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merakiaes · 4 years ago

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Hate You, Hate You Not - Armitage Hux

Pairing: General Armitage Hux x reader

Requested: By anon.

Prompts: #1 & #58 from the fluff-list.

Warnings/notes: (SHOULD I MAKE A PART 2 WITH MORE ROMANCE IN IT?) This ended up being much longer than I planned so it's most likely very boring and dull😭 Might be a bit, if not a lot, out of character since this is kinda my test-run for Hux and Star Wars in general. Getting the characters mannerisms in might take some practice. Not proofread so I apologize in advance for any mistakes. This is the first time ever that I write for Star Wars and the first time in like 5-6 months that I’m writing in general so I’m a bit rusty. Please reblog and leave comments to keep my motivation going and let me know if you’d like to be added to a Star Wars taglist <3

Wordcount: 5632

Summary: One of Kylo Ren’s many tantrums results in your room being inhabitable for a night, which in turn results in you having to share a room - and bed - with the person you hate the most.

Everyone who had ever, at some point in their lives, worked alongside Kylo Ren in his quest to bring the Order to power, knew how much of a hassle and inconvenience his temper, or lack thereof, could be.

Not much was needed for him to lose his cool and it happened on a much too frequent basis than what was considered normal for a man in his early 30s, at least according to you.

Of course, however, you couldn’t actually tell him that, nor could you think it, with the risk of him probing your mind.

So every time he came back from a failed mission and completely obliterated your hard work, you could do nothing but bite your tongue, clear your head and repair the damages like you’d done oh, so many times before.

That’s what you got for being one of the highest-ranked engineers of the Order, you supposed.

But on this day you would’ve, for the first time in your life, very much preferred to repair the damages left behind by your tantrum-prone leader like you always did. Because if that punishment had to be compared to the one you were now facing, you would’ve chosen the former without even a shadow of a doubt.

But, unfortunately, that was not an option this time around, as the room that had fallen victim to the sizzling beam of Kylo Ren’s lightsaber was your bedroom.

Well, not originally, of course, but sparks had flown from the totaled control panels and a piece of supposedly fireproof metal scrap had caught on fire before you and the other engineers reached the room for a damage-control, starting of as a small flame and then proceeding to spread like wildfire as fire did, in ways completely unbeknownst to you as, like already mentioned, the place was supposed to be safe from fires.

The licking flames had managed to melt through several walls before you got to the scene, and one of those walls was the wall to your bedroom.

It was late when it happened, only fifteen minutes before you were supposed to end your shift, and as you were on the verge of having a mental fucking breakdown, you personally requested an audience with Kylo and were granted permission by him after a very carefully-worded explanation to start early in the morning.

But that only took care of one of your problems, and only temporarily at that. Now you were left with the issue of finding other sleeping accommodations since your room was currently not habitable. You had no choice but to ask for another room and, of course, Hux thought that to be the perfect time to crack a sarcastic joke about throwing you into one of the prisoner cells.

You had never, in all your years of being alive, glared so fiercely at another human being as you did then. And in your moment of anger, you accidentally let your walls down and let your thoughts run freely through your head – your annoyance directed at the General, but also at Kylo Ren, being exposed.

You felt it before you saw it – that little prickle in your head, that little sting of your mind being probed – and only a second later, Kylo Ren turned his masked head in your direction, walked up to you with patronizingly slow steps and spoke:

“I think you’ll find that General Hux’s quarters will suffice for the night, until repairs can be done to your own. He has more than enough space for both of you.”

He turned his head to look at the baffled man standing behind him, all of the attitude he had previously been harboring against you now completely melted away.

“Isn’t that right, General?” Kylo continued asking, giving him the time he needed to regain his composure.

The general in question had never been very good at holding his tongue, not even when receiving orders from superiors, and was quick to protest.

As anyone would’ve been able to guess, that didn’t go very well, and you weren't even gonna try hiding the satisfaction you got from seeing Hux be force-choked against a wall for speaking out of turn.

No matter how good both of you were at hiding your spiteful thoughts toward him, Kylo knew how much the two of you hated him. And more than anything, he knew how much you hated each other.

Kylo had become very predictable to you during the time you had been there and you knew his ways good enough to know that he wouldn’t have wasted petty energy in putting the two most hateful people he knew in the same room if he hadn’t been pushed to do so.

You knew that you weren’t the reason in this scenario, despite the fact that he had probably felt your spite directed towards him, which only left one option; and that option was the bitter, infuriatingly stubborn ginger currently walking by your side.

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye and glared, clenching and unclenching your fists at your sides in the same manner you had been doing ever since Kylo had ruled his decision final and dismissed you for the night.

His eyes remained trained on the metallic corridor that seemed to be stretched out for miles in front of you and your blood boiled at the sight.

You would’ve lost your shit if he’d had the nerve to even consider looking at you after putting you in this situation, but at the same time, you were also on the verge of losing your shit about him having the audacity to ignore you.

You wanted to scream at him like you’d never screamed at anyone before, but you knew that doing that would only fuel the petty grudge Kylo had against the two of you and give him more ways to cause you torment. The only thing you and the general would ever have in common was not wanting that.

But still, what harm could a tiny bit of friendly banter do?

“You just couldn’t help yourself, could you, Armitage?” The question you’d been sucking on for the past few minutes finally slipped out into the air, making your anger known.

“Don’t call me that.”

“My apologies.” You sarcastically shot back with a dry laugh. “You just couldn’t help yourself, could you, general?”

“No, it was awfully tempting.” Was all that he replied, his eyes not once flickering and neither his stone-cold scowl nor fast-paced stride faltering.

Well, you might have absolutely despised each other but in the very least, you never bothered lying to each other. That had to count for something, right? Not that either of you cared.

No more words were exchanged, and that was probably for the best. Engineers and stormtroopers all moved out of your way as the two of you marched through the corridors, side by side, knowing better at this point than to get on your bad sides when you were together and this obviously angry both with each other and in general.

Soon enough, you finally reached the corridor in which Hux’s sleeping quarters were located and once the mechanic doors slid open, you pushed yourself past him into the room before he even got the chance to react.

He fumed behind you as he watched you make yourself at home, dropping your dirty jacket on his perfectly made bed.

“You’ll take the floor, then?” You asked as you turned around, crossing your arms over your chest and shooting him a forced smile.

“Hardly.” He spat, eyes narrowing, and you scoffed, rolling your eyes in return.

“You must be a real hit with the ladies with those manners.”

At that, he stepped further into his room, allowing the sensory-triggered door to shut behind him, successfully shutting the two of you in together.

“I don’t have time for fooling around with women.” He spat out the last word with such malice that you automatically raised an eyebrow.

“Well, that explains it.” You mused, the corner of your lip tugging upwards ever so slightly.

“Explains what, exactly?” His eyes narrowed further, and this time it was his turn to cross his arms.

“That stick you have up your ass.” You wasted no time in shooting back, and before he got a chance to reply, you continued. “I know this might be news to you seeing as you’re, well, you, but gentlemen are supposed to sacrifice their comfort and offer themselves to take the floor when a lady, due to unfortunate circumstances, is forced to stay in their room.”

You sarcastically smiled at him and sank down his bed, something that he, judging by the snarl overtaking his face, didn’t appreciate.

“You, a lady? That will be the day.” He scoffed. “Even calling you a woman is a stretch with your mannerisms.”

You could only roll your eyes.

“Well, I’m not sharing a bed with you.” The glare that had temporarily been exchanged for a teasing smirk returned to your face. “I’d rather share a bed with Millicent.”

As you said that, you picked up a single strand of cat hair from his bed, held it up for further inspection and raised your lip in disgust.

He stared at you dead serious, hands clasped behind his back and eyes burning holes into the side of your face.

“You’re allergic to cats.” He pointed out, making your head whip back around to face him with a glare equally as fierce as the one you were met with.

“Yes, that’s my point.” You deadpanned. “But it would seem that said point just went right over your thick-skulled head.”

“Do you think I am any happier about this than you are?” He scowled, and you stood up, slowly approaching him and coming to a stop right in front of him.

He took a small step back, a move that made your lip tug upward ever so slightly. The fact that he was so obviously not as tough as he wanted people to believe gave you a special kind of satisfaction and he knew it, judging by the way he only turned stiffer after that.

“You should be.” You smiled sweetly at him, keeping your eyes connected to his. “Because you’re sure as hell lucky I haven’t choked the life out of you yet for getting us into this situation in the first place.”

He glared and you glared right back, challenging, no, daring him to fight back. You knew that he wanted to, you could see that he wanted to, but in the end, not even he was that stupid.

So he said nothing, and once you realized you had finally managed to successfully back him into a corner, you backed away from him again and plastered on another forced, overly sweet smile.

“Now, I need to take a shower. I reek of burnt plastic.” You stated flatly and pushed past him, making a beeline for the one extra door in the room that you could only assume was his bathroom.

You heard the squeak of his shoes rubbing against the floor as he quickly turned around behind you, and then came the determined steps and the proximity of his body closing in on you. However, before he got the chance to object or reach you, you entered his bathroom and slammed the door shut in his face, smiling contently to yourself as you listened to the muffled string of curses that followed.

You didn’t spend any more time thinking about it, though, not wasting any time before doing what you came in there to do.

You got out of your horrid-smelling clothes, released your equally as nasty-smelling hait from its ponytail and stepped into the shower.

If there was one thing you appreciated a little extra about living at the Starkiller Base, it was that everyone used the same scented soap. Because that meant that you wouldn’t have to go around smelling specifically like Hux, but rather just like you always smelled.

Once you finished washing your hair and body, you had to stop and think for a bit.

Your clothes obviously still reeked and needed a proper wash before they could be worn again, and you obviously couldn’t go naked.

After much thought back and forth, you finally settled with your own leggings as they were the one piece of clothing from your previous attire that smelled the least of smoke, and a plain black, long-sleeved undershirt that you found in a pile of Hux’s clean laundry.

Once you vad gotten dressed, braided your hair and re-entered the bedroom accompanied by a stream of steam, you found it to be empty, Hux nowhere in sight.

You couldn’t deny that you wondered where he’d gone off to, but you shook your head free of his face pretty quickly, settling with believing that he just went to take his frustration out on some poor stormtrooper or low-rank intern like he so often did when things didn’t go his way, much like Kylo Ren beat the shit out of any control panel he could get his hands on.

While you awaited his return, you occupied yourself with going around the room and lighting the small night-lamps like you normally did in your own room before going to bed.

