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prue84 · 1 year ago

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Warren Worthingon III headcanons – The women

Further headcanons. In this part, a reflection of Warren’s most significant loves in a 5+1 parts format ficlet. Krakoa-canon compliant, up to the date of the posting.

Part I | Part II: romantic life | Part III: more powers | Part IV: his women

Under the read more so I can easily make small fixes or add anything. I don’t plan to update it, should Marvel remember that Warren is an A-character and (gods save us!) pair Warren with someone new, but never say never. (Posted also on AO3 and SquidgeWorld if you prefer that format - links under the read more)

1. Jean Grey, the what if

Jean is his first everything. The first girl he felt mature love for. The first to not fall for him. The first to like - and hate - him for what he is (was), behind the looks or wealth. The first to offer him pure, disinterested friendship. She is the reason why he strove to become a better person, why he learned to be less self-centered. She’s the drive that made him grow up.

Jean is... Jean. How can someone describe the complexity and paradox that is Jean Grey? Fire and water, life and death, weakness and strength, omega powers and humbleness. Far from perfection and yet elected as the role model from a whole community, painted as a saint, but fierce as a demon. The soul of the X-Men, the star that lit their path even from dead. The woman who was offered the cosmos, who held galaxies in her hand and nursed timelines back to life, but chose to stay earthbound. The woman who was offered ascension to more than mere godhood but chose to stay mortal. The woman who said no to a force older than the universe itself that wished to be one with her. But Warren met Jean when she was none of this, when she still was a girl trying to find her place in the world and eager to prove that she could be a power to reckon with.

Jean is his first love. He had his flings before a pair of wings sprouted from his back and changed his life forever. He never lacked flocks of girls who threw themselves his way. He could name a few, but he would eventually forget some. His looks, his status, his success in any sport he decided to apply himself - girls were eager to be with him. He was a self-centered teenager who knew he was beautiful - he felt it natural, it felt it was his right, to have beautiful girls fight for his attention. And he may have liked them, but with none of them he pretended there was more than mere attraction. Again, teenage flings. Never he had applied to himself the term lovestruck until Jean Grey came into his life.

Sure, when she arrived at the Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, the only girl in a class of four boys, it wasn’t love. She was beautiful, she was smart, she was witty. An eye-catcher that hid a brilliant mind under a head full of red hair. Unbothered by her being the only girl, amused by the way they all flocked around her in a race to impress her. Love was the last thing that buzzed in his mind, back then.

But then somehow it happened. Sexual attraction softened, morphed into genuine interest and then more. As they went from teens to adults, as he grew from boy to man, his feelings for Jean changed as well. The easier years. Before the Phoenix, before Apocalypse. When the very idea of a second class at the school was distant. When they still felt but a tight group of five adults who had known each other since forever, when the idea of splitting up was unbearable, when they still felt nothing could break them up, that they would never go separate ways - that somehow they would all find their place in the world but find themselves together at night, and eventually grow old but always together.

Jean has always been a woman who made her interest known. She didn’t play hard to catch. She didn’t wait for a man to court her - she didn’t want it either. When Scott tip-toed around her, she reached out, making her own feelings clear but, at the same time, waiting for him to come at his own pace. And Warren stood on the sideline. Aware that he would always be the third wheel. It was hard for him, to back down - it was the first time for him, a lesson to be learned.

For years he felt the second best. The one Jean would chose, should Scott be unavailable - the one she would turn to, should Scott would loose his mind and turn her down. The one she would've picked had Scott never tried so hard to hide his interest. The man she would marry, had Scott backed down. Perhaps something did happen between them, when Jean returned, when Scott was torn between the love for the woman he always wanted and duty toward the wife he built a family with, when Jean felt rejected by the man she expected to marry. There was an underlying current. And if only Candy wasn’t there, if only Scott... Many ifs.

Now he knows better, though, Now he knows that spot in Jean’s heart belongs to Logan. There is no need to to see them share intimacy to understand that Logan has a place in Jean’s life that he’ll never have. Too different from Scott to appeal to her when they were barely adults thrown in a world that would spit them out, too similar to appeal the her wilder side, the one that burns with fiery and feral passion.

He doesn’t care. He accepted long time ago that Jean was never meant to be at his side as lover. Jean was meant to be at his side as a friend. Jean is his best friend. One of the few Warren ever allowed in his discreet life. One of the few privy to his secrets, one of the few that he shares his thoughts with. Together they are two fifth of the First Class, the originals. And each of them has a special place in each other’s life. But Jean will always come first. He likes to think he’s her best friend too. She’s full of friends to rely on, fellow X-Women she searches for a comforting hug or ask out for a date if she needs to take her mind off things, but he’s her oldest, the one she’ll find whenever she feels to share her mind about some private matter. If she needs to vent about Scott, he’s the first she goes to. Bittersweet. But Warren feels himself honored to be that person for Jean.

And yes, he might’ve been happy with Jean at his side. And he would’ve made sure to make her happy. He would’ve never made the same mistakes Scott did - he would’ve never jumped into a relationship with a Jean look-alike after burying her, he would’ve never jumped into Emma Frost’s arms with Jean sleeping every night beside him, breathing and gloriously alive. But the ship is long sailed - or, to be more accurate, never existed to start with.

He wouldn’t trade their friendship for any timeline in which they eventually got together. If one of the eternal beings that rule the Omniverse came to him with an offer to live a life where Jean chose him over Scott, he wouldn’t accept. Sure, he’d be tempted, but in the end he would refuse. Loyal friends, especially the kind like Jean’s, are harder to come by than potential lovers or wives. But he can’t deny at, at times, he wonders how different his life could’ve been, had Jean that faithful first day picked him instead of Scott.

2. Candace Southern, the wife that’ll never be

Candy was his real first love. They’d been childhood friends, they dated, on and off while he tried to juggle between his vapid, rich disguise and his secret identity as X-Man. Her unintentional involvement during the first tragedy of his life, the murder of his father, had him cast her out of his life, her presence and closeness during the second tragedy, the death of his mother, cemented her place at his side. Outside of the X-Men, she’s the first, since he debuted in the public as the Avenging Angel, to discover his secret mutation, the first to accept whom he really is without the need to have a mutant gene herself. Not only she accepted it, but embraced his uniqueness. Brave and reckless, she’s the first human ally the X-Men earn - unbothered by the secret, immediately ready to throw herself in the fray to protect them.

She was there when they all believed Charles Xavier had died, and they were left to face the world alone, deprived of the guidance of their patron. She was there when he met the new recruits, mutants who could fly on top of having other abilities, and he suddenly felt outdated, when he felt he could be discarded. She was there when the two classes tried to accommodate each other in the school, and Warren felt redundant. She was there when the first class disbanded to let the second class step in, and Warren felt adrift. She was there when, without the X-Men to take up his life, he found himself with too much time to fill. She was there when, with the first class scattered around, he had to relearn what privacy meant, with no shared bathrooms or nosy roommates. She was there when he suddenly found himself richer than he ever though he could be, with no idea how to manage such a scary inheritance all by himself.

Theirs have been a strong relationship, friends, partners. She was her right-man(right-woman), the brilliant business leader whom he could entrust his own fortune while he soared high, tailing any villain that threatened the world. Same background, same approach to life, both willing to enjoy life at its fullest and never shy about embracing the perks of their upbringing. Candy not only accepted his mutant status but embraced it, with everything it entailed - dangers included. Eager to be part of his world, she plunged headlong in his adventures, never backing down, never asking him to stop. No matter the dangers they both faced, she never requested he choose between her or his lifestyle. Despite everything that happened to him (Heather’s mental manipulations, his blindness, the tragedies), her time as team leader for the Defenders it’s perhaps the best time in which Warren managed to have his private and mutant life to coexist. If only he hadn’t been too young, too self-absorbed, too busy being the high-flying angel to consider to keep his feet on the ground... if he hadn’t been turned upside-down by Jean’s return and the conflicting feelings such miracle brought in his heart, he would’ve asked her to marry him. Candy would’ve been the perfect woman to be forever at his side. In a world where being the lover of a mutant doesn’t make you a target, in which non-mutants aren’t doomed to die between the arms of their mutant partner, Candy would’ve been the right woman to grow old with.

Too much went wrong with her, his life went downhill since that day she walked out of him. A part of him at times wonders how his life would've been if he had been given the chance to explain, to reassure Candy that there was no reason to be jealous of Jean, that his heart, for how disoriented and conflicted, in the end belonged to Candy. If only he sat down with Candy and explained her his heart tribulations, if only he had been honest with her since the beginning of the X-Factor project... If Candy had been there, she would've noticed Hodge's machinations before it was too late. She was always the more perceptive of the two. Who can say how different things would unfold, with her alive and at his side.

Her loss is a scar. The wound has healed, he can think back to her and not cry. He isn’t scared anymore by the photos of her he stashed away when it felt too hard for him to see them. But the scar will never vanish, and her name is forever branded on his heart. A part of him will forever belong to Candy. His innocence, the carefree Warren Worthington III who felt entitled to own the whole world in his hand, is gone with her and forever belongs to her. It feels just right that he fell from the skies the same day he lost her, that he fell into Hell the day she stormed out of his life forever.

Does he hate that death doesn’t work on criminals, that death can’t keep Hodge, but Candy will never return? Yes. Does he hate that killers and mass-murderers can be brought back to life thanks to the resurrection protocols while Candy will never be able to return? Yes. That he was regenerated and kept alive even when he was killed and meant to die? Yes. But Candy was no mutant, and for humans death is final - she’s forever gone. And perhaps it’s best she stays that way. It’s best that she rests in peace, with no one ever having the ability to twist and manipulate her like it happens to them mutants, who can’t achieve peace even in death. She was returned to him once, a pawn to strike him, a weapon to hurt him. It was enough. Besides, she wouldn’t like the Warren he has become. She would never accept the brutality, the violence he employs. She would never find in herself any reason to stay with him, after seeing - knowing - Archangel and what he entails. She would be disgusted, horrified, by the things he did, by the blood on his wings. Better she rests, never to be condemned to the knowledge that the man she loved has fallen from heaven, that he’s become a bringer of death.

Somewhere, in the thousands of timelines out there, there must be an alternate Earth in which Candy never doubted of his love, Jean’s presence didn’t come between them, and Hodge never betrayed them. Or an Earth in which he never jumped on the X-Factor project, where he didn’t listen to Hodge’s idea. Where Jean never met the Phoenix and died, or survived and retired in marriage with Scott, or Hodge died in a car accident before plotting his betrayal. Somewhere, there must be a Warren Worthington who had the chance to live his life with Candy to the very end. At times he finds himself wishing to search for it, to explore all the realities out there, to become an Exile and jump from timeline to timeline, just to know that there’s a Warren out there who is truly happy.

3. Charlotte Jones, the regret

Charlotte is a stain, something he's ashamed for and will forever be ashamed for. Not for her, never for her - but for him, because everything was his fault. He was in a bad place back then and not really himself, Charlotte was a life jacket, an hand held out, an offer. Someone who saw the angel behind the monster. Someone who was willing to accept that new Warren, unlike all his friends who just wanted the old Warren back.

She helped. Scraps, morsel of a real life. A woman different from Candy. Gruff, not born of rich, used to work hard to get by, an everyday warrior. A punch from reality for the wealthy privileged white boy who never got to know the hardship of the everyday life for those who can’t fly high and see everything from the sky. Her closeness allowed him to find back the man he thought Apocalypse killed, her patience to work out his mood issues. She saved him - more than she could ever think.

He had come to love little Timmy. Seeing him fight against his own condition was an example for him to fight back Apocalypse’s manipulations, an example to learn to accept his new self - the blue skin, the metallic wings that felt estranged to him like an artificial limb he rejected.

But, in the end, Charlotte was just a police officer. And he needed more. The high flying Archangel soared between goddesses and omega mutants, how could he stay earthbound? She had her own issues, and couldn’t hold his own burdens as well. His depression, his moods. It was too much.

She was never asked if she wanted to take that burden, though - he just drifted away, closing himself off, facing his own inner demons and forgetting everyone else. She tried. She reached out for as long as she could. But at some point she gave up, unwilling to forever yap at his leg for a morsel of attention from the man she though was her boyfriend. A relationship can work only if both the parties care and fight for it, and Warren soon lost the will to fight. Ghosting Charlotte was the easiest way, for an angel that felt too blue to embrace happiness.

He still feels bad for how it ended, for how he vanished on her instead of manning up and break up vis-a-vis. He would like to cling to excuses, to blame the hectic life of an X-Men, to hide behind Magneto and the Phalanx and every other thing that happened, every danger that fell on them. But the truth is that he wasn’t in the right mind to care for his romantic life, he was just tired of everything and he barely held himself together as an X-Men. He still feels bad. But he can't change his past. They met a couple of times. She was closed off and annoyed they happened in the same place. She has every right to clam up and get rude to him. He was an asshole, he deserved to be treated as one. He will never fault Charlotte for not forgiving him.

He wonders how Timmy is doing. He wished he could help him, be the silent patron that tends to his needs, to pay for his tuition. But Charlotte would never allow him. When he vanished, he vanished on Timmy too after all. He had been tempted, though. To fly to the block where she lives, find a good spot on a near roof and wait for Timmy to walk on the street below, to make sure he’s fine and he still has that bright smile on his face. But he doesn’t feel like handling that rejection, the risk of Timmy raising his head and see the man perched like a hawk to check on him. He likes to think back to Timmy as the boy he left the last time he opened his wings and took flight from Charlotte’s window. Besides, Charlotte would come to have his ass, should he show up to Timmy out of the blue.

He learned from that mistake though: he broke up with Betsy as soon as he understood their relationship was stagnating, before they would eventually drift apart.

4. Paige Guthrie, the mistake

Paige is... Well. Let's say he was hurting and confused. Very very confused. He's not one to repudiate the past, for everything that happened to him - good or bad - is what made him the man he is. For all the things he would erase, there are worse things than a wrong relationship that was started on the wrong premises. They fell for each other and so be it. Although, nowadays, he can't understand how that even happened. They really were too much different. In any other moment of his life it would've never happened. But he was mourning Betsy, in a time when death was forever. And Paige was there, reaching out, willing to help him and ready to stomp her feet on the ground and force-pull him out of the self-pity mood he was wallowing in. And Paige too, she was in no good place. Rebounding off her failed romance with Starsmore, perhaps she thought that with someone older than her things would be different, that she wouldn’t be forced to be with someone who kept self-sabotaging his love life. She took a look at him and thought he was different, that the only Original who was public and proud about his mutation would be the farthest from a Gen-X whose mutation took out half of his face and chest.

Not to say they didn’t have a good time, while it lasted. But, why. He didn’t act like himself, or perhaps not like the himself he had been since that moment. In a way, with Paige he was back to be the first Warren, the teenager - the Warren before the tragedies that forever marred his sunny nature. The Warren of the First Class - before Candy, before his uncle, before everything. He acted immature, he didn’t act like the responsible adult one would expect from someone who is a founder of the X-Men and a businessman who sits on a multi-bilionaire fortune, runs a Fortune 100 company and is stockholder in too many places for him to even remember.

Only when he was at his lowest, memory-less and naive, he had stopped as low. Sex in the sky right above Lucinda Guthrie’s nose? What the hell was he thinking? This is something sixteen-years-old Warren would do, what the pre-mutant socialite would do - not [twenty/third-something-I-hate-you-timescale] Worthington!

He got much flack from Bobby because of this, but even someone who knew him as much as Bobby admitted he was different with Paige, younger - an attitude that had been stripped out of him by Apocalypse. Perhaps this is why nobody stepped in, why none of his oldest friends planned an intervention to save him from embarrassing himself. Why, other than Bobby’s jabs, he was left alone.

Paige did make him feel younger and carefree, in a way that he had forgotten. And for that, he should be grateful to her. But he was no more a teenager, and he should’ve been more mature than that. More mature than giving in. He should’ve stuck to his role of First Class and team leader to Paige’s Generation X, two different generations, too much age difference. With hindsight, he should’ve listened to Stacy X. He owes Miranda an apology: she said those things because she wanted to get into his pants, sure - still, she was right. All in all, it was a phase that didn't last much and he won't talk about it.

He might be embarrassed about how he acted, but Paige doesn’t deserve ill feelings. She was there when he unknowingly needed someone like her, after all, and never shied away. Fought for what she wanted, when he was playing hard to catch and clinging to what he felt was ethically right to do (which was not make a move on Paige) - and he must give it to her, the girl is a warrior.

When they eventually drifted apart, they did so in good ways. There’s no avoided glances and stunned silences if they are assigned to the same team, there is the right amount of closeness and camaraderie one would expect from fellow X-Men. They don’t greet each other with kisses nor they hug after a tragedy, but he is a private person and he isn’t big on gestures - but, should she need a hug, he wouldn’t shy away, and she would do the same for him. He couldn’t ask no more, for a relationship that had been an error from his part.

5. Elizabeth Braddock, the other half

Elizabeth is and will always be his soulmate. He might feel silly to say it aloud, and he likely will never admit it even in the privacy of his mind, but deep inside he knows it.

Both born privileged, both proud of their mutation, both magazine material, both striking handsome. If someone had to come up with a more perfect pair, they couldn’t draw one better assorted than them. White or blue, Asian or English, it doesn’t matter. They would be the pet of gossip, guest to the best glamorous events, they could be the king and queen of New York if only they wanted. If only they weren’t mutants, actually. Or, at least, if their affiliation to the X-Men and mutants weren’t public - or if people were enamored with mutants as they are with the Avengers and the Fantastic Four or anyone else on the side of angels who has superpowers and isn’t named Spider-Man.

Both manipulated by others.

