” Helena says. “I suppose I would have?” Her face contracts. “Or perhaps not, as I don’t know how that holographic projection of myself was... projected. But I do intend to look into it.” She says this last as if Myka has caught her in some inattention, a recklessly uncompleted assignment.

“I never even started majoring in physics,” Myka laments, which is true but also, she hopes, reassuring in an I didn’t do the homework either sense, “so I don’t know the optics of it. Projections. Light and mirrors. “ She doesn’t mention that in the wake of Pittsburgh, she had indeed tried researching such things... she’d got as far as some advanced volumetric displays, ones using dust particles as screens onto which lasers projected light, but at a certain point, a tipping point, the idea of Helena existing as—being relegated to—nothing more than light and dust seemed to scream a surpassing insult, a degradation conjuring death, and it was more than she could bear.

For now she puts that away. She shakes her head, shakes it free, and changes tack. “Anyway, that’s probably the wrong approach. This is Warehousey, so thinking outside physics, the laws... okay, all I know about reflections, unphysically, is that vampires don’t have them. So if you didn’t have one, then maybe all holograms are vampires?” Ugh. Ugh ugh ugh. She would have done better to speak of dust, that and light and despair. Going with vampires instead? Talk about vamping...

“Presumably not vice versa,” Helena observes, seemingly taking Myka’s words far too seriously. “Certainly fictionally. Also not overly flattering, in the syllogistic sense of ‘Helena was a hologram, therefore.’”

“They’re very popular though,” Myka temporizes.

“Stoker’s novel was all the rage,” Helena allows.

The chat stalls out. Interrupting itself?

Myka nevertheless feels pressure to fill the silence: it’s her fault. Will a simple truth suffice? “I didn’t expect to be spending the day before Christmas Eve with you,” she says. “Or any day with you. In Cleveland.”

A small smile from Helena marks this as a more welcome fill than a question about reflection. As do her next words: “Nor I with you. In Cleveland, or any place. Equally, I didn’t expect to be sent on a mission with you.”

“That part of it went well.” Myka gestures at her bag that contains the artifact.

“We did—and now do once again—make a good team.”

“I’m glad we got the chance to do it again. Glad, but also... relieved.”

“Relieved,” Helena echoes.

That wasn’t a question, but Myka answers anyway. “Well, obviously, first,” she says, feeling herself launching into an explanatory babble that she fears she’ll be powerless to stop, “because you didn’t have to talk anybody out of using Joshua’s trumpet, so that really makes a difference in terms of how we—”

“‘First’,” Helena quotes, interrupting (stopping), conveying her full knowledge that that too is a vamp. “And second?”

“That we still are.” This, Myka says simple and frank.

“A good team?”

That is a question. Myka knows “yes” is the only sensical answer, so she tries to say it. But the depth and weight of the ways in which she and Helena “still are” choke her: they “still are” in the basic sense of existing, which was never a certainty; and even better, higher, these hours they’ve spent together today have made clear, to Myka at least, that they “still are”... well. She’d like to finish that with something like “in love,” but instead she tries to leave it, even in her head, at “still are,” with their time-crossed, maybe-destined predicate undefined.

“A good team” should be good enough—true enough—for now.

So after a stretch of time during which Myka knows she’s been focusing her gaze far too intently on Helena, she manages that “yes.”

Helena waits to speak.... are her eyes glistening more brightly than usual, or is Myka hallucinating? “I’m relieved as well,” she says, and Myka chooses to simply delight in whatever prompted such a saturated sparkle.

It draws her closer.

She crosses the small-yet-large elevator-width that separates them. “I need to either sit down beside you or help you up,” she says. “Do you have a preference?”

“For?” Helena’s eyes continue to glow.

That shine... Myka has hopes. They may not be realized, but she has them: the product of relief, “still are,” and an unknown predicate. “Whatever’s next,” she says.

A bit of time passes, with Helena now being the one focused most intently. “I’ll stand,” is her verdict.

Myka reaches down with both—both—hands, offering, and Helena reaches up, accepting. Their fingers meet and clasp, and too cold, Myka thinks, for both of them have a chill in those extremities... but first impressions of temperature promptly fall away as the new reality of the clasp roars into precedence.

Myka has never been so certain of, so certain of and enchanted by, what must and will happen next in her life. Never in her life so certain, as the clasp tightens, as their torsos lean, as Myka’s body begins an at-last congratulation, one that will become a celebration—

A voice from somewhere overhead barks, “Everybody okay in there?”

TBC

[tan1shere]

Friends

Billie Eilish x female reader !

A/n: as a bit of an apology for that other fic... LMAOO THIS DOES HAVE A HAPPY ENDING ! I've been obsessed with this song. Like if my future gf doesn't confess her love to me with it I'm gunna sue

Summary: none of you had any idea just how inlove you guys were.

Warnings: a bit angsty at the startish ? But happy ending 😁 this ended up being so so cute eeee - also listening to the song helps near the end when they're in the rain. Makes it more magical hehe

Masterlist

It was another day. Another cold, rainy day. It had been like that for a few weeks now. But you weren't complaining, you loved this kind of weather. Drinking hot drinks, wearing cute clothes, the sound of it on the roof. Even going to cute little Cafes with friends, which is what you were on the way to do now. Your best friend Claudia, Finneas and last but not least Billie. Billie, Billie. Billie. She was beautiful, always teasing you about something but you loved it. Yes you had a crush on her. But you had to stop that.

You had been friends with Finneas first for years, and your crush developed quite quickly when you met Billie for the first time. Only a matter of days and you were drooling at the sight. She'd never see you like that though. Then you introduced Claudia to them, your long time best friend. She knew about this crush and she was the only one who did. It was only natural when she insisted you say something the day Billie came out. You had known for awhile before she publicly announced it. You were a lesbian and open about that, so she came to you when she thought she might be into girls.

It only made things worse. Making you want her even more when she confirmed she wanted to be with a woman. You so desperately wanted that woman to be you. But you doubted she saw you in that way. Causing you to push those feelings aside, and bury it deep within. The looks you always gave her go unnoticed by Claud, she tried time and time again to encourage you to just say something and that..

"You never know what could happen" She says as you and her wait on the other two to order. "Claudia there's no point, it'd just ruin things." "You don't know that!" She insists, but shuts up seconds later as they come back over. Her words always sat with you, replaying over and over in your mind. But you couldn't do it, you had to let it go. Just some silly crush you developed as a kid. It'll go away.

... It's been nearly 7 years. 7 long years with a burning crush for her. A massive secret. Who were you kidding you weren't getting over it. They come back with the drinks in hand. "Matcha for you." Finn says, handing it to Claudia. "Your favorite for you." You smile as Billie says that. She always knew. She knew exactly what you liked and what you didn't, and vise versa. Which probably made you love her even more. If anything you were certain you were inlove with her. Which is why you needed to make this stop somehow.

Few months had passed since the coffee shop. You were sitting at home, scrolling through your phone when you see tiktoks of Quen, Odessa, and Billie in one. You knew she was close with them but you had no idea just how close. But that wasn't even the icing on the cake. Your phone dings with a text from her. "Hey you!" It read. You try to ignore the pit in your stomach after seeing that stupid fucking tiktok. You couldn't let it bother you this much. "Hii Bills." - "Craziest thing right, I mean not so crazy because I've kissed her before. But i love how casual it is, Quen was just saying a joke and kissed me mid way."

Your heart stings for a bit as you read those words. That poison. "Oh really?" - "Shes honestly so funny though, just wanted to text! See how you were doing and all." You bite your lip. How's awful? "I'm fine!" You were glad this was over text cuz boy were you a bad liar. So you're glad she hasn't caught on at all to your crush. Lying your way out of that one would be a mission. Or maybe it wouldn't be. "Good! I'll talk to you later, byeee." You sigh. "Bye.." You say outloud.

Some more time passes by, and very slowly. You had been focusing more on yourself. You even got a promotion in your job. But you weren't sure if you would take it, seeing as you had to move to New York for it. It had been eating at you recently on what to do. You can't bear the thought of not seeing your friends everyday. Even if they could visit but they had busy lives too. It wouldn't be the same. And you weren't sure if you could leave her. Or maybe that was the exact thing you needed.

Maybe you needed to get away so this silly little crush could go bye bye. But once you think it over some more you come to a decision. You couldn't possibly say no to this. This was huge for you after all.

Flashback.

Another rainy day, you two were chilling in Finns basement as Billie works on a few things. She stops for a moment. "Hey, I've been working on this song for a bit. It's nothing major but can you have a listen?" You nod, leaning forward excitedly. As it plays, you fall immediately inlove. Even if it was just a snippet. "Billie! That's beautiful." You beam at her, loving it so much. She blushes slightly at the words. "It's really special. I was thinking of putting the rain in the background if I can manage to. It's so noisy tonight." You nod as she says that. "I love the rain, it brings me such a comfort. The cold weather, snuggling up into blankets. The sound!" She smiles as you talk. She always listened, especially when you rambled. "I know." She says, more so to herself seeing as you hadn't heard her.

"Hey, early like always." Claudia says to you as you enter her house. You greet Finneas and the dogs aswel. "Well you know me." They were currently throwing a small get together, something common for them to do. But you loved it. You were going to break the news tonight. It was decided. Billie had only just arrived shortly after you, coming in and saying hi to everyone. You look at her, wondering if you really should go through with this. She was your best friend. It made you wonder how she's going to take the news. Out of all of them you two were the closest. Hanging out regularly, talking on the phone. So this without a doubt would be hard.

You were all sitting around at the table, talking, eating. When a friend asks Billie if she's done anything new recently music wise. "Well, funny you should ask. I've been writing this song, it's incredibly special to me. It's about this girl, and I think I really like her." You swallow as you hear that. Was it who you think it was about? Was it that same song she got you to listen to? "Ooou Billie liking someone?" Rat pipes up. "I may do." "If you're writing a song for her you must be pretty inlove." She blushes slightly. It had to be about Quen, it just had to. You look down at your food contemplating. That whole situation just made everything easier. So you begin to speak.

"I uhm, I have a small announcement." Everyone then looks at you. Your eyes land on Billies for a split second. "I- got a promotion a few weeks ago." They all start congratulating you, even Billie. But that dies down with your next words. "It uh.. Id have to move to New York though." Things fell silent, saddened faces all around. "That sucks. But we are so proud of you, are you going to take it?" You think for a moment, you look over to Billie but her eyes were on the food on her plate. "Uhm. Yeah, I am." Cheers were then to be heard. "To Y/n!" Rat then says, raising his glass. "To Y/n!" Everyone follows. Everyone but Billie...

Flashback.

Summer time. It was almost your second favorite to winter, but nothing could ever beat your love for it. You and Billie had gone out to a meadow, it was one of her favorite things. Going out to rejoice in nature. And when you had suggested it she couldn't of been more happy. It was better than sitting around in the boiling heat in the house, even with the fan on it was scorching. There was a warm breeze as you two walked through it. Enjoying the sun and grass. Billie was behind you going to grab your wrist. "This was an amazing idea. You know me so well." You smile wide as she says that. "I also know how much energy you have. I'll race you to the end." She chuckles. "Oh please you know I'd beat you-" "Go!" You abruptly say, running off as soon as your sentence finished. "Hey!" She yells running after you.

The whole paddock was huge so it took you a little bit. Along the way you both give up, but as you were about to stop your body's being tackled to the ground. "Gotcha!" She says pinning your arms down. You laugh. "No fair!" Her brow raises. "You know what's not fair? You getting a head start you little cheat." You laugh even more. "I have no clue what you're on about." It was her turn to laugh. "And a liar!" Her hands move to tickle your sides. "Billie!" "A bad one at that." Now your laughs were uncontrollable. She kept going until something sparks. You hadn't realized how close she was. Both of your eyes locking. Everything stills. Her movements. Your breathing. Maybe even time did too. You look at her lips for a second and that's when you look away. Her hand gently grabs your jaw. "You still lost." Your eyes roll going to push her off. "Har har."

She falls beside you as you both lay on your back. Taking in the sky silently. "Everything is so beautiful." You breathe. "Yeah." Billie replies. She wasn't looking at the sky.

The time was nearing. You were packing up your things a few days earlier. Honestly, you were so excited. This could be a brand new start, a refresher. After a longish day you were driving over to Finneas and Claudia's, wanting to spend as much time with them as possible. Wondering why Billie wasn't mentioned? Because she may not even be there. She hasn't been there. Ever since that night, nor had she texted you since then. Which is something she did daily. It broke your heart. But maybe that just made it even easier to leave. Maybe..

"Got most packed?" Claudia asks. You nod, seemingly distracted. "Hey, everything alright?" You look at her. "Oh yeah, just thinking about missing you guys- when. I leave." She had known you for longer than they have, even if you were a bad liar she saw right through you. "Spill." You sigh. "We haven't spoken in weeks.." Her brows furrow. "You and Billie?" You just nod, kinda wanting to avoid this whole thing right now. "Ever since I announced it she's shut me out." Claudia's features softened. "Maybe she just needed time she's your best friend it'll surely hurt-" "But as a best friend she should be here for me. Even if that is so."

Things grew silent, not the horrible kind. "I'm sorry." You shrug. "Guess even in friendship she doesn't want it." - "That's not true." You shrug again. "Even before I mentioned this whole thing she had grown distant. Its like I didn't even matter anymore. She was too busy focusing on this girl." Maybe you hadn't realized how much it upset you. You didn't want it to. But it finally got to you. Claudia notices and brings you in for a hug. She soothes you, trying to not make things seem worse. After a bit you both pull back. "You're going to call me everyday ok? And we will talk about anything and everything." She wipes your slight tears.

Feeling her own fall. You nod, planning on doing so. "Im going to miss you guys." She brings you in for a final hug. "We are going to miss you more."

Flashback.

Parties were something you aren't sure you're use to. But it was quite a frequent thing. Seeing as who you were friends with were in that scene. "I hope this isn't boring like some of them." You sigh, watching Billie come out of your bathroom. She was wearing a loose black button up shirt and some very laid back pants. Another thing you loved about her, she didn't try to be fashionable. She was just always comfortable. "Oh come onnn, it could be so fun!" Even she didn't believe that. She agreed with you, parties like these were just an excuse to drink or get high and you hated it. Everyone could enjoy themselves when they are actually themselves instead of being intoxicated. "I'll make it fun." She then says, striding over to you. Billie had always been flirty in anything she did. Whether it was her tone or actions it'd always be noticeable. Which sure as hell didn't help with the fucking crush.

And delicate touch to your body had you shivering. It felt like she did it on purpose. Maybe she was? "And how do you suppose you'd do that?" She shrugs, getting closer. "Just by being me." Your brows raises, trying so hard to not let show how much of an effect she has on you currently. "If you say so." But that whole night was something else. Sure she could be touchy, and never in a bad way. It was her love language after all. But something about the way you danced together, the way each moment felt. Sure as hell didn't feel like a just friends thing. But ofcourse you were delusional. Because the next day, things were back to the same friendliness. It hurt, all you wanted was to be hers but she didn't feel the same. And you had to accept that.

It was the last day before your move. "This is for Y/n." Finneas says on their couch. It was just him, you, Claudia. And ofcourse Billie. You doubted she even wanted to come at the way she's been acting lately. It upset and angered you. What was wrong with her? "Our best friend. And cheers to the new chapter she's starting!" He finishes. "Here here!" Claudia chimes in. Your heart just sinks as you turn to look at Billie. She was on her phone. Probably texting the mystery girl. You look at your drink, sighing internally. Finneas and Claud just look at one another. "Congrats Y/n." Finneas then concludes.

A slight sadness in his voice. You nod slowly as you 3 drink to it. The night goes on, you wanted some more blue cheese so you get up and go to the kitchen, Billie happening to be there. Things were awkward. You really didn't want them to end this way. "Can't believe it's tomorrow." You say, breaking the air. "Yeah, came by fast." There was more awkward silence. God you felt like crying why was she being like this. But that anger comes back as shes on her phone, again. The last night you have together and she's texting some bitch. "Really?" You manage to get out, after what felt like ages of bottling up whatever it was inside you.

Her eyes move to look at you. "Huh?" You grit your teeth. She sees your eyes gloss over, opening her mouth to speak. "You haven't spoken to me in weeks." You snap. She doesn't say anything, unsure of exactly what she could say. There's many things, but choosing was tricky. "Just forget it, I'm going to go home and rest. Got a big day tomorrow." You say to everyone as you grab your bag, heading out. Remembering you had taken an Uber, grabbing your phone but struggle as the pouring rain shoots down. "Wait!" You then hear behind you.

"No Billie." You really didn't want to speak to her after all she hadn't, all month. All night for fuck sakes. "Please let me talk." You ignore her trying hard to call this damn Uber, but the rain wasn't helping in the slightest. She grabs your phone making you look at her. "Hey!" You say, feeling tears flow. It was hard to tell mixed with the rain. But she notices. She notices everything. "I'm s-" You push her away. "N-no." You shiver. "You hurt me." She stands there dumbfounded. That's not at all what she wanted. Far from it. She's reized how much she's hurt you.

"Please, I really am sorry I shouldn't have iced you out. I was just shocked and a little hurt you hadn't mentioned this to me." You fold your arms not looking at her. "I hadn't told anyone." She scratches her head. "Yeah but, out of anyone I thought youd atleast tell me." You turn to her. "Why? Why do you think that? You haven't been the best friend to me recently. Hell i don't even know what to think anymore." She shakes her head. "Don't say that, please I'm sorry." You stay quiet for a moment. "Just give me my phone."