That obviously didn’t take long, however, so you were soon enough once again left alone with your boredom and started walking around the room, inspecting all of Hux’s belongings.

You realized pretty quickly that he was not a person to whom inanimate things had much sentimental value, as he definitely didn’t have much to his name aside from the basic interior that all of the sleeping quarters on the base had.

He had a ring on his drawer, a few books in one of his two bookshelves while the other stood empty, a small bed in a corner for his cat, clothes in his wardrobe, and that was pretty much it. He had no pictures of family, no real personal belongings that could signify any kind of emotional value.

But then again, who did in these parts?

“Is that my shirt?”

You jumped when you heard the sudden voice behind you, quickly turning around where you stood twirling the ring you had found in the light of the lamp standing beside you.

Your eyes found his form immediately, shocked meeting stern.

“Why are you wearing my shirt?” He almost instantly repeated himself when not getting a reply the first time, slowly beginning to walk in your direction with his hands clasped behind his back.

You quickly put the ring back down on the dresser and turned towards him, regaining your composure.

“Well, if you hadn’t noticed, my room and everything in it was burnt to a crisp. The smokey smell on my clothes was giving me a headache and kind of would have ruined the purpose of taking a shower so when I just so conveniently noticed a pile of clean clothes, I helped myself.” You shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal, and to you, it wasn’t.

Hux, however, didn’t seem amused in the slightest.

“Yes, you seem to have a habit of thinking you’re entitled to everything you want.” He spat back at you, coming to a stop while there was still a good amount of distance between the two of you.

Any chill you had previously had melted right off and your annoyance quickly returned at the sound of his words.

“Oh, do excuse me. I just thought one headache would be enough.” You retorted and rolled your eyes, before sighing and crossing your arms over your chest. “So, how are we doing this? It’s late and I need to be up early to see to the repairs.”

“I thought that I made myself clear.” Hux was quick to scoff, his glare not faltering for as much as a second. “I’m not giving you my bed.”

Once again, all you could do was roll your eyes. “Well, I guess we’ll just have to suck it up then.” You stated flatly and sat down on the bed, wasting no time in starting to divide the pillows into two piles rather than one.

You took a few seconds to adjust the pillows to suit your needs before looking back up, eyebrow raised at the fact that he had yet to say or do anything.

Your eyes once again met his and you almost laughed out loud at the sight you were faced with, but thankfully managed to control yourself and avoid making the situation even harder than it already was.

Long story short, Hux had never looked more horrified than he did in that moment.

He basically looked at you like you had killed his cat, and that was putting it lightly.

You took a few seconds to just enjoy watching him squirm and silently scramble to make sense of the situation, but even you knew when enough was enough and raised a questioning eyebrow at him in an attempt to get him moving.

“Well? What’s it going to be?” You asked. “It’s either this or the floor, just like it was for me.”

Hux opened his mouth, hesitated, and then closed it again. He obviously hadn’t been expecting you to actually agree on sharing his bed with him and now that you had, he was left at loss for words as he clearly hadn’t been preparing for anything other than you sleeping on the floor.

But after a good moment of just standing there and looking like an idiot, he finally picked himself back up, squared his shoulders and walked around the bed to the other side with frustrated strides and a snarling lip.

The feigned confidence melted right off, however, when he reached his destination and awkwardly shuffled into bed while simultaneously avoiding your amused and mocking stare, silently grabbing the extra blanket that was folded upon his bedside table.

Both of you laid down on your backs and a heavy silence fell like a thick blanket over the room. The only sound you could hear for a few moments were each other’s breaths and your own heartbeats. For a moment, only for a microscopical moment, you were actually on your way to admit to yourself that it was kind of nice.

But that thought went flying out the window just as quickly as it had knocked on the door of your mind when Hux broke the silence by beginning to adjust himself to get ready to sleep, and in the process of doing so made the active choice to tug the pillows from right under your head.

The back of your head hit the mattress with a soft thump and you closed your eyes, your lips pulling into a straight, tight line and one, sharp breath being released through your nose as you attempted to keep your cool.

You took a moment to calm down, before you turned your head to his side of the bed where he now laid with his back to you and tugged the pillows back – maybe with a little too much force than necessary.

Hux had quickly rolled over to his other side to take them back and in anger and an eagerness to get to sleep, you exclaimed: “Stop stealing the pillows!”

He met you with a stare cold enough to have anyone else shaking in their boots and spat back. “They’re my pillows.”

You grumbled under your breath and let go of one of the two pillows, letting him pull it back to his side while you held on to the last one.

You stared at each other for a moment, both of you eventually coming to a silent, mutual agreement that you were too tired to fight and therefore he'd let you keep the pillow you were holding on to as if your life depended on it.

He, once again, laid down and turned his back to you, his hands holding on to the pillows under his head while you struggled to get comfortable again, this time with only one pillow.

“Why is your bed so damn hard?” You muttered under your breath as you angrily shoved your elbow into the mattress in an attempt to make it more comfortable – as if that was ever going to help.

“Stop complaining.” He only snapped back.

“How could I when I’m stuck in a bed with you?”

“You could’ve asked for other accommodations when you had the chance.”

“And what, be the next victim of Ren’s lightsaber?” You scoffed. “I’m the one in charge of the repairs that are needed every time he throws a wobbly. I’ve seen the kind of damage that thing can do and I’m not in any hurry to find myself at the receiving end of it.”

You muttered the last part under your breath as you finally managed to get relatively comfortable, plopping back down on your back and folding your hands over your stomach.

“How did you know I’m allergic to cats, anyway?” The question spilled out before you could stop yourself, and before you could even register that it was on the way.

Where did that even come from? Cats weren’t even close to being the subject at hand.

Hux didn’t seem to care much about the random change of subject, however, simply muttering back a reply. “You start sniffling and scratching your arms every time you’re in the same room as me for more than five minutes.”

He was clearly tired. Tired in general or just tired of you, you didn’t really know, but you guessed that it was a mixture of both since that was the case for you.

“Maybe I’m just allergic to you.” You muttered back with a shrug, even though he couldn’t see you, and he scoffed at that.

“Had that been the case I’m fairly certain it would go both ways and, unlike you, I don’t go around oozing snot everywhere I go.”

“I don’t go oozing snot everywhere.” You calmly protested, throwing the back of his head a disapproving glare before turning to lay on your side so that your back was now turned to his.

He didn’t say anything else and neither did you, sleep coming in and catching you completely by surprise and having you knocked out within the next two minutes.

When you woke up early that next morning, Hux was unsurprisingly already gone, Millicent instead laying in his place and looking right at you.

With a disgusted snarl and hesitant movements, you reached over to the other side of the bed and awkwardly patted her head twice, probably very much in the incorrect manner as you had no experience whatsoever with animals.

You got out of bed after that, put on your jacket and shoes, and wasted no time in getting to work once you’d gotten some food into your system, your team joining you in the damage-inflicted area to start on repairs like you’d done so many times before.

Everything was going fine and dandy, just a light-reckon day that started off like any other – if you didn’t count waking up in Hux’s bed with his cat – but a few hours into your workday, the unmistakable sound of Kylo Ren’s heavy steps could be heard echoing through the entire corridor you found yourself working in.

A big share of the Order’s pilots had been either killed or badly hurt a few days prior in an ambush. No one had expected any pilots to be needed for at least a few days but Kylo had gotten a sudden lead on the map that would take him to Luke Skywalker and was now walking around the base recruiting anyone capable of helping him get what he wanted.

Unfortunately for you, you were not only a highly-ranked engineer, but also a pretty decent pilot, and couldn’t say anything in protest when you were whisked away to a ship.

As anyone who wasn’t driven by an unhealthy obsession would have been able to guess, the lead was just too good to be true with a way too simple access.

Just like the last lead, this one fell through when it was revealed to be another ambush. You weren’t completely sure what happened, but over the comms, you had heard something about Leia Organa and some scavenger.

You didn’t have time to think about retired war heroes though, no matter how much you’d love to pry and the get in on the gossip, as you had to shoot yourself through a big fleet of Resistance starfighter corps, barely getting through with your ship intact.

Your fellow pilots were shot down one by one, only a small amount of you managing to get out of there. And even then, you were met by more starfighter corps just as quickly as you’d gotten away from the last line.

Everything was just a mess after that. You weren’t able to get through to anyone over the comms, only barely being able to make out a “pull back!” before your comm system was blown to pieces along with one of your main engines.

Along with several other ships, you were forced to crash-land on a small planet filled with thick woods and when your ship collided with the ground, your head slammed into the controls, rendering you unconscious for who knows how long.

By the time you came back to it, you were hanging upside down, the only thing preventing you from falling down being the seatbelt keeping you strapped in.

You struggled to get out of there but you managed, and had to take a moment to get your surroundings to stop spinning before moving forward to look for survivors as well as a ship that wasn’t completely beyond salvation.

You weren’t sure who you’d find, but the person you’d shared a bed with the previous night was definitely the last person you’d expect to have crashed in the same place as you.

And still, you recognized his ship immediately. After all, you were the one who had personalized it to fit his liking.

Lucky for you, his ship seemed to have gotten a pretty soft landing. As you circled around it, you were able to determine that no major engines had been blown out. Damaged? Definitely. But they looked intact enough to at least be able to put some more distance between you and the Resistance pilots and get you to a safer place. Hopefully, the inside would be as untouched as the outside.

The ramp was lowered to the ground but didn’t look broken, so you wasted no time in jogging inside.

The lights were out completely in the entrance area, and just flickering in the ceiling when you came further in.

The first thing you noticed when you entered the piloting pit was that the pilot was not breathing. How could you tell from that far a distance? Well, let’s just say that something that was not supposed to be stuck in his eye, was stuck in his eye.

Upon further inspection, you noticed another body on the floor. However, this one was very much alive.

You would’ve expected to be met by a desperate “help me”, maybe even some begging and pleading or in the very least a “please”, but instead, even when in the process of bleeding out on the floor, Hux narrowed his eyes at you as you approached him and asked you with ragged breaths:

“Is that my shirt?”

You panted as you dropped to your knees at his side, still pretty shaken up from your own crash. “What? No.” You replied in a breath, and you wasted no time in starting to inspect his injuries.

“Yes, it is.”

“Why would I be wearing your shirt?” You asked simply, struggling to see in the dark as the flickering lights weren’t providing much assistance by means of light.

“That’s my shirt.” He kept insisting, and flinched when your hand made contact with his lower abdomen.