But Betsy has always been the strongest of the two. Where he reacted to what Apocalypse did with gloom, by turning depressed and introverted, by wallowing in self-pity or venting his rage on himself, she reacted to each manipulation by getting more determined and hard, by not letting the pain drag her down, by focusing that rage in her moves, using it to strengthen her tk knife. For months, after he returned into the X-Factor fold, he fought his metal wings, he rejected their power, he avoided mirrors for the fear of meeting his own blue reflection, he pretended that Warren Worthington was no more, dead like his wings. She, after regaining control of her mind and back to the X-Men, immediately made use of her acquired ninja abilities and adapted her mutant powers to efficiently use them in conjunction with the new fighting skills, turning an already deadly body into an even more deadly warrior. And she accepted the differences in her body, she focused on what good it came with, she didn’t clung to what she lost. Unlike him, who had to break one heart, watch her dead girlfriend die again between his arms and be kicked in the face by his best friend, before understanding that he had to reclaim his whole life and accept that it didn’t matter the hue of his skin or the metal protruding out of his shoulders where feathers once had been - that Warren Worthington III, the High Flying Angel, was still down there, even if he now soared on metal wings.

Together they faced everything. They endured and survived, they died and resurrected. Always bouncing back to each other. As if some uncanny force bound them together. They hurt each other, every time. Unwilling. Forced by the events, forced by others. They aren't good for each other, because they indulge and worsen each other's addictions. They're good for each other, because they are the other’s rock. Forces like death, time, mystical powers and Apocalypse didn’t manage to keep them apart; stress, different attitudes, different goals and stagnation did.

Betsy isn’t a woman to settle down. She constantly needs excitement, she needs to live life at its fullest. She craves for the adrenaline that fights pump in her vein, she needs to always be at the center of the field. Ninja or mutant, she doesn’t bode well with monotony. He’d sign any contract that granted him a quiet life in which to enjoy his money, soar the sky and retire in the night to sleep near the woman he loves. He always returns to the X-Men, no matter how many times he promises himself that this is the last time, that this is the final retirement. But she can’t stay away from adventure - if the X-Men disbanded and mutants suddenly had no more enemies, she would find other ways, other teams, other allies and foes. She would hop literally to other worlds and times. Not even death managed to force her to stay put and rest. Not even Krakoa managed to make her stop and rest.

And then Archangel, the dark shadow he carries within himself came. He, the one who rejects and fights Betsy, the only one who stands between them. The reason why she twice returned to him, the reason why she leaves everything to fight his own battle, to protect the Angel from the Archangel in Archangel’s never-ending battle for supremacy over the man Warren Worthingon. And eventually he won. He didn’t manage to break them apart the first time, he drew them closer. He didn’t manage to break them apart the second time, when Betsy lied with the enemy in order to get to him. He didn’t manage to break them apart the third time, when it were His wings that saved her from being consumed by the darkness of the Shadow King. But He got his revenge, Archangel won the very moment Warren found a way to get rid of Him. And Betsy had to call forth Archangel to save Angel from himself - and the whole world with him.

They have drifted apart now. They didn’t break up, not like other people do. One day they were besotted with each other, happier than ever, an English woman finally back in her own original body and a smitten bird eager to get to know a woman finally complete. The next Nate Grey came and turned their own little world upside down. And then, Krakoa. As he said, he eventually bounces back to the X-Men and she can’t stay away from the field. If only they’d staid in Colorado, if they haven’t returned to the fold... would their history be different, then? Would they be part of the few that Nate left behind, to pick up the pieces in a world where suddenly all mutants where considered dead and gone? Who knows. But they didn’t. They were on the front line. He switched sides. She used her tk knife to force him back to her. He shouted to her, he reluctantly helped the X-Men. And then. Then, they both got sucked in that twisted utopia, and they never recovered from that. And now they’re strangers. They barely exchange glances when they’re in the same place, they barely nod each other in greeting before parting ways again, each headed to their own way. They never stop and talk to each other - there's never the chance. They don't know how. Too much was done to them, too many changes. It’s like a wall has been build between them while they were too busy to notice, and they both don’t seem interested in tearing it down. Or perhaps it’s just that they don’t know. Or perhaps they are scared to see what awaits on the other side.

It’s like a lifetime has passed by since the last time they were close, and now they’ve become two different people - gone are the X-Woman who fought with tk weapons and the X-Man who patrolled the skies. He traded his uniform for high-fashion suits, and she traded her trademark pinks for the Union Jack colors. He put aside his mutant abilities to use what is in his blood instead, she stripped of her very mutant name to build herself another identity. He left the aerial fights for the equally brutal economic battlefields, she this Earth for the Omniverse. They have become strangers now - the CXO and the Captain Britain, the man with the duty to keep X-Corp floating and Monet in check, and the woman in charge with the security of Otherworld saddled with the overbearing presence of the less fashionable, more annoying lost sister of Emma Frost.

And now Betsy apparently found love again with someone else. Warren is void and tired. He feels like he failed yet another woman. That it just isn’t it in him to keep a woman. That he’s doomed to eventually be alone, that anyone he falls for eventually will leave him for greener pastures. He’s bitter. But is also happy for her. He’s not cruel, he’s not heartless. He’s not that kind of asshole who wishes ill or failure to the woman who had once been his out of spite. Nor he is annoyed that his former girlfriend now swings for the other spectrum. They all have met and fallen for aliens, gods or cosmic forces - what’s gender, compared to this?

Of all the people he knows, Betsy is the one who deserves peace and happiness the most. After all she endured, she’s entitled to. So, if she’s found the right person to find peace with, then so be it. If Rachel is the person who can bring out the good in Betsy, or even just give her a slice of happy married life, then so be it. He knows Rachel - she’s not one he would call friend, they don’t share a close bond and is little more than a fellow X-Men to him, but he knows her enough to know she’s good inside. Perhaps a bit troubled, a dark past that at time resurfaces - but who, between them X-Men, can call himself truly innocent and clean? Rachel is strong and stands for what she considers right. She’s not scared to take sides, even against her own friends - he would know, she was one of the few who sided with them time-displaced five, when everyone (Betsy included) were hunting them, unwilling to listen to what they had to say. Rachel will be a good partner for Betsy. With Rachel, Betsy won’t fall in her old habits. There won’t be an Archangel lusting for blood who will drag her back into black-ops missions and killing sprees. It doesn’t mean that it doesn’t feel a pang of pain whenever she sees records of them together, fighting or making a guest apparition to some gala. That he doesn’t feel the need to avoid his eyes whenever they show up together in Krakoa and his keen sight spots a flaming head or familiar purple hair in the crowd. Eagle eyes are both a blessing and a curse, at times. He remembers himself that the past must stay in the past, that it’s time to look at the future ahead. That he moved on from Candy, and he can move on from Betsy as well.

But within, he feels that they aren't done. That somehow they’ll eventually fall back in their old paths. As if they were somehow doomed, struck in a loop they can’t escape, no matter how hard they run or fly. They are connected and forever be. That is nothing neither Archangel, nor Otherworld, can change.

+1. Laura Kinney, once forgotten

Laura is what was never meant to be. If Hank hadn’t plucked their younger selves from their time to throw them in a dark future, nothing with Laura would’ve happened. Laura has always been a child to his eyes. A child born out of pain, created to be nothing but a killing machine. Warren had known her as such, the feral female, younger counterpart to Logan - silent and cold, troubled and obedient. A reliable partner, for a black-ops squad made of killing machines. Wrong place for her, right for everyone else involved. They never clicked but they didn’t disagree either. Both too reserved, too stuck in their own killing machine mind, both prisoners to their own darkness. They worked well together, they protected each other’s back, they even supported each other. Yet, they barely exchanged few words. No matter that she lived in his house, hanged around in his kitchen - or saved his life on the field. He didn’t spare a thought to her, when they reshuffled the team and Logan put his foot down on her being out of the team - they lost a killing machine, but they were getting Betsy out of the exchange, and that was all that mattered at the time. And then everything went to hell.

To this day, he can’t explain how they fell together.

He doesn’t know what Laura saw in him. How Laura could see the teenager Warren and separate him from the adult Archangel of Death Laura had worked with. Perhaps she understood that they were as different as they could come, that the teenager Angel had nothing in common with that Warren Worthington but the genetic makeup. Perhaps he had changed in the meantime and he hadn’t known. She was one of the few young mutants they hanged out with in their future. He’s always been a socialite, back then - always a flirt. He was young and still foolish. Perhaps he unconsciously searched for someone different from him to ground him. Perhaps for once he wanted to help a broken person. Or perhaps it was the meeting the first girl to not fall for his charms - Jean Grey all over again.

They were sun and moon, carefree and troubled, light and dark. Yet, for some time it worked. Against all odds Laura returned his feeble feelings and they spent quality time together, like only a pair of teens involved with the X-Men can. He managed to make her smile. And he liked it. With him, she was less gloomy, at times he could see her eyes shine with some of the lightheartedness she was robbed her whole life. Twice he even managed to stole her a laugh. She compensated for his hot-headedness and his impulsivity.

But then he ruined it all. In his desperate attempts to escape his fixed destiny, he put a wedge between them. But how could she understand? To know that you have your fate presented to you, to see whom you will become, the horrors... Nobody ever had the galls to look him in the eye and explain how he ended up to be a Warren who believed himself an angel. Why he would gain metallic wings. Why he would drastically change in body and mind. Why he would loose himself. Everybody glossed over, everybody avoided his questions. He was left with what the cold files told him, and his mind to fill the gaps. He didn't share his fears with her, and Laura didn't reach out. To be fair, she didn't know how to. And he didn't give her any chance. His choice to keep the Black Vortex modifications was the start of the ending.

And then secrets built up. With hindsight she could've helped him, had she trusted in her. She had known the Warren who had been (the Warren he was doomed to become), and she knew too well the burdens of fury and a drive to commit violence. But he didn't trust her. And she was right to give up on them. They drifted apart. And in such a sour way that, by the time them five were about to return to the past, he and Laura didn't even exchange a word - not a farewell, not a goodbye. But theirs had always been a hopeless thing, something with an already written expiration date. A relationship he forgot, until the block on his memories fell.

He took the time to thank her for putting up with his younger self. For not telling him what she knew about his future. He asked her permission for a hug. Not as paternal figure, not as a brother, but not a distant lover either. He recalls with melancholic affection that brief time in which they were happy, when he felt that with Laura he could fix all the wrongs in the world - when he got a respite from the X-Men and returned to be the Avenging Angel, not alone but standing alongside a Wolverine.

Laura has Logan. But he promised he would be there for her if she ever needed help. As a friend. As a fellow X-Men who every day has to fight the darkness within.

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Notes

Jean I see the potential for this pair in early Silver Age X-Men and later X-Factor, and I could see a (better) evolution of Scott's character in which he overcomes Jean's death, and - even if he's understandably conflicted with Jean's return - eventually stays with Maddie because he might've fallen for Maddie out of her likeness with Jean, but he's come to genuinely love her; the pain of seeing her die has forced him to mature and their love belongs to the past, as the "high-school" romances. In this case, Jean and Warren get closer. But this would mean Warren breaking up with Candy for Jean, which... no. It's disappointing that in the only What If...? in which we see Jean picking Warren during the First Class era, everything is portrayed as a bad fanfiction, with Scott leaving the X-Men and becoming evil.

Candy Candy is... Candy. My endgame is Warren/Betsy, but Candy is almost there. Wherever Warren goes, Candy goes to (I have two Warren/Betsy AUs - a medieval fantasy and an 1800s historical - and Candy gets her part in Warren’s life in both, shaping him and leaving a hole that Betsy has to struggle to fill. In the fantasy Candy is the reason why Warren doesn’t give Betsy a chance and rebuffs Betsy’s every attempt at building a bridge between them). If Marvel really wants to stick to Betsy/Rachel even after Howard leaves and Betsy ends up in other hands, then my dream would be to have Candy return - she’s not a mutant, but a retcon is behind the corner, should an author want to head that route (as proven with Moira McTaggart), and it’s not that in Marvel universe non-powered people never return from dead anyway.

Charlotte I liked them. But they really were too different to work on the long run. When X-Factor folded back into X-Men, authors had Warren act like a dick toward Charlotte. I think Warren would be the guy who went and broke up, instead of ghosting a girl. But he was in a bad shape, so it works. I personally know how it feels to let things drift and avoid confrontation and then wake up one day and realize too much time has passed and the train has left and you can’t get back and fix things (or, really, just close them as they should). Still, a dick. I would’ve loved it any authors hinted that Warren paid a scholarship, founded his medical cures or even invited Timmy to fly on mechanics wings in that X-Men Unlimited story. I was one of those who hoped the Archangel-wannabe Cherub of Children of the Atom was Timmy. Sadly, I was disappointed. Part of me is tempted to ignore that the guy is actually called Gabe and has nothing to do with Timmy.

Paige I think what I feel about her is heavily reflected in her chapter. I’m not a rabid hater (the “sex in the air right above momma Guthrie’s head” scene notwithstanding) but I feel we could remove that portion of his romantic life from Warren’s history and not miss/loose anything (although this pairing deprived us of more flirting and panel presence of Stacy X who was unceremoniously scraped off). They were attracted to each other out of the blue (especially him; Paige had every reason to be JUST physically attracted but he? They probably never shared a panel before since Gen X debuted), then together one moment, and the next they had fallen out and their relationship never be mentioned or hinted at again. For the best, I think. It was so poorly executed that it’s hard to salvage anything of that ship. I tried my best.

Betsy As a hard Warren/Betsy shipper, it’s very difficult for me to accept Betsy/Rachel. How it came to be, and especially with how the Betsy/Warren remains unresolved (the confrontation with alternate!Warren is too little and too ambiguous to satisfy anyone who ever cared for the ship) doesn’t help, but it’s how it’s portrayed (in every issue they have to be shown holding hands, kiss, exchange love confessions or flirt) that irks me. I can’t speak for other hetero ships, but Betsy/Warren didn’t need this amount of “in the face” to work - and Wildstorm/DC Apollo/Midnighter neither. It’s as if the author doesn’t trust her writing and/or has to make sure the readers don’t forget that “these two queer women are a couple” - or wants to be sure the readers don’t have any way to ignore their queer status. It’s not that I have something intrinsic against Betsy and Rachel per se, but I just know that - now that she’s been paired with a woman - Betsy will be forever stuck on the “lesbian” side of the mutants. No matter that she has been straight for most of her comic tenure (with the bi-ness ambiguous at best with her thing with Phatomex/Cluster). I am one for bi!Betsy, actually. But the majority of Rachel/Betsy fans (or at least the more vocal, the ones who seek queer representation in any form no matter the characters involved and if their previous canon history allows for this, some who staid with Howard only because of the promise of the queer couple, some who barely knew who Betsy was or never liked the character and jumped on for the pair only, some who gush on butch!Rachel despite Rachel never being buff - or tall like English!amazon!Betsy either) seem at times to forget that Betsy isn’t lesbian but bisex: if in the future an author decided to stray from this narrative, the backlash would be massive. Marvel wouldn’t want to the accused of queer erasure because Betsy left her (butch) Askani for a man. That’s why I fear Howard put a tombstone on Warren/Betsy. Nowadays, there’s no turning back once a character is portrayed as queer, bi-erasure is still strong. Tiny Howard, by making Rachel jealous of Saturnyne but not of Peter or any other man Betsy has to do with (including recently Tony Stark, who is a womanizer and the kind of man Betsy used to dig), doesn’t help. Objectively, one could think Rachel is only jealous of women because it’s her first lesbian relationship and she’s insecure. But the message the reader gets is that Rachel is only jealous of women because she doesn’t perceive men as a “threat” - as in, Betsy doesn’t care for men (like Warren was jealous of Betsy close to Neal Sharra but not of any X-Women Betsy hang out with). I have this feeling that Howard did this move to establish Betsy as different from Kwannon - she was given a character that was mostly blank, since everything we had come to know of Betsy was given to Kwannon (name, butterfly, powers, looks, attitude, roles within the X-Men - Kwannon got everything in the divorce!), and in hindsight the choice to make alternate!Warren married and divorced from Kwannon further strengthen this (Warren, and Neal and all the men she flirted, fucked or kissed, are Kwannon’s Betsy - Betsy’s Betsy is Rachel). At this point I resigned to the fact that Betsy will never return with Warren. But accept the reality doesn’t make it easier to swallow it. All in all, I tried to respect the new pair nonetheless and paint Warren as an understanding, decent man who still loves dearly Betsy and knows he has to let her go (she’s already gone - she has to let his feelings for her go, that’s what I mean).

Laura I’m in the minority that didn’t dislike Warren/Laura. I maintain that they had potential but it was a)poorly executed and b)at some point the authors weren’t interested and gave up. As with everything from the time-displaced!O5, canon never referenced to them again. I like to think Laura has put her thing with Warren in the list of fallen relationships of her life, but has understood that they were never meant to be in the first place and, with time, learned to appreciate the small goods things she got from that time. Warren, on the other hand, might be conflicted. He got to know Laura as an adult but then had a romance with her as a teen. But he might be conflicted on everything that happened during that time - the infodump of memories, once Jean’s block fell, must have been insane and, of all, the ones of his thing with Laura were far from the worst.

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Crossposted Dreamwidth: prue84.dreamwidth.org/90008.html Livejournal: prue84.livejournal.com/98314.html AO3: archiveofourown.org/works/49184803 SquidgeWorld: squidgeworld.org/works/46670

#X-Men #Angel #Archangel #Warren Worthington III #Headcanons #Psylocke #Captain Britain #Elizabeth Braddock #WarrenBetsy #AngelPsylocke #||#Jean Grey #Phoenix #Marvel Girl #Laura Kinney #Wolverine #X23

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dreadgrace-a · 1 year ago

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the following verses and arcs are paired with @mindhallow. I default to Wish's canon choices. if you want an ask or thread to take place in an alternate worldstate, let me know. see below the divide for those verses.

verse. a knife to slaughter heaven . main pre-BG3

arc. a garden of agonies .