She was hesitant but with a sigh she does. You soon get fed up, going to walk. "It's freezing, you can't just walk home." - "Why do you care all of a sudden Billie. It's not like you've been so caring lately?!" Another bit of silence. You just shake your head. "Well?" She thinks for a moment. "This morning. I woke up from a dream. Where you and I had to say goodbye." You had no clue where this was going but you were growing inpatient. Wanting a proper answer. "And I don't know what it all means... But since then I realized. Wherever you go that's where I'll follow."

You roll your eyes a bit, not even sure you're getting where this is going, patience growing thinner. "Im tired Billie, goodnight and goodbye." You say walking off again. She started to panic. Frantically thinking. "Y/n!" When you wouldn't stop she sighs. "I love you!" Your feet come to halt at the words. "Or rather, inlove with you." Your eyes widen. Was this a dream too? Were you dreaming? You slowly turn around to look at her. "W-what?" You look at eachother, feeling as if time had stopped again. "If the world was ending I'd wanna be next to you."

You feel tears again. This is all you've been longing from her. "Are you serious?" You question. "Serious as anything." You smile, more tears coming down your cheeks. You run over to her, she instinctively picks you up. And finally something else you had been longing for, happened just like that. You felt eachothers lips. Molding together perfectly. It lasted for what felt like eternity. Neither of you wanted to pull away, you knew you needed to though. The rain pours more over you. Making both of your hair sticks to your faces. She moves yours out the way.

"I'm hoping you feel the same?" You laugh. "Yes you idiot. For over 7 years." She smiles wide, so happy that this could finally happen. "Wait- what about the girl- the mystery one?" She chuckles. "We really were blind huh?" Your brows furrow in confusion. "The song was about you. But I never said anything because I was worried I'd ruin things." Your head shakes. "Oh thank God, I honestly thought it was Quen." You breathe out relieved. "Oh goodness no, she's just a friend. Even if I had kissed her it was more of an experience." You nod, understanding everything more now.

"So the song was about me?" You beam. She reflects the same actions. "I thought the lyrics would've been obvious to be honest. Especially with the rain part." - "Guess it just flew past my head." You lock eyes once again. "Well since I know how much rain means to you. What if I asked you a very special question while we're out here in it." Your head tilts. Her hands grabbing your own. "Will you be my girlfriend?" You smile. "I thought you'd never ask." You seal the deal with a kiss. You fell first. But she fell harder.

"No seriously I thought you'd never ask." You both laugh, heading over to her car so you can get home.

[raayllum]

Anyway borrowing from the Rayllum relevant sections of my "arc 2 is about the pursuit of knowledge / knowledge as a burden" meta for s4 and s5 (minimized/condensed text is from previous meta) let's talk about S6

Season four in a lot of ways was the journey of

Mutual Love as Self Actualization: Part 1 — Uncertainty to Certainty (S4)

As previously noted, Callum starts out S4 at both a loss with the mirror, and still coping with the uncertainty and stagnation of his loss of Rayla. When Ezran reaffirms that Callum still loves her, all Callum can helplessly rely that he doesn’t “even know if she’s alive.” Things don’t really improve once Rayla shows up, either, even if we see the persistent thread of not knowing vs knowing being knit throughout their arc with one another.

When Ezran is trying to get Callum and Rayla to work together, he doesn’t tell them to set everything aside, or even harkens back to their good old days. He asserts their identities and says, “Don’t you remember who you are?” because to him — and evidently to Callum and Rayla, because it works — working together and helping each other has become a fundamental, core part of who they are as individuals. They are that interwoven with each other, and Rayla reflects that in 4x07 with, “Callum, you’re the 'destiny is a book you write yourself’ guy. No one can control you or make your choices for you” as well as what Callum offers up to her in 4x09 where we see the turning point in their prior uncertainty. Although they’ve both changed, they are fundamentally still the same people they were when they fell in love, and there is both comfort, sadness, and acceptance in that realization, where Callum says:

Mutual Love as Self Actualization: Part 2 — Certainty and Discovery (S5)

Upon reconciling once Callum has said what we knew all along — “I’m so glad you come back” — Callum and Rayla return to the castle, and their searches for knowledge become arguably more explicitly stated by the text. Their first scene together in 5x01 establishes that Callum wants to know the Ocean arcanum (“I thought it would be about controlling the tides or fighting the currents” thereby exerting control, which he desperately wants over himself post-S4) as well as Aaravos, whereas Rayla is seeking answers about her family: “If I can figure out how he put you into the cursed coins, maybe I can find a way to get you out.”

This is, of course, something we know she doesn’t trust Callum with yet, not wanting to burden him with her problems especially before she’s reached her own conclusion of what to do about it (to delay it for the good of the world) and we see that the certainty and forgiveness Callum found in 4x09 has more than carried over.

Opeli: Don’t you want to know what she was up to? Why she did all this?

And although very uncertain about opening up, Rayla still expresses certainty that she knows Callum could and can be there for her, if he wants to be — if he’s ready to be.

This is, after all, with both Amaya’s encouragement and Callum’s reassurance that 1) “You can tell me when you’re ready” and that 2) he does want to know from 5x01. Then, we see both their arcs in this way largely — or at least they would, in a perfect world — be resolved in many ways by their interaction later in 5x04:

Previously, we’ve mostly talked about knowledge, especially within the text of the show, as a positive thing. It is the foundational rock of a strong relationship, it can lead to positive self actualization, and it helps the heroes keep Aaravos from being unleashed. When you do not have enough knowledge or perceived understanding of someone (Claudia assumes Soren could never understand her, and Viren and Harrow’s relationship breakdown), your relationship accordingly deteriorates. When you share knowledge, and share experiences (Rayla to Callum about the coins, Soren to Elmer about abusive cycles), you can become stronger together.

But knowledge is not exclusively a good thing. It can also be harmful, or unwanted, or unwanted precisely because it’s harmful. It can bind you to deals or bonds you don’t really want, and once you know something, you cannot un-know it, whether about yourself or about others. And we see this most plainly in the story Archmage Akiyu shares about the prison ("I knew too much").

So if S4 is about beginning to navigate both in spite of and within uncertainty, S5 is about having the safety of that uncertainty stripped away, both in creating more of it, and in removing some of it. Namely, the Ocean arcanum.

He chased the Ocean arcanum because he thought, if Sky granted him potential and freedom, then Ocean would grant him control, but the truth was more complicated than that. While it did grant him control (the ability to break free from Finnegrin’s spell), it also granted him a rather hard truth he’d rather not know.

The first time he cites his poem about true tides and untold depths, he is talking about his faith and trust in Rayla — the way he views her: “If she didn’t tell me, she has a good reason. […] I trust her. Unconditionally.”

The second time he recites the poem, it is about himself. The untold depths are within himself, are parts he is still trying to understand in full because they are uncomfortable truths. In many ways, Callum unlocking the Ocean arcanum is his version of Ezran’s 4x03 speech (see how we looped all the way back? 'Totally’ intentional I swear), that multiple things can be, and sort of have to be, true in order to gain new ground, even if there’s a part of you that wishes it could be simple.

Season six develops this theme, too, but it takes it and calls it Truth, and we see this reflected most notably in 6x06.

Mutual Love as Self Actualization: Part 3 — Certainty and Salvation (S6)

In season six, we see Callum build upon this certainty with Rayla by the way he remains emotionally open with her about his hopes and fears. After his 6x01 nightmare freaks him out, he runs right to her to receive support; when the guilt and fear gnaws at him in 6x03, he tells her the truth of what he did on Finnegrin's ship.

While the obvious facet of knowledge (truth) and salvation here is in 6x06, I also like to think it starts an episode earlier in 6x05. Callum wants to go along with the mission because he knows the quasar diamonds will be what they get in exchange whereas Rayla goes along with it because he's pushing for it (and well, helping people is always nice).

However, where Callum believes that the icy beast they seemingly have to slay is a monster, Rayla believes differently and hedges her bets on what she knows.

This is a great mini turning point in season six for a few reasons. For one, it merges the idea of truth and knowledge into one ("I know it's true") as well as emphasizing the concept of knowing something in your heart, which 6x06 will build on of "dark magic tears a hole in your spirit/heart that light can fill". It also clearly ties back to something that Callum knows he knows, which is that he trusts Rayla unconditionally (5x01). So he goes with it.

When Rayla does reach out to the behemoth, it's with more facets of knowledge: "I know you're in pain. I don't want to hurt you...", knowing the creature's name and the stories ("I know who you are"), and even in her lullaby:

(We'll come back to the lullaby for 6x06's relevancy as well). Once Rayla's kindness and compassion gets through, of her knowledge and seeing the truth of Esmeray's pain much like Ezran saw Zubeia's ("and the truth of you seeing that made it feel like less, like healing"), we return to how well Callum knows her and his knowledge about the trial ("You knew this was the reward"):

If I'd told you, you would've refused to go, because you never do anything for yourself.

To love someone is to know them, and to know them is (in these cases) to develop love for them. The same way that Rayla brings Runaan out of his grief and guilt induced darkness in 6x09 ("I'm your daughter and I love you") and recognizes the grief and guilt plaguing Esmeray, likewise, she represents and is Love to Callum.

He's gone from being uncertain about her survival, about expressing his love, all the way to looking to her for support and direction about the trials set before him:

Kosmo: Dark magic left a hole in you, but the Star-truth ritual can fill the darkness with light. [...] You must search your mind and heart for your one deep truth, the star within you. Then you must let that truth shine and fill the darkness. Callum: One deep truth, huh? Kosmo: Your deepest truth. [...] You must find the star within you, the one deep truth so bright it can fill the darkness.

As know, Callum's trial is still a struggle for him at first. But luckily Rayla's lullaby also foreshadowed the principle of looking inward rather than outward, too, and precisely what kind of answer and truth Callum is going to find.

Callum: I found my one truth.

His truth, his knowledge, his constant, his light... is love, his love, for Rayla and from Rayla. At the end of 6x06 in many ways, Callum is at his most self-actualized, freed from the taint of dark magic and paranoia about Aaravos' control... saved and allowed to become the best version of himself, a bright shining light. A star in his own right. Which is likewise why he expresses his truth before the episode is done. He did dark magic for her, but she's so much more than just darkness or desperation or sadness for him; she's light and hope and Love, too. She's his Constant, Deepest Truth. She's everything.

It's taken two and a half seasons, but he's ready to do more than just know it. He's ready to say it.

So he does.

[cuntylouis]

As much as i dislike the whole narrow and oversimplified love language theory it explains so much about the problems and miscommunication at the de Pointe du Lac-de Lioncourt household if you consider that they speak different love languages. Aside from their 32958394577 other issues of course.

Louis is quite clearly a ‘quality time’ and ‘acts of service’ type of person. He often feels uncomfortable with overt gestures and believes that actions speak louder than words and the way he shows love is rather practical. Providing for and taking care of his loved ones and spending time with them is very important for him. He’s not outwardly very affectionate towards others but he makes a great effort to help his family and sometimes also the community (and he tries to justify to himself his exploitation of women by insisting that he’s actually protecting and helping them). With Paul they spent a lot of time just doing things together like walking and talking and going to church and dancing. In the beginning with Lestat they bond over music and theatre and arts and Louis talks and opens up to him about things like never before other than with his brother. Later we see him pause reading (his favorite hobby) to listen to what Lestat is saying to him and even at his most depressed he tries to share with Lestat what he’s reading. In modern day he remembers a dessert that was emotionally meaningful for Daniel and has it prepared in an attempt to connect with him through it (and eats himself despite that it tastes awful to him!).

He frequently does things he feel uncomfortable doing to please Lestat (going to opera with him despite having to act as his valet, drinking human blood, having sex with him after finding out he’s cheating again etc.). Becoming a father and taking care of Claudia was something that brought great fulfillment to Louis (”the simple joy of her hand in mine”). He enjoys ‘homemaking’ whether that’s decorating christmas trees or doing his child’s hair and he was at his happiest when the vampire family was living as close to normal everyday family life as possible, and later tries to unsuccessfully return to that status quo. The most important way for him to communicate love with other people is to simply choose to share his life with them. Lestat who expects dramatic romantic words and gestures could never understand the greatest love Louis ever showed was to stay with him despite everything.

Lestat is strongly a ‘words of affirmation, ‘physical touch’ and ‘gift giving’ type of person. He encourages and compliments Louis and tells him he loves him all the time. I think the scene in ep 6 where he mouths ‘i love you’ when walking away from the park bench despite nothing special happening implies that it’s something he tells Louis almost every day. Verbally expressing his emotions is very important for Lestat. He obviously carefully rehearsed his church love confession beforehand and later even literally wrote a song for Louis. Lestat who is deeply insecure needs words of love and reassurance but rarely receives them. When Louis does show verbal affection he just soaks it up like a sponge (”you missed me?”). Lestat is very tactile person and to quote Sam Reid can’t keep his hands off Louis. When they’re together he’s rarely not touching him. Louis is significantly less touchy-feely, he allows Lestat to touch him if they’re not fighting but initiates it himself much less frequently. When they’re not having sex frequently Lestat feels unhappy and abandoned, not just because of his high libido but also because for him sex is an essential way to convey intimacy and connection. This is also shown in his pattern of cheating where despite claiming he likes variety he actually mostly just carries out a years long affair with one person despite finding her tedious, because she offers him constant validation and an illusion of intimacy. He was rather physically and verbally affectionate with Claudia too before the things turned sour, sometimes gently touching her and calling her with pet names.

Lestat, like Louis, loves taking care of his loved ones but he’s more focused on actual providing and giving things. Lestat showers both Louis and Claudia with gifts; clothes, jewelry, books, money. When Louis is worrying about going home and his business after being turned Lestat tells him “this is now your home” and “i have all the money we need”; he has obviously already envisioned the future he will take care of all Louis’ needs and Louis will never have to work again or worry about anything or pay for anything anymore because Lestat is happy to buy and give him everything in the world. He calls vampirism a gift as well and is frustrated when Louis and Claudia are not grateful for receiving it. After the DV incident he tries to literally buy himself back into their life and sends so many gifts that they have to burn more of them than bodies. He whines to Antoinette about how ungrateful and disrespectful Claudia is despite that he’s given her ‘so many incalculable gifts’. Roots of this behaviour are in Lestat having lived most of his human life in poverty and having to act as a provider. Even after years of being rich he values material things and considers giving and receiving them a powerful act of love and loyalty. Louis had not experienced similar poverty and hunger while being human and Claudia who as a human had nothing i think just sees through bullshit. I think despite their different backgrounds Claudia is actually fairly similar to Louis in this regard that they value more practical and straightforward everyday love. Claudia nurses Louis back to health and makes it her mission to save him, and while she loves pretty things as an expression of love they mean nothing to her.

[kutputli]

It's been two days since I finished watching Interview with the Vampire, and the show has been consuming all my brain space. I didn't have the energy to live blog each episode of season 2, but I want to get my reactions down, before I go in search of reading other people's. This will be a haphazard collection of thoughts, so I think what I will do is start talking character by character and see if that helps me organise things any.

Louis

This one is the beating heart of the show, and I don't see how it would have worked if they had not made him a Black man. Everything stems from what he learned during his life of how to survive and thrive and yet remain kind and compassionate, and watching him be fragile and loving and grieving is soul stirring. Perhaps other people might still have found the show engaging with the role played by a white character (given fandom's embrace of the slave owning pirates in Our Flag Means Death, I am sure a slave owning Louis would not have been an insurmountable problem).

But this story belongs to the Black Louis, and to what Jacob Anderson made of him. Just impeccable acting choices, all down the line. I am mesmerised by him.

Praise for the character aside, he is the moral heart of the show. (I know there is a case to be made for Claudia, but I will get to her after this.) I don't actually much enjoy villains presented as anti-heroes, and Louis engenders so much empathy in a show filled with rather awful people.

Of course, he loves Claudia. And I do see him putting her first to the best of his ability. Claudia may be entitled to her resentment, but that doesn't make it rational fact. Louis encouraging her to leave the first time, knowing that Lestat would follow him if he left, that's a valid choice. And then choosing not to burn Lestat... I am reminded of how few victims of domestic abuse actually murder their abusers. The main desire is always to get away. I don't condemn Louis for choosing to not kill his lover.

Claudia had no roots laid down in New Orleans, but Louis did, and he gave all of that up to support her really rather nonsensical search for mystical vampires who were not as awful as Lestat. He helped her join the coven even if he could see it was a cult. And when she introduced him to Madeline, he listened to her. He turned her for Claudia. I don't ever see a moment where he stopped actively caring for her and doing the labour to prove it. I took the line about her being a burden as fully just transparent bait for Armand.

And when Lestat shows up at the trial, its Claudia that Louis is focussed on. He Always. Puts. Her. First.

The way that Louis finds his way into a relationship with Armand is so heartbreakingly soft. We never see them in their intimate moments as dom and sub, but I get the sense that he would be a tender lover -what he wants is to be respected, to have control.

And then we come to the post-trial choices.

I can somewhat buy him sparing Armand's life during his vengeance murder spree, because it wasn't just that Armand said he had saved him during the trial - if you remember, Armand was only encouraging him to leave Paris. Louis was the one who asked. But also, Armand was the one who let him out of the coffin. He did save Louis, and Louis would have tasted the blood of the person who saved him and known it was him.

I think maybe Louis was able to get over Armand facilitating Claudia's murder, because he saw him as a victim paralysed in the same way that he himself had been. Louis knows about having to keep his head down and be complicit with an oppressive system, and I think he offered the benefit of the doubt to Armand because of that. Perhaps also - Louis forgave Claudia for attempting to murder Lestat because he could see her desparation and why she needed to do it. Maybe Louis created a story for himself where Armand was similarly trapped. I don't know. To me, his choice of staying with Armand is the one I am the most questioning of.