Only then did your eyes register the glimmering piece of metal through your blurred and disoriented vision, sticking out of his side.

You flinched at the sight, not needing any more light than you had to know that it was really bad.

Your heart suddenly picked up in speed in your chest, and your hands began shaking as they became covered in his blood.

You had never been in the middle of the action before now, you’d always just been surrounded by metal and electricity. The most exciting thing you’d ever experienced was when a new engineer circuited a control panel the wrong way, resulting in it blowing up right by your workplace.

But it wasn’t the action in itself that had your heart about ready to burst through your chest, nor was it the blood in general, but rather the fact that it was his blood covering your hands.

His life was completely dependent on you at this moment and you had absolutely no idea how to behave accordingly.

But if there was something you knew, it was that the last thing you were supposed to do was to show a dying man your panic, so you took a deep breath and tried your hardest to steady your racing heart, going back to the conversation at hand.

“How could you tell the difference, really?” You asked. “All of our shirts look the same. All black, all equally as sufficient when used to stop blood flows.”

As you said that last part, you released another breath and ripped off a big chunk of the lower part of the shirt you were wearing.

A shirt that was, in fact, Hux's.

The man in question let his head fall back against the wall that he was propped against and his eyes squeezed shut when feeling your hands return to his side.

“Do you always wear shirts several sizes too big?” He managed to get out through clenched teeth and you replied without missing a beat.

“There was a mix-up in the laundry room.”

“So it isn’t your shirt?” He continued to be persistent and despite the seriousness of the situation, you couldn’t help but to let a small smile slip.

“Do you want to keep fighting about whether or not this shirt is mine or would you rather maybe, oh, I don’t know, focus on getting the hell out of here?” You asked him lightly and at that, he raised his head to meet your eyes with a distrusting glare.

“Why are you helping me?”

You raised your eyebrow at him, sparing just a second to meet his eyes. “You have a piece of metal stuck in your side, why the hell would I not help you?” You asked and as quickly as you had looked up, you looked back down at your hands to see what you were doing.

“You hate me, and I hate you.” He deadpanned, and you couldn’t deny you felt your heart tug in your chest.

“Who told you I hated you?” You asked, and listened as he let out a dry, struggling laugh.

“You did. On countless occasions.”

He hissed when you accidentally bumped your hand against the piece of metal. You quietly apologized but didn’t stop, knowing you didn’t have much time before the enemy would catch up with you.

“Thinking that I’m entitled to everything I want isn’t the only bad habit I have. I also have a tendency to overexaggerate.” You joked with a smile. “I do find you insufferably infuriating, though.”

Another chuckle left his lips. “Likewise.” He said and dropped his head back against the wall.

You said nothing more, ripping another two pieces off of the shirt, tying them together and wrapping it around his waist like you had the first piece. You tightened this knot significantly more than the first one, though, right above the piece of metal, and just as quickly as he had relaxed, he jerked back forward with a yell.

“I need to stop the bleeding, you need to keep still.” You hurriedly scolded and sternly pushed him back down by his chest.

He muttered bitterly in return, but didn’t protest.

“I bet you’re enjoying this.” He seethed, and you raised an eyebrow, a small smile playing on your lips.

“Whenever I’m feeling down, I just think back to the multiple times I’ve had the pleasure of witnessing you being force-thrown across a room by Ren. Puts a smile on my face every time. But that doesn’t automatically mean I want you to die. So stop wallowing in your internalized self-hatred and put your hand over mine.” You told him, trying your hardest to keep a lighthearted attitude, more so for your own sake than his at this point as you were literally about to pass out.

But he did as told, contributing with the strength he had left when you got to your feet and started pulling him up and into one of the seats that were still intact.

He put a trembling hand over yours and in turn, you put your other one over his and pushed down. He hissed and you gave him a moment to adjust, and when you were sure he was pressing hard enough with his own hand, you slowly removed both of yours and fastened his seatbelt.

“Keep pressure and hold on tight. This is most likely going to be a rough ride.” You warned him, and he slowly looked up at you through a mess of ginger hair.

“It can’t be any worse than the ride here.” He retorted and you nodded, taking that as a “go ahead”.

You wasted no time in getting into the pilot’s seat after pulling the previous pilot out, as well as the thick tree branch on which his head had been impaled, and started up the controls. It took a few tries to get out of the hole the ship hade gotten stuck in when crashing, but soon enough you were up in the sky.

With a bit of dumb luck, you eventually reached your destination and got brought back in to the base by your team of fellow engineers, all ready to repair the wrecked ship.

Hux was immediately taken to the medical bay while you stayed behind to help with the ships, and from two ends of the base, the two of you silently and separately came to realize that maybe, just maybe, you didn’t hate each other as much as you thought, after all.

#hux x reader #hux imagine #hux #armitage hux #armitage hux x reader #armitage hux imagine #general hux #general hux imagine #general hux x reader #domnhall gleeson #star wars #star wars imagine #star wars x reader #kylo ren #knights of ren #the first order

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comfyswitcherblanketfort · 4 years ago

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Grunge-Metal Geralt 3

its finally time 😂 after months of staring at an empty google doc i finally had a useful idea - also y’all, go listen to ‘Brighter Side of Grey’ by Five Finger Death Punch bc that’s the song i based this on and its fire and i love it also all of ffdp is one whole witchery mood

Warnging: vague discussion of a car crash where Geralt was severely injured, big emotionaly vulnerability, swearing?, listen to the song then you’ll get the vibes i promise

__________________

“Give them a break, guys,” Eskel sighed as he wrote down his coffee order, “They had a close call. It’s not like they’re always this…”

“Gross. Skel. The word you’re looking for is gross.” Lambert snatched the paper out of his brother’s hand and stalked out of the room with Aiden in tow.

Jaskier scrunched his nose and called from where he was tucked under Geralt’s chin, “Did we drive them away? I can get up if it’s too much.” Even as he spoke, neither he nor Geralt so much as twitched to make good on the offer.

“Doesn’t bother me,” Eskel shrugged.

Lambert and Aiden, mainly Lambert, were getting fed up with Geralt and Jaskier cuddling and cooing and doing general new couple bullshit. Especially since they’d been together three years now. They were recording a collaboration song, meaning everyone had to be there, but it seemed the two vocalists only really cared about each other. Jaskier sat on Geralt’s lap, played with his hair, stole kisses whenever he could… at one point Lambert caught Geralt tracing Jaskier’s lips and forced a coughing fit to get his attention. He probably thought it was subtle, even if no one else did. So to take a break and get some of what he called ‘patience juice’ (coffee), Lambert ran to their favorite coffee shop while Eskel laid down his bass line.

It’s not that they were intentionally this annoying, not all the time at least. After the car crash, especially once Geralt started doing well in his physical therapy, the couple just couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Not to say that was the only relationship Geralt was suddenly extra involved in, it was just the most noticeable.

Finally, after tea and coffee was distributed to everyone it was time for Geralt and Jaskier to, well, do their jobs. Jaskier was fidgeting and humming little scales, doing anything to calm the sudden nerves he felt bubbling up in his stomach.

“You alright?” Geralt purred, nudging him with his elbow as they stood side by side at their respective microphones. When Jaskier only shrugged he continued, “What's wrong?”

“I’m just not used to so many people being here while I…” Jaskier motioned to the mic before glancing around him and taking a deep breath, “it’s a vulnerable song…”

Geralt’s worry lines in his forehead melted as he pulled Jaskier into his arms, “I can kick them out if you want?” he whispered.

Shaking his head and inhaling Geralt’s scent deeply, something Jaskier had learned not to take for granted, he steeled his nerves, “I’ll be fine. Maybe a little weepy, but fine.”

As they were about to start, listening to the instrumental track and humming their parts of the song, Lambert brought Jaskier a bottle of water and set it on his music stand. He gave him a quick side hug and kissed his hair, offering a small “sorry” for all his teasing. Jaskier just giggled in response, the kind that only bubbles over from too much anticipation. He missed it, but Geralt mouthed a small ‘thank you’ to Lambert as he sat back down on the other side of the glass.

Jaskier hooked his pinky around Geralt’s as the guitar intro started, needing that little bit of contact for the first line. When they’d written it it felt perfect. The audience knew exactly what kind of song they were about to hear and Geralt really hadn’t known if he would pull through. It took Jaskier right back to the dimly lit hospital room where he scrawled and scratched out lyrics to keep Geralt distracted from his upcoming surgery. The fear, the desperation, the little pockets of joy when they forgot where they were, the overwhelming love that Jaskier thought he’d never be able to fully give to Geralt all crept back up his throat as he took a breath for that stupid fucking first line.

His voice cracked partway through as he sang, making him fully grip Geralt’s hand, “I’m writing this in case I’m gone tomorrow,” By some miracle, he found his support for the next line, “I’m writing this in case I’ve moved along,”

For a moment he thought he’d gotten over the worst of it. A couple lines passed in relative ease, emotional but not so much it interfered with his craft. If he focused on looking at his microphone and keeping his breath supported he might make it through. Then Geralt joined him for the chorus.

“When the lights go down, Know that I am never far away. When the sun burns out, I’ll be waiting on the brighter side of grey.”

His harmony faltered and he involuntarily heaved a broken gasp in the middle of a line, desperately trying to focus on the mic that was now warped by the tears in his eyes.

Geralt broke off after the first word of his verse, turning to Jaskier and pulling him in again, “You alright, love?”

“I’m fine. I’m sorry,” Jaskier groaned in embarrassment as he clung to Geralt’s frame, “I’m being a baby. I wasn’t even the one hurt.”

“No you’re not,” Geralt argued, running his knuckles over Jaskier’s cheeks to wipe away his tears, “Here,” he moved their mics and stands close enough that they were shoulder to shoulder and their fingers could comfortably lace together.

Jaskier squeezed his hand gently and gave him a brave smile, “From the top?”

“From the top.”

This time Jaskier tried watching Geralt as they sang. He made it through the first chorus and got to just watch as Geralt sang his verse. The pang of emotion in his chest was still ever present, but it was manageable. Until he noticed Geralt having trouble.

On “All you get to keep is what you’ve shared,” Geralt squeezed his eyes closed and his grip on Jaskier’s hand tightened. The folk singer prepared, relaxed, readied himself to take a breath in. He was expecting that one to hurt after how much Geralt insisted upon it. How he threatened to get out of that hospital bed and scribble the line himself if Jaskier didn’t put it in. He wasn’t expecting the last line of the stanza to hurt. It had been comforting to the both of them at the time.