-"childhood" through mid-fourties (subject to change)

arc. shadow of elturel .

-what it says on the tin

arc. a lifetime's faithfulness .

-thay timeline through fall of elturel

verse. a kingdom of cards . baldur's gate 3 timeline

arc. upon the altar‚ in bloom | act ii .

arc. all my devotion turned violent | act iii .

arc. the greatest escape .

-finale

alternate worldstate catch-all verses.

verse. a fire set . pre-BG3

no arcs yet.

verse. in the light this blood is black . BG3 timeline (arcs to be given flavor text later)

arc. act ii

arc. act iii

arc. finale .

#ooc.#psa.#verse. a fire set .#verse. in the light this blood is black .#arc. act ii #arc. act iii #arc. finale .#i'll update my carrd later. rn i'm developing a headache. naptime

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too-lit-for-fanfic · 1 year ago

Text

Desiderium: Lacuna

Part III of ??

Masterlist

Part IV

* A blank space, a missing part *

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Disclaimer - DNI if under the age of 18. This is a dark and mature story involving themes of torture, substance abuse, addiction, trauma, PTSD, injury detail

The start of the diversion - this is just to allow for some bonding before the main story begins! Please remember, the characters are written realistically, not just to be liked.

Word Count - 10.5K

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Alteration to the timeline - Star Wars a New Hope actually happens 12 years in the future from the Obi-Wan Kenobi Series, not 8. Obi-wan is also younger because his ages seem to correlate until the ‘New Hope’ film, so I adjusted them to match. Yes there is an age gap, sue me.

Age at the time of ‘Revenge of the Sith’ (the fall of the Republic) - Obi-wan 28, Aeris, 16

Age at the time of ‘Kenobi’ series (this story) - Obi-wan - 38, Aeris - 26, Leia & Luke - 10

Age at the time of ‘Star Wars a New Hope’ - Obi-wan 49, Aeris - 38, Leia & Luke - 22

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Aeris remains in the small cockpit far longer than she should have, watching stars slowly glimmer past as she sucks deep breaths into her lungs, helmet in her lap and head rested against a stiff headrest. Her brows furrow and lips turn into a flat grimace as she steadies her breathing, fighting against the fire flickering against her side and clogging her lungs with smoke. She couldn’t breath quite right, ribs protesting with every breath, and even the dim flickering of the distant stars aggravated the thudding of her skull. Nausea battles with her subconscious as her left hand gingerly crosses her stomach to kneed at the bruising at her right side, withdrawing with a grimace as soon as her fingers make light contact with the source of her trouble. Something was broken, no doubt about it.

Her mind wonders to the bacta-patches she had stashed away in her pack, now abandoned in the main foyer, frowning at the realisation she would likely have to use one of them soon. She had been fine, she had been doing better, and then the damned Sith, or Inquisitor, or whatever they liked to call themselves, had sent her plummeting down a stairwell. Her hand finally manages to rest against the tender flesh, massaging gently over the bruising as she watches the stars, willing for a miraculous recovery before she re-enters the main hull. Using a bacta-patch was one thing, explaining her state to Obi-wan was an entirely different matter: how would he trust her if she couldn’t even keep herself unharmed? He would know this wouldn’t have been caused by her fight with the stairwell, he would ask questions. Questions she didn’t want to answer.

Not only that but bacta was unbelievably valuable, especially with the Empire draining supply for their legions that currently fought off rebellion in the furthest corners of the galaxy. It was rare, it could save lives, was a broken rib or two really worth such precious medicine? Though she hoped otherwise, Obi-wan may need it further down the line, perhaps even the girl he had with him. She could pass it on to the Resistance, save an innocent life, a fighter who would go on to save hundreds more, a leader driving the rebellion. It may be a matter of life or death, and what would Aeris have used it for? Pain. Another life lost, another regret. Her frustration at her own situation has her pressing too harshly and flinching away from her own hand, head tilting as her teeth catch her lip, cursing quietly. No, she would wait, and if she so needed she would use the stims first. Besides, Obi-wan should be gone soon, and she would be able to retire back to her own ship and hide from the galaxy for a week or so, nurse her wounds and return back to business as if nothing had happened.

Images of Obi-wan in the cargo bay suddenly come to mind, and Aeris barely has a moment before images of the Third Sister flash before her closed eyelids and her eyes snap open in alarm, the warning she had shared with Obi-wan bouncing around her dull skull. Aeris had been distracted in the moment, occupied with getting out of there alive, but now that she could sit and truly think, the more none of this made any sense. She had heard the Third Sister’s threats, the warnings she had given: ‘He’s alive Obi-wan. Anakin Skywalker is alive.’. Anakin Skywalker, that was a name she hadn’t heard in an age; she knew who he was, of course, Obi-wan’s Padawan from the days of the Jedi Republic. The golden boy of the century, with the locks to match. The man to bring balance to the force, peace to the galaxy - she nearly scoffs at the prophecy; what balance had he brought? Wars had been fought over his destiny, and yet the galaxy still ended up in the hands of the Empire, with a lunatic in a helmet at its helm. If she ever managed to get her hands on that man, he would beg to be taken by the Empire. The founder of the prophecy would beg for satan himself. Then the Third Sister had mentioned said lunatic herself ‘Darth Vader will be pleased.’ - what had he to do with Obi-wan and Anakin?

Her brows furrow minimally as she recalls the moment, Obi-wan’s panic, his inability to seemingly do anything at all.

The Empire hunted Jedi, that was common knowledge, and it had made sense that they had tried to detain Obi-wan, a past figure-head of the Jedi Order, when they could, but Darth Vader himself? There was more to this than Obi-wan had said, and Aeris was startlingly aware of exactly how little she knew. She knew of the rumours that surrounded the Sith Lord, the darkness that emanated from the cloaked man, the terror and death that accompanied him like a shadow, the misfortune and tragedy that hung across his shoulders and embraced all those he came across. She wanted nothing to do with that monster - she wanted him dead, tortured, humiliated, but a galaxy between them would hardly be enough, never mind harbouring a man he actively hunted. If Vader wanted Obi-wan, the Jedi would be far better killing himself now and ending the torment; no matter how far he ran, Vader would find him. Even the resistance couldn’t save him.

With worry gnawing at her chest and the startling awareness of all the eyes of the galaxy turned towards her, Aeris’ hand stills its movements against her torso. If Vader was after them, she was dead, they were dead - If she stayed in this cockpit any longer she would surely go mad.

After several more moments, and mustering the courage to stand, Aeris hoists herself from the pilot’s seat, throwing one last glance at the gravelly navigation display before exiting the cockpit.

The young girl sits alone on a long metal bench in the main body of the ship, and her wide brown eyes immediately snap in Aeris’ direction as the door hisses shut behind her. Placing her helmet down on an empty mesh crate Aeris’ eyes flicker towards the girl; she had been fiddling with her hair, the long brunette locks twisted in a messy braid, half-finished. The air is empty and yet tense, and it is only then Aeris realises she had yet to actually talk to the girl.

“Are you okay?” Her voice is flat and gravelly, a stark contrast to the spike to her heart at having to converse with a child - would the child understand everything she said? What tone should she use? She wasn’t a cheery person with a lighthearted laugh nor a light voice, and that was the only way she had seen people talk to their children before. She was never very good with children. She had once been better, but after so many years in her profession they seemed as alien as some of the other species that inhabited the universe.

The girl, startled at having been directly spoken to, flushes, cheeks and ears turning pink as she hides the poor braid behind her back with a flick of her wrist. “Yes.” The child looks concerned, and for a moment Aeris thinks she is frightening her; she supposed a blaster-wielding stranger that had killed people in front of her was not a person the girl would confide in. “You’re bleeding.”

Oh. The confusion on the woman’s face and a quick glance down at herself has the child motioning to her head. Aeris rubs a hang gingerly across her hairline, fingers dabbling in a small stream of blood slowly ebbing its way towards her brow. She doesn’t flinch despite the familiar sting. She lamely attempts to rub the blood away, only smearing it back up into her hairline.

“What’s your name?” It seemed rather silly to ask that question now, but the child smiles so she supposes it was the right thing to say.

“Leia.” Aeris’ head tilts minimally, a small crease forming between her angular brows. She had heard that name before.

“Pretty name.” Leia is practically beaming, her full attention on the woman before her. Aeris doesn’t like the attention and divers her gaze from the child, chest uncomfortably hollow. Her eyes scour the dim room, surprised to find no trace of Obi-wan near his ‘daughter’. ‘Where’s Obi-wan?”

“He’s doing a Jedi thing.” Leia rolls her eyes, kicking her feet playfully. “He went over there.” She points to the dim furthest part of the ship, and Aeris nods in thanks before heading in that direction.

The cargo ship is tall and spacious, with only a few crates and miscellaneous items to clutter its wide interior. It hadn’t yet been stocked for transport and most of the netting attached to either wall lay empty or strewn about the floor, only a few crates large and dangerous enough to be secured. It was dim, not intended for humans to occupy, but the small overhead lighting sufficed, illuminating the shadows in the darkest corners just enough to see the ship’s interior outline. The scent of plastic and metal and something musty hangs thick in the cool air, dissimilar to the cargo bay they had just departed from, distinctly mechanical and yet not unpleasant. It takes Aeris longer than expected to reach its furthest wall where Obi-wan sits cross-legged on the floor, eyes shut and hands cupped in his lap, palms up.

She watches the man meditate for a moment in silence, one hand grasping the other and a sourness overtaking her throat. He looked so... peaceful. Obi-wan’s face seemed the most peaceful she had seen it over the last few hours, lines of age almost entirely vanished and shoulders squarer than when he had first tried to intimidate her in the alleyway. The furrow between his brows that never seemed to shift all but gone, tired eyes shut and their accompanying shadow obsolete. His breaths are steady and slow, a calmness emanating from him and encompassing the corridor, cool air not so biting, the rumble of the ship subdued. Aeris has every intention of ruining that peace.

“Obi-wan?” She approaches, footfalls heavier with the intention of grasping the man’s attention. He doesn’t shift for a moment. “Is everything okay?”

There’s a beat of silence, and Aeris is about to speak again, far louder, with worry and pain agitating her attitude, before he shifts and begins to slowly raise from his position.

“Yes, yes, I just needed a moment.” Obi-wan mutters, straightening his robes and turning towards the maskless woman, an air of peace settled over him like a blanket. Aeris nearly marvels at his ability to calm his nerves after such an ordeal, instead her lips press into a thin line, one hand resting against her belt. Obi-wan’s eyes finally land on her face, satisfied with his robes, and said peace immediately morphs into something akin to concern. “You’re bleeding.”

“So I’ve been told.”

His cerulean eyes don’t fall from the abrasion, watching a scarlet droplet slowly gather at her temple.

“It’s fine, I don’t even feel it.” She dismisses, not entirely sure why she is justifying her wellness to a man she had met mere hours before. “Who’s Anakin Skywalker?”

If her presence hadn’t disturbed the peace enough, her question had all but shattered any comprehension of it all together. Obi-wan’s breath catches in his throat, eyes snapping down to her own and matching her fiery gaze. For a moment he forgets to breath, just like back at the cargo bay, and the ground seems to swallow him whole, the shadows in the corners of the room growing and overtaking his peripheral, the metric humming of the ship fading as his hearing fails. He sees the fire in the coppery amber of Aeris’ eyes and he has to focus on the droplet of blood once again to prevent himself from becoming lost in a memory he had just managed to pull himself back from. His knuckles turn white with the grip he has on his own forearms.

“No one- no one important.”

Aeris knew what she was doing, face an emotionless mask of curiosity, suspicion swimming in the amber flecks of her iris’. Obi-wan was panicked, and he should be - she was not a woman to deceive. Anakin Skywalker was not ‘no one’.

“I will ask you again. Who is Anakin Skywalker?”

The older man stands firm, dead-set eyes boring into her own, his lips sealed in a firm line. The peaceful silence has morphed into something far more sinister, thick and chocking.

“He was your Padawan.” She reveals after several moments, one eyebrow raising as she asks. “What has Darth Vader got to do with you and Anakin?”

Obi-wan’s mouth opens minimally, closing as abruptly as his mind stalls. He hadn’t even told the bounty hunter the true relation between himself and Leia, his relation with Darth Vader himself was not another relation he wanted to share. The cogs in his mind turn as he scrambles, fighting for clarity among memories and their horrors that lay festering and fresh beneath the surface - how did she know of Anakin? How did she know he had been his Padawan? Though Obi-wan was once well-known through the resistance circles, his relation to other Jedi was not something discussed commonly. His eyes search her own; what did she know? And how did she know it? His distrust spikes, the Empire would likely know of their relationship, and so far there was little proof Aeris was who she claimed to be aside from the dishonest word of a con-man that had tried to scan Obi-wan himself. A hand comes up to rub the scruff of his beard, eyes narrowed. She didn’t know Anakin was Darth Vader, at least.

“He was my Padawan- I thought he died in Order 66.” Obi-wan’s tone is tight, the brunette before him watching his face with a harrowing gaze. “And I have no idea, I had no idea Darth Vader was involved in all of this - the Empire hunt all force users.”

Lies. Aeris’ mind hums, her tongue coming out to wet her lips as she thinks, a muscle twitching in her jaw.

“So why would the Third Sister mention him? This seems personal.”

“I have no idea.” The greying man stresses, hands motioning at his sides. “I don’t know how they found me, I don’t know what they want with me, I don’t know what Darth Vader has to do with any of this. I can only imagine it’s the same thing they do with all force users, only I had a reputation.” He didn’t like how easy it was becoming to lie. He had no idea if he was convincing, but the contemplative look on the woman’s face has his nerves settling. “And how do you even know Anakin use to be my Padawan? That isn’t knowledge you should possess.”

“I’m not the one lying here Ben. Anakin Skywalker is not ‘no one’.”

“And you’re not answering any of my questions. How do you know of Anakin Skywalker?” He doesn’t relent, voice firm, arms crossed.

“I have my sources.” It is Aeris’ turn to become defensive, brows furrowing.

“I’m trusting you to get myself and my daughter home safe.” He clears his throat, almost stumbling over his words. He doesn’t notice the satisfied upturning of Aeris’ thin lips. “How can I trust you when you possess information only few people should know- you know my name, my real name, and you know Anakin. I have a feeling you know a lot more than just any bounty hunter, than just any resistance member. I cannot trust you when I don’t know why.”

“I’m with the resistance.” Obi-wan was becoming frustrated at how she seemed to use that as a get out clause for any questions thrown her way. “And I’m a bounty hunter, my job is to gather people and get them to the resistance, it’s my job to know who you are, who you’re connections are, who else might need saving.”

His forehead creases, sucking a deep breath into his lungs. Never mind Aeris’ job, it was how she acquired this information that had him set on edge - where were the records with this information? With evidence of these links? It had been a decade since the destruction of the Jedi Order, and presumably all of its data and information. Who would still maintain these files at risk of being tortured and killed by the Empire?

“Your daughter,” Aeris begins, one final question on her lips. “why aren’t they hunting her? You’re right, they hunt all force users, surely blood relation is enough to put a target on her back too?”

Obi-wan curses himself for not just telling the truth earlier. He digs his heels in, continuing to act the clueless fool. “Force, Aeris I don’t know. The Empire work in mysterious ways- it’s likely they don’t even know she’s my daughter. You’re making it sound like I’m lying about her.”

The flat look she sends him has him biting the inside of his cheek. He had hoped she would shy away from the accusation: the woman was thorough, and confident, he would have to give her that.

“Why would I lie about such a thing?”

“I don’t know.” Her eyes flicker to his lips and back to his eyes as she talks, and he is acutely aware of how closely he is being watched. This was her job after all, reading others, distinguishing the untrustworthy from the plain dangerous. Anxiety squirms in his stomach and for a moment he considers preferring his odds against the Third Sister than the woman stood before him: better the devil you know than the one you don’t. “And that’s what I don’t understand. I usually know why people are lying, I can usually put myself in their shoes and understand, weed out the bullshit pretty early on.” A hand comes up to swipe a scarlet droplet from her brow. “But you have been dead to the galaxy for a decade, you re-appear on the run, on a seedy planet you have no business on, with a daughter no one knows of and the most dangerous man in the galaxy chasing after you. I don’t know what you’re lying about, or why, but I know you are.”

“Choose to believe me, or not. It makes no difference.” Obi-wan was growing tired, the stresses of the day wearing upon his weary shoulders, and he was worried that if they continued he would slip up. “I’m trying to get somewhere safe with my daughter. That is all I want, and that’s what I’ve told you.”

Aeris’ eyes continue their journey of his face, bright eyes cold and steely. The older man gave nothing back, despite the exhaustion and stress that marred the lines of his features, she understood he knew how this game was played, and nothing could be trusted. She had worn a fair few masks of her own, and this honest vulnerability was just another she had once adorned herself. This Jedi was smart, and ultimately his expression was just as guarded as her own. A thousand questions and accusations pushed against her lips, and her right hand tapped an indistinguishable pattern against her thigh. With one last regard, she turns, flexing her jaw.

“I’ll leave you to your meditation.” She bites, unsatiated but understanding she wouldn’t get any further that afternoon. She had found out one thing - Obi-wan was lying to her, about one thing or another, but she had yet to figure out what exactly about, and why.

She turns to leave, planning on returning to the cockpit and napping for however long they had left in the cargo shuttle, but Obi-wan’s surprisingly soft voice behind her has her halting and turning back towards him.

“You’re hurt.”

It wasn’t a question, and yet it takes Aeris by surprise, visible confusion flashing across her face before she stares at the man blankly, one eyebrow raised. “What?”