(All of this is presupposing that what we saw was what actually happened. There are indications that there is yet another layer to the trial that we don't know about, and because Louis wasn't there as primary witness for the end, maybe some new facts will emerge to make Armand either more sympathetic, or more manipulative.)

Louis's relationship with Daniel is endearing and charming and all things adorable. I hope they whatsapp each other often and have some uncomplicated relaxing stress-relieving sex.

As for Louis and Lestat... see, I was ok with what I saw on the screen. I saw an abuse survivor leave his second marriage the instant he found out he had been lied to, and I saw him visit the parent of his child for closure. Taking on the burden of Claudia's death is nonsense, of course, but it was believeable nonsense. In that I accept that Louis, after having learned that Lestat did lift a finger to partially save his life, spilled out from all his generosity and love, what he thought might help the wretched ex he saw eating on rats and playing on a plank.

But what I am not ok with, what repulses me to the core, is the apparent conviction of the show producers that Louis and Lestat are destined to return to each other, as the great love of each other's lives. It is true that some domestic abuse survivors never manage to completely free themselves from their abuser, and some spouses continue to stay with the abuser of their child (Alice Munro, looking at you). But that storyline is a horror story. Nothing in the framing of the show indicates that horror. And I do not wish for a season 3 that walks down that road.

[bratshaws]

through the hourglass 151. brb x oc

a/n: I think these two just help me when i have shit days...because today was kinda rough lol (reblogs and comments are super encouraged <3)

pairing: plus size!oc x rooster

warnings: JUST FLUFF!!!

goodness gracious (pls read this one to know more what this fic is about!!)

chapter

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/100/101/102/103/104/105/106/107/108/109/110/111/112/113/114/115/116/117/118/119/120/121/122/123/124/125/126/127/128/129/130/131/132/133/134/135/136/137/138/139/140/141/142/143/144/145/146/147

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-

Rooster checked his phone a few times as he was on his break, nothing new from Bea with the exception she was out with her mother and Nicole. She appeared relaxed in her messages so it was very possible that Claudia had no idea of what was going on yet, which was good…because across from him, neither did Mav.

His uncle shakes the ketchup packet a bit before ripping it open and just smearing it on top of the slice of pizza. Rooster looked downright disgusted and had no qualms in hiding how much, especially his nostrils were curled up in horror. Maverick looked up at his nephew and laughed, ‘Don’t clock it till you try it.”

“Oh,I’m clocking it.” he says,  “That’s horrendous. Thank God Bea isn’t here to see that, her Italian ancestors would drag you to the grave.”

Pete chuckles while wiping his hands and mouth with a napkin, tossing the used ball to the side and leaning back on his seat to smile at Rooster, “I’ll live I think, how’s she by the way?”

“She’s good.” he says as he places the phone aside and takes a bite of his burger, waiting until he swallowed to continue speaking, “She’s out with her mom and Nikki, doing chores and such.”

“And how’s Nikki?”

“She’s great.” he says fondly, grabbing his phone to open the gallery until he found what he was looking for, “She had a lot of fun back in Virginia,” the picture he shows Mav is one of Nikki on Beatrice’s arms, her tiny arm stretched to grab a few snowflakes while her mother just smiled towards Bradley with her cheeks flushed red. 

Maverick just grins, taking another bite of that abomination before speaking again, “I’m glad you guys had fun. Bea getting used to the cold now?”

“A little.” Bradley chuckles, “She is a San Diego girl through and through, she won’t get used to the cold that easily.” he had to admit that it was much better than the first time, she wasn’t shaking every now and again whenever they walked out on the street.

He wondered if the pregnancy had something to do with that.

“I know I hated it.” Mav says, “When I went to visit you guys, whew, what a nightmare. A cold,painful nightmare…when we fell down,back during the mission, do you know how much I hated lying down on the snow?”

“We were being stealthy.”

“Yes and I hated it. One more reason to get the hell out of that place.” both men laughed at that, before Maverick licked his lips and looked to the side with a subtle shake of his head. He sighs, crossing his arms as he looked over at Rooster,”You know something I just,” he gestures to his head, “Couldn’t stop thinking about?”

“What?”

“The fact Nikki is six months old already.” he corrects himself, “Wait, seven, she just turned seven. Soon enough she’ll be having her one year birthday.”

“And I’ll be forty.”

“You make it sound like it’s the end of the world or something,Rooster.”

“I just want to have joints when she gets older,I want to be able to play with her after all.”

Maverick hums with a chuckle, shaking his head again and sipping on his soda. He could see there was something different about Rooster, something more than the obvious fact he’ll reach forty - but to him he still looked like he was in his twenties, maybe because his brain wasn’t used on seeing older Brad yet - that made him smile every now and again. He also noticed how the other pilots looked over at him, punched his shoulder or even hugged him.

So he had to think, what exactly happened in Virginia for this sudden secretive celebration? Because those kids could play it off like he’s too old to notice certain things but he’s not that old. He wouldn’t be where he was if he wasn’t sharp eyed enough to see it.

He looks back to where he last saw Rooster talking to Phoenix and Payback, then turns his eyes back to his nephew, “So,did the kids have a good time in Virginia? I know Fanboy kept complaining about the cold and everything.”

“Of course he will.” Rooster licks his thumb clean of any sauce, then shrugs, “He’s a little baby. Can’t handle a bit of cold. I mean,come on.”

“Bea couldn’t either. Do you call her a baby too?”

“Sometimes but I call it with love.” he smiles, “Because she’s my wife.”

Maverick narrowed his eyes, “And…” he shrugs while pursing his lips, “Anything else happened there?” Rooster slows his chewing to give his uncle a confused look, arching his brow as Pete just stares at him, “I don’t know, they seemed really happy to talk to you.”

Quick slap the most neutral look on your face or else he’ll know.

Rooster continues chewing, using the excuse that he took too big of a bite to answer him, slowly making sure he could come up with something that could cut Mav’s curiosity short. Fuck, he sometimes wished his godfather wasn’t so sharp eyed because of course he knew something was off. “Just had fun, we drank and played games. We decided to do that since there’s a huge chance of deployment this month.” he is proud of how easily those words came out and how he didn’t choke on his own spit - also he avoided Mav’s eyes by fixing the wrapper on his burger instead.

“Ah,huh. Well…that’s all?”

“Yeah that’s all.”

“....hmmm.”

“What? What’s with the ‘hmms?”

“It just…something feels different.” Jesus not again, “While I do understand celebrating with your team before you guys leave the country again, I just think it’s funny how they kept hugging and clapping you on the back,Rooster.”

“They are just happy we had booze there.” he adds quickly, shoving what was left of his lunch into his mouth, “That’s all that was Mav.” he couldn’t keep those thoughts inside Pete’s head, he had to use a diversion “Oh, by the way, how was your New Year’s? I know you spent with Penny and Amelia.”

“Not gonna lie,Rooster. I’m still getting used to the whole,” he moves his hand in a circle, “Family time,I spent a long time just not celebrating anything and I’m glad to have Penny,I truly am. She’s…amazing.” Bradley smirks over his uncle’s words, he had never seen Pete like that and he liked that he found someone who truly cared about him, genuinely.

He takes the final sip of his soda and leans back on his chair, “So…what are the plans then?”

“Plans?” his nephew taps his own wedding band with that boyish smirk and Pete laughed, shaking his head, “Oh no, no, no, we talked about that already. We decided that we won’t think about that for five years. If we are still interested in each other by then…well…maybe so.”

“But you’d ring her up.”

“Of course I would.” he smiles, bashfully, “But not now,Rooster.”

Bradley was more than happy to see his uncle actually enjoying his life. He was a bachelor for…a long time, he couldn’t say when he saw Pete with a woman for longer than a few months. His mom used to say that he had this…fling, with a blonde girl when he was really young but they never worked out. 

He knew his parents would probably make fun of Mav just like he was. Because he cared, obviously.

He looks down at his phone just in time to see a message from Beatrice.

Call?

He tried not to panic, because she rarely did that, but he played it off with a smile, “Sorry Mav,I-”

“Beatrice,I know,I know Romeo.” he flaps his hand at Rooster, “Go on, tell her hi for me, will ya?”

“Sure thing.”

Rooster pushes himself away from the table, already finding Bea’s contact and bringing it to his ear, double checking if he was far away enough. It doesn’t take too long for her to answer and he waits to hear her voice to check how she was feeling. “Roos?” okay, she sounded fine so far, so he just relaxed a little bit.

He plays with his wedding band as he holds the phone between his cheek and shoulder, “Hi,gorgeous. How’s the day going?”

“Um…good!I uh,I had to get home early.”

He stops playing with his ring to frown at nothing, holding the phone instead, “Everything okay?”

“I felt really sick at the um, seafood aisle.” she whispers and he can hear her pouring something in a glass, “I had to hold it in the best I could so I didn’t throw up everywhere, it’d be awful…and my mom would be suspicious.”

“Did you manage to get home safely?”

“Yeah,I called for Shells.I told my mom they needed help at the bar and she came to my rescue. She didn’t mind since she was just buying minimal stuff, yknow…but ugh, it’s really bad.”

“Are you still feeling sick?”

She groans, her feet slapping on the floor as she walks away and Nicole’s babbling gets louder, “A little. I kinda want to lie down and don’t move…Roos what if I can’t go to work? Penny will be suspicious,I never get sick!”

“Well, you did hurt your ankle-”

“Yeah but that wasn’t caused by–” she pauses “I mean f-fair.But…I…I feel so blegh,I feel like my stomach weighs a hundred pounds and at the same time I want to eat fried ravioli??? Nikki’s was never like this??”

Rooster smiles, looking over his shoulder back to where Mav was and seeing his uncle was busy with his phone as well, so he whispered back to Beatrice, “Baby you have…two little beans inside of you.” he says, “I think it’ll be confusing even if it’s still early.”

“I guess so…ugh,Roos. I am okay though,I have some water and I might watch The Nanny while I’m still able to keep whatever is inside of me….inside of me.”

“I know,baby.”

“I’ll be fine…it’s just intense right now.”

“I know. If you want I can call Penny and say you aren’t feeling good. She’ll understand.” she makes a sad little noise and he laughs, “You know that she will, she is a mom. She knows that sometimes…you just don’t feel good.” not because Penny was ever pregnant with twins - that he knows of - but she knew how life was when you had kids.

Beatrice takes a while to reply, eventually doing so with a soft sigh and followed by a sweet and soft ‘fine’ as she gets comfortable. Fran Drescher’s unique laugh echoing in the background and the adorable sound of Nicole laughing along was almost too much for him to bear, “...do you want me to call Penny?”

“Hmmm…No…I’ll wait a few more minutes, if I don’t feel good in um,one hour,I’ll call her.”

“Okay,” he looks down at his watch, “Gorgeous,I gotta go…see you soon,okay?”

“Okay,Roos.I love you.”

“And I love you.” he smirks, “See you in a few.”

-

He gets home only to find the house weirdly silent, the dogs weren’t there to greet him and every light was off. He stood by the door, keys in one hand and the fried raviolis in the other, furrowing his brows as he slowly closes it once he steps inside.

The keys tinkle as he hangs them and he keeps on stepping forward, “Bea?” he calls, placing the fried good on the kitchen table and looking around one more time. “Baby?” he tries to not panic, he genuinely does, once he goes up the stairs to their bedroom.

He checks Nicole’s room only to see that the baby isn’t there and neither are the dogs. He inhales shakily, speeding his step towards the partially open door. He slowly pries it open, it squeaks vagarously almost in complaint as the room slowly comes into view.

Rooster closes his eyes and lets out a heavy sigh in relief when he sees Beatrice with Nicole on her chest, both of them on the bed and the dogs sleeping around it. “Oh,thank God.” he whispers and it’s enough for Eleanor to lift her head and perk her pointy ears up.

She’s the first one to stand, slowly trotting towards him with her curly tail wagging as she greets him. “Hey girl.” he whispers, “You guys are taking care of my angels? Hm?’ he scratches her under the chin to look around the room.

Something smells…fresh, like minty fresh.

He turns his head towards the bathroom where he could see the cleaning products still inside and then ‘ah’ in recognition. He makes his way to the bed, smiling as he watches Beatrice and Nicole sleep so soundly, feeling almost bad when the mattress creaks under his weight, “Shit.”

Beatrice’s brows furrow but her eyes remain closed, “Roos?”

“It’s me,gorgeous.”

“...I…” she furrows her brows, bringing Nicole closer to her chest, “I fell asleep with Nikki.”

“I can see it.” he settles down on the edge of the bed, tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear and smiling when she just closes her eyes again and nuzzles his palm, “Are you feeling better?”

“I threw up.” she mutters with her eyes closed but arching her eyebrows, pointing to the bathroom, “Then I cleaned the toilet and the cleaning supplies made me sick again, so I washed my hands and grabbed Nikki and we lied here…and now…you are here too and I…feel bleh.”

“Did you call Penny?”

She peeks one eye open, he could see she was hesitant in doing so, “....I don’t…maybe I’ll feel better in a few minutes.”

“Baby you have to work in one hour and a half.” he counters, “Are you sure?”

Was she?

Beatrice meets those warm brown eyes and sighs, offering her palm to him, “Gimme my phone?” he does immediately, grabbing a slowly waking Nicole from her chest so she could sit on the bed while rubbing her forehead. She looks back at him as he nuzzles Nicole, the little baby finally waking up and immediately smiling at Rooster, who in turn smiles right back.

Beatrice waits for a few seconds, then blinks when the phone picks up, “Penny speaking.”

“Penny!Hi,it’s Bea,um,I know it’s…a bit soon but I was wondering if I could have the night off tonight? I’m not feeling the greatest.”

“The night off?” Penny takes a while to reply, “...Bea,I…well, I don’t know if that will be possible because Jessie asked to take the night off too.”

“What?”

“Family member passed away, I didn’t ask too much, the girl is young and she doesn’t need the pressure.” and Beatrice wanted to shrink into a hole because she couldn’t compare her issues with Jessie’s right now “...what are you feeling?”

‘Just…a stomach bug, some nausea.” she meets Rooster’s eyes, her husband just keeps a neutral façade for now, “Been having issues the whole day.”

“...listen, if you can come tonight I can set you up with some meds. I really need you Bea. Shells thinks the new guys are coming here, from the other bar.”

“What? Why?”

“Scope the territory, pretty much…listen, if you need to go home earlier, if you feel really bad, you can go…but I really need the help. I truly do.”

Beatrice sighed, clenching her eyes as she gritted her teeth, she would never leave Penny like that if she needed the help, “I…fine.Okay,yeah,I’ll go.”

“Good,see you in a bit then? And Bea…thank you.”

“You are- yeah, no worries Penny. S-See you.” she hangs up the call and hits the back of her head against the headboard, looking back at Rooster who doesn’t look pleased by the outcome, “She needs me tonight. A relative of Jessie passed, she had to take the night off. But she said if I feel too bad I can leave early.”

Rooster clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth before kissing Nicole, “Well,” he begins, “Let’s hope you get better by then.”

[cherrynika]

when you make the basis for comparison as broad as possible then you end up saying quite meaningless things, such as claudia schiffer and danny devito look alike because they both have two legs, arms, eyes and are taller than one metre. or you might say that an apple is no different from a skyscraper as they are both made of matter.

there have been some posts that made the rounds and were reblogged by quite a few people, implying that rbr seb is exactly like max verstappen: same team, white, blonde, dominant car, disappearing into the distance, frustrating everyone, ruining parity, making their team mate look like shit. with the conclusion that you are a plastic seb fan if you do not like max.

i don't dislike max. i don't have any feelings about him. i dislike the implication that 'real' fans of sebastian have to hold any opinion about max. maybe someone likes sebastian because they support all german athletes and dislike max because they don't like the dutch. maybe someone likes seb because they loved to see mark lose (not me, but seeing mark lose was a plus). i don't where people get off on saying that all of seb's fans only started following in the ferrari fail years. that's definitely not true for me.

there are a lot spurious comparisons being made between the two: gold shoes or hair colour. or the fact that they are european. most of the grid is and has always been european or just straight up white. it's not a powerful distinguishing factor. and the colour of someone's hair is simply not important.

max isn't like sebastian in two important ways

seb's championships were not won under suspicious conditions. no race director made a call favouring sebastian to the extent that max was favoured in abu dhabi 2021. rbr was also not breaking any budget rules when sebastian was with them. there were no budget rules at the time. the budget rules are important and probably claire william's greatest contribution to f1 (indeed it is very important to keep costs from spiralling out of control to provide some form of parity to smaller teams)

i'm not going to say sebastian isn't a racist because he is (see the remark about a war in european being unimaginable, and yes, his best friends are bernie and helmut marko). but he and his entourage have never encouraged his fans to attack lewis hamilton, or imply that he was taking drugs. i won't go on about why i know that max verstappen is a racist.

max is young and he may change. but i want to emphasise that the above two things are things that seb never did and max has already done.

i'm not saying that people cannot like verstappen. becoming a fan of someone is a complex process that's sometimes involuntary and has personal meaning. but i wish that being a fan did not mean that people brush aside things like racism or make greater and greater accommodations for the white boy that they love (haha, fat chance, look at how some people are making excuses for logan's background)

[karasbroken]

This is one of the more interesting little scenes for me in the whole of the show when it came to Sebaceans. Because there isn't anywhere else in the series, aside I think from a swear or two, where we hear about Sebacean religion. (I've been told there's something about Aeryn getting religion in the comics that I've been reluctant to dive into because it honestly feels really wrong, but I did back the Kickstarter so I guess I'll have to read them eventually.)