Geralt’s lip quivered and his voice was almost pinched as he sang out, “Remember no one ever really dies.”

Even being the one to write the melody, Jaskier missed the first three notes of the chorus, “Fuck. Shit. I’m so sorry.”

“No, that was on me,” Geralt sniffed and chuckled, “I knew you’d lose it if I did.”

“How do you do this?!” Jaskier exclaimed, chugging half the water bottle to keep the breakdown at bay.

Aiden’s voice came over their headphones, “Half our songs are his trauma and another quarter are group trauma. He’s got practice sweetheart.”

They tried a couple more times, even got through the whole song once with only minimal tears and one tasteful cracked note. But it was still a struggle for Jaskier to keep it together, and the more they sang, the more Geralt lost his iron grip on his composure.

“Look at me,” Jaskier instructed, moving Geralt to face him and adjusting their mics so they could sing to each other, “Just like when we wrote it. Except a little less pain.”

The joke earned a snort out of Geralt, exactly what Jaskier was aiming for, “This is supposed to be easier?”

“We can try?”

Jaskier did wonderfully for his verse, singing to Geralt was familiar and safe, even if the subject matter was terrifying. The chorus went well, but as soon as Geralt started to sing, Jaskier couldn’t exhale and it was all he could do not to sniff and ruin the take.

“If you’re hearing this I know you’re probly scared,” had tears falling down his cheeks again and Geralt’s voice cracked as his eyes welled up, “Nope,” he choked, “that’s worse. Much worse.”

“Fuck,” Jaskier gave a watery giggle as he wrapped his arms around Geralt’s middle, “Why did we decide to do this again?”

Geralt pressed a kiss to Jaskier’s hair, sniffling and holding him tight, “I think we’re sadists.”

“Back to back,” Eskel’s voice crackled in their ears, “Try it back to back.”

Leaning back to watch Jaskier’s reaction, Geralt hummed, “Do you want to? Or do you need a break?”

“Fuck it,” Jaskier shrugged, spinning Geralt around and following suit as he moved his equipment.

As they stood waiting for the tech to start the audio, Jaskier felt like he could really inhale for the first time all day. Geralt was there, he could feel his ribs expand against his back and his fingers tapping like a metronome on Jaskier’s palms. This is what they were missing when they wrote the damn song. The comfort of knowing someone is always at your back, that they’ll be there when it’s hard and even when you’re separated.

A warmth spread through Jaskier as the intro started and he felt ready. He still pressed back into Geralt on the harder lines, reminding himself he was still there, but they both made it through two full takes.

On the final one, as the recording of the softly picked guitar faded out, Jaskier couldn’t help but repeat two more lines, “When the lights go down, Know that I am never far away.”

His voice hung in the air for a beat, the sense of finality reverberating through the studio and bringing everything else to a stand still.

Geralt was the first to breathe, “Shit, we made it.”

“We fuckin made it,” Jaskier huffed, emotionally drained but immensely satisfied as he turned to hug Geralt from behind and press his cheek to his spine, “I love you.”

“I love you too. Let’s get a snack?”

“Yeah.”

When the sound tech played the potential mix for the first time, he tacked on an echoing, distant sounding recording of their conversation. Everyone looked at each other and nodded, goosebumps on their arms and that feral sparkle in their eyes that every artist gets when they’ve stumbled on something really exciting. They re-recorded some guitar and drums, but they kept the vocals exactly the same.

For the album art they wrote “I love you” on the tattered hospital stationary that had the lyrics and chords written on it and took a picture. Jaskier had the original framed and hung in their house as a little reminder.

205 notes · View notes

felassan · 4 years ago

Text

Some DA trivia and dev commentary from Twitter

There’s a lot of different tweets, so I’m just pasting and linking to the source rather than screencapping them all or making several different posts or something. Post under cut for length.

User: Was dragon age 2 your favourite in the franchise?

David Gaider: DA2 was the project where my writing team was firing on all cylinders, and they wrote like the wind- because they had to! Second draft? Pfft. Plot reviews? Pfft. I was so proud of what we all accomplished in such a brief time. I didn't think it was possible. [source] DA2 is, however, also where the goal posts kept moving. Things kept getting cut, even while we worked. I had to write that dialogue where Orsino turned even if you sided with him, because his boss battle had been cut and there was no time to fix the plot. A real WTF moment. >:( [source]

Mike Rousseau: I remember bugging that! And then being told it wasn't a bug, and being so confused. Doing QA for DA2 was an experience. Trial by fire. [source]

DG: So I think it's safe to say DA2 is my favorite entry in the DA franchise and also the sort of thing I never want to live through ever again. Mixed feelings galore. [source]

User: (I personally blame whoever it was for ruining most romance arcs in other games for me; they don't live up to Fenris's romance storyline)

DG: I wrote Fenris, so uh - me, I guess? Or maybe his cinematic designer, who put in the puppy dog eyes. [source]

User: If DA2 had just been an expansion, do you think it would have been better received? There was a lot of great stuff in there, and I think my initial dislike of it was because of the zone reuse. If it hadn't needed to be a full game, would that issue not have arisen?

DG: Hard to say. It was either going to be an over-scoped expansion or an under-scoped sequel. If it had stayed an expansion, it might never have received the resources/push it DID get. [source]

User: I'd love to visit the universe where you had an extra year or so to work on it. You did a very good job as it stands, but it definitely had rough edges. Not just the writing team either. The whole game had hit and miss moments, that just a little more dev time could have fixed.

DG: On one hand, DA2 existed to fill a hole in the release schedule. More time was never in the cards. DA2 was originally planned as an expansion! On the other, if we had more time, would we have started doing that thing where we second guess/iterate ourselves into mediocrity? [shrug emoji] [source]

Jennifer Hepler: This is what I love about DA2. Personally, I greatly prefer something that's rough and raw and sincere to something that's had all the soul polished out of it. Extra time would have helped for art and levels, but it would have lost something too. [source]

DG: Right? I think we could have used some time for peer reviews (and fewer cuts), but I think the rawness of the writing lent a certain spark that we usually polished out. [source]

JH: Definitely. I think the structure (more character-driven) and the tightness of the timeframe let each individual writer's voice really come through. Polish can be very homogenizing. [source]

DG: I should add I'm not, by any means, against iteration. Some iteration is good and necessary. The problem that BioWare often had is that we never knew when to stop. Like a goldfish, we would fill the space given to us by constantly re-iterating on things that were "good enough". [source]

Patrick Weekes: I appreciate your incredibly diplomatic use of the past tense on "had". :D [source]

User: DA2 was my gateway into the series and I’m so happy it is. I love the game the way that it is. It’s one of my favorites of all time. But I am also aware of everything that was said here. If it were remastered, do you think it would change?

DG: I'd be surprised if it was ever remastered. If it was, do you really think they'd change things? Do remasters do that? No idea. [source]

User: Both sides got undercut as I recall. Didn't that whole sequence also end with the mage leader embracing blood magic? It was very much "a plague on both your houses" moment, at least for me.

DG: Yep. Orsino was supposed to have his own version of Meredith's end battle, which only happened if you sided with the templars. That got cut, but the team still wanted to use the model we'd made for him. So... that happened. [source]

DG: I would personally say that DA2 is a fantastic game hidden under a mountain of compromises, cut corners, and tight deadlines. If you can see past all that, you'll see a fantastic game. I don't doubt, however, that it's very difficult for most to do that. [source]

PW: I love DAI with all my selfish "I worked on this" heart, but DA2's follower arcs and relationships are probably my favorite in the series. [source]

User: As I've expressed many times, I love the game, especially it's writing and characters but, for me, the most impressive aspect of it, in consideration of it's lack of time for drafts and revisions, is the 2nd act with Arishok. What amazingly complex character and fantastic duel

User: Just played it again and I have to agree. Though he is bound by the harsher tenants of the Qun, he makes valid points about free marcher society. Though it is obvious that he and Hawke will come to blows eventually, the tension builds gradually and understandably

DG: Luke did such a fantastic job with the Arishok I found myself sometimes wishing the Qunari plot had just been THE plot. [source]

User: What do you think would have changed, story wise, if you had more time for DA2?

DG: I would have taken out that thing where Meredith gets the idol. It was forced on me because she needed to be "super-powered" with red lyrium for her final battle. Being "crazy", however, robbed her side of the mage/templar argument of any legitimacy. I hated hated hated that. [source]

User: I deeply lament that there wasn't/couldn't be some sort of DA2 equivalent of Throne of Bhaal's Ascension mod.

DG: I'd have done it, if DA2 had allowed for anything but the most rudimentary of modding. ;) [source]

User: I mean, and I think I understand where you were trying, but how much legitimacy did the Templars and her as top Templar have after they're keeping the mages locked up against their will in the old slave quarters? Feel free to not reply.

DG: I think it's the kind of discussion which requires nuance, and which discussions on the Internet are not prone to. [source]

User: Was a compromise that the quest lines don’t branch? It felt like it was supposed to be that way but then you end up in the same place later regardless of what you pick. Like I hoodwinked the templars so good to help the apostates escape but in Act II they were caught anyway.

DG: I remember us having a lot more branching in the initial planning yes. Most of this got trimmed out in the first or second wave of cuts, in an effort to not cut the plots altogether. [source]

DG: "If you could Zack Snyder DA2, what would you change?" Wow. I'm willing to bet Mark or Mike (or anyone else on the team) would give very different answers than me, but it's enough to give a sober man pause, because that was THE Project of Multiple Regrets. [source] I mean, it's the most hypothetical of hypotheticals. It's never gonna happen. I wouldn't be surprised if EA considered DA2 its embarrassing red-headed stepchild. We'd also need to ignore that in many ways DA2 was as good as it was bad BECAUSE of how it was made. But that aside? [source] First, either restore the progressive changes to Kirkwall we'd planned over the passing of in-game years or reduce the time between acts to months instead of years... which, in hindsight, probably should have been done as soon as the progressive stuff was cut. [source] I'm sure you're like "get rid of repeated levels!" ...but I don't care about that. All I wanted was for Kirkwall to feel like a bigger city. Way more crowded. More alive! Fewer blood mages. [source] I'd want to restore the plot where a mage Hawke came THIS close to becoming an abomination. An entire story spent trapped in one's own head while trapped on the edge of possession. Why? Because Hawke is the only mage who apparently never struggles with this. It was a hard cut. [source]

User: I would LOVE to hear more details about this! I don’t suppose there’s any chance of a short story?