“You- in- you’re hurt.”

Aeris, though usually not so easily ruffled, continues to stare at him blankly, wondering where this conversation had come from after such a heated debate. His own blank stare doesn’t offer much in return. Feeling the dried blood on her fingertips, she motions to her forehead, flicking a wrist dismissively. “It’s just a scratch, I’m fine.”

“No I- I don’t mean that.” The sleeves of his robe ruffle as he adjusts his grip on his forearms, hesitant yet persistent. “You nearly gave away your position in the cargo bay.”

Aeris doesn’t speak, watching him cautiously.

He sighs. “This isn’t going to work unless we trust each other- I could help. I have experience with medical kits.”

“As do I.” She defends, a bit too harshly. “I tripped on a wire in the cargo bay, rest assured I do not need your help.”

His mouth opens to insist, but the brunette wastes no time in striding away from the conversation, leaving Obi-wan to his own thoughts and shadows as she returns to the equally dim cockpit. She returns faster than she had departed and her eyes instantly fall to Leia who still sat on the same crate, face pinched as she messy’s her braid further. Aeris pauses, eyes flickering between the cockpit door and the girl sat frowning to her right, and just as she decides that the child would be fine and that a nap was a far more pressing issue, a pained and frustrated whine leaves her throat.

“Leia, you okay?” She questions, one brow raising and head tilting lightly, not entirely thrilled to be asking the question in the first place.

The girl startles, head whipping in the woman’s direction, hands gripping the hem of her shirt. Large brown eyes stare back at Aeris and she shrugs as she heads back to the cockpit. “Nevermind.”

“Wait-!” Leia calls, hopping up from the crate as the cockpit door hisses open. Concealing a sigh Aeris turns back, staring down at the girl expectantly. “I- I don’t-” she babbles, taking a step back.

Brown puppy-dog eyes stare back at Aeris’ lighter pair, and a hand comes up to drag down her face as she asks: “There is something wrong, isn’t there?”

“I can’t braid my hair.”

As if that wasn’t obvious from the birds nest that currently sat in a twisted knot at the back of Leia’s head. “You want me to braid your hair?” A breath releases from Aeris’ chest as she waits for the child to get to the route of the problem.

“And I’ve... hurt my shoulder.”

“Right,” Aeris sighs, striding past the girl and sitting on the crate she once sat on. She beckons with a gloved hand. “Come on then, show me.”

Leia tentatively sits next to the older woman, staring at her expectantly.

“Which shoulder?” Slowly, Aeris rests her hands on Leia’s right shoulder, fingers feather-light as she prods around the joint, feeling for irregularities under the flimsy material of her jacket. Leia is rigid, back straight and muscles tense, face screwed in preparation for pain. Aeris notices and begins talking. “And how did you hurt it?”

“Just before you found us with those people in the alleyway.” Leia’s poor braid swings as she talks, nodding to herself. “I jumped off the roof ‘cos these people were shooting at us, and I didn’t trust that Ben would catch me so I grabbed this wire.” She mimics reaching for something with her other hand. “And it’s hurt since. I don’t know what I did.”

Aeris smooths a palm over the fabric of Leia’s shirt, one hand gripping her arm firmly whilst the other delves delicately in the junction between her shoulder and neck. “Good news is it doesn’t feel dislocated, there’s no bruising, and nothing feels ‘wrong’. You’ve probably just strained it a bit.” She hops up from the crate, heading towards the cockpit.

“Stay.” She calls over her shoulder, re-emerging a minute later with a flask and a small pill. She rejoins Leia on the crate, hiding a wince behind a smile as she hands the items over. “I don’t know the fancy name for this medicine but it’s similar to a stim - you��ve heard of them right?” Leia’s vacant look tells her all she needs. “It speeds up healing, and it’ll get rid of the pain. You’ll be back to normal in an hour.”

Leia immediately downs the pill, sipping at the water and watching Aeris over the rim of the flask, obviously wanting to keep talking. Aeris taps a silent rhythm against the crate as she shifts position. She considers leaving, body aching for the nap she had convinced herself she would take, but Leia’s expectant eyes and eager expression has her remaining on the crate, cursing her better nature.

“You jumped off a roof?” She leans back, surprised at how eager Leia’s eyes follow her. “...That’s pretty badass.” A grin overtakes the girls face, and she perks up instantly, pulling her legs up to sit cross-legged. “You weren’t scared or anything?”

“No!” She refutes, shaking her head vigorously. “No, not scared at all. Like you when you jumped from the roof, but I think you looked cooler.”

“Huh, well, that’s very brave. I think I’d be scared if I fell.”

Leia’s grin quickly turns bashful, and she takes another sip as Aeris’ eyes wonder to the mess of hair sticking in all directions from behind her head.

“I can’t be handing you over to the resistance like a scruffy-looking nerf-herder, so can you do your hair now or do I need to do it?”

From bashful to downright embarrassed, Leia shakes her head again eyes lowering. “I don’t know how, can you please?”

“Your mum never taught you?” Aeris asks as she points at the floor before her feet, Leia settling cross-legged between her legs. From the limited knowledge Aeris had about children, Leia looked to be around seven years old, at the very least, wasn’t that a normal age for a young girl to be braiding her own hair?

“Uh,” Leia hesitates, sipping at the water again, somewhat aware of the cover story Obi-wan had been spouting to people and deciding that informing the bounty hunter about having maids to do this wasn’t entirely appropriate. “No, not yet.”

Nimble fingers quickly and carefully un-tie the mess of a braid that Leia had started, calloused fingers carding through brunette locks as the hull hums peacefully. Aeris had to hunch over to reach Leia, the girl not quite tall enough for a comfortable reach, and had to concentrate greatly to avoid grimacing at the tug to her side. The knotted mass of hair offered some distraction, thankfully, and Aeris soon found herself falling into a semi-relaxed rhythm as she began to braid. Her brows furrowed, however, at the memories of braiding a child’s hair a lifetime ago, and she opens her mouth to distract her thoughts.

“How old are you, Leia?”

“I’m ten and a half!” Aeris tries not to think too much about what happened to the galaxy around ten and a half years ago, but she notes the age with suspicion. Obi-wan was uncharacteristically quick to move on from the Jedi ways. “How old are you?” Leia questions, not entirely understanding the inappropriateness of the question.

“How old do you think I am?” The bounty hunter extends her arm, motioning with her fingers for Leia to pass her a bobble. “Be careful with your answer.”

“Twentyyyy-” Leia pauses, dragging her words as Aeris finishes tying off the braid. “two.”

“Ha! I wish.” The brunette scoffs a laugh, Leia flinching at the abruptness of her outburst. “You flatterer. I’m twenty-six.”

Patting Leia on the shoulders to motion her to stand, Aeris leans back on the crate, attempting to stretch out her stiff sides before she stands. “So, do you and your dad have plans for when you get home?”

“I- I don’t know.” Leia mutters. Aeris doesn’t fail to notice the hesitance to her voice or the aversion of her gaze. “I guess Ben will contact my mum as soon as we’re somewhere safe.”

“Hm, yes I’m sure she’ll be worried about you." Aeris tilts her head to the side lazily, trying to catch Leia’s eyes but ultimately giving up. “Don’t worry, you’ll be back with her soon.”

“Back with who soon?” Obi-wan interrupts, slightly panicked, finally returning from his moments of solitude. Leia startles at the intrusion, Aeris rolls her neck uninterested.

“With mum.” Leia sits on another smaller crate, swinging her legs back and forth. “She doesn’t know where we are.” “Ah, yes.” Obi-wan shifts uncomfortably, Aeris paying no mind to his actions as she rolls her shoulders from the time hunched braiding Leia’s hair. “Don’t worry, we’ll be in contact as soon as I can.”

Not intending to stick around for a ‘father’-’daughter’ bonding moment, Aeris springs up from her seat, boots clanging against the metal floor and dragging their attention towards her. “Right, well, now that you’re back- we’ve got around five hours before we get anywhere close to Mapuzo, so I suggest we all get some rest to kill the time and prepare ourselves for landing.” Her gaze flits between the pair, acknowledging them both pointedly. “Force-knows what it’ll be like when we land, the Empire’s increased their troop presence all over this sector, because of course they fucking have. They’ve got nothing better to do than interrupt my plans all the time.” Catching herself in her frustrations she stops. “We’ll just have to be prepared. Can’t be any worse than Daiyu.”

She leans over some meshing, pulling a stack of scraggly moth-eaten blankets out from the shadows and begins handing them around. “I’m going to sleep,” She opts to leave out a smart comment about Obi-wan ruining her schedule with his arrival on Daiyu, deciding things were tense enough between them already. However, she wouldn’t pretend a large part of the reasoning she wanted to sleep was so that she could simply stop having to look at him, as petty as that was: previous beating aside. “the ship’s fine, no one of interest takes this route. Do whatever you want, don’t break anything, and don't touch the console in the cockpit. Good?”

Leia nods, wrapping her moss-coloured blanket over her shoulders after a moments scrutiny. Obi-wan folds his ominously stained cream blanket in his arms, sitting quietly and allowing Leia to plop herself next to him, pulling out her small bug-like toy and beginning to mumble excitedly to him about god-knows what. He watches as Aeris immediately prepares for bed, folding her jacket into a pillow, pulling her maroon blanket over her shoulders, and curling into herself at the corner of the hull closest to the cockpit, back pressed up against the wall. She doesn't remove her blasters from her hips, and barely stirs as soon as her head connects with her jacket.

He sighs, attention focussing on entertaining Leia, lamenting all the decisions that had led him to this moment; a cold dark musty run-down transport vessel, with a child at his hip, a child who’s father was alive and apparently the very man who had brought the galaxy into ruin, who was apparently currently hunting Obi-wan down. That’s not even to mention the dangerous stranger seemingly peacefully asleep in the shadows. He had had a peaceful life not ten days ago, how could it have gone so wrong?

Obi-wan watches the young girl beside him, finally noticing that her unkept locks had been braided back into two delicate dutch braids. He hadn’t even noticed how unkempt she had first looked, but now he realised she looked immensely better and polished, akin more to a princess than a street-urchin.

“You’re hair looks very nice, Leia.” He compliments, attempting to smile warmly at her, eyes crinkling. “I could never hope to tie such a braid.”

“Thank you!” She beams, grinning up at him and running her fingers along one of her braids. “Aeris did it for me.”

“What?” He questions dumbly, jovial mood crashing into the floor, eyes flitting in the sleeping bounty-hunters direction. “She- she did your hair?”

“Yeah.” Leia nods, seemingly unaware of Obi-wan’s absolute shock. “I couldn’t fix my hair so she did it for me-” Obi-wan feels as if his brain is short-circuiting, unable to visualise how on earth that event even happened. Did Leia just wonder up to the woman and politely ask her to braid her hair? And then she simply said yes? Aeris was many things, aggressive, intimidating, dangerous, closed-off and frankly frightening, someone to steer clear of, definitely not someone he could envision who would sit and braid a young child’s hair. His gaze slides back to her sleeping figure, perhaps he had misjudged her, but he struggled to grapple with the mental image none-the-less.

“-said I couldn’t be meeting the resistance looking like, like a ‘scruffy-looking nerf-er’.” Ah, that was more believable.

“Nerf-herder?” Obi-wan offers, sighing when Leia nods, repeating the full phrase back to him. How classy.

“Don’t go repeating that, Leia, your parents will kill me if they hear that coming from you.”

“Is it really that bad?” She sasses, Obi-wan rubbing between his eyes tiredly.

“Had you ever heard that phrase before today?” She stares at him silently. “Exactly, there’s a reason. Young girls shouldn’t be saying stuff like that, it’s unbecoming.”

Leia nods along, but Obi-wan has a feeling the insult will stick with her for a while. Children always picked up the worst things. He remembered swearing in front of a youngling once, and before he knew it the entire cohort had a new word in their vocabulary.

“Is there anything else our travelling companion taught you today?” He questions, half in jest, half concerned.

“Uhh,” Leia genuinely considers, brows furrowing. Obi-wan regrets ever asking. “a tim? A stim?” She drags out the ‘s’, unsure.

Obi-wan’s head turns fully to regard her. “Why in force was she teaching you about stims?”

“She gave me ‘something like a stim’ for my shoulder.” She uses air-quotations, completely unaware of the panic striking Obi-wan’s heart and the cold sweat immediately breaking out across his back.

“Leia,” His voice is tight, and it takes all of his restraint not to go barrelling to the other side of the room and rouse Aeris from her slumber. “what do you mean she gave you something? She gave you medicine? And you took it?”

“I hurt my shoulder when I fell earlier and she gave me something to fix it. It feels great.” She smiles again, the apples of her cheeks rosy. Obi-wan’s eyes only furrow in concern, gaze flicking around her face for signs of illness.

“What did she give you? Leia, this is important, what did she give you?” His tone raises in urgency, whispering harshly to not awaken Aeris at the other side of the room.

“I don’t know.” She mumbles quietly, feeling the pressure of his gaze. “It was a pill...”

“A pill.” A hand covers Obi-wan’s mouth, running through all types of medical knowledge that remained in his mind from his training. A pill? That could be anything. She could’ve given her Latheniol or force-knows what.

“Force. You feel alright though?” He places a hand against her forehead that she quickly swats away. Delving into the force, he narrows his light presence towards Leia’s heart, ignoring his own hammering chest to listen to the exceptionally-normal heartbeat next to him. “Oh my- don’t take medicine from strangers. Did no one ever teach you that? Don’t take anything from strangers.”

“You’re a stranger.” Leia defends, crossing her arms and pouting.

“I’m different. Your family knows me. No-one knows her.”

“...Sorry.”

“Just-” He sighs, a hand pulling down his face and rubbing at his beard. “next time you hurt something, need something, anything. Tell me first, okay?” He regards her with a final once-over, leaning back against the wall and staring at the ceiling to compose himself. “But you’re feeling alright? No side-effects since the medicine?”

“No, no. I feel better than before. Pinky-promise.” An extended pinky-finger comes into his view, wafting around jokingly. Not having the energy to attempt to reason with her any further, and not wanting to worry her too much, he extends his own pinky, letting her pull his hand into her lap and begin playing with it as she resumes her chatter from before. Force, the child needed some self-preservation lessons.

---

Once Leia’s chattering died down, the hull fell into a peaceful silence with nothing but the struggling hum of the engine indicating any movement at all. Obi-wan had managed to sleep for a little while, waking two hours later with a stiff neck and Leia sprawled across his lap, using his robes as a pillow. She had shifted since, and now hugged his cream-coloured blanket close to her chest. He had enjoyed the silence, allowing his mind to wander, but not too far, and his eyes had finally adjusted to the dim quarters he found himself in.

The first sign of Aeris waking up had been her mumbling. Her words were so soft he couldn’t fully understand them, and he doubted they made much sense anyway. He wasn’t even entirely sure she was speaking English, the words were so jumbled and aborted. Then came her constant shifting around, evidently not wanting to wake up yet and make the most out of the few hours of quiet they had. He had noted the way the woman shifted delicately, and once or twice had quickly altered positions with a quick intake of breath. She had obviously done some damage to something at the cargo port earlier, probably when she fell down all those stairs, but he had already offered to help, what was he to do if she refused him? He continues watching silently, her suddenly-growing frustration at being awake reminding him of a certain someone he had tried his best not to think about.

Regardless of her efforts, admitting defeat, she quietly sat herself upright, back pressed against the wall behind her, blanket pulled over her shoulders and hair an unruly mess atop her head. Her eyes immediately snap towards him, and Obi-wan cannot help but feel as though he has been caught doing something he shouldn’t have despite just sitting idly, averting his gaze to land back on Leia’s sleeping form.

Peaceful silence turns into something a little tenser, though Obi-wan isn’t sure if he is just imagining it.

“’morn’n’.” An unfamiliar accent slips through as her hands drag through her hair and rub at her eyes, fingers tapping against a rudimentary communicator on her wrist, illuminating her face in a sickly orange. “We’ve got an hour and a half before we make land.”

Obi-wan hums quietly, nodding his head once.

“Sleep well?”

“Hmph,” Her shoulders raise in a mocking laugh. “Could do with another ten hours, but oh well.” She stands, slowly, stretching her arms even slower above her head. Obi-wan can see her hide a wince, even in the dim lighting. “Did you sleep at all?” She questions, sounding as if she heavily suspected otherwise.

“Yes, I awoke about an hour ago. I didn’t move because I didn’t want to disturb Leia.” The girl still had a firm hand wrapped around the edge of his robes, despite him offering his blanket as a sacrifice instead.

He watches Aeris’ eyes turn down to the young girl, eyes catching the little light from the overhead bulbs and shining unnaturally. “From what she told me, she deserves the rest.”

A moments silence.

“Thank you for braiding her hair.”

Aeris’ eyes slowly lift to him, waiting suspectingly.

“She told me you braided it, I think it made her afternoon.” He truly meant that, having been thoroughly surprised when Leia had informed him after he had complimented the braid pattern. He couldn’t imagine how the conversation leading up to that had gone, a, by all means, terrifying bounty hunter sat delicately braiding a young girls hair. Truthfully, it had eased some of his doubts about the woman sleeping with two blasters across the room, and had been one of the reasons he had allowed himself to sleep - who would bother braiding a child’s hair just to kill them the next hour?

“She’s quite a character.” Aeris hums, hands buried into her trouser pockets as she slowly heads towards the cockpit, walking closer to the pair to reach the door. Obi-wan watches the movement carefully, finally noticing the smattering of bruises on each of Aeris’ toned arms now that her jacket had been discarded and she had wondered closer. The hues of purple and blue were far too developed to have been from earlier that day, and he regards her with concerned interest - despite her apparent humanity, he could not forget her profession, nor how she had so easily found them.