Obviously Claudia's delivery of this speech is totally chilling. It's edged with this hint of mania. She's been pushed to the very limit of her sanity in a way we've never seen her before. Aeryn has been broken by grief before, and shame, but never by fear. Now, after weeks in captivity she's terrified. Hopeless. She doesn't see any way out of this situation and she believes that John will try to come for her, but he'll be risking death when he does. So I see why her mind turns to dark gods. Fate screwing them in the details one more time, stealing her away just when she and John had finally gotten past her deception and his lack of trust and then his deception.

But it's still a jarring idea, Sebaceans being primitive enough--even after colonizing six worlds--to worship a destructive god? What does God even mean in a universe where god-like beings exist? There's every reason to assume that Janka-Bru is real, but how (and when, was this Post-Eidolons?) did six planets come to worship her? It's so mysterious. I ended up putting a reference to Janka-Bru in one of my first fics, "Catch More Flies" where the Sebacean poem she reads at the end---full of metaphor so Crichton can hear what she actually sounds like without the microbes being able to translate over her---is a prayer/retelling of Janka-Bru destroying a world.

I put in my story that being religious was subversive, and owning religious texts basically forbidden. I assumed Peacekeeper high command doesn't want anything being spread that encourages loyalty and connection outside the command structure. The life of non-Peacekeeper Sebaceans is only barely glimpsed, but they seem to be almost as subjugated as other species by Peacekeeper demands, giving up their children, for example, for recruitment.

So I can see why whatever religion remains would be focused around the dark and unknowable. For Peacekeepers and colonial Sebaceans alike, fate, cold and inexplicable, comes to steal and kill. This child is taken, that man is cut down by a missile, those friends are broken up by reassignment and never meet again. The individual has to come to psychological terms with death and loss from the earliest age. I think that's why the story of Janka-Bru lingers and why Aeryn thinks of it and thinks to pray in this particular moment.

It's still an oddity though.

aeryn sun meme ♔ [six/seven] scenes

[silkendandelion]

Million Dollar Baby (completed), A One Piece fanfiction

Sir Crocodile x OC (male) Words: 40.8k Genre: Comedy, drama, smut, fluff

Summary: With some time passed, autumn reaches the coast, and Vivi's play come to relevance.

Rated Teen and Up Audiences for suggestive content and fluffy happy ending. <3 You were warned. <33

Chapter 15 - Four Months Later

Nefertari Shipping shone in the autumn sun, bustling with machinery and hard-hatted crew on every level. Between the parking lot filled with cars and buses to bring in the rest, they had all existing positions filled, including a significant number of new jobs at their newest consultant’s insistence. If they kept up this pace, his proposal for Christmas bonuses wouldn’t be a next-year plan after all.

Coming in from the yard, River exchanged his hard hat for a sigh of relief in the air-conditioned office.

“Mr. Faustina?” His receptionist, a new hire, called from behind her desk. “Um, perhaps it’s a bit late to ask but, are you expecting anyone?”

He dabbed at the sweat on his hairline with his handkerchief before answering. “I don’t think so… Wait, what day is it—”

“River!” Vivi suddenly threw open his office door. “We made ourselves at home, we didn’t know when you would be coming back.”

“Whatever you like, Miss Vivi,” he smiled back. At his desk, assessing the comfortability of his chair and the quality of the cafeteria coffee, sat a woman almost sixty, with long, graying hair combed over one shoulder and a familiar sparkle in her smirk.

“So, this is where my son works.”

“You’re early.” He rounded the desk to hug her anyway, and place a kiss on her cheek.

“We came straight from lunch. I wanted to wait until you got back to give her the tour.” Vivi grinned from the other chair. Her long, pale blue hair laid over her shoulders, held back from her face by a flattering pastel headband, one that matched her youthful, buttoned dress.

“Who drove?” He looked between them.

“She did,” Claudia chuckled into her cup. “I’m still not ready to drive around this city yet.”

“Well, I can see Vivi already showed you where the coffee maker is. What else would you like to see?”

“Actually, we—” The opening of the door interrupted her. A bright-eyed Koza poked his head in, seemingly to speak but was easily scooted aside by a shorter man, completely gray and held up by his cane. Koza hovered by the stranger’s elbow everywhere he wandered, even when he paused to browse River’s bookshelves, just before he remembered to come back to the conversation.

“I heard we were taking up space in River’s office today. I didn’t miss it, did I?” He said.

Vivi rose to offer him her seat. “Claudia, this is Koza and his father, Mr. Toto. He’s just come back from medical leave but he’s already causing an appropriate amount of ruckus.”

“There wasn’t nearly enough going on when I got here. But we’re working on it.” He winked, putting his elbow into River’s side just to watch him grin.

“If I know my River—and I do—he’s not happy unless he’s getting up something or other. I’m glad he’s found a place that encourages him to do so,” said Claudia.

After deciding his father was, in fact, seated comfortably in the plush chair, Koza met Claudia’s smirk with a cool smile. “We will treat him well, I promise.”

“Hey,” Mr. Toto clapped his hands together. “Didn’t I also hear something about dessert being served? Specifically, the rumor was ‘whatever Claudia wants she should have on her special visit’.”

“Where are you getting these rumors from?” Vivi chortled at him. “Though that can certainly be arranged.”

“Well, I suppose anything strawberry, verdad?” Claudia looked to River.

“I know just the place,” he smiled.

~*~

Even after escorting Claudia to her taxi and insisting the paper bakery box with the leftovers made it into her lap (despite her protests), River knew his day still wasn’t over, though he was used to Vivi popping in and out at all hours. While Cobra came down from his office less and less with age, Vivi had slipped easily into his role of shaking hands and talking anyone blue who had the good fortune to meet her.

“One more thing, River. If you’ve got a second.” She hurried to his side. By now, the sky was dark, and the security lights flickered on above them.

“For you, always.” He loosened his tie as they climbed the steps to the now mostly empty office.

“I never told you—well, it wasn’t really relevant until now. All those months ago, Crocodile’s rescinding of his offer came with a condition. At our suggestion, actually.”

“Condition?”

“To put him further at ease, we agreed that a representative from the New York branch could inspect us as often as they liked. We have nothing to hide, and everything to show off lately. I want you to show them around tomorrow.”

“That’s awfully short notice… but of course I will. Can I ask why me?”

The smile that didn’t quite reach the rest of her face said her next words were as much the whole truth as either of them could be led to believe. “It has to be you.”

“I can’t argue with that.” His smile, softer and awash in his patient eyes, coaxed her to speak her mind, but only after she had the courage to release her bottom lip from her teeth.

“You haven’t spoken to him since he went back to New York, have you?”

“Who?” As soon as the word left his mouth, the foolishness of trying to play dumb burned across his cheeks and the twist of his frown. “No, I haven’t.”

He managed to spare her all his rehearsed excuses, that he was busy, that Crocodile was no longer his client. That having Claudia at home left him so relieved, at the same time he had little opportunities to have lovers in the new apartment they shared, or that the number of lovers he wanted to see had dwindled to just one.

“He tried to stop it, you know?”

“Stop what?” River lifted his head from where he had been studying the scuff marks on the linoleum. This time, she left her lip alone, and instead reached for his hand where he had tried to avoid her gaze by fidgeting with his ruby cuff-links.

“My father found a counter-proposal inside his files. Crocodile must have been looking for an opportunity to bring it up without isolating the rest of his team… His mind was already changed.”

River’s eyes prickled, hot where he scrubbed away the tears beginning to pool on his lashes. With a deep breath, he steeled, and managed to give her a genuine smile, melancholy in it’s edges. “I miss him.”

“I know. Go home, River. Get some sleep, we have plenty of work to do tomorrow.”

With a quiet goodbye and the swing of the front door, he stood alone in the lobby. On his receptionist’s desk sat his new business cards and, as he opened his wallet to replace the ones he kept for clients, he instead removed a single card, yellowed and rubbed round at the edges from holding it whenever he couldn’t find the courage to dial the numbers.

Ring, ring ring.

The receiver rang in his ear long enough for him to both gather his nerve and lose it, slamming the line closed with the excuse that the time change put his sulking at well beyond business hours. Maybe trying his cellphone would be a better option—

“I had hoped you wouldn’t be here,” came a voice behind him.

The familiar rumble should have frozen him. But the sight of Crocodile standing in his doorway, the want in his eyes and the restraint in his grip around a white gift bag shocked River to his feet, nearly into his arms.

“What are you… Why?” He struggled to breathe beyond his disbelief, the tightness behind his ribs, and the tears in his throat.

“I dislike flying overnight. To be here for my appointment in the morning, of course I would arrive early.”

How eloquent, for a half-truth. “So, you’re an inspector now?”

“I’m overseeing my investment. Vivi already informed me you would be my escort for the day.”

“… She’s become awfully sneaky. I think Mr. Toto’s influencing her too much,” River said, hoping that fiddling with his business cards could hide his blooming smile.

“I had hoped you would have already left the office by now but, on the off chance you were overworking yourself exactly as much as I assumed…” Crocodile set the gift bag on the desk, pristine and with a familiar, golden label that made River’s bottom lip quiver.

“I’ve—actually had strawberries today already.”

“Spoiling yourself on a work day? Well, I suppose if you don’t want them, then—”

River snatched the bag, struck by a teary chuckle. “No no, that’s not what I meant, I just…”

Crocodile’s gentle palm on his cheek broke the dam on his tears, and he relinquished the strawberries only so his arms were free to return his embrace. Tobacco and fennel flooded his senses, crashing over him in a wave that fell from his eyes to dampen the silk of Crocodile’s suit, right below his cravat.

“I didn’t know that—that you—why didn’t you tell me?” River’s back shook with quiet sobs.

“…because I knew you would follow me.”

“I’ve missed you so much.”

“You’ve done so well.” Crocodile’s arms tightened around him as he caught the name plate beside the door, ‘R. J. Faustina’ on shiny brass. “That brings me back to my earlier statement, why are you here so late? Didn’t I teach you about enjoying your spoils?”

“I’m—,” he replied around his haphazard tearing open the box to get at the chocolate-covered comfort faster, shoving a black-and-white berry whole between his lips. “I’m doing half days a few times a week for school, and staying late to catch up on days I don’t have class. With Claudia at home now, it gives her some extra privacy so—”

“Your mother’s here?”

He nodded with a swallow. “So it’s convenient… I’m on track to graduate in the spring.”

Crocodile intercepted his want for another berry with a hand on his cheek, beckoning him to meet his eyes. “You’re the only man I know who has never given up something for his dream. Never allowed himself to settle.”

“What did you give up?”

His silence, and the warmth in his gaze, bloomed between them. To River, it hardly mattered his questioned went unanswered for another. “Will you have dinner with me?”

“Actually,” River said quietly, as the tip of his boot bumped Crocodile’s loafer. Between their faces, the smell of chocolate threatened to tempt them beyond their gentlemanly sensibilities, right here on the desk. “I’d rather have room service.”

Crocodile simpered, at least he tried to, under a series of hurried kisses. “I know just the place.”

~*~

By the time the weather had turned cold, business had been slow for weeks. Until they were closer to the holidays, it would stay that way, and Sanji just hoped he could see River one more time before he left for New York. They saw each other sparingly since he moved, and the quiet dining room only exacerbated the loneliness.

“I’ll only be gone for two weeks. Expect me after New Years, I want to celebrate being back in California with your cooking,” was what River had said, moments ago at dinner with his boyfriend. That was a phrase Sanji wasn’t used to saying, he had never known River to date for a myriad of acceptable reasons.

Through the window, he could see them waiting for a cab, smiling from a conversation he couldn’t gleam. The boyfriend, Crocodile, Sanji recalled, looked more gangster than businessman, with a frighteningly flat affect and cold, golden eyes. An icy stare that had melted when River slid into the booth across from him, hastily apologizing for his lateness with a flap of the rainwater from his coat.

Now, on the curb, they huddled under the same umbrella, and Sanji watched River lean up to accept a chaste kiss to his cheek and some whispered, cheeky secret that made him grin.

He looks so happy… I suppose that’s all it takes.

At that moment, the mosshead beat cop slid himself into a bar stool after neatly depositing his folded coat onto the seat adjacent. His large, calloused hands fidgeted with the starched cuffs on his uniform.

“Well, what do you want?” Sanji snipped, one hand on his hip, the other on the counter.

“Can I… have the special? And a beer. Whatever’s tapped. Please.”

“You’re ordering food. And you said please.”

“Yeah well, I’ve been told I need to be nicer to the locals or I’m off this beat.” His words suggested he was miffed at that fact, but the pull of his frown, sheepish and soft like a scolded child, spoke of regret.

Sanji smiled, hoping it passed for a smirk around the wick of his cigarette. “One special, coming right up.”

END.

Thank you for making it to the end, love you <3

[cloud-hc]

     Being from far out east and even further from city-life and culture, Nibelheim was slow to catch up with a changing world. Rigid, binary gender roles were well established and taught generation to generation. While Cloud’s parents left Junon to escape exactly that, few options left Claudia but to stay. Boys were expected to be tough, play in the dirt and mud and swords, take on jobs young, and promote traditional idea’s of masculinity. 

     Cloud’s mother would attempt to each Cloud better than this, but one person, even if it was his mother, was not enough to stop him from absorbing his culture and subsequently sexism along with it. As a child, this would be reflected in some more innocent things like Cloud promising to be Tifa’s hero one day, and other more harmful showcases of toxic masculinity by getting into fights with boys he knew had a crush on her.

     When he would visit Nibelheim along with Sephiroth and Zack, he didn’t think Tifa would have a job ( as women rarely did; it wasn’t encouraged ) and thought he could get in and out of Nibelheim undetected. Horrified that she’d be their guide, Cloud would pull Zack aside and beg him not to use his name or reveal his identity in any way, disclosing he’d come back a failure and couldn’t face her. He wasn’t good enough to face her, as a failed “hero” or as a man. 

     This would still bleed into his 20′s; though he made no comment about Jessie ( not his rebel group, not his business who’s involved ), he would directly question Tifa why she came with them the second time instead of staying behind to look after Marlene. Later on, he’d show hesitation about getting help from Aerith because she is a woman…. which very quickly got him chewed out by her, and her bulldozing his way to help him anyway. 

    The misogynistic society was still stuck with him. Girls didn’t flirt with boys back home - it was the boys who were supposed to show they were interested. When Jessie began flirting heavily with Cloud, this was extremely off-putting and inappropriate to Cloud - it just wasn’t something that happened back home among the kids having crushes or the adults in their dating and marriages. When Aerith would later do the same, this was also strange and off-putting at first, though Aerith would quickly become enduring and charming because of how different she was than what he was used to, and her not hesitating to call him out.

     When one of his friends ( who are women ) are in trouble, the culture Cloud grew up with demanded he get involved and ‘help’, “acting like a man” should. Because of his mother’s own influence, he isn’t nearly as far up his ass as other boys he grew up with, but it still took time to relearn awful habits, and trust the women in his life to handle their situations and they didn’t need him to come and save the day. More than not, they were the ones saving him.  

     Not being neither tall and overtly masculine himself, Nibelheim’s values taught Cloud he needed to compensate for what he lacked. As a kid until adulthood, he didn’t like how he looked as he was oven remarked as “pretty”, usually in a derogatory and non-flattering manner, and didn’t think anyone would show him any attention because of it. When he got to Midgar, he’d cut his hair from his ponytail and tried to wear uniforms that were slightly too big for him in efforts to make him look larger than he was. It was a culture shock to find.. Midgar really didn’t care about that; if anything, he was getting positive attention for the first time because of his more soft appearance. At first, he thought it was a joke and he was being pranked on, but the crushes that would develop on him would eventually teach him otherwise. There was, in fact, a world outside of Nibelheim.

[notjustla]

Once Upon a Time in the West (Sergio Leone, 1968)

From a technical standpoint, this is what it takes to recreate a vanished place and time—no more, no less. The roughly textured world here was not built for the camera, and you can feel it; 

What is this? Indigenous people, leading traditional lives; a super-wide portal into the pristine landscapes of Monument Valley for anyone who'd never seen the desert hills; the light and dark flickering over Richard Bronson's eyes; the drama of sheer expectation held up by the nervous onlookers in the saloon who also have no idea what the hell is going on in this movie; 

Originally I thought this was what Godard was riffing on in Le Mepris but now I think it's probably the other way around;  One of the few movies I can recall where the soundscape including the music is playing as active a role as the images; For several minutes at the beginning there are no words; the super high gain detail on every little noise retunes your ears; nothing more or less than  various nature sounds and the rusty metal of the old train depot;  

Leone deals more directly with the history of colony building when it is revealed that the bride who is murdered at the beginning of the film is a property developer importing the raw materials to build a new town; Immediately following this are scenes set in neolithic cliff dwelling structures, here depicted (about 800 years anachronistically) as inhabited and functional during colonial expansion; fucked up, but yeah, these were the most wildly atemporal cultural collisions ever

the vehicular consciousness here is not the automobile but the steam engine, which in the Leone film carries a weird, false European drawing room interior through an empty landscape, in some ways nodding to the American financing and production values of this work;

The deeper question posed by all this concerns the leading of these railroads into the interior and a consequences that this had for the ethical disposition of its subsequent inhabitance...