DG: I don't even remember the details of the story, sorry. There was a fight, and you caught the bad guy and then realized none of it was real and woke up idk [source]

DG: I'd want to restore all those alternate lines we cut, meaning people forget they'd met you. Or that they knew you were a mage. Or, oh god, that maybe they'd romanced you in DAO. So much carnage. [source] I'd want to restore the Act 3 plots we cut only because they were worked on too late, but which would have made the buildup to the mage/templar clash less sudden. Though I don't remember what they were, now. Some never got beyond being index cards posted on the wall. [grimace emoji] [source] As I mentioned elsewhere, I'd want to restore Orsino's end battle so he wouldn't need to turn on you even if you sided with him. And I'd want an end fight with the templars that didn't require Meredith to have red lyrium and go full Tetsuo. [source] Heck, maybe an end decision where you sided with neither the mages nor the templars. Because it certainly ended up feeling like you could brand both sides as batshit pretty legitimately, no? That was never planned, tho. No idea how to make that feel like an actual path atm. [source] Maybe an option to go "umm, Anders... what are you DOING?" 👀 [source] And, of course, a Varric romance, because Mary took that "slimy car salesman" character we'd planned and did the impossible with him. I can feel Mary glaring at me for even suggesting this, tho. [source] Lastly, the original expanded opening to the game which allowed you to spend time with Bethany and Carver BEFORE the darkspawn attacked. And, um, that's about it off the top of my head. Zack Snyder, WHAT PANDORA'S BOX HAVE YOU OPENED. [source] Shit, I remembered two more things: 1) Restore the "Varric exaggerates the heck out of the story" at the beginning of every Act, until Cassandra calls him on it. Yes, that was a thing. 2) Make DA: Exodus. Yes, I am still bitter. [source] God damn it, I meant "Make DA: Exalted March". The DA2 expansion, NOT Exodus since that was DA2's original name and makes no sense. Because the expansion ended with Varric dying, and that will always be on my "things left undone" list. [source]

User: Whaaaat?

DG: Well, you know that scene in Wrath of Khan where Spock goes into the dilithium chamber because he's a Vulcan? Well, imagine that but with Varric and red lyrium and because he's a dwarf. ;) [source]

John Epler: I distinctly remember referencing the bit from MGS4 where you crawl through the microwave corridor in the split screen, while cinematic battle rages on the other half. [source]

DG: It would have been glorious, John. Glorious. [source]

JE: I don't think I've ever been so certain what a shot should look like as I did Hawke coming in and finding Varric in the broken throne, just like when he was telling Cassandra his story. [source]

DG: It would have come full circle! Auggghh, it still kills me. [source]

User: Lord, you folks are a little too good at this.

JE: The true secret behind videogame narrative is knowing how to make yourself seem a lot more clever than you actually are. [source] 'Oh, we TOTALLY planned that.' [source]

User: Ok, this thread [the DA2 regrets thread, which is the big chunks above] but Inquisition.

DG: My regrets about Inquisition are, more or less, the normal kind. Nothing so dramatic, I'm afraid. [source]

User: You can keep your Varric romance, I want a Flemeth romance goddamnit!

DG: I would allow for one flirt option, and then a recording of Kate Mulgrew laughing for three minutes straight. [source]

User: I had a hypothesis about the repetitive caves in DA2. They're repetitive because it's Varric telling the story and he didn't consider them important. They're like sets in a play. (Okay, I really suspect it was a time/money/resources thing but I like my fake explanation better.)

DG: Hang a lampshade on it, maybe? Cassandra: "But that's the exact cave you were in last time?" Varric: "Whatever. They all look the same, I'm not THAT kind of dwarf. Can we move on?" [source]

User: that makes sense, hypothetically to make Varric romanceable and keep his arc—that had to happen for the main plot—I imagine you would have to make double the content (or more)? which would've been a tall order given the time/budget constraints the game was under

DG: Right. When it comes to "romance arc" vs. "follower story arc", we generally only had time to do one or the other. Never both. Romancing Varric would have meant not getting the story of his that you did. [source]

Mary Kirby: The one exaggeration I really, REALLY wanted, that we never got to do was Varric narrating his own death scene with Hawke weeping over him, then cutting to Cassandra's pissed off glaring at him. [source]

DG: Haha! The one I wanted was Varric's plot where he takes on the baddies single-handedly, sliding across the floor like Jet Lee, action movie-style, until finally Cassandra gets irritated and he has to admit Hawke & the rest of the party showed up to help. [source]

MK: We did that one! (He didn't do any Jet Lee moves, though.) Jepler gave him letterboxing to get The Good, the Bad, & the Ugly showdown vibes while he shot a ton of mooks single-handed. [source]

DG: Wow. Shows how much I remember. [source]

JE: I found it! I remember seeing this sequence as my treat for doing a bunch of much more challenging work. It was fun to see how far I could push our limited library of animations. [link] [source]

DG: Heh awesome. I could have sworn it was cut, honestly. I think I was even in that meeting. [source]

User: no disrespect but that’s surprising and rich of Mary “Hard in Hightown” Kirby to think DA2 shouldn’t have had a Varric romance when she wrote an entire book of Varric’s self-insert character pining over his Hawke insert character… HIH is the reason we had VHawke Summer 2018

DG: I can't *really* speak for Mary, or how she feels about it now compared to back then. I only know how she felt about it back then, and I'm not sure it was as much the concept of the romance but that Varric's entire story would be bent to "romance arc" ...a very different thing. [source]

JH: I remember pushing to have the first DLC start with Hawke having an option to ask Varric, "Did you tell Cassandra about us?" and if you picked it, Varric would answer, "Of course not, baby. I told her you were sleeping with X..." and then proceed as if you had had a full romance. [source]

DG: I still wonder how that would have gone over. x) [source]

JE: Okay, one more DA2 thing. Putting together the cinematics for this scene was a blast. [link] [source]

MK: These lines are my greatest legacy. I want "Make sure the world knows I died... at Chateau Haine!" inscribed on my tombstone. [source]

JE: I was so glad no one said 'no' to the crane shot. [source]

MK: It needs that crane shot. It's the perfect icing on that cake made from solid cheese. [source]

DG: The designers were all "we need more combat" and I think we were all "I think you underestimate just HOW interesting we can make this dinner party". [source]

JE: And finally. I think @SherylChee wrote the one-liner. I think we had a collection of like, 20. [link] [source]

Sheryl Chee: Yeah! Something like that! I remember submitted a whole bunch and Frank said you only needed one. Wish I'd kept the other fifteen. [source]

JE: A random chooser where, each time through the scene, you get a different one-liner. [source]

JE: DA2 is the project I'm the proudest of. I also absolutely get that it didn't land for a lot of people. But I don't think it's inaccurate to say that, in a lot of ways, DA2 defined my career. [source] Everyone spent a year working at their maximum ability. I was a fresh cinematic designer and was given all of Varric's content, as well as the Act 1 Finale mission. It was a lot for someone who had been doing the Cinematics thing for literally 6 months. [source] There's some stuff in there I can't look at without wincing. And there's some stuff I'm genuinely proud of. Not to mention, it was my introduction to most of the writing team. Several of whom I'm still working with today! Albeit in a different capacity [source] Also, weirdly, one of my most enduring memories of Dragon Age 2 is how much Bad Company 2 we'd play at lunch. It was a LOT. [source] Every game I've worked on has a game I played attached to it. ME2 is Borderlands. DA2 is Bad Company 2. DAI is DayZ. I, hmm. There's a progression there. I don't know how I feel about it. [source]

User: Is DA4 going to be tarkov then?

JE: I've kind of churned out of Tarkov for now. Probably Hunt Showdown, at least right now. [source]

User: I think people also don't take nuance into consideration -- like I FULLY acknowledge the flaws in my favorite games and will openly criticize them, but that doesn't mean they're not my favorite games anymore??? You can like and thing and still be critical of it.

JE: A lot of my favourite shit is deeply flawed! I acknowledge it and I think it's interesting to dissect the flaws. [source]

User: I still wish Justice was an actual character in DA2 rather than a plot point.

DG: There was a moment during DAI where we *almost* put in you running into Justice with the Grey Wardens, and he's all "Kirkwall? I never went to Kirkwall" [source]

User: Does that imply that Justice was shoehorned in to DA2?

DG: Nah, it was an in-joke where we thought it'd be fun to suggest that "Justice" was simply some demon that tricked Anders in DA2. Wooo those tricky demons! We didn't do it, though. [source]

User: [about templars] except, I don't think it had very much legitimacy to begin with. keep in mind, we interact with other characters with the same argument. The one that comes to mind is Cullen, a sane templar in power. The templar's side of the argument is inherently flawed.

DG: I don't doubt that many people agree with you, and yet people can and do argue on behalf of the templars as well. My place isn't to pick a side, but to provide evidence that players can interpret for themselves [source]

User: Can you shed some light for us on how DA was able to do multiple same-sex romance options for different genders but the Mass Effect team treated them like the plague? What process existed for your team that just wasn't their for the other tentpole franchise?

DG: Different people making the decisions, almost different cultures. I don't know what it's like now, but for many years the Mass Effect team and the Dragon Age team were almost like two different studios working within the same building. [source]

User: It truly boggles the mind. Kudos for doing demonstrably better on consistent queer representation than the ME teams. Y'all never needed us to make petitions to try to get the studio's attention and ask them to do better by us. That's the fight we're once again embroiled in now.

DG: Honestly, I don't feel like tut-tutting the Mass Effect team. They did their part, and if they were a bit later to the show than the DA team they certainly did more than almost every other game out there -- and willingly. [source]

Updates begin here

User: So what was the reason for naming Dragon age 2 "Dragon age II" and not using a subtitle?

DG: As I recall, that was purely a publisher decision. I think they wanted to avoid the impression it was an expansion. [source]

User: Is there no chance of ever remaking DA2 under better circumstances? -Somehow remove the repetitiveness of gameplay by making changes and updating the tech and adding much more to the storyline. It could almost be a new very exciting game.

DG: I'd say there's zero chance of that. Let's keep our hopes up for the next DA title instead. [source]

User: I am a little confused here, help me out here please! How exactly was the cut boss battle with Orsino supposed to work out? How it would've kept him from turning against the player?