“How old is she?” The question was innocent enough, but alarms immediately start blaring in Obi-wan’s head, eyes snapping up to Aeris’, fingers digging into his forearms beneath his robes. If he said her true age, she would know she was born the same year the Jedi Republic fell, and if he really wanted to ruin things, he could go a step further and say it was the exact date everything fell apart. No, Leia was ‘his’ child, and it would have to allow at least nine months after his exile, but that was equally as suspicious. Obi-wan knew what he looked like, and a heart-throb rebel who would have a one-night stand during the destruction of the galaxy was most definitely not his image.

Not to mention, Leia might have already let-slip her age, and with how she liked to chatter he wouldn’t have entirely been surprised. Of course, he could simply refuse to tell Aeris, or change the topic, but she was already suspicious enough about them, he could sacrifice this bit of harmless ‘information’. Deciding revealing her true age would do far more damage than being caught lying about it, already coming up with a counter-lie, he settles on a random number. “Eight.” He decides, deeming it close enough. Leia looked young for her age anyway. “Why?”

He was truly not enjoying the amount of lying he had had to do lately, particularly to a woman who looked like she always seemed to know what was exactly going on in his head.

“No particular reason,” She shrugs, rocking backward on her heels and resuming her trek towards the cockpit. “she’s just so well spoken, but couldn’t braid her hair.” She stares more pointedly at Leia’s hunched figure. “Not to mention she’s as tiny as a loth-cat. I couldn't wrap my head around how old she was.”

As Aeris disappears into the cockpit once again, Obi-wan sighs, head resting against the cool metal of the ship. Every conversation with Aeris felt like a miniature battlefield, and for once, he felt as though he had come away unscathed.

---

On the other side of the cockpit door, Aeris shakes her head with a cocky grin. Idiots, absolute idiots. The information of Leia’s age would be of no use whatsoever, but its reasoning had peaked her interest. Leia was 10, born the same year the galaxy fell to shit, and Obi-wan had purposefully lied about this. That could mean two things; Leia was not his daughter, which Aeris was so confident about she’d wager her ship on it, or that Leia’s age held some sort of significance, either to who she actually was, or someone connected to her. All could be true for all Aeris knew. She knew three things, stood in the small cockpit of the transport shuttle: Leia was ten and a half years old, Obi-wan Kenobi was not her father, and he did not want her to know that. Additionally, Darth Vader was chasing after him, but she couldn’t wrap her head around the relevance of those separate factors. For a moment, falling into the pilots seat, she fantasised about Obi-wan going on some wild goose-chase and kidnapping Darth Vader’s daughter, or perhaps some other high-ranking Empire officer, but that was pure fantasy. Leia spoke far too well and was far too kind to be related to any officer Aeris had ever had the misfortune of meeting, so who were her relations? More pressingly, why was she in the care of Obi-wan? And why was Vader so interesting in the retired Jedi?

She pauses for a minute, sinking lower into her chair. Force knows what goddamn Anakin Skywalker had to do with any of this. This was either the worst bout of unfortunate timing anyone in the galaxy had ever experienced for Obi-wan, or there was some connection here she didn’t have all the facts to realise. She rubs her eyes with her right hand, frowning as she attempts to rationalise the jumbled mess inside her head. She did not like this, she usually knew exactly what was happening with those around her, and yet Obi-wan had fallen into her lap with a great big question mark plastered across him. She usually revelled in these sorts of challenges, piecing information together like a puzzle before her very eyes, but with Obi-wan and the kind of ghosts he would carry, to not know the full picture was dangerous, and the gravity of that reality only grew the more information slipped through the cracks.

There was one thing she knew for certain; the sooner Obi-wan and the girl were out of her hands, the better.

When she returned to her ship she’d find a way to access birth files from 10 years ago, just to satiate her curiosity. Now, however, she turns to the primitive and battered console in front of her, frown deepening as she attempts to assess the situation. The console before her was ancient, and that was a generous assessment of its capabilities, with nothing but a grainy navigation monitor with a dim blinking dot that jittered around the screen giving any indication their own ship even existed. Concluding the technical side of things were hopeless for ensuring their security, she stares pointedly out of the viewport in front of her, pressing her face as close to the glass as possible to see to her right and left. She saw nothing but an endless expanse of nothingness, with far off stars glimmering past rather sluggishly - this ship did not seem to move at light speed, more like a poor sputtering attempt at just reaching its destination within the day. Nothing seemed to be trailing the ship, at least nothing she could see from this incredibly limited viewing point. Taking solace in the fact there was only one blinking dot on the grainy monitor, she rests back in her seat, chewing on the inside of her lip.

Truthfully, she felt exhausted, but the steel floor seemed to have an uncanny ability at making her aware of all of the aches and pains that ailed her. Not to mention, Obi-wan’s presence had brought many memories she had tried to forget to the forefront of her mind; screams, blaster-fire and the dreadful sounds of lightsabers plaguing her night-terrors. It took an immense amount of restraint not to awake screaming and swinging her fists, and even more still to curb her temper when she had seen Obi-wan just sat idly, watching without a care in the world. There was a reason she stayed away from Jedi, aside from their near extinction, and with every passing hour she regretted her proximity to one more fiercely.

She glances down at her communicator. She had an hour to kill, and desperately wanted to just sleep the time away, but it was just too unbearable on that floor. She hadn’t had a good nights restful sleep in a full week, her last period of prolonged sleep being drug-induced, and now she couldn’t even close her eyes without her worst memories playing out behind her eyelids. She kicks her feet up on the console, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. She would take her chances in the chair.

---

After 10 minutes of fitfully trying to sleep in the cockpit, Aeris returned to the main hull, barely sparing Obi-wan a glance as she resumed her position on the floor, opting instead to wear her jacket and use her blanket as a poor attempt at a mattress. She had been asleep for around 15 minutes, and Obi-wan had resumed his meditation, when the ship rocked wildly to the side and alarms started blaring.

Aeris springs up immediately, cursing loudly and creatively as she sprints towards the cockpit.

“What the-!” Obi-wan yells over the sirens, hanging onto a startled Leia with one arm and the netting behind him with the other to stop them hurtling to the other side of the hull as Aeris trips unceremoniously through the doorway to the cockpit as another blast rocks the ship.

Aeris hurtles through the doorway and slams into the centre console, cursing louder at the amount of red sensors blaring at her. The console was going mad, red and flickering with random buttons flashing at her angrily, and the shrill shrieking of the safety alarm splicing through her brain didn’t help the panic she was trying to control. Three dots on the navigation screen flicker wildly, one green, two red; just out of view of the viewport. She slams a hand down on the communications radio, waiting the few agonising seconds it took to connect to nearby frequencies and nearly hurtling back out through the cockpit doors as the ship jolts again.

“This is the commander of transport vessel, call-sign Percheron, requesting communication and demanding ceasefire.”

The radio blusters angrily back at her and she repeats the sentence again, yelling over the emergency safety systems, hands gripping at the console to steady herself as Obi-wan appears in the doorway behind her.

“Percheron,” A horribly disfigured voice crackles through the radio. Aeris notices the familiar Empirical accent immediately and curses under her breath. Alarms blare and the console still screams furiously, but the ship finally stops its’ rocking. “you are in quadrant 15, sector 3. We demand reason of presence.”

“Transport vessel Percheron is delivering equal amounts of salt and ferro-crete, amounting a total of 30 tonnes to planet Mapuso, in assistance of mining shortages. Course for landing: Western Ship-port.” Aeris’ voice is tense, knuckles turning white with her grip on the console, drawing back on all her knowledge on current quadrant-related affairs to bluff her way through this interaction, snarky confidence carrying her through. “Requesting reasoning for our unannounced attack?”

“Non-compliance of questionin---.” Splutters back, the radio crackling and fading. She smacks it harshly with her fist, turning to glare at Obi-wan as soon as he tries to advise against doing that.

“Apologies.” She grits out through clenched teeth, finally beginning to regain her breath from her panicked awakening. “I was re-securing goods at the back of the hull.”

“Transport vessel Perch-- has no identification --umber on --systems. No --- shipment to Ma---- ---- -----er.”

“Fuck.” She breathes, smacking the communicator once again. Her hands begin flying over the console, readying the ship to hurtle full-throttle away from the two presumably (from her own experiences) delta-class T-shuttles.

“Percheron requesting repeat. Line is faulty.”

She beckons Obi-wan with a free hand, as the same message crackles through the radio. “Secure Leia, and hang on to something, tie yourself into the fucking netting if you have to.”

“There must be a way to-”

“They’ve hit us four times already. You want to take that chance?” She motions him away harshly, and his hurried footsteps soon follow.

“Percheron delivering emergency shipment. Identification number KS-4291.” She lies plainly through her teeth, buying time more than anything else as throws her backpack off of the pilots chair, sitting stiffly, one hand clenched around the throttle and the other continuing to fly across the console, attempting to quieten the blasting sirens and lights that still blared. There was no seatbelt, she realises with a huff, fantastic.

“Fuck this.” She mutters to herself, palms slick with sweat and heart jack-hammering out of her chest as the radio crackles. She was in a fucking transport vessel, and a shit one at that. They were going to die.

“Insufficient ----. --- traced to --- Daiy---.”

“Percheron willing to re-route until permission granted.” She hurries out, beginning to feed the engines, free hand now coming to rest on the steering-control.

“Negative. ----- insufficient. ---.” The radio completely fails, and she immediately turns it off. Even though the entire communication hadn’t come through, the message was clear: they would not be allowed to leave the quadrant. A blast permeates the sirens of the ship as she forces the ship forward, ignoring its wild rocking or the sounds of shrieking metal, forcing the throttle and sending the ship hurtling past the two T-shuttles, jolting in her chair as the ship finally picks up speed.

Sirens fall upon deaf ears as Aeris yanks at the steering, weaving between debris and dodging blasts from the two trailing fighters. She forces the ship down, its mechanics groaning in protest as she quickly yanks the steering upright, flipping sideways and speeding towards the closest planet - a sad brown looking thing. She had no weapons, no come-back for the two shuttle’s on her tail, the best thing she could do was hide. Her panic spikes through the roof as the planet approaches, every muscle and fibre tense and a sinking feeling lengthening the pit in her stomach. How was she to win with no weapons?

“What’s going on?” Obi-wan tumbles through the doorway as Aeris changes direction again, nearly falling from her seat as the ship is forced parallel. Four bolts fly past her viewport, crackling wildly.

“Fucking, sit down!” She yells, swerving again and bracing for breaking the planet’s atmosphere. Obi-wan’s hands land on either side of her headrest, nearly thrown over the top of the chair as they enter the planet’s atmosphere.

“There’s no co-pilot seat!” He argues, as if that meant anything to her at the moment.

“No shit, it’s a transport vessel. Not a fighter!” She curses loudly, pushing the throttle further as a bolt clips the side of the ship, spinning them away from two other blast. She could barely hear herself over her own heart, and the constant frantic cursing in her own mind. “No defences, no shields, no weapons, no co-pilot!”

She glares at the approaching planet, forcing the ship as fast as its tired engines would allow. She doesn’t have time to think of her morality as she readies the ship for a suicide mission, teeth sunken into her cheek and brows furrowed harshly as she sits up straight in her chair, feet braced against the floor to keep her steady and legs tense and aching with anticipation.

“What can I do?” Obi-wan calls, crouching next to her seat and hanging onto an armrest. It is only then that he realises with horror that they are in a steep nose-dive, heading straight towards the rapidly approaching trees before them, his eyes widen, panic stricken and convinced he was watching his own death fast-approach. He offers uselessly: “What’re you doing? We need to lose them.”

“Oh, really?!” She snarks, falling silent as she plummets into the tree-line, ship parallel to weave between the biggest and most damaging fauna. The ship groans dangerously as she plummets the throttle, engines working desperately to decrease their speed. Quadrant 15 had one advantage of being chased in; most planets cultivated massive fauna which a skilled enough pilot could slip between, less skilled pilots would struggle to keep up.

“Pull up! We’ll crash!” Obi-wan yells, watching in horror as trees with trunks the width of a landspeeder blur past.

More red bolts fly past their vision, careening trees into their path. Aeris curses, having hoped the other pilots would have been too scared to follow, using both hands to grapple the steering-control to force the ship into a steep right-turn to avoid a falling charred tree. The controls were all backwards now that she had forced the ship onto its left side; right was up, up was left and left was a death sentence down into the planet just 10 feet below. She wracks her brain uselessly, eyes flickering about the viewport incessantly, steering between trees with barely a hairs-breadth to spare. She turns left and left again, doing anything possible to throw the shuttle’s off her scent, but they always reappeared with a crash through the brush and red bolts sizzling past her viewport.

“Are you planning to kill us?” Obi-wan calls again, a hand hovering over her shoulder, but not daring to shake her from her concentration. “This isn’t flying, this is suicide.”

Their transport vessel was sluggish and chunky, built for slow drawling missions rather than high-speed chases, and it was only because of the miracle of the forrest and her reckless flying that had managed to slow the T-shuttles down enough to allow them to survive so long. Whilever she routed a path between the foliage, the T-shuttles would stay on their tail, pilots skilled enough to follow but not to lead. But leaving the safety of the trees had its own risks. She needed to force the pilots to think for themselves, and that meant getting out of these trees before they could realise what had happened.

“I’m going to do something mad.” She states tensely, sounding far too confident despite the prayer she was reciting in her head. One hand falls back onto the throttle, the other gripping the steering so hard it looked painful. She had to force enough speed to not only turn right (go up), but to completely flip the ship on its axis to remain out of harms way.

“Isn’t this already mad?!” Obi-wan calls, taking the hint and scrambling backwards, winding his wrists in a bit of netting at the right-wall of the cockpit.

Without warning, Aeris forces the throttle down again, maxing the engines and causing the ship to roar angrily. She slams back into her chair, both hands wrenching the steering as far to the right as it would allow, spinning the ship up and out of the foliage, completely flipped upside down, with the trees now scraping the ceiling beneath her head. She doesn’t breath, allowing the ship to travel upside down for a moment, mind whirling and eyes struggling to understand the upside-down image of the world through the viewport, the sky below and the trees above her. If she could hear a thing, she would have noticed Leia’s screaming, or Obi-wan’s calls of ‘madness’, but the sound of blood pumping through her ears and her own frazzled mind drowned out all other senses. She spins the ship again with white knuckles and an aching jaw, forcing it back to its correct axis, and watching dizzyingly as the sky returns to its place above her head, the trees now clipping the bottom of the ship. An explosion ricochets behind her, a pilot already slamming head-first into a tree now that they couldn’t follow her path, and she grins whole-heartedly: it had worked, they weren’t dead.

Not a humble woman; that was some fucking good flying.

“Ha!” She shouts joyfully, the amount of adrenaline coursing through her veins making her feel sick. She raises the ship higher, clear of the forrest below and cruising at a less dangerous height, she ignored the wailing of the controls, pushed and damaged beyond repair; they were alive, that’s all that mattered. Obi-wan, pale-faced and slightly green-looking, unropes his wrist from the netting, a red streak left behind as he approaches the pilot’s chair, breathing deeply.

“That was-” Words fail him. He couldn’t believe he was alive, and he wasn’t even sure he fully understood just how the ship had flipped so suddenly in such a way, an old transport shuttle no less. Aeris didn’t seem to notice his panic, utterly elated she had succeeded in such a feat. “That was some horrendous flying.”

“You’re welcome.”

Realising he had left Leia strapped down in the hull, Obi-wan turns hurriedly, calling her name. He only makes it to the door by the time the second T-shuttle emerges from the foliage below them, blasters pointed straight at the engines of the transporter. Aeris immediately tries to guide the ship out of the shuttle’s way, eyes wide and all muscles in her body tense, but the engines are damaged and slow. The ship begins to turn, fruitlessly, and Obi-wan only makes it one step into the main hull when two bolts make contact with the engine.

A fierce explosion rocks the ship, and it immediately plummets, sirens wailing and Leia screaming as Aeris desperately attempts to pull the steering up, deadening the engines to slow their rapid decent. The last thing Aeris sees is the tree-line whipping past, branches smacking against the shattered viewport, and the ground coming up to meet her in a mocking crescendo.

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thesingingrevolution · 2 years ago

Text

Dark Moon: The Blood Altar Theory Based on the “Fever” Music Video

Part II

Now, I want to discuss why Sunghoon was the choice for the hypnosis scene, as well as why I believe he is the one to dance with Ni-ki. Their dance almost looks like a confrontation of sorts.

There’s a back and forth, which may also signify Ni-ki’s ethical dilemma (dilemma… hmmmm). Sunghoon’s character is one of the most interesting, because he has a secret. He isn’t just a vampire, he is also part wolf. He doesn’t seem to know how or why, which leads me to conclude it’s something which happened in the past timeline (before Day One). Another theory I found interesting regarding Sunghoon is that he may be a demigod of sorts, like a descendant or relative of the wolf god Vargyr. This would explain how he can have the werewolf powers. However, I also believe Sunghoon has the most powerful ability of them all, which is to steal/borrow/use the abilities of his brothers. We first see him using Jake’s fire powers in the Given-Taken music video.

This happens once again in the Japanese version of the Tamed-Dashed music video.

Moreover, in the One in a Billion music video, we see Sunghoon catch the ball Sooha, who has super strength, throws, without any serious impact, therefore utilizing Jay’s super strength ability.

Additionally, it appears Jungwon might be able to do this as well, or, he has the same ability as Heeseung. Jungwon (Jakah) is shown using telepathic communication both in the cute cuttoon:

As well as during the fight scene after the birthday party, Jakah (Jungwon) uses telepathy to talk to Heli (Heeseung), and that particular conversation is not initiated by Heli.

From the cuttoons, we also find out that if the telepathic powers are used excessively, it causes a nosebleed. Jungwon experiences an unexplained nosebleed in Given-Taken.