(Once Upon a Time in America, set 40ish years later in NYC, is a sort of response to this question but one that moves back East to contemplate those excesses rather than see how the frontier plays out but of course Leone knows and Tarantino wrote the last chapter of the Epic Cycle almost, I think, because he could and someone had to)

Bronson really is the greatest character possible, an ultra-pious creature with no morals, beholden to no one, his motivations are inscrutable to the very end and it is glorious; Unfortunately the to asides about where Claudia Cardinale his character is encouraged to “let men grab her a** and then pretend like it's nothing” will not endear itself to contemporary audiences much but I mean, this is light AF compared to Corbucci

[chaoticfoxes]

The whole scouting other teams aside, Claudia always trusted Olivia. She understands now why that happened now too, so she doesn't consider it a blip on their friendship or anything. That wouldn't be fair of her. Olivia's a hard worker and gets what it takes to be a woman playing a male-dominated sport. There's also more to her than just Exy, even if that's the only thing on Claudia's mind most of the time.

Claudia basically made Exy her entire personality when she discovered she's Claudia. Now that she's the Captain, it's only encouraged her tunnel vision more. She spends her classes jotting down notes for practice instead of listening, her dreams are full of drills, and she can't remember the last time she went on a date. Not that she ever really went on those, it was more like little flings here and there. But not anymore.

After Bryce vanished and they spent an their short season without a Captain, Claudia wants to give this her everything. She's dead set on pulling this team from the bottom of the barrel and make them real competitors this season. Even if it means losing sleep or any semblance of a personal life.

When Exy is so important for her, it's hard for her to understand the Foxes that treat it like an annoying sport that they have to play. No one made them do this. She knows Wymack tries to recruit players that have nowhere else to go, but that's almost never actually the case. Mateo and Indigo are richer than rich and could go anywhere. Kent could've gone to community college or worked at a surf shop or whatever it is he likes to do. The point is--Claudia's tired of the excuses and apathy.

Olivia's trying to be patient, but that "not too much" is telling. Claudia is trying too, but if anyone's still messing around come game time, she will make people stay behind and clean the court floor with toothbrushes.

"You and me both," Claudia gives a dry laugh. "There's only so long I'll forgive being too new. We never let that stop us." They weren't on the same team yet, but Claudia played against Olivia and saw her on TV and just knows her as a person. She didn't fuck around.

Whether it was the Foxes, a Big Three team, or high school—Olivia never really wanted to be Captain, even when the very same press that was tearing her down the year before seemed ready to crown her Captain the second she switched to the Foxes.

Her father had her career mapped out almost from the moment she was born, every step carefully planned out to make her as successful as possible—more successful than he had ever been. Her father wasn't a dealer, but she was, because he felt like that would give her the best chance to go pro, to have longevity as a professional. And, as a dealer, she was never flashy, she was never a cocky striker giving egotistic sound bites to the press.

She was a hard worker. A team player. She made the players around her better, and she kept her head down. She was a professional. She was the kind of person you wanted in your locker room, one you'd never have to worry about getting in trouble with the press.

Or at least she was.

And if she isn't anymore, she wants to get back there. That's still who she wants to be. And everything in her is focused on that: on finding her way back to her game, to showing everyone that she's still got more to show, that she hasn't played her best Exy yet.

She can't be like Claudia, and focused on fixing the entire team on top of that. She wouldn't even know where to begin. Last year, she thought she could show up in Palmetto and drag the Foxes kicking and screaming with her to the playoffs, whether they liked it or not, and look at how that turned out.

"They're new," she says. It's nice that, even though she isn't the Captain, or the Vice Captain, Claudia's confiding in her. And, with the weight of the team and its reputation on her shoulders, Oliva finds herself wanting to reassure her. "Maybe they just—need a little time. Hopefully not too much, though. The scrimmage is one thing, but there are some real games I want to win this year."

[pekotranslates]

Traces of Two Pasts: Episode Tifa - pgs 40-52

Disclaimer: Also, I started this for fun so that my friends who don't have access can read it. I'm just another fan like you. With that said, I do try to be as faithful to the original source material as possible, and for those of you who can read Japanese, please support the author by buying his book.

Not everyone agreed with Chief Zonder's decision. The elderly—a major force in the village—began to make noise. They seemed to take a liking to Zangan's longevity exercises, and regretted not being able to memorize what was taught to them. They wanted someone to check if their poses were correct, and wished to learn the remaining exercises he was supposed to have taught them.

The village chief paid a visit at dinnertime.

"Hey, Tifa..." he said with a sullen expression. "Will you teach the old folks how to do Zangan's exercises properly?"

"Why Tifa?" her father asked. She just knew he would ask.

"Because Zangan named her. Told me that if we ever needed someone to mentor us, Tifa would be qualified. Said that she had the most controlled form* out of everyone who gathered there that day.

Kata, which means “form” in Japanese, is the term used to describe specific sequences of motion that are used to practice technique and execution in martial arts

It pleased her knowing that someone spoke of her like that when not in her presence, but it also caused her to be slightly embarrassed.

"Zonder, don't get my family involved."

"Aw, c'mon! I'm already in big trouble as it is. The old folks just won't let it go!"

"Hmph!" Brian Lockhart snorted. He enjoyed seeing the village chief squirm. She couldn't tell whether or not they actually got along with each other.

"Tifa, what do you think?"

"I'd just be teaching the elderly people those exercises, right? If that's all there is, then I'd like to try."

"Tifa..." her father began, but he swallowed back his complaint. He knew that it wasn't good for her to have too much time on her hands. "Well, if you're gonna do it, then do it right."

While preparing breakfast, Tifa heard a knock at the door, and opened to a woman’s face she barely recognized. It was an elderly woman called "Mon Amie" who was an aunt of sorts to Chief Zonder. Her hair was pulled back into a bun so tight that it looked like her eyes were being pulled straight up!

"Good morning to you. It's been a long time, Tifa. I heard that Zonder told you all about it. How about 2 gil per hour?"

"Sorry?" She had not heard about any renumeration.

"Well, you are thirteen now. Not a little girl anymore, so that doesn't cut it for you, eh? Alright then, how about 4 gil?"

"No, I don't want any money."

"That won't do. We are taking this very seriously, and you will be properly paid for your work."

No matter how much Zangan trusted her, would she really be up to the task? But, being able to earn her own money sounded very appealing, as if a whole new world had opened up to her.

Mon Amie took Tifa's silence as her wanting to bargain for higher wages.

"6 gil."

"Alright. 6 gil it is then."

"Brian never did leave the village. He wanted to keep Thea all to himself." Mon Amie suddenly brought up her parents during their exercise routine at the public square.

"Really?" said Tifa, adjusting Mon Amie's arm posture. She needed to get her to straighten her back and push out her chest a bit more for the desired result.

"She was quite the popular one, that child."

It wasn’t very pleasant hearing her mother being called "that child", yet Tifa encouraged her. Listening to the elderly tell old stories was a part of her job. The responsibility she felt from receiving wages tempered her patience.

"You should leave the village," said Mon Amie suddenly. "Doesn't it sound like fun going around to different places with Master Zangan?"

"It sure does."

"Alright, you don't have to play along with me. No need for you to learn things like that. Just think about it carefully, okay? Something needs to change for women here in Nibelheim."

Tifa silently nodded as she propped up Mon Amie's arm.

"There weren't any women around in my day who held this kind of thinking. But that Strife girl”—she was speaking of Cloud's mother—"tried to leave. Not sure if it's because she hated it here, or if she dreamed of going to the big city."

Mon Amie abruptly altered her pose, ruining her base form.

"To the traditional Nibelheim women, she seemed pretty unconventional. We all refused to accept her ways, but secretly felt the same. Even though we scolded her, deep down inside we were cheering her on. We even felt jealous of her for carving out her own path. Perhaps she changed something in us, little by little.”

Tifa lifted up Mon Amie's knee. "Up high like this. Thank you."

She supported Mon Amie as the woman’s body rocked back and forth.

"But Claudia remained in the village, didn't she?" said Tifa.

"Well, that’s because she fell in love. You see, a man traveled here. Claudia was helping out at the inn at the time. She must have been taken in by the outside air he brought with him. And he was a pretty fellow. I’m sure you see it when you look at Cloud. That boy got the best of both his parents!”

“Right…”

“But, just like the wind, he just couldn’t keep still. Not sure if Cloud learned how to walk yet, but around that time he told her he would go to the mountains, but never came back. They found his belongings though. His body probably got eaten by monsters. You were lucky you didn’t meet the same fate.”

Tifa braced herself. Was she going to bring up that incident?

“Cloud egging you on to climb Mt. Nibel… Maybe that was in his blood.”

Mon Amie’s body began to sway. Tifa had stopped holding onto her causing her to lose her balance. She couldn’t regain her footing in time, and fell flat down on her backside.

“Alright then," said Tifa. "Now let’s use the opposite leg. Please lift up your knee.”

Tifa held out a helping hand to her, but Mon Amie refused and got up on her own.

“Quite strict for a pretty face.”

“That’s because I get paid 6 gil to be.”

Before long, she became more attentive. She noticed Mon Amie lifting up her other knee, but it was at the wrong height again. While Tifa helped her to adjust, Mon Amie said, “You really don’t remember anything? You know, about that accident you got into?”

She was eight years old when she got into that accident on Mt. Nibel. Cloud was with her. The villagers chose to believe the story based on Emilio and the others’ testimonies, and nothing else could be said about it. Tifa really couldn't remember what happened.

"No, unfortunately not..."

Whether the elderly came to her for exercising or just to chat, it was tougher than she had imagined. Her father laughed at her and said he wouldn't have anything to do with them, even for 100 gil.

They never listened and were set in their ways, even the ones who kept away and smiled modestly at her. They just had a different view on things, and sulked if nobody paid them attention.

The topics they discussed also surprised Tifa, and sometimes hurt her too. She disliked whenever they brought up how her body looked so grown. There would be someone who sensed her discomfort or resentment, and would try to change the subject, but then it would turn into whom she should be with and things of that nature.

So, all things considered, Tifa preferred hearing them going on about herself rather than her father’s failed romances, or whom her mother used to hang out with before she got married to him. To the elderly townsfolk, her father and others his age were still “the village youth”.

After her day finished and she was about to go to sleep, she thought to herself that maybe there would be a time when she would be the one telling someone else about what happened today, or about some news she heard from another person. Telling the same stories over and over again, everyday just like the next, until she, herself, became just a relic of an era in village history.

※

“They confused me at first, but I got used to being around them, and then it wasn’t so bad anymore. That feeling of wanting someone to talk to—Everyone has that,” explained Tifa.

“So that’s where you learned to entertain guests? From spending your time talking to old folks?” asked Barret.

“Possibly. Maybe that did me good. More and more of the elderly signed up, and they started calling their morning gatherings the ‘Calisthenics Club’.”

“It’s like that at Seventh Heaven too,” said Barret with some intensity.

Aerith urged him to talk.

“It used to be just a small shop owned by this one gramps, but when Tifa started working there, the business picked up. Men crowded the place. Know what I mean, Red?”

“What I’m more interested in is what happened to Zangan afterward? I can sort of imagine based on your fighting style, Tifa...” said Red XIII.

“You’re right. There was a little more that happened before I got to where I'm at.”

※

A month passed after the start of the Calisthenics Club. All morning Tifa would teach the exercises and set aside time for her reading and arithmetic. The afternoon she'd go to the mountains and work hard towards building up her strength and stamina, and then would return home before sunset so her father wouldn’t worry. At night she would examine Zangan's writings and practice her form, reviewing the materials over and over again so as to not overlook anything.

One day, she received a letter from Emilio. He wrote about the fast-paced lifestyle in the big city, and told her about everything he found perplexing: arguments he had had with people, things he ate, the social inequality, and their differences in moral values.

“But whenever I get discouraged, it’s you I think about, Tifa, and then I imagine that day when I’ll come and get you. I'll write to you sometimes and teach you about the city, so you won't be so confused when that time comes.”

Who do you think you are? That's how she honestly felt reading the letter.

Zangan appeared, acting as if nothing had happened. He knocked on the door just in time to greet her father and asked for his permission to call Tifa out, and then led her to the river where they first met.

“Master Zangan, please let me be your student. I want to be stronger.”

“That’s exactly the answer I was looking for, but what’s the matter, Tifa? I sense your impatience. Why are you in such a hurry?”

“That’s not it!” she replied, but felt self-conscious. “No… It’s because I got that letter from my friend.”

“What kind of letter?”

“I think it’s because I don’t want to lose. I don’t want to lose to anyone who left the village.”

“Hmm. My hand-to-hand combat techniques are not meant to be used to make you feel superior to others.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t. But the answer to that can only be found through diligent study. All right. I will acknowledge you if you pass my test.”

“Test?”

“Show me everything you’ve learned from Volume 1. You’ve been practicing, haven’t you?”

“Yes.”

Tifa performed a sequence of forms from the physical training method.

“One more time, from the beginning.”

“Okay.”

This time Zangan interrupted with instructions.

"Check the book to see the direction your palms should be facing."

Tifa crouched down over the book and flipped through the pages. The form was wrong from the very start. Should have been above not below.

“I was wrong.”

“Try again.”

When she extended both hands and slightly shifted the direction of her palms, she felt a different set of muscles tingling.

“Everything from the Book of Secrets must be obeyed. Don’t try to interpret it another way or decide that your way is better. While disciplining your body, you must learn to be faithful to your decisions. If I take you in as my student, you will become stronger. So, you must cultivate your mind to control that power. The greater and stronger the power to handle, the greater the responsibility of its owner. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

The second time around, Zangan pointed out any minor mistakes she made. Each time she would have to go back and confirm with the Book of Secrets before advancing, which made things take twice as long. Fatigue built up in her arms and legs.

“Alright, now relax and close your eyes. Focus your attention and check the condition of your body. Does it hurt anywhere?”

“My upper back… I wouldn’t say it hurts but it feels like it’s burning...”

She slipped her right hand underneath her left armpit until it touched the lower part of her shoulder blade. Digging her fingers into it felt good.

“Hmph!” Zangan gave a satisfying nod. “That’s your shoulder blade. What you’re pressing into is the trapezius muscle. Surrounding it is your deltoid, infraspinatus, psoas minor and other muscles. The second volume will teach you how to train each one of those muscles on your back,” he said, while holding out a booklet to her. It was Volume 2.

“If you want to live your life with pride then pay close attention to your back. Squeeze your shoulder blades together, chest out. Walking through life with a beautiful posture is also part of your training.”

“Got it.”

“Let’s get started. Well then, onto Volume 2, No. 2-1-1, scapular push-ups.”

Zangan immediately prostrated himself on the ground, and lowered his chest. Tifa hastened to follow his example.

“All you're doing is supporting your whole body with your arms. Concentrate on your shoulder blades. Rotate them outwards—protract, retract, protract.”

It was her first time experiencing those movements. How was she supposed to move to protract her shoulder blades? She couldn’t picture it in her mind. Glancing over at Zangan she noticed he was rotating his shoulders outward, something her cat, Maru, often did.

“You look like a cat,” she said.

“Right. There’s a lot we can learn from cats.”

She focused her attention on her scapula, going up and down, until the repetition of movements were drilled into her body. Zangan rose and watched over Tifa for some time before clearing his throat.

“Good!”

The movements were subtle but still made her perspire.

“That’s because the muscles across your back are wider. Moving them increases the blood flow and raises your temperature, so that’s why you’re working up a sweat.”

After completing Volume 2, Tifa was sweating profusely. She felt unthinkable pain throughout her whole back.

“Alright, any questions? If you do, now’s your chance.”

She wanted to say, yes, but nothing came to mind at the moment.

“If not, then we’ll move onto Volume 3.”

“Huh?” she couldn’t help but shout. Her whole body was screaming in pain. Zangan ignored her and continued.

“Volume 3 is for chest and abs. We’re going to train your front body. The pectoralis major muscle is roughly divided into three parts: upper, middle and lower. There are several different ways to effectively train it, but I’ll teach you the basic concepts.”

“Alright…”

“At your age, your overall motor skills are complete, and in that regard, you excel. You haven’t had any special training, have you? If so, then you must have been born with this. Treasure it.”

“I will.”

She felt energy pour into her body. Perhaps listening to Zangan talk with a relaxed mind helped her to recover from fatigue.

“After a while, we’ll concentrate on building your muscles. But you will not be using any equipment except your body. We won’t be using barbells or dumbbells until you’re much older. Besides, our Zangan-ryu hardly finds them necessary. That is because I prescribe individual fighting styles that suit each of my students. You don’t need arms built like logs or a bulky chest. What you need is to build up a fighting style that will utilize those reflexes, that body, and your speed. Well, what do you want to do? Shall we call it a day?”

“No. Please go on.”

She didn’t want to disappoint the first person who had managed to earn her respect.

“Yes, that’s the spirit! Alright. But we’ll stop here for today. Let’s call this current level of fatigue your limit. Keep it in mind. You have a long way before you can try to challenge that limit to surpass it. Continuity is more important now than ever.”

On their way back, a realization came over Tifa regarding Zangan’s test. It didn't annoy her. If her father tried to make her work like that she’d probably stop talking to him for three days in a row. With those thoughts in mind, she walked her teacher back to the inn.

“Say hello to your father for me.”

As she stood in front of her house she could smell the scent of spices in the air. Spices that her mother liked to use in her best recipe. It was her father’s favorite dish, but since Tifa didn’t really like it, it was hardly ever served at the dining table.

She opened the door and said, “I’m home.”

“Welcome back.” Her father, dressed in an apron, peeked out at her from the kitchen.

“This smell… Huh? Is it mom’s?”

“I was really craving it... Oh, but I made something else for you.”

She was filled with remorse. She didn’t like the way he looked or the tone of voice he used when trying to gauge her mood, but it was all her fault for making it that way.

Novel by Kazushige Nojima

Translated by pekotranslates

Proofread by Eerie

[beautifulterriblequeen]

B2:S - Chapter 3

Much of this series will be about the differences and additions in the novel version, and how they contribute to my understanding of story canon. But there will be character appreciation, the odd theory and headcanon, and suchlike as well.