DG: It means that, if you sided with the templars, the entire boss bottle at the end would have been against Orsino and the mages. No fight against Meredith. The end decision would have been more divergent. [source]

User: I do remember that one of the reasons going around for that, was that resources were going to the transition to Frostbite. I'm still not fully sold on that having been a good choice. I felt that more time should have been given for that transition considering it was made for FPSs

DG: We didn't transition to Frostbite until DAI. Given our time frame for DA2, I don't think we *could* have transitioned to a new engine. [source]

User: Since your talking about the what could have been for DA2. Could you say what your script was for Anthem? Cause I remember reading that you wrote the plot on that game.

DG: I created a setting for Anthem and scripted out a plot - but, as I understand it, almost none of that ended up being used. So it's a bit pointless to talk about what I'd planned, as that'd be for some completely different type of game. [source]

User: [in reference to the exchange above where DG said “Being "crazy", however, robbed her side of the mage/templar argument of any legitimacy. I hated hated hated that.” re: Meredith] except, I don't think it had very much legitimacy to begin with. keep in mind, we interact with other characters with the same argument. The one that comes to mind is Cullen, a sane templar in power. The templar's side of the argument is inherently flawed.

If I missed a tweet, got the wrong source link or included a tweet twice, feel free to let me know and I’ll correct.

Edit / Update: Post update 22nd April

#dragon age #bioware #video games #fenris #the Fenaissance #long post #longpost #cassandra pentaghast #my lady paladin #dragon age 4 #the dread wolf rises #da4 #mass effect

267 notes · View notes

raindancer2004 · 4 years ago

Text

House Rules

Word Count: 2,241 Demetri x reader Oneshot Warnings: Fluff, a little NSFW

The idea for this one came from a post of @wallwriterstuff & the conversation that followed with @volturidoll13

Demetri met Y/N when he met Gianna after one of the Art classes, she took on a Thursday night. Aro didn’t like the idea of Gianna walking home alone in the dark and had asked Demetri to go meet her. He knew Y/N was his mate the moment he saw her; his throat burned at the smell of her blood but the need to taste her was overruled by his desire to protect her. Y/N was attracted to him the moment she saw him. He had given her a warm smile and his voice had made her weak in the knees. He walked her home that night too; in fact, every Thursday night he walked Y/N home before he and Gianna continued on their way to the castle.

Demetri had taken Y/N out on a few dates before telling her that he was a vampire and she was his mate, his one true love “So you mean I’m the key to your ‘happily ever after’?” She asked and he chuckled “Yes, exactly” He replied smiling at her “Ooh I don’t know Demetri…forever is such a long time. What if I get bored of you?” He knew she was teasing him but feigned offense anyway, his hand going to his unbeating heart “You wound me, Y/N” She laughed a little “I’m sure someone as old and strong as you will survive” She gave him a wink, he growled low and replied “I would never get bored of you nor would I ever allow you to get bored of me” One of his hands moved up her thigh, his little finger brushed her clothed centre as he nibbled her ear before placing a kiss below it, she bit her lip to supress a moan escaping them. He smiled against her skin “I can’t wait till you’re beneath me and I can hear all those little noises you’re going make whilst I’m inside you” He whispered “Me neither…but I don’t have sex on a third date” She whispered back “You’re sure about that? I can tell you’re aroused” He replied low “You’re not playing fair…Vampire” She breathed the last word and tapped his nose “I never said I would sweetheart” He kissed her cheek “Come on. I’ll take you home” He added and helped her with her coat.

A month later Demetri moved Y/N into the castle with him, excited that he was finally getting to live with his mate. Y/N was amazed by the size of Demetri’s quarters and liked the natural colour scheme of the room, a blood red rug in front of the fireplace accentuated the room.

“I need to discuss some things with you now that you’re living with me” Demetri said taking her hands in his “Ok, I’m all ears” She smiled at him “House rules; 1. Every other Wednesday between 12 and 2pm, please do not leave our quarters as it’s ‘tour’ day. The next ‘tour’ is this Wednesday” “Ahh, yes. Human take out day. I’ll be sure to stay here” She replied “2. Please do not leave the castle without me or Gianna with you. I need to know you’re safe” She nodded “Only the two rules?” She teased “3. Trouserless Tuesdays, where pants are optional” Demetri says, winking at her “By optional you mean it’s negotiable?” She asked “No. It’s not negotiable. As I said pants are optional on Trouserless Tuesdays” He smiled at her and she shook her head “You’re terrible” “Maybe, but I’m all yours” He replied and kissed her.

“Are you ready for family movie night?” Demetri called out “Yep. Whenever you are” She replied walking out of the walk-in closet dressed in her ‘Tinkerbell’ pyjamas and a pair of Giraffe slippers “What the F…” He trails off as he eyes her from head to toe “Are you wearing those downstairs?” “If you don’t accept me wearing my Disney pyjamas and giraffe slippers, then I’ve agreed to be railed by the wrong vampire for all eternity” She responded, Demetri’s mouth dropped open in shock. He shook his head and moved to stand in front of her “I accept you, no matter what you wear mi amore” He replied and captured her lips in a sweet kiss. “So, what’s this about agreeing to be railed by a vampire for all eternity?” He asked, one eyebrow raised “I thought that was part of the ‘mate’ package you offered me. Was I wrong?” She replied looking up at him through her lashes as she took her bottom lip between her teeth. He growled low and deep, his thumb removing her lip from her teeth as he captured her lips with his in a passionate kiss. “You weren’t wrong, I just don’t remember using that phrase” “Well, you are getting on a bit. I hear memory problems are common with the…ancient” She whispered the last word, teasing him again. He chuckled and scooped her up and put her over his shoulder and slapped her ass “Ooh” He dropped her carefully onto the bed and climbed on top of her, propping his weight on his elbows and rolled his hips against her, the button of his jeans rubbing her clit. “You should respect your elders, young one” He replied and kissed her again “And if I don’t?” She bit his bottom lip “I could make you” He bit her lip in return “That sounds like it could be fun…oh ancient one” She replied smiling at him “Is that my new nickname?” “Yep, seeing as you called me young one” “You started it sweetheart” He smiled and rolled off her and kissed her cheek “We’ll finish this later” He said and smacked her ass as she got off the bed “Counting on it” She turned and blew him a kiss.

He went into the closet to change into a pair of lounge pants and a t-shirt. “Come on movie night’s about to start and you old people have trouble staying awake the later it gets” She called over her shoulder, smirking “Kids today. They have no respect. I blame the parents” He retorted with a smirk on his own.

He took her hand in his and they made their down to the family room ready for movie night “What are those on your feet?” Felix asked shocked as Y/N and Demetri sat beside him on the sofa “Felix meet Eddie and Annie” She replied and wiggled her feet, Felix laughed “Y-you named th-them?” “Don’t laugh at her” Demetri warned him “But she named her slippers D” Felix continued to laugh “Felix” He growled low “I think it’s endearing” Demetri added and wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close “Just ignore him, we do” Alec called out as she snuggled into Demetri’s side.

Y/N decided to buy Demetri a present and gave them to him upon his return from a two-day mission “Welcome home Dem. I’ve missed you” She smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck “I’ve missed you too sweetheart” Demetri replied, kissing her. “I’ve got you a gift” She led him over to the sofa and handed him a large gift bag. He opened the gift bag and removed a box, lifting the lid revealed a pair of Wolf slippers “I’ve even named them for you ‘Fang and Hunter’” She smiled at him, he smiled back at her, although he seemed nervous “You don’t like them Dem?” She asked “It’s not that. I love them thank you. It’s just vampires and Wolves don’t really get along” He replied “Oh, Oh…sorry I-I didn’t know. I just thought as Wolves are predators and you’re a predator, they’d be perfect” She apologised and seemed sad “Oh no, sweetheart. It’s ok really but Master Caius will have my head if he sees me in these!" He replied and pulled her onto his lap, holding her close and kissing her cheek.

Demetri decided he’d wear his slippers around his room, that way Y/N was happy and Caius couldn’t kill him. Y/N took pictures of him in his new Wolf slippers on her phone as well as a few of them together in their slippers “We’re making memories Demi” She smiled at him and he melted inside as he enjoyed making memories with her, even if some are a little silly.

“House Rule Number 4. We only wear our animal slippers in our room” Demetri tells her as he looks into her eyes “Ok, that sounds good…something just for us” She agreed and kissed him. He liked that he had made her smile and that she understood that the new house rule meant they were keeping something as innocent as Wolf slippers a secret from Caius.

However, Demetri became a little stressed at the situation he found himself in because the love of his immortal life had bought him a gift; one which he loved and seeing that noone had ever bought him a gift before, they meant something to him but the problem was if anyone knew the Wolf slippers existed and Caius found out, he would surely torture him in some way.

Felix entered Demetri’s room one evening to see the couple sitting on the sofa watching a movie in their pyjamas and slippers. “Not you too D?” Felix asked as he sat on the other sofa “Y/N got them for me and they’re quite comfortable actually” Demetri replied waving his feet about “Did you name them too?” Felix’s tone was a teasing one “No, I named them before I gave them to him” Y/N responded and Felix started laughing, so much so Y/N thought he may actually wet himself “You tell anyone Fe & I’ll kill you” Felix nodded but continued to laugh.

Y/N enjoyed living with her vampire mate as there was never a dull moment in the castle especially with Demetri to keep her company. She enjoyed the sunset picnics on the castle roof, the shared bubble baths and showers as they always led to something more. Date nights were always fun no matter who planned them.

The masters needed Demetri to track a coven in England and Caius made a special trip to the tracker’s room. He knocked on the door and entered “Good evening Demetri” “Good evening master” He replied and bowed “I need you to track that small coven in England” Demetri concentrated for a moment before replying “They are currently in Oxford, master.” Caius nodded “Thank you but I must ask what on earth are those on your feet?” He asked “Y/N bought me the Wolf slippers as a gift, she owns Giraffe ones” Dem replied “I know, I’ve seen hers but why would she buy you Wolf slippers?” Caius asked “Wolves are predators and I am a predator and she thought they’d be perfect” Dem responded, Caius nodded “I understand but I’m not sure I like them though. They are not to be worn around the castle” “Yes master” Demetri agreed, knowing he had no plans to do so. “Nice pyjamas” Caius smirked when he saw Y/N leave the bathroom in Beige pyjamas with Cocktail Glasses and Palm Trees on, that just so happened to match Demetri’s “Thank you Caius, they’re known ‘couple pyjamas.’ It allows couples to wear matching nightwear” Y/N responded and bowed her head a little. Caius found it amusing that the World’s Best Tracker and his human mate wore matching pyjamas. ‘How sweet’ he thought to himself.