But this is not pertinent at the moment.

Part I | Part III | Part IV | Part V

#enhypen #enhypen theory #dark moon #dark moon the blood altar #dark moon theory #theory #webtoon #heeseung #jay #jake #sunghoon #sunoo #jungwon #ni-ki #sooha #kpop

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mikasimaginairyworld · 2 years ago

Text

The Umbrella Academy: Firecracker - A Light Supper (16/30)

The Umbrella Academy Masterlist

warnings: substances (alcohol)

word count: 3624

"You've got a good nose.", Five admitted to the Handler pressing harder on Lila's throat. "You know planting her in a psychward, taking advantage of my simpleton brother, that was smart."

"Well, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.", the Handler took a hit from her cigarette and looked at Lila affectionately.

"She's your...", Five began.

"Daughter. Yes. And she's my only one, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't crush her windpipe.", the Handler said and Fie released Lila.

Lila stood up and approached Five. "I am so going to enjoy killing you one day.", she whispered.

"Get in line, bitch.", Nailah said having heard enough. She emerged from her hiding spot with her hands on fire and a determined look on her face.

"Oh. And who are you?", the Handler asked surprised.

"Nailah fucking Hargreeves.", Nailah answered.

The Handler turned towards Five who just stood there with an amused and still slightly annoyed expression.

"Is she your girlfriend or something?", The Handler asked.

"She is my sister. And she can speak for herself.", Five answered.

"Well she certainly has some fire in her, doesn't she. Can you tell her to calm down?", the Handler chirped.

"It's fine, Firecracker. I've got this.", Five smiled at her. Nailah raised her eyebrows at the nickname but didn't comment on it and just let the fire burn out. She leaned on the table and crossed her arms, her wild hair falling over her shoulder.

"Lila, darling, would you give us a minute, please?", the Handler asked.

"Yes, the grown-ups need to talk.", Five agreed with a viscous smile towards the Handler.

"What about her?", the Handler pointed at Nailah who just followed Lila with a warning gaze.

"Nailah stays.", Five simply stated.

"What is it you want?", Five asked.

"Do you like jazz, Five?", the Handler started.

"I'd rather lick a cheese grater."

"Aww. Jazz is like a beautiful woman. Complex, emotional, hard to please. She doesn't just give it to you... she makes you work for it.", the Handler shimmied seductively.

Nailah looked at her in disgust.

"I'm really hoping you're going somewhere with this.", Five interrupted.

"Under my leadership the commission would sound more like... jazz.", the Handler revealed and started humming a jazz song.

"What about the board of directors?", Five asked.

"Well, that's were you come in.", the Handler booped Five's nose and Nailah let out a disgusted groan.

"Nope. No, it isn't.", Five shrugged.

"In exchange for the assassination of the board, I'm willing to get you and your family out of this timeline and back to 2019 where you belong.", The Handler proposed.

"What about World War III that's due to kick off in just a few days?", Nailah asked.

"Once you and your siblings are gone that goes away."

"And the apocalypse when we get back to 2019?", Five asked.

"That too."

"I distinctly remember you telling me the apocalypse had to happen, that it was supposed to happen.", Five threw in.

"Back then I was towing the company line but once I'm in charge...we can riff.", The Handler began dancing behind Five and Nailah looked away.

"Jazz.", Five whispered.

"Exactly."

Five paced for a bit. Nailah crooked her head trying to catch his gaze but he evaded her eyes.

"What about the board of directors? I mean nobody knows who they are.", Five said.

"Correct. But once every fiscal quarter they get together for a board meeting."

"Where?", Five asked.

"The question is when. They meet somewhere in the timeline but never in the same place twice. The exact location and date of these meetings is the most closely guarded secret of the commission.", the Handler explained.

"But you know when it's gonna be. Otherwise we wouldn't be he, would we?", Nailah asked.

The Handler smiled: "She's smart, I like her. Would I be any good at what I do if I didn't have it?"

Five realised the opportunity and finally looked at Nailah. Nailah crooked her head and raised her eyebrows in a warning manner. Five looked back at the Handler:"We need some time to think about it."

"We? This is a one-man job.", The Handler chuckled dryly.

Five smiled at her sarcastically: "Yes. We. It's me and Nailah or you can forget it."

"Fine. But remember doomsday's right around the corner and the way things are going... I'm your only option."

"Not yet you aren't.", Five scoffed and walked away.

"You coming, Nai?", he asked after a few steps.

Nailah who was still leaning on the table slowly shifter her weight on her feet and and slowly walked past the Handler. never breaking her stare. In the last moment she send a small spark to her coat and burned a pretty big hole. The Handler shrieked highly and jumped up but before the fire could do any real damage it was gone. The only thing the Handler heard was Nailah's dark chuckle and Five's proud smile as he followed her.

TO MY PURSUERS:

I, REGINALD HARGREEVES, REQUEST THE PLEASURE OF YOUR COMPANY FOR A LIGHT SUPPER ON THE 20TH OF NOVEMBER, 1963, AT HALF PAST SEVEN O'CLOCK.

- 1624, MAGNOLIA STREET -

DALLAS, TEXAS

The note that Diego and Luther had been given was being passed around between the brothers.

"Diego, this is a setup.", Luther warned.

"Maybe but we should go anyways.", Diego insisted bottoming up an organ shirt.

"Says the guy who's already been stabbed once this week.", Luther commented.

"Oh, don't worry. Me and him are gonna have words.", Diego promised.

"Would you tell him that he's nuts?", Luther sighed at Vanya.

Vanya shrugged: "I think we should go."

"See?", Diego grinned victoriously.

"Vanya, of all people, you should hate dad the most.", Luther assured stuffing his mouth full with the remaining jello.

"Come on. Can he really be that bad?", Vanya asked.

Luther chuckled darkly: "Okay, well, let's see. He isolated you from the rest of the family. Kept you hopped up on pills. And brainwashed you into thinking you had no powers."

"Jesus.", Vanya exclaimed. "I mean. I have to meet him."

Diego laughed.

"You already know how this is gonna go. Dad is gonna play his little mind games on us, get into our heads and he's gonna turn us all against each other. You just watch.", Luther threw an accusing look at Diego. "And I like you a lot better when you were less like Five and Nailah."

"Luther, we're not 12 anymore.", Diego tried persuading his brother. "Alright? We're grown-ass men. And women. Hey. We can handle him. Wanna know what's different this time?"

"What's that?", Luther grumbled not convinced.

"You got me. We go in there as a united front. No more Number One, Number Two bullshit. From now on it's... Team Zero.", Diego announced.

"Team Zero?", Luther scoffed.

"Team Zero.", Diego confirmed. "All the way." Diego extended his wrists waiting for a fist bump. From the confused reaction of his siblings he quickly retracted them.

"You're not seriously considering doing that, are you?", Nailah asked Five as soon as they left the old paintshop.

"I actually am, believe you me."

"Five, have you even considered what would happen if this women got in power at the commission?", Nailah tried to reason again.

"Look, Firecracker, I know you think you're smart and you probably are but I've got experience, okay? And from my experience it's better to make a deal with her than have her chase you for the rest of your miserable existence. Especially if we are the cause for an apocalypse."

"Then why didn't you just agree?"

"Because I need you to help me.", Five admitted.

"Me?", Nailah asked with a smile.

Five rolled his eyes: "I know you love seeing me like this, but yeah. I need you. You're good, you keep me sane and you're a great fighter. So I need you to either agree with me or talk me out of it. And I kinda trust your judgement on that one."

Nailah grinned at him even wider: "Did you just give me a compliment?"

Five groaned: "Don't get used to it. So what's it gonna be, Firecracker?"

"Can I think about it?"

"Sure, just don't take too long or we're all gonna die."

Back at Elliott's Five and Nailah had found the not from their dad. They decided to use it as an opportunity to clear their heads. At Magnolia street they entered the immense building and went straight towards the elevator. Right before the doors closed Diego's hand stopped them.

"Wait up.", Diego said as he, Luther and Vanya squeezed into the elevator.

Klaus and Allison also swiftly arrived and all the Hargreeves siblings were soon crammed into the tiny elevator.

"Good, we're all here.", Five tried to sound bored but Nailah detected the hint of content in his voice and as she looked up she saw a hint of a smile curl his lips. Five caught her gaze and his smile grew into an actual grin making Nailah smile as well.

Riding up the elevator suddenly a nasty smell spread making everyone bury their faces in their clothes.

"Sorry, I'm nervous.", Luther apologised.

"Jesus, Primo! I'm pretty sure that's what causes the apocalypse.", Nailah choked out.

As soon as they hit their level everyone ran out trying to catch a whiff of fresh air. The level was decorated in the style of a tropical tiki bar. The only thing out of place were the siblings and the barman in the tuxedo.

"Alright, when dad gets here, I'll do the talking, okay?", Five announced.

"Yeah, well, I've got a few questions for him myself.", Diego said.

"Hey, we don't wanna scare him off. He might be able to help us stop doomsday, help us get home.", Five warned.

"No, we need to figure out why he's planning. to kill the president."

"For the love of God, will you just stop with the president?", Nailah sighed falling downing a chair next to Five. "This is a matter of life and death, you moron. When we have answers you can ask all the questions you want."

"How about we take turns talking? Here, whoever has this conch shell gets to talk.", Vanya. proposed holding up a huge shell.

"It's like I'm in kindergarten all over again.", Nailah mumbled taking the drink Klaus has ordered for her.

"Maybe I should lead. We all know. I'm the best public speaker out of all of you.", Allison took the shell.

"Okay daddy's girl.", Diego scoffed.

"Oh. Jealous, Number Two?"

"Hey, no more numbers. No more bullshit. We're Team Zero.", Diego shouted.

"Team Zero? God what are you, twelve?", Nailah scoffed.

"Diego, you didn't hold the conch.", Luther reminded him and Nailah snickered. Diego just grabbed the shell and threw it behind him.

"Classic.", Allison scoffed.

A door opened and Reginald Hargreeves in his full glory entered the tiki bar with a red notebook in his hand. He swiftly found his place at the end of the table. A cold sweat formed on Nailah's back and she held the chair so tight her knuckled turned white.

"Not only have you burglarised my lab, set my chimp loose, conned your way into the Mexican consulate, repeatedly stalked and attacked me, but you have, on numerous occasions called me dad. My reconnaissance tells me you're not CIA, not KGB, certainly not MI5, so. Who are you?", Reginald asked without any further introduction.

Nailah took a deep breath, trying not to tremble. She reminds herself that this wasn't the same man she knew.

"We're your children.", Fie answered. "From the future. In 1989 you adopted us all and trained us to fight against the end of the world. Called us the Umbrella Academy."

"Why on earth would I adopt seven-"

"Eight.", Allison interrupted him. "One of us isn't here."

"Dead. One of us is dead.", Diego added.

"Yeah, babababababa! Enough of that now.", Klaus exclaimed looking behind him. Nailah ruffled her eyebrows looking at Klaus supisciously.

"Regardless, what would possess me to adopt eight ill-mannered malcontents?", Reginald asked after throwing Klaus a weird look.

"We all have special abilities.", Five announced. Reginald's eyebrows shot up.

"Special? In what sense?"

"In the superpower sense.", Luther added.

"Call me old fashioned but I'm a stickler for a pesky little thing called evidence. Show me.", Reginald smiled at him.

Allison took a deep sip of her drink: "Everybody wants to see powers all of a sudden."

Diego threw a knife which changed its course in the middle of the table. It flew next to Reginald's head and buried itself on the right of Diego. Reginald began scribbling something in his notebook.

"What are you writing?", Diego asked.

"You are a zero for two, young man."

Diego angrily rose from his chair, ready to attack Reginald but Five blitzed away and held him back at the last minute.

"Now that is interesting.", Reginald commented.

"Alright. Quick rundown. Luther: super strength. Klaus can commune with the dead. Allison can rumour anyone to do anything.", Five sat back down.

"Except she never uses it.", Diego commented.

Allison scoffed: "I heard a rumour you punched yourself in the face." Immediately Diego did as he was told and groaned in pain. Five realised he had been waiting for Nailah's snicker and when he didn't hear it his eyes darted towards her. She spotted her white knuckles and fixed eyes on Reginald.

"And you?", Reginald asked Vanya.

"Maybe we don't take Vanya for a test run.", Luther said placing a comforting hand on Vanya's.

"It's fine. I can handle it.", she said picking up a fork.

"Handle it? last time you handled it you definitely blew up the moon.", Allison warned but Vanya didn't listen. She hit her cup lightly and used the sound waves to let the fruits in the middle of the table explode. Fruit pieces flew around the room uncontrollably.

"Oops.", Vanya said awkwardly and Luther. gave her a relieved and encouraging smile.

"Well, that certainly was something. And how about you?", Reginald turned to Nailah.

Five felt a slight shudder move her body and held himself back from placing his hand on her neck. He saw the slightly deeper breath before she leaned back and released the handles of her chair.

"I manipulate fire.", she answered dryly and let her nails catch fire. She let a small flame dance on her palm and send it to Reginald. It was clear that he wasn't comfortable with it so close to him. He twitched around in his seat evading the flame. Nailah's burning eyes were fixated on it as she let the fire dance closer and closer to Reginald's skin. Five discreetly put a hand on Nailah's knee, ripping her back to reality. She summoned the flame back into her skin.

Reginald sighed in relief: "That was impressive."

Diego stood up, clearly done with waiting: "Look, we know you're involved in a plot to assassinate the president."

"You were recently hospitalised, isn't that correct?", Reginald asked unimpressed. "You still appear to be suffering from delusions of grandeur and acute paranoia."

"Am I?", Diego scoffed. "Explain this.", He pulled our the picture of Reginald from the assassination day. "That's you. That's two days from now on the grassy knoll, the exact spot the president is gonna get shot."

"Well, I suppose you've solved it. You've single-handedly unearthed my nefarious plot. Is that what you want to hear? You fancy yourself a do-gooder? The last good man who will save us from our descent into corruption and conspiracy? This is a fantastic delusion. The sad reality is that you're a desperate man, tragically unaware of his own insignificance, desperately clinging to his own ineffectual reasoning. More succinctly, a man in over his head.", Reginald stared Diego down.

A single tear rolled down Diego's cheek. "Y- You're w- wrong.", he stuttered. Nailah felt her heart break a little. She had known about Diego's speech problem and seeing it return made her even more angry and Reginald for so carelessly playing with their feelings as kids.

"Look, forget about the president. We have a catastrophic war coming in five days. We need to figure out how to stop it.", Five broke the silence.

"War?", Reginald scoffed. "Men will always be at war with each other."

"No, this isn't just some war. I'm talking about a doomsday. The end of the world."

"Well, you're the special ones, aren't you? Why don't band together and do something bout it?"

Suddenly Klaus began shaking uncontrollably and mumbling something about Ben. he quickly collapsed on the floor exhausted.

Reginald sighed: "Well, thank you for coming. I've seen about enough." He stood up and wanted to leave but Luther ripped open's shirt.

"Look what you did to me!", she shouted. Nailah and Allison choked on their drinks while Vanya looked at Luther's ape-like chest in shock. "Look at it!"

"Oh, shit. Why?", Five sighed letting his hand wander from Nailah's knee to his temples.

"You, in the suit.", Reginald pointed at Five. "A word, in private?"

Five obliged relieved and followed Reginald to the bar area. "Nai, you coming?", he asked and Nailah got up to follow him.

"I thought I said you.", Reginald said eyeing Nailah with caution.

Nailah just trotted behind the bar: "Yeah, well. We're a package deal, so just get used to it. Just talk to Five, I'm gonna get drunk and intervene if necessary. Act as if I'm not here."

"Alright then. You seem to be the sensible one of the bunch."

"That's because I'm the oldest.", Five explained. "You know, technically I'm older than you right now."

"Cognac?", Nailah asked having found a bottle to her taste. Reginald and Five approved.

"The other night you quoted Homer at me. Why?", Reginald turned again to Five wile Nailah filled the glasses.

"You forced us all to learn it as kids. In the original greek, no less.", Five said while taking a sip from the cognac Nailah had poured. She was already on her second glass.

��"The world ends in five days if we don't get out of this timeline.", Five continued.

"Worlds end. Paleozoic, Jurassic, and so on."

"We can do something about this one."

Reginald murmured: "Man's greatest law. The illusion of control."

"I need your help.", Five admitted ignoring the disapproving look he got from Nailah. "You're my last sane option. Otherwise I gotta make a deal I really don't wanna make. What do you know about time travel?"

"In theory?"

"In practice."

"I know it's akin to descending blindly into the depths of freezing water and reappearing -"

"As an acorn, yes.", Five confirmed.

"What transpired when you tried travelling before?", Reginald asked.

"I botched it.", Five admitted.

"How?"

"I jumped too far forward, got stuck in the apocalypse for 45 years. Then jumped too far backwards, except this time I brought my entire family with me."

"Maybe your appetite is disproportionate to the size of your abilities."

Nailah snorted: "Defiantly."

"Start small. Seconds, not decades.", Reginald ignored her seeing how drunk she already appeared to be.

"Seconds? Look, no offence but I need a bit more time for what I'm trying to accomplish."

"So much can change in a matter of seconds. One could overthrow an empire. One could fall in love. An acorn doesn't become an oak overnight."

"I was really hoping you had more than that.". Five sighed.

"I'm sorry I can't be of more help."

Walking back Five eyed Nailah. She wasn't too drunk, just a little tipsy.

"You're gonna tell me what that was?", he asked finally.

"What what was?"

"You in there. You were shaking. I saw it. Why?", he asked.

"Does it matter?"

"Yes, Nailah, it matters. It matters because I need to be sure I can count on you. So I'm gonna ask again. What was that?"