Here be Lujanne, Callum, Rayla, Ezran, Bait, and Soren goodness!

Spoilers for Book Two: Sky below.

Lujanne having excellent fitness for all her walking around the Moon Nexus, and she's so energetic that Callum has trouble keeping up with her! She seems like those active grandmas who almost never stop moving, who have a lifelong supply of endless stamina. It makes me wonder if Lujanne will need that level of fitness for some upcoming conflict.

Callum feeling really hungry over not eating grubs and then still deciding he'd rather be hungry. It makes me wonder all over again how Lujanne got to the point where she eats grubs, considering that other Moonshadow elves we know of back in the Silvergrove don't. I still love my hc that the giant leech ate all of Lujanne's moonberry bushes and she's taking her revenge. Whatever's going on there, Callum is definitely not at that point yet.

When Lujanne asks Callum how he knows she's real, he thinks to himself that he'd put up with just about anything from someone who was going to teach him magic. That's a great parallel and foreshadowing for Viren's student/master relationship with Aaravos! And it's telling that neither student gets exactly what they hoped to get. Lujanne doesn't actively teach Callum any spells, because she believes he can't learn Moon magic at all. Aaravos does offer Viren power, but it takes him to some very dark places - literally and figuratively - and the cost is terribly high.

Callum sees a moon shape among the ruins, and Lujanne explains that the Moonhenge layout is an intricate rune that uses the structures themselves as part of its symbols and power. That's apparently a thing even with ordinary Moonshadow villages like Hollow Wood in the east, which is the coolest idea I've seen in a while: city planning as magic runes!

Yes, that's the same shape as the pendants Ethari made for himself and Runaan. Protection? Home? Feelsiness? A sense of safety and belongnig for all cycles and seasons?

Wonder what this Moonhenge rune stands for, then, and how much of this landscape is included in that rune. I bet it's more than we think!

But it makes sense now, how toppling the stone pillars would disable the spell the druids would cast to connect with the Moon Nexus lake. Breaking the infrastructure of the Moonhenge breaks the rune.

There's a physical sensation involved with the visuals that Historia Viventem brings up! When that one ghostly druid walked through Callum, he felt icy cold. Like in ghost stories. I really wonder about what exactly Historia Viventem is doing when it activates. It shows truth, "what really happened here?", so it must have some kind of time-related element, maybe tied to how the moon always repeats the same cycles or something. But it also seems to draw on the spirits of any living people involved in the flashback, because Callum could physically feel that wispy shape passing through him. So very interesting!

Orrr... is that all wrong, and there's something else at work with this spell than time? Maybe the world beyond life and death can act as an imprint of the things that have happened in the living world, and the spell that Lujanne (and later Callum) casts taps into that place, with perfect recall. I'm looking really hard at the sentence that says "dozens of translucent elf ghosts" and "phantom Moonhenge" and "lost in their own world" here.

Lujanne says more here than in the show about the world beyond life and death, being her mysterious Moonshadow-mage self. She says that "beyond" and "between" might both apply to where this other plane of existence is, and she doesn't much care which. With all the relativity swirling around this place, and not much in the way of empiricism, it's sounding like perhaps multiple conflicting ideas might actually coexist in such a place, allowing more ideas to fit there than we might normally believe is possible. Which is a fascinating bit of worldbuilding. Basically, every headcanon anyone has ever had about the Moon Nexus could all be true at the same time, for all we know.

Oh oh oh, Callum coming in soft with a secret wish! He takes one look at the Moonhenge and immediately thinks of finding a way to see his mom again! Poor boy, my heart! I'd say that could be another interesting parallel with Viren, but then, who wouldn't hold that sentiment?

Oh my, is this another breath of life into Ye Olde Ley Lines headcanon? Lujanne mentioning the Nexuses again, so soon after talking about the runic design of the entire Moonhenge, makes me wonder if the six nexuses are in fact giant runes. On Earth, the places where ley lines cross are called nexuses, and there are those who believe those points got marked with ancient structures, like Stonehenge and many many others. If Xadia were crossed with magical lines which naturally formed nexus points where they met, and if powerful magical runes were built across those entire areas, well. That would be cool beans, fams. Can I smack a map of Xadia and release a spell like Luz Noceda does? Because ngl that is my first instinct here.

Lujanne has got to be missing some grandkids to spoil, right? The way she's always whipping out cake and ice cream for Callum, and she's so grandma-ish about it. Headcanon about her being Runaan's mom aside, she is canonically lonely and she's very sweet to Allen and Ellis and I think she's missing whatever family she once had in the past. She may never get to have that family back, so she's finding a new one among the humans who live nearby, and I think that's sweet. Found family isn't just for the young.

But Ellis is straight up gonna be her fave, I bet, because she didn't turn up her nose at Lujanne's illusion food!

Ezran and Bait have a lot more to their relationship than was visible in the show, and I'm so excited by it! Ez can tell by looking at Bait's colors that he's not truly jealous of Zym, even if he's really grumpy about the dragonling taking up his favorite human's time.

And Ez thinking a lot about his dad and the things he's taught him. They're soft leadership material, and I love that so much! "Pick your battles" and the importance of encouragement. Ahh, my heart. Ezran, you're going to be such a good king.

But wait a second: both times that Bait gets extra grumpy in Zym's first training session, Ezran has just mentioned something about flying. Guys, I think Bait wishes he could fly, really badly. And that's his biggest problem with Zym, and with Ezran teaching Zym to fly, instead of Bait who doesn't have wings so. Bait is so old that his secrets have secrets, and I'm really curious how flying fits into them now!

Rayla, Dramatic Assassin: "I need to patrol for dark forces." That's what Lujanne called the source of the purple wisps that found them. I wonder if that's an official term all Moonshadows know, or if Rayla is just taking her cue from a veteran Moon mage. And I wonder how far Rayla is falling into the apparent pattern of "one mage, one assassin", since she does spend a lot of her time patrolling without being asked.

When Callum tells Lujanne that he was bad at prince stuff, and she asks if he didn't give up and got good at those things anyway, it's an opportunity for Callum to embrace subverting his parents' expectations in favor of seeking his own path, which is a primary theme of the show. But Lujanne is a couple generations older than Callum, at the very least, and I have to wonder what her upbringing was like. Is her version of success the one she took? Was she bad at magic once too, but she persisted? She is very soft and doesn't want to kill anyone.

Maybe Lujanne had dreams of doing something else with her life, but she felt she had to pursue the destiny that others handed to her, so she studied magic as hard as she could, and she did get good at it, but using it to defend Xadia from humans is not what she wanted to do with her life. Whether there's a parallel between her and Ethari on that point, there's one between Callum and Ethari, I think. How much of your life are you willing to let others direct for you?

LISTEN I WAS DYING AT THE EAR BREAD SCENE OKAY

This is my new favorite Soren and Claudia moment ever. Soren loves him his bread, okay. Even as earplugs for Claudia's sleep ocarina tune. The fact that it's "super effective" makes me think of a Pokemon defense. The fact that he learned it at camp, where he also learned about Moonshadow Madness, is hilarious. Later on, Corvus doesn't know Soren by name, but I still love the idea of Corvus being a kind of Strider-esque camp instructor, filling the ears of his young charges with all kinds of useful tactics like ear bread for magic spell songs (which actually seemed to work as intended), and warnings about the enemy elves' blood-themed tactics (which may or may not come back around in BH)

I thought they were gonna go in a kind of deep direction when Soren still wanted his ear bread back, but then he just. Eats them. Just noms them. I love this kid. Give Soren all the bread!

[bratshaws]

through the hourglass 201. brb x oc

a/n: we should all have friends like the Daggers tbh(comments and reblogs are super welcome and encouraged!)

pairing: plus size!oc x rooster

warnings: n o n e

goodness gracious (pls read this one to know more what this fic is about!!)

chapter

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-

He sighs loudly as soon as he steps in the house, his back was killing him and his arms felt like rocks. He groans, pressing his palms on his lower back hard enough to hear it crack, easing out a relieved sigh once it happens. Nicole looks over his shoulder, right where his hand was then back at him, “Ouchie!”

“Yeah,you can say that again,Nikki,” he laughs, tossing the keys to the side once he kicks the door closed. He stands there, holding Nicole as the dogs slowly make their way over. Eleanor huffs quietly around him, sniffing his shoes, while Jack decides it’d be a great time to lie in front of his feet and Jolene is sitting, patiently, in front of him as if questioning where Beatrice was.

“Bea needs to stay at the hospital for a little bit.” he tells the dogs, stepping over Jack and placing his sunglasses aside, “And she’s currently with her parents, and I’m here to-” a yawn distorts his voice and he rubs his eyes with his fingertips, “Take a nap.”

He is tired, but he had to take care of Nikki first,not that Rafael and Claudia didn’t take care of their granddaughter, because they did. Every time Nicole was with his in-laws she just had the best time and now that Rafael has recovered from his heart issues, nothing was stopping him from being as playful as before.

Nicole bounces a bit on his arm, then tries to climb his shoulder to look at the door, ‘Nikki,” he tries, holding her still on him as he climbs up the stairs, “Nikki,Nicole Robin- noo.” he holds her more firmly when she tries to drag herself down using his shirt as her own personal sliding tool but Rooster prevented her from doing so.

Obviously.

“Aaa! Mama?”

“Mama is at the hospital.”

“Pital?” she repeats, then taps her little arm, “Ouchie?”

Jesus Christ,she is so smart. Was he smart like she was? He pauses, trying to remember if his mother ever mentioned him being like that…well,she did say once that he was already good with sports when he was one year old so…that was good,right? He was still trying to grasp that his daughter was probably a prodigy with how things are, “Mama had your siblings.” he smiles, kissing her forehead, “She’s a bit ouchie but she’ll be fine.”

Nicole blinked up at him, furrowing her little brows before looking back to the door - her pigtails moving when she did that and it was adorable - and then towards him, “No mama?”

“No mama for a little bit, she’ll be okay,baby girl.” he coos, kissing her forehead and then sighing, “Now…dada needs to sleep and so do you, so I’ll keep you in your crib,” he explains as he enters her room, pushing the door open with his elbow, “And I’ll keep an eye on you, once we are both well rested we’ll go see mama again,does that sound good?”

“Buh,” she says to him as he slowly sets her down, her little legs wriggling until she touches the mattress and Rooster kisses her forehead, “Dada.” 

“I’ll be over there,” he points to the master bedroom’s direction, “Don’t worry.” God he needed to sleep, he was seeing two Nicoles. He clears his throat, kissing her again, “Love you,birdie, see you soon.” and he turns around to leave.

Nicole stares at him, little brows scrunching as she stands to her feet on the crib and follows her father with her eyes, “Dada,” she calls again, making Rooster stop and stare back at her. She whines quietly, making grabby hands at him with her lower lip jutted out, ‘Dada!”

“...Nikki.”

More grabby hands, ‘Dada!” and a longer whine.

His heart hurt from hearing her, “Nikki, dada is going to nap-” another whine, “...and you want to stay with me.”

Rooster's heart melts at his daughter's plea, and he can't resist her adorable little whines and grabby hands. He sighs softly, shaking his head, "Okay, okay," he says, giving in to her. "Dada will take you with him for a little while, but then you have to promise to nap too, alright?"

Nicole's face lights up with a smile, and she claps her hands in excitement. "Dada!" she exclaims happily, reaching out for him.

He picks her up with a grin, cradling her in his arms as he walks back to the master bedroom. "You're getting so good at persuading me, birdie," he says, kissing the top of her head. “You are getting your mama’s charms.”

Once in the bedroom, he gently sets her down on the bed, where she sits and looks up at him with a smile. He is so tired he just kicks off his shoes and lies on the bed with one arm wrapping around Nicole, like a gate. “Sleep well,Nikki.” he murmurs, thinking she’d fall asleep any second now.

A foolish mistake.

Because Nicole crawled up to him, pressing her tiny hands on his bicep to support herself…and stayed there. Rooster’s brows furl when he feels soft breathing on top of his eyes, peeking one eye open to see a pair of light green irises staring down at him. While it was adorable, he just looked back at her, letting out a tired laugh, ‘Nikki…come on.” he says, and his daughter taps his face with her small hand, “Okay-ow.” that earns a giggle from her, ‘Okay,Nikki,baby girl,birdie, sweet girl of mine, no.” he holds her hand, kissing the palm, ‘Remember what daddy asked?”

“Woops.”

“Yeah,whoops,I know, remember we are both going to go night night?” his eyes hurt from keeping the eyelids open but Nicole is just grinning at him.

Rooster smiles despite his exhaustion, he rubs his eyes with his fingers again, then sighs through his nose."I promise, Nikki, we can play later," he says, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "But right now, it's time for both of us to rest." he blinks at her when she suddenly crawls under the covers, giggling as she becomes a lump under the light colored blankets.

Damn it was cute.

But he had a long night. He chuckles tiredly, adjusting himself on the bed so he could slide his hands under the blankets and tap around until he found her…not that it was hard since he could see Nicole. She squeals, her little legs kicking as she tries to escape,but it’s obvious she can’t.

He brings her out of the covers, holding her in front of his eyes and smiling when she giggles at him, ‘Listen, here, miss menace.” he says, trying to sound stern but failing miserably due to the sheer cuteness of his daughter, "It's time for both of us to rest. No more playing, okay? We need to close our eyes and go to sleep. Can you do that for dada?"

Nicole grins at him, her little fingers reaching up to touch his face. "Dada," she repeats, her voice soft and sweet.

"That's right, dada," he says, brushing a kiss against her hand. "Now, close your eyes and let's take a little nap together. It'll be fun, I promise."

She seems to consider his words for a moment, still kicking her tiny legs and giggling at him, before tapping his nose with her finger, “Night night.”

“Hmhm,yep…please Nikki,” he begs quietly, “Dada is tired. I just need a few minutes, we can do that,right?’ his daughter blinked at him, before looking over her shoulder towards the room only to return to his face. She reaches for his neck and he brings her closer, letting out a relieved sigh when she hugs him,tucking her head under his chin and clenching his shirt.

He slowly lies back down, making sure both of his arms are wrapped around Nicole so she doesn’t roll away from him in her sleep and kisses the top of her head. “Now we sleep,okay?”

“Mkay.”

“Good.”

And amazingly, Nicole did fall asleep on his chest after that. He doesn’t remember much after it since he blacked out completely. One hand was Nicole and the other was his phone,right by the pillow - if someone called he was ready to take the call and go to Beatrice without worries.

But honestly, he was glad he was able to sleep a bit because he needed it. He had no dreams he could remember once he woke up which he was at peace with honestly.

However, his eyebrows furrowed when he heard his phone buzzing next to him. He immediately tapped his pillow until he found it, bringing it to his ear, ‘Hello?”

“Heeey,Rooster. Are you home?”

“....Javy? What are you-” he blinked his eyes open finally, seeing that Nicole was still peacefully asleep on his chest and he lowered his voice, “Yeah,I’m home…why?”

“Oh well…can you open the door?”

“...what?”

“Open the door man! We’re all out here!”

He blinks, then brings the phone screen to his eyes as if to check if he was having some sort of weird sleep deprived hallucination. He shakes his head, then looks at the screen again, “...what?”

“The door man! We’re here!’ followed by loud cheering coming from outside. Nicole’s head lifts from his chest when she hears it and he almost feels bad seeing how confused she was about the noise…maybe more than him. 

Rooster's mind is still foggy from waking up, but he quickly realizes that he's not imagining things. His friends are actually outside, and they seem to be making quite a commotion. He glances at Nicole, gently patting her back to soothe her as he continues to talk on the phone.

"Coyote, why are you all outside my house?" Rooster asks, trying to keep his voice low to avoid waking up Nicole completely.

"We got a surprise for you,man!" Javy exclaims. "Because we are great friends!"

“Uh-huh…what surprise is that?”

“One that gets you out of the house.”

Rooster's brows furrow at that sentence and he’s slowly making his way downstairs. He can finally hear Eleanor’s deep barking from the door and Nicole nuzzles his neck hoping to get more sleep, “I can’t really leave the house with Bea in the hospital.” why was he still talking on the phone when he could see everyone’s frame standing outside, it felt stupid and yet he continued.

“Then let us be your errand boys! Come on man!”

Finally he sets the phone aside, rubs his face to yank some of the sleep that still clung to it and gently moves Eleanor out of the way with his leg, ‘Ellie, back,” the white pup backs away from the door but sits not too far from him. He opens the door a little bit and he blinks confusedly once he sees that, “You are all here.”

Indeed, the whole Dagger Squad, with the exception of Jake, was there.

“Hell yeah Man!” Coyote smiles, then gasps when he sees Nikki, “Nikki!! Hi there princess!” she looks tired and buries her face into Rooster’s neck, “Aw, did we wake you up?”

“Yes.” comes Rooster’s deadpan response, “You did. We were resting a bit but…uh,what do you want to do?’

It was Payback who continued, placing his sunglasses over his forehead, “Well, we heard how you and Bea didn’t finish the twins’ nursery soooo…” he smiles, “We decided we could help you guys.”

“...I’m sorry?”

Phoenix steps closer, touching his shoulder, “Rooster, we are offering to help you build their nursery…we are all on leave and to be honest with you,” she cups the side of her face, giving him a look, “We are all eager to do something.”

Rooster blinks in surprise, his mind still trying to catch up with the fact that his friends are standing outside his house, offering to help build the twins' nursery. He looks back at Nicole, who seems to be half-awake and a little bewildered by the sudden influx of people and noise.