Caius decided to punish Demetri in an interesting way after he discovered Demetri’s Wolf slippers. Demetri was over 1000 years old and found himself ‘grounded’ and ‘remanded’ to his shared room with Y/N for one week. “Use this upcoming week to bond more with Y/N” “I will thank you” Demetri replied, Caius smiled and left the room.

The week Demetri spent in his room with Y/N was one of the best weeks of his life, that Demetri could recall; they did become closer, their bond strengthening as a result. They binged watched TV shows and films and well as reading silently on their own or sometimes aloud to each other. They also spent many intimate moments together, neither one able to get enough of the other.

“It’s Tuesday why are you wearing trousers? Have you forgotten House Rule number 3?” Demetri asked as Y/N walked out of the bathroom “I remember House Rule number 3 and these are not trousers. These are Capri Pants” She replied smiling & twirling “Pants? What the EVER-loving hell are those?” Demetri says as he looks at her “Panties, I’ve heard of those. Yours are currently on our bedroom floor…” He winked and nodded over his shoulder “…But pants? Never heard of them” “So, that’s where my panties went?” She replied, winking at him and he growled at her. Before she knew what was happening, he was in front of her and she felt him tear her pants off “Hey” She cried out “Trouserless Tuesday” He replied and gestured to his naked lower half before pushing her against the wall; lifting her up, her legs wrapping around his waist as he entered her in one slow long stroke “Ahh…” She breathed “See, this is why we have House Rule number 3” He continued to thrust in and out of her slowly, making love to her “Oh, unrestricted access to one another?” He nodded at her “I think Tuesdays may just be my favourite day of the week” She added with a wink “Mine too sweetheart. Mine too.”

#demetri volturi #jane volturi #felix volturi #alec volturi #aro volturi #caius volturi #marcus volturi #volturi #twilight #oneshot #demetri x reader

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canary3d-obsessed · 4 years ago

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Restless Rewatch: The Untamed Episode 21, part one

(Masterpost) (Other Canary Stuff) (Previous Post)

Warning: Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!

Reunions

All together in The Unclean Realm, The Yunmeng trio find a spot inside where they can sit down and have a proper Yanli-Wuxian reunion, while Jiang Cheng sits across the table watching them.

For years Jiang Cheng has been rejecting Wei Wuxian's free and easy affection; now Yanli might be the only person Wei Wuxian offers to hug until Wen Yuan comes into his life.

Jiang Cheng is really going through it. He'll do nearly anything for Yanli--except, uh, stay in the goddamn inn with her when she's sick and the Wens are hunting them--and what makes her happiest is Wei Wuxian. He's brought them together, and so he's happy, even though he's excluded from their dynamic. This absolutely fucking kills me.

Here Jiang Yanli and Wei Wuxian are sweetly pledging to always keep the trio together and put each other first. Neither of them will keep this promise.

Wei Wuxian will leave first, to take the Wens to the Burial Mounds. Jiang Yanli will leave second, staying in Lanling at Jin Zixuan's request instead of accompanying Jiang Cheng to retrieve Wei Wuxian. Jiang Cheng will be the last to let go.

(more after the cut)

Nie Huaisang comes literally running in, filled with joy at Wei Wuxian's return. When he goes to pat his shoulder Wei Wuxian flinches away.

I feel like something important is happening in this rapid sequence of glances and expressions between Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang. NHS is startled, and WWX realizes he's shown something about himself that he didn't want to show. He glances at Jiang Cheng and back at NHS before laughing and covering his slip with a squeeze of NHS’s hand.

NHS switches from shocked to cheerful just as quickly, helping with the coverup. It’s like they have a quick mutual agreement, rooted in their history of shared shenanigans, to not point out that something is wrong.

Meanwhile, Lan Wangji is wandering around the grounds, having feelings. At this point it's presumably been at least a couple of weeks since their breakup fight.

He sees Wei Wuxian sitting contemplating his flute, and as he sees him he goes from sort of neutrally apprehensive to full on angry judging, complete with sword clenching.

Part of this may be that his feelings are hurt over their fight, but the larger issue is his distress over Wei Wuxian's apparent heretical cultivation. That, at any rate, is what's on his mind when he's selecting music, later in the episode, and when he's selecting flashbacks.

Party Time

Later, the Nies host an excruciating party to celebrate Wei Wuxian's slaughter of Wen Chao return. Jiang Yanli is sharing a table with Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng is sharing a table with his crippling social anxiety.

Everyone starts grilling Wei Wuxian about his sword, because that's suddenly all anybody cares about even though Jiang Yanli, Nie Huaisang, Meng Yao, and probably plenty of other people don't carry swords most of the time.

Wei Wuxian says "after the Wens caught me, Wen Zhuliu crushed my core, so I can't use my sword any more, too bad so sad, can we change the subject?" And everyone is very understanding and admires his resiliency. HA HA HA HA HA. Of course he doesn't opt for that simple lie, but instead mopes audibly without saying anything.

Nie Huasiang tries to change the subject by asking how he killed Wen Chao. Apparently "I had a sexy ghost mostly flay him" isn't good party chat, though, so neither Wei Wuxian nor Jiang Cheng opts to tell the story.

Everyone lapses into awkward silence, all the more noticeable because there are no dancers, musicians, or entertainers of any kind at this event. OP has gone to audit-kickoff meetings that were more fun than cultivator banquets.

Moment of Clarity

While the awkwardness builds, we hear the sounds of the Song of Clarity. Lan Wangji is skipping the party, which is part of why Wei Wuxian is so mopey. But instead of sitting and stewing in his anger, Lan Wangji has shifted gears, and is starting to work on his "save Wei Wuxian's soul" plan.

This isn't the God-botherer version of soul saving, however. Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian disagree about correct practice, but they both are still practitioners within the same spiritual system, and the majority of their beliefs are closely aligned.

Lan Wangji has powerful magic at his disposal, and now he's taking a step back from his plan of forcing persuading Wei Wuxian to give up heterodoxy, and instead he's preparing to use his magic to offset the consequences of Wei Wuxian's choice.

He still isn't ready to accept that choice, but he's working on it. This is a big moment for Lan Wangji's relationship with Wei Wuxian. Lan Wangji is a deeply, deeply uncompromising person, as well as being super bossy, and he’s taking his first steps toward supporting Wei Wuxian’s free agency.

Wei Wuxian leaves the party in the middle of Yao's toast, saying "I have to see you and your lover all over my tumblr dashboard but I am NOT going to listen to you talk!" He takes his wine to go roam around near Lan Wangji's quarters to pine and feel conflicted. Lan Wangji has thoughtfully set up a projection scrim to catch his shadow and make the pining easier.

Jiang Cheng comes looking for Wei Wuxian, partly to reprimand him for rudeness and partly to see what the hell is wrong with him. Jiang Cheng is trying very hard to be pleasant. He's bad at it, but he's trying.

Wei Wuxian is trying to be unpleasant and he's pretty good at it. He won't say why he isn't using his sword. He’s obviously super fucking depressed about it, calling his former self childish for liking to spar, and only smiling once during the whole exchange.

He finally tells Jiang Cheng that he will always want to do the opposite of what Jiang Cheng tells him. Jiang Cheng lets this go with an eyeroll.

(Point Break Quote Alert)

But actually this is a sign of trouble, right here in River City, with a capital T and that rhymes with P and that stands for abandoning the Jiang Clan. Wei Wuxian has just told Jiang Cheng he has no intention of obeying him; not just about the sword, but in general. That's no way for a disciple to talk.

OP has nothing to say about this gif. OP watches gif over and over and over and over

Wei Wuxian ends the conversation by tapping Jiang Cheng's chest with his flute and then walking away. The (still nameless) flute has no problem with this - does it, like Subian, recognize Jiang Cheng as an extension of Wei Wuxian?

The next day, Wei Wuxian is chilling in his room, looking ungodly sexy in his bold slashed robe, holy frack. I mean, he is sex-on-toast at all times, but the cut of his post-burial-mounds combo is particularly heart-stopping when he decides to stick a knee or two out.

He's meditating and flashing back to being in the burial mounds, where he was also meditating. I admire his ability to fractally meditate about meditating.

Chenqing

He didn't put a sock on the doorknob, so Jiang Yanli comes in and startles him. He brandishes his flute at her before calming down. The flute definitely does not see her as an extension of Wei Wuxian, because when she touches it, it smokes and then knocks her out of the frame so fast it's comical.

Did they put her in a jerk vest for that shot?

Wei Wuxian hides the flute from her, freaked out by its behavior. She, however, is unfazed, and gives him the first & only affirmation he's gotten about his new cultivation path, and says the flute is "like Mother's Zidian." She kind of walks him through the whole "first class spiritual tool" concept, beaming with approval and telling him he must name the flute.

Jiang Yanli is hardcore Jiang Clan, seriously. Freedom and impossibility. You survived 3 months of mystery trauma and now you're all fucked up? We'll roll with it. You have a demon flute now? Rock on. You're going to use necromancy to beat the other clans in a group hunt? Gold star for you.

He names the flute Chenqing, which @hunxi-guilai translates and explains in depth over here.

Bichen

Lan Wangji has finished practicing the Song of Clarity, and regardless of whether it's had an effect on Wei Wuxian, he himself seems much calmer.

As Wei Wuxian contemplates Chenqing, Lan Wangji contemplates Bichen and remembers Wei Wuxian's assertions about resentful energy way back in Gusu summer school.

This time when he grips his sword, it's loosely, as if he's made some progress with his anger.

Soup

Jiang Yanli sits Wei Wuxian down for some soup, and talks to him about what's going on with him, saying he's changed. He insists he's fine and works very hard to be convincing.

She's not convinced but says she won't press him, and then abruptly shifts tone and works very hard to act like everything is fine. She leaves, taking a lot of soup with her, and Wei Wuxian remarks that it's unfair she is giving so much to Jiang Cheng. But of course, some of it is secretly for Jin Zixuan.

Everything isn't fine, as Wei Wuxian scream-meditates with resentful energy just rolling off of him. He's got some of the dark energy stored in the Yin sword in his bag of holding, but I get the impression that a lot of it is just stored in his body.

Club Ruohan

At some point in the episode we stop in to check on Wen Ruohan. He and his wind machine are mad that Wen Chao is dead.

Meanwhile, his interpretive dances with the Yin iron now turn his puppets into...Klingons? Sure, why not.

Literal Stand-Up Meeting

Jiang Cheng needs Wei Wuxian at games night a meeting and comes running to Jiang Yanli to find him. He is freaking out and she tells him to chill.