Nailah sighed heavily: "Let's just say daddy dearest didn't exactly like it when someone was struggling with their power."

"What?"

"Look, Five. You were always great. The Umbrella Academy poster child. You never had problems, your power was natural to you. But for many of us it wasn't. And dad wasn't exactly the encouraging parent type. He wanted success more than anything."

"Did he do something to you?", Five asked silently.

"I don't wanna talk about it, Five."

Five kept looking at her intently. The darkness of the night complemented her green eyes and the moon reflected her skin in a magic glow.

Nailah sighed again scratching her neck: "Five, don't worry about it. It's fine. What are we gonna do now? Dad's no help."

"I guess we have to accept the Handler's offer. You okay with that?", Five asked,

"We've got no other choice, so yeah."

-> The Umbrella Academy Masterlist

#the umbrella academy #umbrella academy #tua #tua netflix #luther hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #allison hargreeves #diego hargreeves #five hargreeves #nailah hargreeves #victor hargreeves #vanya hargreeves #series #fanfic #five x oc #oc

1 note · View note

pixelfun20 · 2 years ago

Note

1, 22, 35, 39, 71?

Thanks for the ask! (Fic Ask Game here!)

1 - Do you prefer writing one-shots or multi-chaptered fics?

Multi-chapters! I always make my universes way too big to deal with, so I usually go long with my fics. I do appreciate a good one-shot every once in a while, though.

22 - Are there certain types of writing you won’t do? (style, pov, genre, tropes, etc)

Second person doesn't work for me personally. I also usually avoid reader-inserts, romance-only, and modern AUs, just because they never catch my interest.

35 - What is one essential thing to remember when writing a villain?

Complexity. A good villain doesn't necessarily have to be humanized as long as they have a myriad of motivations and emotions. They also have to be a threat, but not so much of one that they're out of the hero's league.

39 - Share a snippet from a WIP

“You are progressing well,” Luwin stressed, seeming to sense his thoughts. He began packing up his things, setting another vial of ointment down on a nearby table. “When you first woke and reported no feeling in your hand at all, I feared the worst. Yet sensation has returned. Strength will follow.” Ned grimaced, very much remembering the uncertainty of that point in his recovery. He knew that both Luwin and Catelyn had feared for his hand and its tingling numbness. Though eventually it had started to itch, then feel and move, and now it was capable of holding a rock. Only a small rock, though, and not even for a minute.

Snippet from chapter 9 (Eddard III) from my latest main WIP, To Shift a Sail, in the A Song of Ice and Fire fandom.

71 - When it comes to more complicated narratives, how do you keep track of outlines, characters, development, timeline, ect.?

It depends on the fandom. In Hermitcraft, I keep no outlines at all! Back when I was writing TCC, I didn't have any notes, and just referenced what I planned out in my head.

In Warriors, I usually keep to family trees, mentor-apprentice relations, character bios, and allegiances. Because there are way too many characters to keep track of in that fandom.

Now that I've shifted over to ASOIAF, which has massively complicated plots and lore, I ended up making a bulletin sheet and writing down all the plotlines I made up. It ended up being a lot of fun and now I have ten pages (and 4k words) of notes for TSaS, which I referenced above. Hopefully I'll be able to write it all.

#thank you for the ask!#I know most of my followers aren't in the ASOIAF/Game of Thrones fandom so I apologize for focusing on that haha #it's my current hyperfixation #asoiaf #wip stuff

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esc0rted · 1 year ago

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beneath all that unnatural white powder, spidery eyelashes and pink eyeshadow, there is a sadness that stains her gaze of brilliant blue. it is a sadness that has escaped her all these years, through all those tributes. the injustice of it all is written all over the haunted look in peeta's face, that same look he's worn since she called out haymitch's name at their second reaping together. it clouds those gentle eyes she's come to know so well, makes him look like some kind of a familiar stranger. he doesn't deserve this ━━ neither of them do. how unfair. how vicious.

" oh, my dear. " she reaches across as the world whizzes by beside them through the train window, places a gentle hand on his. " we're here for you. all of us. we're in this together. "

@conscriptur : “i’m trying really hard to keep it together.” (from peeta)

#conscriptur #i: interaction. ── you should find another guiding light.#iii: timeline. ── catching fire.#ans. ── if the shoe fits， walk in it 'til your high heels break.#i am CR rY

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agentrouka-blog · 3 years ago

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Any thoughts on those Maesters that want to destroy magic according to Marwyn?

None in particular. If they want to destroy magic, I can't find much fault with that, but the Citadel itself is a bit of a cesspool, so I don't see them successful in their attempts.

Who I find suspicious is Marwyn.

I feel like there is a mirror coming on.

Cersei - Maggy - Qyburn. Dany - Mirri - Marwyn.

“And you wish to forestall this prophecy?”

More than anything, she thought. “Can it be forestalled?”

“Oh, yes. Never doubt that.”

“How?”

“I think Your Grace knows how.”

She did. I knew it all along, she thought. Even in the tent. “If she tries I will have my brother kill her.” (AFFC, Cersei VIII)

"Irregular maester" Qyburn is eager to reassure Cersei that she can manipulate the future - at a price. Cersei had first posed the question to "regular maester" Pycelle, but he had tried to dissuade her from the concept.

The old man hesitated. One wrinkled hand groped blindly at his chest, as if to stroke the beard that was not there. "Can our morrows be foretold?" he repeated slowly. "Mayhaps. There are certain spells in the old books . . . but Your Grace might ask instead, 'Should our morrows be foretold?' And to that I should answer, 'No.' Some doors are best left closed." (AFFC, Cersei VIII)

Not a great man, by any chance, but not wrong in this.

Prophecy-wise, Dany's inability to have children is the lasting legacy she attritbutes to Mirri, who incidentally learned at Asshai with Marwyn. Who has just boarded the Cinnamon Wind to go find her.

When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east, when the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves. Only then would her womb quicken once again … (ADWD, Daenerys IV)

Dany has twisted it into a prophecy in her own mind, when it is nothing of the sort. It would not take many leaps to bring Dany to that same point that motivates Cersei: break the curse!

If Marwyn, the prophecy sceptic, makes Dany a good offer in an attempt to control her, who says she won't spell her own doom looking for yet more magical fixes?

"Half a year gone, that man could scarcely wake fire from dragonglass. He had some small skill with powders and wildfire, sufficient to entrance a crowd while his cutpurses did their work. He could walk across hot coals and make burning roses bloom in the air, but he could no more aspire to climb the fiery ladder than a common fisherman could hope to catch a kraken in his nets."

Dany looked uneasily at where the ladder had stood. Even the smoke was gone now, and the crowd was breaking up, each man going about his business. In a moment more than a few would find their purses flat and empty. "And now?"

"And now his powers grow, Khaleesi. And you are the cause of it." (ACOK, Daenerys III)

It's probably not a coincidence that the kraken and the burning roses feature here as timeline markers along with the glass candles and the image of magic as a hollow distraction for thievery.

For all that they have been (rightfully) maligned in the past books, I don't think the maesters of the Citadel are going to be on the wrong side of history on this one.

#maesters of the citadel #marwyn the maege #anti daenerys targaryen #anti magic #prophecy

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epicstuckyficrecs · 5 years ago

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Favourite Stucky Fics of 2019!!!

What it says on the tin folks. This is by no means an exhaustive list of all the amazing fics that were published this year, but these are my personal favourites! 😃 (in no particular order)

The Fool in the Mirror by thepinupchemist

ABO AU | 111K | Explicit

The night after a near brush with a suicide attempt, Steve discovers the world of support omegas, and in his desperation for relief from the battlefield of his brain, demands to have one.

There Is No Shortage of Blood by alby_mangroves/ @artgroves, Dira Sudis (dsudis)/ @dsudis

Post-WS | 246K | Explicit

The long slow recovery of Bucky Barnes after his escape from HYDRA.

How to Woo the Winter Soldier by writeonclara

Canon divergent | 21K | General

Steve courts the Winter Soldier.

Home Is Wherever I’m With You by cydonic

Modern AU, Kid fic | 88K | Explicit

This is what happens when you buy a house to flip having only seen the online images: you get more than you bargained for. Bucky Barnes brings all the tools to handle a dilapidated home, but he’s hardly prepared for a smart-mouthed child (with poor aim), a crying baby, and the hottest dad he’s ever seen in his life living right next door.

Collar Full of Chemistry by 2bestfriends

BDSM AU | 188K | Explicit

Steve is very rich and desperate to feel in control of his life again after a recent divorce has left him feeling bitter and lonely. When he keeps crossing paths with a disaster twenty-something, an unconventional solution presents itself. Steve's always been one for following his instincts. Bucky is very broke and can't seem to catch a break, especially after some asshole fires him for one fucking mistake. So of course, it follows that he should sign a contract agreeing to do everything and anything that same asshole wants for a whole year in exchange for a payout that could finally change his life for the better.

i'm guilty of treason (i've abandoned control) (series) by voxofthevoid/ @voxofthevoid

Canon divergent | 3 parts | 57K | Explicit

S.H.I.E.L.D Agent Bucky Barnes is captured on a mission and meets Commander Steve Rogers, the erstwhile Captain America.

Like Real People Do by 2bestfriends

Shrunkyclunks | 68K | Explicit

Seven years into an isolated retirement after the Battle of New York, Steve has carved out a place for himself in the foothills of the Catskill Mountains. He has a best friend (his dog, Lady), a frenemy (a local black bear named Rufus), and a cabin in the middle of the woods, an hour's drive from the nearest town. As November comes to a close, he heads into town to pick up supplies and ends up with a stowaway. Bucky hasn't had much luck over the past seven years. Disaster caused his family to move from New York to Indiana, and his life has steadily fallen apart ever since. After one too many heartbreaks, he decides to hitch his way back to the last place he remembers being happy: Brooklyn. He's in the homestretch when he finds himself stranded in a half-empty tourist town in the Catskills and decides to take a chance crawling into the back of someone's truck.

happily ever after has bite marks in it by voxofthevoid/ @voxofthevoid

Canon-divergent, Werewolf Steve | 29K | Explicit

In which Bucky is aggressively okay with his self-imposed exile from society, and Steve is a werewolf who’s nothing like the Brooklyn boy Bucky still dreams of.

Political Animals by crinklefries/ @spacerenegades, Deisderium/ @deisderium

Modern AU, politics | 107K | Explicit

Okay, so the real problem is that you shouldn’t fuck your arch-rival, political enemy, and the person you loathe the most in the world where you work. Or like, at least, you shouldn’t keep doing that. (or—Steve’s best friend is the U.S. Constitution and he can’t seem to stop fucking a hot Republican. They shouldn’t fall in love, but somehow they do.)

Slow and Splendored by alby_mangroves/ @artgroves, eyres/ @inheroism

Post-EG | 65K | Mature

In the chaotic years after Steve Rogers arrives back in 2023 as an old man, he helps rebuild the world, falls in love with his best friend, adopts a stray cat, and saves the entire timeline. Not necessarily in that order.

Civilian by alby_mangroves/ @artgroves, CoraRochester

Canon divergent, Post-WW2 | 72K | Explicit

“Do you want to go somewhere more… private?”

The blond man, after a long silence, had agreed. “My room is just up the block,” he said, jerking his head at the bar’s door.

In 1937, Steve Rogers joins the army, and by 1945, he’s back in Brooklyn, dishonorable discharge in hand and nothing to show for years in the Pacific.

In 1947, a seventeen year old Bucky Barnes meets Steve Rogers in a Brooklyn gay bar, and Steve Rogers finally comes home.

Wanna Feel the Heat With Somebody by 2bestfriends

ABO AU | 72K | Explicit

Bucky hasn't exactly been a risk-taker in his life, but when you're not only the baby of the family but also the only Omega, risks aren't encouraged, either. So it comes as a shock to himself and his three older, overbearing sisters when he suddenly quits his shitty but reliable job of five years to accept the unsolicited offer from Stark & Rogers. He can't help hoping this will be his chance to find his own way, for once.

Too bad a certain cofounder's scent has him trailing behind the tall, gorgeous Alpha like a lovesick idiot.

Extant by keire_ke/ @keire-ke, VenusMonstrosa

The Martian AU | 27K | Teen

After a sudden and violent storm forces the crew of Insight III to perform an emergency evacuation, astronaut James Barnes was believed to have died and was left behind on Mars. Two years later, Commander Steve Rogers still refuses to let go.

Fortunately, so does Bucky.

Quench by AidaRonan/ @bisexualstarbucky

Modern AU | 9K | Explicit

Or the one where archeology intern Bucky Barnes meets actual archeologist Steve Rogers and reaches levels of thirst scientists once believed to be theoretically impossible.

#stucky #stucky fic #stucky fanfic #stucky fanfiction #stucky fic rec

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currentfandomkick · 5 years ago

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I have no excuse on this, just saw the prompt and wrote. inspired by @virgil-is-a-cutie‘s post where Marinette was from Gotham and moved to Paris, many liberties taken on timeline though, and with @justafanwarrior‘s comment on it

Marinette blinked a few times when her parents told her the first time that her grandfather on Papa’s side died, and they were going to move into his old bakery.

She was twelve.

She was getting ready for Tim (who’s elven and should not be allowed follow Robin without backup). She just finished working on a bit of embroidery for his suit when the Wayne Gala came up.

She didn’t know how to feel other than dread. (new country, language lessons, culture shock, losing her friends, her connections, her room and so much more).

She was quiet, nodded, and got ready for bed on time.

She whispered about it to Tim, who she watches out for. Because he’s small, an idiot with a very nice camera and she has to. Its her job to—she caught him when he almost fell and they were ten and nine. Like Jason caught her once. (She was so much smaller then, barely remembered the place but she slipped and Jason Todd caught her and told her to always watch her step because no one else will do it for her. well, she decided that she would watch hers and other people’s. because someone should, so why not her?)

She hadn’t seen Jason for years though. She knew he’s a Wayne now, but Waynes and Drakes have some weird rivalry thing and the Dupain-Chengs cater for the Drakes. So she hasn’t seen him in their neighborhood, not around her family’s business (or her ‘Uncle’ Oswald’s) or anywhere really.

Instead she saw Tim who she decided a long time ago was hers to watch out for.

She couldn’t take him to Paris though.

Tim didn’t like it any more than her. They both know they can’t stop it.

But Marinette made sure he was better at looking out and watching before she left.

It was a year of renovations to make the bakery and house above ready for them. Marinette was moved in the summer. She hugged Tim tight before she left, on one of their rooftop runs for fun (the memory, their last run ever) rather than BatWatch.

They didn’t know Robin saw them for a moment and was ready to give them a Big Lecture, because why would they? They were just moving to breathe, moving to scream in silence and ignore everything they don’t get to control. They were roof top running to have some control in a situation neither of them had any.

Marinette and Tim dropped down to her house, since it was over… for good.

“No going out there again since I can’t go too.”

Tim nodded, crying against her. She cried tooo. They both hated it.

Marinette moved to Paris the next day, beginning of summer. Beginning of the extra crazy as Gotham summers were always ripe with more rogues and more time and more ‘help’ than the rest of the year.

Marinette missed it. She was in Paris helping her parents do a grand opening. It was a success. Maman was glad they got out of Gotham, murmuring it would be better for Marinette. Marinette disagreed, but didn’t contradict her or Papa who was so much happier in Paris than in Gotham. He missed his home city.

(Marinette missed Uncle Oswald showing up at random to make sure no one was doing anything ‘untoward’ to her or people she said he should help. Paris seemed to have a different breed of ‘untoward’ that were well hidden. No one kept them in check. No Batman here to try, no Uncle Oswald to warn her, and no Jason to remind her to watch out for herself.)

On the first day of school Marinette was thrown into being a superhero. Ladybug—she should have used Ladybird or Coccinelle because it was so American but she panicked and now she’s a very American Named Hero of Paris. She prayed no one made the connection.

When Jason Todd died and made the news in the middle of her first year, she cried. A lot. She was Ladybug and couldn’t afford to be akumatized but her parents knew that even if Jason wasn’t around for her since she was little, that she kept those memories close, kept those pictures and wished him the best. They were grieving too—he was almost their son (they tried so hard to get him to stay, but he didn’t want to. He had a mom to care for and Marinette should have asked Uncle Oswald for help when Catherine looked off to her but she didn’t. She was seven and Jason begged her not to say anything so she didn’t.)

She was doing good as Ladybug. (more like putting out fires than fixing the problems, but she did only have observing Batman and Robin to go off of, and none of what she saw was the detective work.) She took down akumas, was working on becoming a good guardian in the future (the kwami admitted she and Chat were the only candidates… the temporary heroes weren’t even in the running) and becoming a better designer. (She now works for Jagged and Clara on the design itself, they have official seamstresses that build her creations to her standards and specifications. She handles the fittings and adjustments when her schedule allows.)

Then Lila showed up and Marinette didn’t get how they didn’t see through the lies. Marinette will admit her lies in French are just… bad. Thankfully they all write it off as her mistranslating her thoughts and her speaking five languages (English, Italian, Spanish, French and Mandarin) rather than it being an attempt at lying. She’s better in English, okay?

But Lila’s were outrageous, even for their school. Maybe it was Gotham, (Uncle Oswald murmuring how to spot a con and a manipulator a mile away, Jason reminding her to be suspicious of every good and too good deal offered, especially with nothing backing it) but she didn’t put too much into Lila on sight.

Then the Ladybug lying and things escalated.

Chloe caught the Drakes talking to one of the events her parents were catering to. Janet was inspecting Marinette’s latest work while Marinette let the woman analyze her choice before being dismissed with a “You have improved, but do try using that sewing machine for your seams next time.”