"You guys want to help us complete the nursery?" Rooster asks, still trying to process the situation.

"Yeah, man!" Coyote exclaims, grinning. "We know how important it is for you and Bea, and we want to make sure the twins have a perfect space to come home to."

Rooster is…shocked. He knows that building the nursery would be a significant task, and having their help would make a world of difference. He was planning on doing something while he’s at home, but being alone…wouldn’t make it go faster.

"Are you guys…serious?" 

Fanboy laughs, nodding to his pickup truck that was parked right behind everyone else’s cars, “Yeah man,even brought my truck to help you when we go to the store and such. I don’t know why you are so surprised.”

“Well…it’s a bit…unexpected.” he huffs a laugh, “But not unwelcome…I’d…really like the help, honestly.”

The members of the Dagger Squad all exchange knowing glances, and Payback smirks. "We knew you'd be surprised," he says. "That's why it's the perfect plan."

Rooster shakes his head, chuckling at their antics. "You guys are something else, you know that?" 

"We just want to be here for you, man," Coyote says, putting an arm around Rooster's shoulders. "You and Bea have always been there for us, and now it's our turn to return the favor."

Phoenix nods in agreement. "Exactly. Plus, it's a great opportunity for us to spend time together before we all go back to work."

Rooster smiles gratefully at his friends. "Thank you," he says sincerely. "I don't know how to express how much this means to me and Bea."

"You don't have to," Payback says, clapping him on the back. "We're family, and family takes care of each other."

He smiles more, stepping aside to let them in. They ask what they got and Rooster says…nothing, besides the walls Beatrice painted on. His friends, amazingly, don’t seem fazed by it…in fact they appear almost excited. He widens his eyes when Bob pulls out a notebook from his pocket and starts asking him what is missing from the nursery.

“Uhhh…” Rooster wracks his brain trying to remember, “Let’s see…We have the cribs, but they need to be built and we need mattresses and bedding," Rooster begins, ticking off the items on his fingers. "We also need a dresser for their clothes, and some storage for diapers, wipes, and other baby essentials. Oh, and we'll need a glider or a rocking chair for those late-night feedings."

Bob jots down the list in his notebook, nodding along. "Got it," he says. “Anything else?”

Rooster shrugs, moving Nicole to his other arm, “Nothing that comes to mind,no…I could check some of Bea’s lists but I think it’s uh, well hidden somewhere in her little studio room and I don’t think I’d be able to find it.”

Payback grins. "Ah,it’s fine man..but hey, you joining us,right?”

He wants to because those are his children. “...yes…but I need to let Bea and her parents know,first.” he holds out his phone, ���Give me a second.” and he walks to the kitchen, he could still hear them talking from the living room as he walks away, bringing the phone to his ear.

Bradley taps his foot on the floor while Nicole finally wakes up,blinking around blearily while rubbing her eyes. He kisses her forehead and then immediately lifts his head once the call is answered, “Gorgeous?”

“While I love that nickname, it feels weird ‘cause you call my sister that.”

“Oh,hi Michael. Is she asleep?”

“Like a rock,man. She’s fine by the way, just had some lunch and is taking her rest. What do you need?”

“I just want to let you know I’ll be out with the guys for a bit,we are uh…going to get some things.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,I just wanted to let you know in case she woke up,I’ll have my phone but–”

“Relax,man…go out a bit. Do…whatever it is you are planning, she’ll be okay.”

Rooster sighs in relief, thanking Michael before ending the call. He looks down at Nicole who was now fully awake and was smiling up at him. “...well,Nikki, time to buy your siblings’ things,yeah?”

[danger-xylophones]

Family Reunion Part 10

{masterlist}

Warnings: Have some more angst, my friends. Some character death-as in It happened in the past TPM, some description of pain/injury, a contactless duel, brief mention of suicidal thoughts. 

This got really dark towards the end, I’m sorry. 

Notes I’m so sorry this took so long, I was going through some stuff and this was a real humdinger of an installment to get hung up on. 

Ya’ll need to thank @aberionart for this even getting completed. If not for her art giving me the motivation to attack this beast of a chapter, it wouldn’t have gotten done. Thank you for helping me get out of my writing funk! I always love your art and how positive and supportive you are of everyone! 

PADAWAN WILD

Words: 6.7k

Taglist:@and-claudia // @tararuthven // @aberionart // @noiralei // @pinkiemme // @darthsmol // @zabrak-show // @obi-wan-kanbonemi // @videogamesandpoorlifechoices // @justalittlecloud

<- Previous 

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“Well,” a voice unlike any you’d ever heard before seared over your ears-creating a cold sense of dread that dripped down your spine like ice water. You flicked your eyes open cautiously and raised your head off of Wild’s, simultaneously pulling the young boy closer to you. “What do we have here?” It continued, echoing all around with a low, completely unnatural reverb. You couldn’t help but pick up on the way the owner of the voice pronounced the letter ‘w’-like a ‘v’ instead. It...it was similar to the way Maul used to speak after trying to teach you paecian. It was always so funny to you that speaking in his mother tongue accidentally made him develop a bit of an accent for a little while afterward. Reluctantly, you rose to your feet, keeping Wild close to your front though as your gaze trailed down the ramp to observe Savage standing next to a tall creature clad all in red. They had a high forehead and black tattoos over their face in large blocks and groups. Eventually, you locked eyes with them, e/c staring into piercing, eerie blue. “Ah, you must be padawan L/n.” 

“Mother Talzin, I presume?” You greeted cordially despite the agonizing urge to reach for your sabers and rid the galaxy of the witch. “I am...honored to finally meet you in person. But, if you please, I go by Y/n as I have forgone any affiliation with the Jedi.” 

Mother Talzin hummed, moving unnervingly slow as she bowed her head just enough to acknowledge your confession. The strange tentacle-like pieces of cloth affixed to the back of her cloak followed the movement, slithering in the non-existent wind. “Very well, Y/n.” The Nightmother scanned you in silence after her statement, most likely trying to size you up. You kept your chin raised as you turned to face her more and pushed Wild behind you. Immediately, the witch caught the movement and her eyes zeroed in on Wild. “Ah, and who might this be?” 

You swallowed and let your eyes flicker over to Savage for help but the yellow zabrak could offer none. “This is Wild.” You eventually explained. 

“Your son?” The Nightmother observed though you had the slightest inclination that, though it sounded like a question, it was a statement designed to make you uncomfortable. And it was working. You nodded briefly, tongue darting out to quickly wet your lips-you were getting nervous. Mother Talzin became quiet again, now scanning over Wild who was quietly peeking out from behind you, one hand fisted into the fabric of your tunic and the other itching for one of the sabers on your hip. Evidently, he was as uncomfortable as you were. “He is a fine specimen.” You bristled, stepping to the side to shield Wild from her gaze entirely as your hand landed on your saber. Talzin looked back up at you and spoke with a wry smile, “It is a shame he is a half-blood, he would have made an excellent nightbrother.” 

Over my dead body. You thought bitterly and fixed the witch with the most murderous stare you could muster. Talzin was unfazed by your offense and simply directed her attention to the other red zabrak in the cargo hold-Maul, who had sequestered himself behind boxes once more now much further into the hold. The guilt that followed your realization that he was hiding from you stung more than any blaster bolt would. 

You were pulled from your misery by the sound of the force swirling and converging on one spot, ominous whispers and chants following where it went as a green mist started to fill the cargo hold. Mother Talzin, still stood at the end of the ramp was swirling her hands around a steadily forming glowing green ball of her magic. “Come,” she commanded, her voice taking on a higher reverb, “Let us fix what has been broken.” She calmly released the green ball and it glided over to Maul, bathing the cargo hold in an unsettling yellowish green as it went that had Wild clinging tighter to you as he poked his head around your waist to watch. Your hand fell to his shoulder, wrapping it in a tight grip as you followed the orb with your eyes. “Come to me.” Talzin continued. “Come to me, come to me.” The orb disappeared briefly as it weaved between crates, only trackable by the ominous green glow. “Come to me, lost one, come to me. Follow us, son of Dathomir. Follow me, lost one.Come, child of Dathomir. Follow me.” Talzin urged once more, the whispering and chanting echoing ominously back, till Maul finally began to listen. Originally shying away from the magic, he now followed it-shoving boxes aside and chasing after it like a child enchanted by an odd bug that flitted through the air. 

You started to back up to give Maul more room and encouraged Wild to do the same with a hand on his shoulder. He rolled it and your hand fell away. It felt like someone had stabbed you through the chest. You froze completely, eyes glued to the half-zabrak who didn’t acknowledge you and instead kept his attention fixed on Maul as he followed Mother Talzin and Savage away. 

The hangar fell silent. Neither of you moved. 

You rolled your lips in, anxiously gnawing on them. You had to say something. “Wild…” you began in a soft voice. 

“Don’t.” The word was whispered, barely audible, but it bombarded your ears like a barrage of blaster fire. “Just...don’t.” You had never heard your son sound more defeated. 

“Alright.” You swallowed in an attempt to keep the tremble at bay. “Wild, are you okay?” 

“...Yeah.” He lied and you sucked in a breath. “I don’t want to talk about it.” 

Force, you’d messed up. “Okay…” you began slowly, stalling on every syllable that left you, “what do you want?”

“...” Wild shifted but continued to stare at the opposing wall. You could hear the answer he wanted to give as it floated all around you, suspended by the anxieties of the both of you. Force, you’d messed up. The truth. It mocked you. Bouncing off of the walls and around your feet-all emanating from the only other person in the room. The truth, the truth, the truth. “A duel.” 

The reply caught you off guard, Wild’s thoughts and true desires disappeared in an instant which returned the both of you to that deathly still cargo hold once more. “What?” You asked, taken aback. 

Wild finally turned to face you, his little red face set in the most serious expression he could muster. To you it was the perfect cross between Maul’s scowl and your glare and you did not like being on the receiving end of it. That look was meant for strangers that were too nosy for their own good. That look was a defence you had taught him. That look was not supposed to be used against you. “You joked about training earlier and then you asked me what I wanted. Well, I want to duel as part of my training for today.” The young boy asserted with crossed arms. 

You blinked, regarding your son uncertainly. Wild didn’t like to duel because he could never beat you and that always frustrated him and he’d get all huffy and sulk in the farthest place from you. “Alright…” you began. You continued to size Wild up. Your son had a plan and he was determined to box you in, that much you could tell, but what that plan was was unclear. The truth. That was his goal. And suddenly you knew what he was going to do. Both he and yourself knew that you were the most open about Maul when you were preoccupied. So, in theory, if Wild could distract you with a fight he could weasel more information out of you. A good plan but not one you’d go along with. “Here.” You tossed your blue lightsaber to the boy who scrambled to catch it. “Take up position.” You commanded, switching into your teaching voice-the one you had once used on younglings during your tenure as a padawan, the one Ki-Adi had used on you, the one you loathed to use on Wild. Following your own instructions, you ignited your lightsaber, green blade bathing the cargo hold in a complimenting glow, and dipped into a slight crouch. The hilt of the saber twirled elegantly in your hand-a practiced manuever Maul had helped you perfect so you could slip between forward and reverse grips with ease. Wild faltered. Evidently, he had been prepared to argue. But, your son reacted swiftly by correcting his face and mimicking your pose though he kept his saber in front of him pointing up. “I don’t need to repeat the rules-no contact, tap out when you need to, and nothing that could endanger either of our lives. It is crucial to be aware of all that is around you in a duel and a great way to practice is by following the rules laid out during training.” You quickly rambled off the same spiel you always repeated when you and Wild dueled. “If any real injuries occur, we end the duel immediately. Understood?” 

“Understood.” Wild confirmed with a firm nod. 

The game began. You kept your eyes trained on your son and remained still, your only motion the infrequent twirl of your lightsaber as you gave the boy the opportunity to make the first move. He was beginning to look more and more uncertain. Still, he took a step to the right-you took a step to the left. You took another step, he did as well and thus you both began to slowly circle each other. Wild shifted his grip, slipping into the opening stance for Form II and you mimicked him-your own legs taking on a wider stance as you brought your lightsaber slightly off to your side pointing up and held between both hands. Form IV, the form you’d adapted to survive. In your training you had always favored Form V, liking the way it offered both defense and offense, but after meeting Maul you’d started to favor IV. Wild, on the other hand, was a more defensive fighter (probably because he was younger) and he relied heavily on the basics and Form III. But he was nervous-he was vulnerable. And he wasn’t going to make the first move. Noble but potentially dangerous. You moved in. 

You darted forward, lightsaber swinging for his left leg as it was the most exposed. Wild moved quickie and swung his blade down to block it and you fell back. Your son was too careful-too afraid of fighting to chase your strike. It was something you were working on-you’d forgone teaching him IV for now and opted to begin V for him to encourage the introduction of more offensive moves. It was a slow process. 

Spotting another opening on his right, you moved in again. Wild reacted quicker this time and met the strike with enough time and force to push you back. Good. But that left him exposed to a kick to the ribs. You brought your leg up quickly and stopped just before you made contact. “Protect your vitals, Wild.” Was your simple instruction as you moved away before he could retaliate. You were moving quicker now, feinting to the right before swooping in for his left. And Wild was beginning to loosen up-reacting more sharply as he did so. But still, “Wild, loosen up. You’re far too tense for any effective combat.” You corrected with a well aimed poke with your index finger to his kidneys. It was an attack he would’ve been able to block had he spun in time. Wild whirled around to strike at you but you were too quick, already leaping over him to continue mock-striking his sides and other exposed vitals. Wild was growing frustrated. He spun on his heel faster than anything you'd seen from him this whole time and brought the blue lightsaber down. You met the strike. He moved to the right, you matched him. He moved his blade to the left, you twirled yours to meet the strike and pushed him back. A huff slipped from him as he recovered and came at you once more. You blocked it and quickly brought your leg up-attempting to “kick” him in the side again. He took one hand off of his blade to block the strike which was a critical mistake. You spun around swiftly and caught Wild’s blade once more and began to steadily force him to back up. Locked in a stalemate with you steadily placing more of your weight in the strike and Wild perpetually collapsing under it you made your next move carefully. You snapped up, removing your weight with a quick spin of your saber that had Wild’s wrist twisting back uncomfortably. He yelped and dropped the saber. You deactivated yours and stepped away while your son assessed his wrist. “Loosen your grip next time, it will help you maneuver the blade more fluidly which, in turn, will make a move like that much more difficult for your opponent to pull off.” 

Wild muttered something under his breath that you didn’t catch, eyes trained on the fallen lightsaber as if he could make it combust with his mind. “Would you like to try again?” There was no verbal response from the young boy. He, instead, bent down and scooped the weapon up again-inspecting it as though he had never seen it before. He was silent for a few more seconds. 

“When can I get my own lightsaber?” He finally asked and met your e/c eyes with his saffron ones. “Yours is too light. It feels like I’m holding nothing.” Too light. You knew Wild didn’t like using your blue saber-while it was the heavier of the two you weilded it was still built to be lightweight like your green one-though it wasn’t a complaint he voiced often. You shifted, your stoic, teaching oriented facade falling away for a moment. Wild was proving to be more and more like Maul as time progressed-he favored brute strength and speed despite being a defensive fighter. With a deep breath in you steadied yourself, mind flitting to the location of the lightsaber you had intended to give him-it would have been perfect for your son despite only being half of his father’s original weapon. You had rebalanced it (your pet project you used to lessen the ache in your chest when Maul’s “death” was a fresh wound). You made sure that the energy dispersion was adequate but the blade still deadly. You’d cleaned it and sealed the bottom up to remove the jagged edge left from when Kenobi sliced your love’s weapon. You’d restored it. But the kyber crystal was removed: taken out to avoid potential injury of you or your son should it decide to malfunction and placed in a hidden compartment in the bottom of your green saber. 

“I told you-once I finish teaching you Form V, we’ll try and sneak onto Illum or somewhere else to find you a kyber crystal.” You informed placidly, keeping your eyes on your son. You filed away the knowledge of Maul’s saber for now. Wild grumbled under his breath again and you raised an eyebrow at him. “Would you like to try again?” You asked once more. He didn’t answer verbally, merely slipped into the opening stance for V this time. With an acknowledging nod, you readied your own weapon. 

Wild struck first this time: darting forward with as much speed as he could muster. Instead of blocking it, you fell back and doubled around to strike at his back. But Wild had learned and fell forward causing you to stumble which gave him time to whirl around. He brought his saber down towards your leg but you blocked it. Instead of backing off like you thought he would, your son continued to press his weight down. “Good, Wild, good.” You commended in as warm a tone you could muster. “But watch your back leg because…” you spun out of the lock and mimicked his earlier strike though you stopped before you made contact. “If I was a real enemy, that would be the first thing to go for.” Wild didn’t acknowledge the instruction. He, instead, launched right into another volley of strikes. “Your wrist, sweetpea, use your wrist instead of your whole arm-it’s faster, more maneuverable, and it doesn’t take as much energy per strike.” You corrected again. There was a muttered complaint under his breath but he did correct his grip. You took the chance to lob your own series of strikes against your son. His blocking was a little sloppy but he had improved since the last time you sparred. 

You were getting bored though. Without warning, you raised a hand and used the force to pull your son off balance. He hit the durasteel with a loud thump, the lightsaber clattering on the floor next to him. Almost immediately, he slammed his hands down and sat up to regard you with the most scathing scowl he could. “That’s cheating!” Wild shrieked at you. 

You tilted your head and shrugged. “Your opponent will do whatever they can to gain the advantage-you must be prepared.” You explained placidly whilst inspecting the hilt of your lightsaber. “Again.” Returning your attention to the half-zabrak, you slipped into your opening stance once more. The young boy sighed exasperatedly and snatched up his fallen weapon. Your son was starting to get frustrated which told you it was almost time to take a break. “Once more and then we’ll stop.” Nothing. “Fair?” A low sigh and the igniting of the blade once more was his reply. This time, you didn’t wait for him to strike. You surged forward, aiming a strike for Wild’s neck at as slow a pace as you could manage. Wild met it and flicked you away but you were quick on the uptake and resumed. Another strike towards his leg, towards his arm, and his hip-each one deflected and reciprocated. Wild was getting better at tapping into V, relying less and less on the purely defensive tactics he always relied on. But, he was getting tired; his strikes were getting sloppy. You weren’t faring much better. A headache had formed-the two epicenters either side your skull. It was strange. There was a bizarre climbing sensation that accompanied it-like two hands clawing up either temple. You were very grateful that you decided this would be the last round as a quick nap seemed to be in order. 

Wild was still on the offensive, attacking with all the strength he had but he was slowing down quick. Again, you raised your hand and pushed him away using the force. The boy sighed low in his throat-the sound bordering on a growl. But, his attacks resumed all the same. You repeated your own actions. “Stop.” The growl was more coherent this time. You both repeated. “I said stop that!” Wild snapped again, diving forward. You furrowed your brows and fell back to avoid the strike entirely. You raised your hand once more and Wild froze mid step, held in place by an invisible grip. 

“Wild, are you alright?” You asked, teacher facade fading entirely as you sheathed your saber and took a step towards him. “We can call it quits if you’d like-!”

“Will you stop that?” Wild yelled and in his anger, he managed to escape your grip. The boy recovered quickly while you were left floundering, trying desperately to understand what was happening. But you weren’t fast enough. Wild set his face in a scowl, his eyes flickering a strange color for just a moment, and raised both of his hands and your back collided with the opposite wall. 

You didn’t know what had happened. One minute, you and Obi Wan were stuck behind ray shields, helplessly watching the ensuing fight between Master Qui-Gon and your love, your husband, Maul, and the next, you were curling over Master Qui-Gon’s body in a fruitless attempt to urge him to cling to life while Obi Wan went for Maul. You knew what Maul was. You knew what he could do. But to see him do it? 

You were trembling, eyes not straying from the two figures locked in combat. You didn’t know what you were feeling but there was a lot of it that caused an anxious swirling cyclone to manifest in the pit of your stomach. One hand curled around your barely formed bump-was that really the father of your child? The one that could kill without thought? No. You told yourself. No, that is not my Maul. That...that is Darth Maul. There was a sudden squeeze of your hand that momentarily distracted you from the fear now slowly consuming you. Qui-Gon was still fighting. 

“Master Qui-Gon!” You exclaimed quietly, returning your attention to the dying man. “Master Qui-Gon, speak to me, please.” You begged the Jedi. Almost painfully, his eyelids fluttered open. 

“O-Obi Wan? Where...where is Obi Wan?” He wheezed and looked around as best he could. 

Tears pricked your eyes as you opened your mouth to answer. “Fighting Maul, maste-” You were cut off-your body suddenly airborne. You flew away from the fallen Jedi’s side until your back collided rather harshly with a durasteel wall on the opposite side of Qui-Gon. Pain ricocheted up your spine at the sensation as your eyes immediately tried to take in your sudden shift in surroundings. Your gaze settled on Maul and Obi Wan, the former stood with his hand outstretched towards you and his lightsaber at his side. There was an unreadable expression on his face that was dominated by concern. Rightfully so, you should think, from having practically flung you across the room. Still, it was clear that he hadn’t meant to launch you into the wall-a minor comfort in contrast to the dawning understanding that you had been so foolish. You were a traitor to your people. You were in love with a Sith. 

“Mom! Mom, please! I-I-I’m sorry! I-I didn’t mean to-to throw you. I was just, just angry and I don’t know what happened. Mom?” You were brought back to reality by the frantic shaking of your shoulders, the stinging in your lower back, and the throbbing of your head. Not to mention the downright terrified tremor in Wild’s voice. Your eyes flickered open. Panicked saffron met your unfocused e/c. “Mom!” Wild exclaimed and launched forward, arms wrapping around your neck. 

“Sweetpea, what happened?” You kept your voice quiet as you returned your son’s panicked hug. It was a little awkward given your current seating against a box on the floor but you voiced no complaint. 

The boy pulled back and your heart broke at the sight of tears gathering in his eyes. “I-I don’t know! I just...I just got really mad and-and I wanted to...I don’t even know what I wanted and I just was going to push you like you’d been doing but-but...I threw you and you weren’t waking up!” Wild explained in a shaky voice that you could barely understand, chest heaving with barely restrained distress. 

Thinking quickly, you placed one hand on his shoulder and the other went to cup the side of his face. “Hey, look at me.” You commanded in a very soft voice and an imperceptible tug to focus your son on you. “I’m alright. I’m not hurt.” You continued slowly, trying to convey that you weren’t angry or even injured. Sure, your back stung from the impact and it appeared as though it had triggered an unwanted trip back to an unpleasant memory but you knew it wasn’t Wild’s fault. “You did not hurt me, Wild.” You reassured once more whilst maintaining eye contact with the young boy. He sniffled and blinked and the gathered tears finally fell. “It wasn’t your fault, sweetpea.” You continued, now carefully wiping the tears away. Wild now refused to meet your eye but you pressed on. “And I don’t blame you. Accidents happen-I can’t tell you how many times I accidentally shoved your father when we’d spar.” He looked up at that and you sent him a smile, happy to see the curious glint replacing his previous sadness. 

“Really?” He questioned in a tiny voice. You smiled a little wider-you knew you were somewhat playing into his original trap but this felt like a tidbit you could spare to tell. 

“Yeah, he was always trying to teach me how to be more aggressive-in regards to dueling, mind you-and...I may or may not have gotten carried away a few times.” A wistful look darted across your face. “If he were here, he’d be embarrassed about how many trees I launched him into.” 

“Trees?” Wild was brightening up now. 

“Oh yes, we had a special planet we’d meet on-one far out of the Jedi’s range where we could just...be us. For a little while anyways.” You sighed. Us. “It was a beautiful planet, Wild, with lush forests and countless caves filled with glittering jewels. And the most gorgeous waterfalls I’d ever seen.” You could see it now, the planet you hadn’t dared to return to. You’d gone everywhere else alone and with Wild but that damned planet. “We met in the same spot every time-in the clearing where we’d met and we’d go running off to explore...we’d find a lake to spar next to and…” a giggle escaped you at a vague memory of Maul’s first reaction to swimming, “and I’d teach him to swim sometimes too.” 

Wild laughed with you, more so out of shock that reminiscence. “He didn’t know how to swim?” 

You shook your head. “He was from here, Wild. Dathomir’s not known for its swimming holes.” You explained with a comical lift of your eyebrows at the boy. “Anyways, in exchange I guess he’d teach me how to fight like him. And that meant I had to learn how to channel my anger. That meant I accidentally threw him a couple of times. It’s something you’ll learn too and if I must, I will gladly be your test dummy.” Wild huffed a laugh through his nose and you patted his face, pleased to see him calming down. You fell quiet for a moment as you observed the little lift of Wild’s smile and the scrunch of his nose that always followed a laugh. It was your smile on Maul’s face. Wild had Maul’s eye color but your eye shape. Your nose but the slight scrunch Maul would do when he spoke or smiled. He really was the perfect combination of you both even if your attributes were subtler. Wild was determined, intelligent, and protective. He was thoughtful but action-oriented as well. Calculated but not heartless. “Force, you’re so much like him.” You finally broke, not even aware that the thought had escaped you. 

“Like who?” Wild asked with a slight tilt of his head-an action no doubt learned from you. Curiosity seemed to radiate from him but also an underlying keenness that told you he knew exactly who you were referring too. Clever-another one to add to the growing list. 

“Your father, Wild...I...I wish he’d gotten to know you.” 

“Y/n…” Maul seethed, his voice ringing in your ears though it was barely above a whisper as he stalked closer to you. His lightsaber...or rather half of his lightsaber still grasped in his hand. 

You were running towards him despite the short gap between you and crashing into his chest before you knew it. “I know, Maul, I know.” Your voice was choppy, form shaky, as you wrapped your trembling arms around his torso. His hand fell on your shoulder-not quite returning the sudden embrace but gripping hard enough to make it clear he had you. “I know I shouldn’t have come-I should’ve run away as soon as that damn door opened. I’m sorry.” The zabrak was silent as his lightsaber hummed close to your ear. You continued to press your face into his robes, not acknowledging the heat close to your head. Eventually, Maul took a deep breath and released it in a sigh as he sheathed his weapon. His arms wrapped around you-one on your waist while his other brought his hand to the back of your head. 

Maul pressed his face to your hair and you could feel his lips move as he spoke. “It’s alright, my light. I know.” The sound of him so gentle and understanding nearly brought you to your knees. This was your Maul-not whoever he was mere minutes ago as he battled your fellow padawan...Obi Wan...you didn’t dare let your mind dwell on the fate of him. 

You held each other for a moment more, the world around you slipping away, until you became overtly aware of how your stomach brushed against his. Your baby...you had to tell him now. You pulled back till you could look him in the eyes, saffron surrounded by a ring of vermillion meeting with your e/c. “Maul, I have to tell you something.” 

“He...he would’ve loved you.” You were ashamed of the way your voice broke at the admission. He would have loved Wild-that much you were certain of-if he he had gotten the chance to know him. But would either have that opportunity now? If Mother Talzin was successful in restoring Maul, would he be the same? You knew that you’d changed over the years-you’d had to for both your son’s and your own survival-but what would Maul be like? Your husband or the Sith Lord?...You supposed your distinguishing between the two the last time you’d described his father had not been unprecedented. With a deep breath in to steady yourself, you returned your attention to your son. “He would have taught you so much more. I wish you could meet him, Wild.” But...I don’t know if the Maul you meet will be the one I fell in love with. 

“Mom, you...you don’t have to talk about Dad if it’s too painful.” Wild’s barely audible voice brought your attention back to the present. 

“No....” Your voice was firmer than you’d expected it to be which took both you and your son aback. “No,” you tried again in a softer tone, “you...you deserve to know everything.” With a nervous swallow you continued. “Whatever you want to ask...I will answer.” There was no going back now. If the Maul that returned wasn’t the Maul you had known then maybe you could give Wild a chance to know his father through you. 

Wild gaped at you for a few seconds, your offer not quite computing. “...Are...you’re serious?” He asked skeptically with wide eyes. “Actually serious?” Your only reply was a nod as you let your hands fall to your sides and you shifted to sit on your knees. He was quiet for a moment longer as the gears turned in his head-most likely searching for the right first question. “Where did Dad die?” 

You swallowed again to stifle the panic. “...he...he didn’t.” Wild’s eyes widened a little further as shock overtook his face. “I...lost him on Naboo.” You scrambled to elaborate as your son fell completely silent. You weren’t even sure if he was breathing. “I thought he died but...when Savage found us...he told me that he had been sent to find him. He wanted me to help locate your father. I told him that I watched him die on Naboo.” 

“What was he doing on Naboo?” Wild finally spoke after another beat had passed. 

“He was...helping enforce the blockade.” You knew you were being vague but Wild was going to draw his own conclusions soon. 

“The blockade?” He emphasised, referring to the blockade you’d told him Darth Maul had overseen. “What...why?” 

“His master had instructed him to.” 

“His master? So...Darth...did Dad work with the Sith?”

He was getting closer, that was for sure. “...Yes.” 

“Was...was Darth Maul his master?” 

“...No.” 

“Then...I don’t know what that means.” Wild admitted, retreating inwards to mull over the newly divulged information. 

With another sigh, you closed your eyes in an internal debate of whether or not you provided him with what could possibly be the key clue your son needed. It was a short lived debate though. “Peace is a lie, there is only passion.” You began to recall the mantra Maul had often recited to you when teaching you how to channel your own anger. “Through passion, I gain strength.” Your eyes began to sting behind your eyelids as tears of your own began to form. “Through strength, I gain power.” There was a shift-not only in the cargo hold or between you and your son but it felt like a great power was being awoken all over the red bathed planet. “Through power, I gain victory.” It shifted again, growing stronger, angrier, darker. “Through victory, my chains are broken.” The chains...the chains are the easy part...it’s what goes on in here that’s hard. Those words-some of the first coherent thoughts to spill from Maul upon you and Savage finding him suddenly rang throughout your head. What went on in Maul’s head would certainly prove the most difficult part to understand, that you were certain of. It had taken you months to even get a read on his personality when you were young. It had taken months for him to accept his feelings for you and even longer for him to accept that you returned them. It had taken years for the two of you to decide that spending the rest of your lives together was the right course of action and months for the Force to grant you one physical piece of evidence to prove the validity of your relationship. The Force had given you Wild and the promise of a life with Maul...and almost all of it had been taken away in an instant. Your lives bound to the will of the Force by chains too thick to break. “The Force shall free me.” You opened your eyes and let your gaze fall on Wild. He was staring at you with a mixture of confusion and undeniable curiosity. 

“What...what was that?” He asked in a tiny voice. 

“The code of the Sith.” You answered immediately, the words falling freely from you now. 

“Why do you know that…?” 

“A Sith taught it to me.” 

“Who?” 

You blinked. He was so close to figuring it out. “I have only ever met one Sith, Wild.” 

“...” He said nothing, his gaze moving away from you to gaze out of the cargo hold at the red bathed planet. Wild’s jaw was tense, his hands anxiously clenching into fists only to unclench a moment later, and his eyes frantically darted from side to side as though watching a battle before him. “What…,” he turned to you, “was Dad’s name?” 

Finally. You closed your eyes once more to prepare yourself for whatever was about to come. You only spoke once you opened your eyes. “Mau-” A searing pain tore through your abdomen, cutting you off in an instant. Screams clawed from your throat at the sudden sensation that felt not unlike a heated knife being stuck into the flesh above your hips and around your torso. You fell to your side, hands snaking around your lower stomach. 

“What is it, Y/n?” Maul questioned, picking up on the urgent tone in your voice immediately. His hands retracted from around you to take a firm hold on your forearms. 

Unable to fight the smile that clawed itself over your face, you turned your hands over to also grasp his arms, anchoring both of you in that moment. “Maul, my love, I’m-” He stiffened, eyes locking on something above your head. With a harsh shove he sent you to the floor as his hand shot for his lightsaber. 

It happened in a blur-a flash of green, a choked breath, and the worst pain you’d ever felt tearing its way across your lower abdomen. It was the worst moment of your life-your love and your connection to him being severed in one fell swoop from Obi Wan Kenobi. You didn’t know if you screamed or cried. You didn’t know if you did anything else besides watch as Maul fell away, lost to some unimportant reactor shaft on Naboo. A death so unbefitting a man of such power it almost felt poetic. Unjustly poetic. Was this some form of punishment? You knew you grabbed his lightsaber, clinging to it as you prayed for death to take you as well. If the Force should decree for you to suffer a fate worse than death than it would lose you to it as well. 

But you were stopped. Two hands pulled you away, you were led back to the council to await a different fate unknown to you. The last touch of your love seared into your skin as was the pain of his fatal wound. 

You opened your eyes, vaguely aware of the mutterings falling from you and the cold press on your forehead. There was a firm grip on your hand and a warm weight pressed into your side. “Through victory, my chains are broken. The Force shall free me.” Your voice mixed with another’s graced your ears-the mantra of the Sith being repeated over and over as the pain in your abdomen began to fade till none remained. You sat up and immediately wrapped Wild in a hug. His muttering stopped to be replaced by yours. “Wild, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” You kept repeating it as your son clung to you. 

“What happened?” He gasped out, grip like iron as he latched onto your arms. 

“Maul.” You brought him up to eye level. “Maul’s back.” You exclaimed, already able to feel the familiar turbulent presence of your husband. “He’s back.” You began to struggle to your feet, shaky and weak as they may be. 

“Mom, calm down-you’re injured.” Wild tried to drag you back down but you pulled your hand away from him. 

“No, I’m not. I’m fine. Wild, we need to go. Please. He’s back.” You tried, already doing your best to march out of the cargo hold.

“Mom, hold on. What are you talking about?” 

“Maul. I told you. Come on!” You were insistent, being pulled out of the ship by that commanding presence. 

“Not until you tell me what my dad’s name was!” You stopped short, realization dawning on you. 

Before anything could be said, a clinking sound echoed in from outside the ship causing you both to freeze. Wild immediately dropped into a defensive position, calling your blue lightsaber to him. You closed your eyes again, trying to sense what was going on. Maul’s presence was overwhelming-it crashed into you like a wall of water freshly freed from a dam. His signature was one so powerful and tumultuous that you had had little else to liken it to over the years. Where your connection with Wild was quieter and warm, the one to Maul was fiery and deceptively silent, threatening to burn you if you held onto it for too long. Force, you’d missed it. You stepped forward, eyes flying open as you did so and focused on your own presence-trying to amplify it for Maul. You had to know if he was the same man. The clinking stopped. His signature changed-a blinding glow forming to accompany the wrathful haze that always surrounded him. The clinking resumed, faster now as Maul grew closer to the ship. 

You broke out in a run, darting out of the ship before Wild’s startled cry could meet your ears and rounding around the wing of it. You stopped the same time the clinking did as before you stood a red zabrak, standing a little warily on his robotic legs, whose head was crowned with ivory horns and whose eyes burned with light brighter than any star. “Maul…” You breathed out. 

He straightened up, confused scowl falling away, as he spoke with a voice that rumbled like distant thunder. “My light…” 

…………………………………………………..

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