Tim had been standing with her and they were allowed to escape the crowd to catch up. Tim was not shocked to find out she’d taken to destroying people in Ultra Mecha Strike III on a city wide scale (she won) while Tim was working on more professional photos and debating taking up a sport to be more well rounded (he’s thinking baseball or track because of the running) and they both skirt around her design success because it could jinx it.

Not long after Chloe makes an effort to get along with Marinette. Marinette made a few things clear: she’s not a lackey and neither is Sabrina, that Chloe needs to stop using her family to get out of everything, and that Chloe needs to apologize for hurting people intentionally.

Unsurprisingly, this didn’t go over well the first time.

Sabrina did get close to Marinette instead (Marinette had no issue with this) and joined the girl gang.

Marinette was still skeptical (daughter of a cop versus anyone from gotham is a recipe for disaster) but so far Sabrina just needed to be given normal friend treatment en masses to calm down her obsessive tendencies. It may have reminded Marinette of Tim and his obessions. Kind of like how Marinette took to Alya (superhero obsessed like Tim, and protective like Jason) so she was quick to get used to her.

Chloe did make amends that year (slowly) and kept doing so.

Chloe and Marinette did agree on one thing: Lila is a scam and they didn’t want the class falling for it. So Marinette made suggestions to keep her friends on track for their interests (actually practice, don’t wait for opportunities) while Chloe took to openly opposing Lila as the one Lila can’t touch.

It kept Marinette safe from her attempted manipulations. Chloe was all for it—as Bustier isn’t able to cow Chloe the way Marinette knows the woman would try on Marinette. And language miscommunications could make her seem more complacent and get her in more trouble for not being as complacent as Bustier wants her to be.

Then came the anniversary. The first one. (and the one where Tim is a Wayne now, thanks to Janet passing and Jack being found negligent.)

Lila made the mistake of talking about Jason. Like he was nothing. Like he was a problem and rude and cruel. And a creep.

“I mean, not to speak ill of the dead but…”

“Then shut your trap.” Marinette stuck to Italian. Alya stiffened as Italian had become Marinette’s ‘I am emotional and need you to understand’ language as far as the class was concerned.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to be insensitive…” Lila said in an almost convincing act. Almost.

“Well you are Rossi,” Chloe glanced at Marinette, as she didn’t know what the connection to Jason was.

“I mean, its not like he was much than a…” Lila shut up as Marinette was stalking forward and this? this was not was Marinette was supposed to do. Throw a fit, make a fool of herself, something like that.

Marinette only saw someone trying to drag Jason through the mud. Everyone moved away when Marinette approached (like Uncle Oswald in a silent rage) and she didn’t quite remember what happened from there.

She did remember ending up at the principle’s office with her parents and Lila’s mom.

Who was finding out a number of lies Lila told and Marinette could feel a Talk coming on for her. (Good.)

But then it moved back to why they were there and Marinette saw red as “She was talking about Jason.”

Her parents stilled as that was (almost) family.

Maman was smiling too wide then as “What were you saying about him?”

Lila squirmed as she repeated words that were Wrong.

“She made it sound like he was nothing.”

Tom was the one that terrified them all then, turning to Miss Rossi. “So you mean to tell me your daughter was insulting a child who was murdered that my family was in the process of adopting before he vanished when his mother died and was taken in by the Waynes.”

Damocles paled as Miss Rossi had made it sound like she was getting back at Marinette for bullying her (something everyone but Bustier had denied vehemently. Especially Chloe and Chloe’s word outranked Lila’s) but with all of this… it seemed more like Lila was the issue.

Lila was trying to process the new information. Marinette was going to kill her was her conclusion.

“Miss Rossi could not have known of that connection,” Damocles said, eyeing the girl with something guarded.

It wasn’t more than a day later the school was introduced the Marinette’s uncle.

“Now, which of you is the one that angered my little birdie?”

Marinette groaned as she didn’t call him. Nor had her parents. (He was watching them then. Great. She thought that stopped when they left Gotham.)

Apparently terrorizing her classmates (and the school’s staff) was enough for him. Lila was now at juvie for truancy (the only charge that stuck) and away from Marinette.

She figured that was it.

It was not…

Six months later…

“Tim Tam?”

Tim grinned at her. “Hey Marebear!”

He was at Dupont, grinning like a loon at her. She said screw decorum and scooped him up and twirled as he is still too tiny.

“Okay, I love that you’re here but why?”

“Heard there was a problem in Paris you neglected to tell me about.” Tim gestured for them to go into the car behind him..

Heroes was her first thought. And Hawkmoth, but its Tim so heroes are his focus.

“I figured we were staying out of old habits.” She was a hero, not stalking them.

“We are.”

Marinette raised an eyebrow as she knew that tone, and it meant he had an idea. She slipped into the car with a wave to her classmates.

“What do you know,” she began with.

“Ladybug purifies and fixes, Chat Noir destroys. Good guys. Anything animal themed is a hero, expect Mayura. Bug themed besides Ladybug, Toss-up. Hawkmoth is who needs to go down.”

Marinette filled in the blanks on powers for public heroes. She shrugged on the blurred possible hero (MultiMouse) and let Tim rattle on and on.

“So I was thinking, why hasn’t anyone looked for outside help?”

Marinette blinked a bit as… ��The Mayor was told it was a joke by Green Lantern when they asked for help the Stoneheart Army.”

Tim furrowed his brow. “Which one?”

“There’s more than one?”

“Hair color.”

“Weasely looking, that’s all I remember.”

“That was the ginger who is hated by the JL members, and should not count. Want me to ask Batman?”

“Should I be surprised the Waynes have him on call?”

Tim smiled at her, the one that they used when their parents told them to play and they went roof running and were never caught.

“Never mind. Do you need me to contact Ladybug or Chat Noir?”

“Well, I am talking to Ladybug.”

Marinette knew how to play this off. “And Batman and Brucie are the same person because the butts match.”

“Well, yeah, it would make being his Robin a little harder if they weren’t.”

Marinette took a deep breath before hitting Tim upside the head as “you idiot!”

“Hey, hey! Someone had to!”

“Nightwing!”

“Didn’t want to—not the way he needed!”

“I, urgh! Wait—then Jason—”

Tim softened. “Yeah.”

Marinette hit her head agains the back of the seat. “He told me to always watch out for myself and…”

Tim pressed his shoulder to hers. “I know.”

The rest of the ride was silent.

“How did you…”

“Ladybug, your new haircut and word that speech you made on your debut? A lot like what I found from Jason’s things.”

Marinette may have blushed. A bit. Okay, she had her heroes and hers didn’t wear scaly panties—wait. He did, she just didn’t know that at the time.

“No telling me Chat’s identity.”

“Haven’t figured him out yet, but I would love to see your theories on who hawkmomth could be.”

“Needs the funds to run a butterfly garden, and knowledge to do it in secret, local too, and probably a parent to a Dupont student.”

“That should narrow it down.”

A few weeks later, at fifteen years old, Ladybug and Chat Noir defeated Hawkmoth (with Robin playing intelligence, and refusing to take credit). Chat didn’t want to do the reveal after.

Marinette figured it out when he sneezed at a pigeon.

They met up still, but Chat needed a purpose and Marinette was the guardian. She and Tikki exchanged a look. Marinette called Tim.

“Hey Tim? Remember that group project you mentioned? I don’t think I can help, but I know someone who could use an invite…”

Marinette is sixteen when Red Hood makes a splash in Gotham. Tim was there at the time, so was Adrien.

She didn’t know what happened (they won’t tell) and she won’t press… them at least.

Uncle Oswald answered her questions. New crime lord, and he has a bone to pick with the Bats.

Marinette convinces her parents to let her stay in Gotham. Jagged offered his townhouse for when he’s on tour and she can’t go with (she has so many commissions, so no touring for her).

Chloe and Sabrina manage to convince their parents its okay. (Sabrina’s dad was a particularly difficult sell until Marinette’s Uncle Oswald offered to have them guarded by his men. In person. Marinette is convinced he has a team watching her at this point, and is glad she’s retired as Ladybug. It’d be dangerous if she wasn’t.)

Alya somehow got an internship in Metropolis (Marinette wasn’t glaring at Tim for that, she was disappointed he meddled so much Superman caught on and had his girlfriend offer the girl a spot.)

Nathaniel and Nino couldn’t make it for the summer, but both managed to visit.

Thankfully neither of those visits coincided with her own run-in with Red Hood. To be fair, it was at the old bakery location. Now run by a friend of Papa’s who uses a different set of recipes.

Marinette was there and making some of the old recipes for old time’s sake. One of the baker’s was from Papa’s staff before they left. Most of the new staff were a bit sketchy, but nothing that raised Gotham Red Flags.

She blinked a few times during the encounter as Red Hood burst in (it was still light out… she thought at the time) and paused when he saw her.

“You’re the old owner’s kid?”

She didn’t get what her family had to do until… Uncle Oswald. Great. Human Bait-time.

“Pretty sure the kid left town with her family.” Not a complete lie, but an easy deflection like Jason taught her. She’s not as snarky as him (as he was).

Red Hood, she couldn’t tell what that did for him (stupid Helmet) but he did grab what she was and say “yeah, no way the kid would botch a macron like this.”

She really wanted to deck him for that one. As it was her specialty asshole.

He did leave after that and she may have told Jagged and Oswald she’s going to spend a week or two in NYC with Audrey to keep her mind off of it…

Then Tim had her over with Adrien (who Marinette is now convinced is a Wayne ward in all but name since he lives there now) and Just Their Luck, Red Hood decided to break into the Batcave.

Tim went off to defend it, and Marinette sighed as this is her life and she isn’t a hero anymore. Ladybug would be recognized and easily connected but…

“Trixx, Let’s Pounce!”

A fox hero? Unlikely. One illusion spell later (and Bruce, Tim, Alfred, Adrien suiting up) and Red Hood was knocked out.

Alfred was the one to tell her to stay up stairs as “This isn’t something you need to see Miss.”

She dropped the transformation and put her hands on her hips as “This guy tried to kill Tim who I’ve been keeping from dying since he slipped on a ladder in the middle of winter like an idiot. And is already looking for me.”

The group exchanged a look at that.

“How long?”

“He said I couldn’t be me because my macrons were wrong,” Marinette grumbled, ignoring the real question.

“He did what!” Adrien gawked at her.

“Marinette!” Tim was not happy.

Bruce was looking at her like she was the weird one.

“Oh no, you don’t get to look at me like that. I’m not the one fighting crime in as my fursona and teaching other people to do the same.”

Apparently Red Hood was not actually out cold. How does she know this?

He started laughing.

Bruce was sputtering, Alfred was unreadable, Tim was bring pink and Adrien was nodding along as he was one who started calling Batman and other heroes ‘the furrious furries’ when Batman and Robin were brought up as helping them with Hawkmoth over a year ago.

It was strange to think of it as a year ago.

(a year ago she thought Jason was dead, that Hawkmoth was impossible to find and still crushed on Adrien).

Now Jason is alive, Hawkmoth was defeated ages ago and that crush? Gone with that thing called distance and perspective.

Instead she was staring at the guy who broke into the Batcave and implied he was going to kidnap her two weeks ago, if she was herself, and didn’t because her macrons were ‘wrong’ when he clearly has no taste.

“Hey Pixie.”

Her brain shorted as… “Jason what the fuck.”

Her summer was a weird one. Jason was alive, Uncle Oswald and him were doing business, and since Marinette was in shock still, she went to Uncle Oswald’s unannounced (he tells her when he plans to be busy) so she walked in on Red Hood and him arguing over something and…

“Is this karma for helping Tim when I ten?”

Red Hood took one look at her, then Oswald, and it clicked.

“Pixie, why didn’t you tell me this Thing was your Uncle?”

“Mari dear, please tell me your association with this, this brute.”

“He came back from the dead and didn’t tell me,” Marinette told her Uncle as that she could process.

“Ah. That… explains nothing. Mari dear, we’ll talk about this later, feel free to go to the park until I send someone to fetch you.”

“No, I think Pixie will stay right here and find out what you do.”

Marinette did the logical thing one does when a dead almost-was-your-brother turns into a crime lord and is talking to your ‘Uncle’ who you know has a shady reputation.

Get the hell out of there.

She grabbed her things (she kept them in the suitcases just in case, because Gotham) and joined Uncle Jagged on tour because right now? She needed something a bit less insane. And Jagged qualified.

She would love to tell you she went after Red Hood, or helped Tim and Adrien, she would, but she’s the guardian and that means staying out of on-going wars of many kinds.

It also meant she was able to defend herself when Jason Fucking Todd decided to crash a Wayne Gala that Uncle Jagged and Uncle Oswald were insistent that she attend. Clara and Adrien and Tim joined in. Chloe and Sabrina and Alya combined forces to convince her to attend, while Nino consoled her with pats and good music.

Jason Fucking Todd announcing he’s alive at said Gala, and making a scene before chatting up Bruce and the Wayne Clan (There is new girl named Cass. and she did see a blond with Tim, she thinks its Steph but it could be one of his Titan Friends since she saw Superboy looking like less of a fashion disaster for once with a fast talking ginger that she’s pretty sure is the current Kidflash).

Marinette was so glad she was on the other side of the room, and out of the spotlight.

Jason Fucking Todd catching her the next day when she was getting coffee, was not in her plans.

“So, Pixie Pop, we have some catching up to do.”

And she is not bitter he vanished out of no where. That she thought he was dead when she was a little kid and mourned for months, only to find out he’s a Wayne now. Then not be allowed to see him because of the Wayne-Drake thing. Or that he really died for real and then came back without telling her. Or that he became a crime lord on top of it all and Tim a few scars that line up with what Oswald heard of Robin and Red Hood fights that were brutal.

Nope.

Not.

At.

All.

“We do, but I have an appointment already, and you already know how to contact me, so bye.”

He didn’t, but Tim did. And that meant he had to fix things there.

She’s not sure how to feel about her almost-brother and his attacks on Tim. She’s not sure how to process all of this but she can put some distance, right?

Wrong.

Jason Freaking Todd decided to make up some BS story about having taken time to get better and being grabbed by a goddamn cult and it took him time to escape. (Tim told her it was close to the truth the cult was some group called the League of Assassins… she just. Why. just why?)

Then he decided (re: Alfred Apparently knows Gina, who told Maman and Papa) to get her parents involved in making her talk to him.

How? How does he do this from another continent where he runs his (technical) criminal enterprise?

He just shows up after Tim figured what he was doing and told Alfred.

And now Marinette has to talk to her almost-brother-that-died when she’s elbows deep in a design rut and is far more willing to kick his ass than run (or think about talking to him).

“Pixie pop,” Jason grinned.

Marinette refused to respond on the principle. Her parents were downstairs, and she’s trying to make a nice silloutte but can’t and Fuck Off Jason.

“So, uh, I’m alive.”

“Uh huh.”

“I don’t kill people that don’t deserve it.”

She narrowed her eyes as “Tim.”

Jason scratched the back of his neck. “Okay, I was really messed up for a while.”

Marinette rubbed her forehead. “And.”

“You know of anything called the Lazarus Pitts.”

She did. Also they drive you insane (re: beyond reason) with one use.

“I was recovering from them and mostly have the Pitt Juice out of my system.”

“Bruce?” because he’s batman so what can’t he do at this point?

“A friend of his.”

Cryptic, but she doesn’t want to focus on him.

“So, what have you been up to?”

“Fashion.”

“Oh, what kind?”

Somehow she managed to soften a bit and give real answers. Maybe it was because Jason mentioned debating trying school and vigilantism (apparently he goes after abusers and drug lord and people who target kids and pregnant women and okay, she’ll check with Tim later and all for it being the truth but… she wants this to be real.

At seventeen Marinette meets a ten year old Damian Wayne, who is insistent Tim is not a Wayne.

Marinette is ready to throw hands with a teeny tiny assassin child.

Adrien is too.

Tim says he was just leaving, so Marinette makes the “mature” decision to follow him to San Fransico with Adrien on her heels.

They were not expecting Red Hood to show up a week into their stay (Uncle Oswald was expected to pop in and complain about her not being in Gotham, but Red Hood (not Jason but Red Hood)? Not on the list of visitors.

“So you’re telling me this kid tried to start shit with my Replacement?”

Marinette raised an eyebrow and nodded.

Red Hood told her to give him three weeks to fix it.

Somehow, it worked. And Apparently Nightwing was in the doghouse with some of his former teammates? She wasn’t sure how that worked.

She did know that Tim is sixteen, switched to Red Robin (she helped him design it as he’s bad at it and he wanted to look like he was 30 in his first design. 30. Just. No.) and said he had a thing to do.

Marinette and Adrien shared a look.

“I’ll watch the kwami.”

One list of kwami-care later, and Marinette switched to online classes for the year to keep her not-technically baby brother/her idiot out of trouble. Did she mention ninjas were involved? They were. it was a nightmare and she may have let Red Hood know about the League and he may have shown up to help her keep Tim from getting brainwashed.

Oh, and only at that point did anyone bother to tell her about Bruce being missing-missing not just Off-World or on a real vacation-missing.

Tim explained his hunch (because it is a hunch Timmy, and now we have a semi-solid theory) and she just sighs and calls Adrien to meet her in Gotham.

Fluff won’t tell them where (spell stops it) but confirms Bruce is lost in time. Jason is shocked, Dick and Damian are processing, Alfred is bordering on tears and Tim is victorious.

He also calls up the teen titans for help and they get Bruce—Tim and Adrien’s Father figure, not Batman.

She shakes her head and lets them have their reunion, kwami content at her side.

She goes back to Paris as its home now, and works on rebuilding the order in between nagging Tim about his health (he fears only her and Alfred apparently) and harassing Jason about doing his coursework (apparently she, Maman, Papa and Alfred are all effective there).

She’s able to say her parents were right about Paris being good for her, but she doesn’t think Gotham is bad for her.

hope you enjoyed!

#maribat #my fic #my writing

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