No matter what fuckery is going on in the world, Jiang Yanli is going to find herself a nice little outdoor table and she is going to sit her ass down and have some tea and civilized lady activity. Queen.

This shot of the meeting is composed so nicely. The blocking (placement of actors) in this scene encapsulates the familial dynamics, and I’ll talk about that as soon as I finish admiring Jiang Cheng’s proportions.

Here we have four clans represented by four family pairs around the game war table. The Jin cousins, despite their differing personalities, are side by side, matchy-matchy, in lockstep. Jin Zixuan lets Jin Zixun do the talking for him, so maintains his own rep as a reasonable guy.

The Nie brothers are even closer together, also in matching greys, Nie Huaisang giving all of his attention to his brother/clan leader. You can see his careful watching of his brother's temper...not fearful for himself, but fearful for Mingjue.

The Lan brothers have a growing distance between them; they are in different colors (which is pretty usual for them), and Lan Wangji is standing well away from his brother and the rest of the group. Partly this is his personality, but it's also symbolic of his growing distance from his brother and other proper cultivators. He's carrying WWX-related secrets, and he's wrestling with what he's learned.

While Nie Huaisang is looking at Mingjue, Lan Xichen is turning around to see what's up with his own volatile sibling.

Lastly you have Jiang Cheng, alone in the room, with his shidi nowhere to be found, and seriously feeling the heat because of his isolation.

He's alone in his purple, but the color value (lightness/darkness) of his robes exactly matches Xichen's.

And Xichen, bless him, makes a point of speaking to him respectfully as a fellow clan leader, gives him a path out of the "where is your brother" conversation, and is just generally his kind and helpful self with Jiang Cheng.

Next: Awkwardness Increases!

#the untamed #the untamed gifs #wangxian #the untamed meta #jiang cheng #wei wuxian #restless rewatch the untamed #my gifs #canary3d-original

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blacklilyqueen · 3 years ago

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Can’t let go - 12 Days of Rexsoka

Prompt: 12 Days of Rexsoka Day 3: Force Bond / AU

Summary: Dark!AU: Stormtrooper Captain Rex and Darth Vader's student, Ahsoka Tano, have to keep their newly forming relationship secret. Both still unsure about their own feelings, this seems to be harder than expected.

Pairing: Rexsoka

Word Count: 714

Warnings/tags: Enemies to lovers, they both hate each other

Author’s Note: Only a short one today, because I want to explore this AU more in the future. I loved writing it so much during Rexsoka Week, so I had to continue it. If you want you can read the other part of it "Dark Desires" (Tumblr / AO3)

Read this story on AO3

Tagged Blogs: @12-days-of-rexsoka @rex-is-best @flybynite19

His gaze wandered to the young Togruta standing on the opposite side of the table. Her yellow eyes were fixed on the admiral, listening carefully to everything he told them. The captain should have been listening to what the admiral was talking about as well, but he couldn’t keep his eyes of her. Sometimes he was convinced that she must have used one of her mind tricks on him, otherwise he couldn’t explain why he couldn’t get her out of his mind.

As they stood there, he inspected every part of her. He noticed her brows furrowing, whenever the admiral said something to her displeasure. From time to time he caught a glance at her sharp teeth biting down on her lips, trying to keep herself from saying something that could get her in trouble later, if Vader found out about it. Her arms were crossed behind her back, but whenever someone addressed her personally, she straightened her shoulders, while she began fumbling with her fingers behind her back, so no one could see.

He was so busy looking at her, that he noticed way to late that everyone was starring at him, as if they were waiting for him to say something. He finally turned his gaze away from her and faced the rest of the commanding officers in the room. Everyone seemed to eye him suspiciously trying to figure out what was going on in him. When her looked at the admiral, he could see the disapproval in his face.

“So, captain, what do you think of the new plans?” considering his tone, Rex was sure that he didn’t ask him that question for the first time. Rex tried to remember the few things he actually listened to during this meeting, before he got distracted and tried to phrase his answer as vague as possible. Luckily, no one asked him further questions and they simply moved on.

After the meeting he wanted to head straight for his quarters, but one of the officers held him back, bending his ears with a unnecessary story, he didn’t want to hear, about a what the officer at first believed to be a rebel attack, but then turned out to be just some pocket thieves. After he finally got rid of him, he followed his original plan and went to his quarters without further disturbance. When the door opened, he stepped inside his room. As soon as the door closed behind him, he heard her voice.

“What was that earlier?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he could have complained about her entering his room, while he wasn’t there, but he had neither the time nor the energy for that right now.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. Everyone knows what I’m talking about,” she stepped closer to him as she spoke, “We agreed that no one should find out about this! And you’re risking that.”

“What are they even supposed to find out? They know I can’t stand you and they know that you despise me more than anyone else, so what are they supposed to find out? What is this?”

“Everything else. What happened during that last mission. Or three weeks ago. Or every night and day since then. I can assure you my hatred for you didn’t get any less and I’m assuming the same is true about your feelings for me, maybe it even grew. But they won’t understand that, if they know what else we are doing.”

His thoughts wandered back to the moments they shared together in secret. The nights they lay next to each other after doing things that no one could ever find out about. How he felt afterwards. He hated her, yes that was true, but he also couldn’t let go of her. Something was pulling him back to her all the time, as if they were bound to each other. He couldn’t be with her, but he couldn’t be without her either.

“Fine. I will be more careful from now on.”

“Good,” she grabbed him and placed a kiss on his lips, before taking him by the hand and pulling him forwards the bed, “Now come on. If I already have to spend time with you alone, we can at least make it enjoyable.”

#rexsoka #12daysofRexsoka #rex x ahsoka #ahsoka x rex #ahsoka tano x captain rex #captain rex x ahsoka tano #ahsoka tano #captain rex #dark!au #dark!rexsoka #dark!ahsoka tano #dark!captain rex

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thedistantdusk · 4 years ago

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Arcadia, Chapter 3

Thanks to everyone who followed along! Things are heating up with this chapter! Most of the referenced triggers from chapter 1 apply in this chapter specifically. Here's the link to chapter 2, if you're just seeing this now :)

Thanks again to @secretkeeper13, @accio-broom, @remedialpotions, @jamezbot, @jenoramaca, @not-steve42, @ginisbetterthanfirewhiskey... god, I'm forgetting people, and I'm sorry! But you're all amazing <3

___________________________

D A Y + T H R E E

As fate would have it, Ginny wakes before 0-700.

Not that she sleeps.

Nightmares, the likes of which she hasn’t experienced in years, torment her throughout the night. They leave her scared. Miserable. Guilty. Around 3 AM, she finally reaches for her Dreamless Sleep potion with shaking hands. For more reasons than one, she’s pleased that Harry’s slept on the couch.

She knows now just how stupid this entire mission truly was. The longer she analyzes it, the more she accepts that her bloody pride got her here in the first place. A chance for a promotion, however small, gave her false confidence in her ability to disregard a decade of sexual tension, all while trapped in close quarters with the person she wants the most.

She hopes Harry makes himself sparse today, though she knows that sounds cruel. But the longer they spend together, the clearer it becomes they’re on the cusp of something… and not something that would look good on a performance review. He’s been kind and understanding so far, even when she’s fucked things up. She just hopes she can ignore the most human parts of herself until they’ve dealt with this.

So at half-past 8, Ginny — Jenny — emerges from the house in a bright floral sundress and nude pumps. Were it not for the secret weapon clutched in her right fist, she might have fit in quite well... but Jenny has no intention of fitting in. Not anymore. In three confident strides, she marches across the front lawn, bends down, and spears the prongs of a lurid pink flamingo into the grass.

Yes.

She grins and takes in her work. How ghastly against the backdrop of earth tones! How repugnant!

Ginny steals quick glimpses over each shoulder, only to be met with the eerie, blanketed silence that’s defined Arcadia since their arrival. No activity at all. Which means she’ll have no issue with the next bit…

She strides to the mailbox at the end of their driveway and gives it a sharp kick. The post slides out of alignment, leaving it askew. Perfect. She returns to the house with a bounce in her step. Living with the twins taught her a thing or two about how to infuriate complete strangers.

She just hopes it’ll be enough.

___________________________

As luck would have it, it is enough. Her efforts receive reward more quickly than she thought— more quickly than she’s been conditioned to expect.

Scarcely an hour passes before she finds the warning she needs. And to be honest, it could’ve been there sooner; she just figured she’d give it that long before she checked.

Still, it’s not even 10 AM when she opens the door and sees it on their welcome mat: a folded paper with Pee-tri scrolled on the front. She can’t help but admire the sheer cheek as she unfolds it; this is the closest they’ll get to a public call-out for the way Harry insists on correcting everyone’s pronunciation. The message inside doesn’t surprise her, either.

Be like the others before dark. Or else.

Ginny glimpses out at the lawn, just to confirm— and yes. Sure enough. Just as she’d suspected, the flamingo's gone. The mailbox is straight. Everything’s back to normal.

She kicks the door closed with a smirk and wonders if they’re aware of how easily they’ve exposed themselves. How—

“What’ve you got there?” Harry calls from the sofa in the living room. He looks up from his laptop with bleary, dark-rimmed eyes. A wave of guilt washes through her; that sofa clearly didn’t get more comfortable overnight. Not that he would’ve accepted the alternative.

“Erm. A letter.” She waves in front of her and walks into the living room. “I’ve done a great job annoying them!”

He offers a gentle smile. “Any chance you’ll let me know who this ‘them’ is that you’re so worried about?”

Ginny rolls her eyes and settles on the other end of the couch. “You know I can’t—”

“Talk about your work,” Harry finishes, turning back to his computer. “Right.”

“Mm. Not exactly that I can’t… talk about my work,” she ventures, putting her feet up on the white ottoman. “More like I can’t give information until it’s essential knowledge for all parties involved. Based on criteria that I also can’t share.”

“Sounds like a fun job,” Harry deadpans, still looking at the computer. “But anyway, if I were to suggest something like… I don’t know…” He casually tilts the screen in her direction. “The fact that Oliver Skinner definitely has a criminal record, and maybe that’s worth looking into. You couldn’t confirm or deny that?”

Ginny just shrugs. “That’s correct. I can neither confirm nor deny.”

His theory is wrong, of course. Dead wrong.

They wouldn’t have sent an Unspeakable and an Auror into the country if this were a simple Muggle murderer. Harry would be able to suss this out, she reckons, if he had more sleep. Poor bloke.

He groans and cracks his back. “I’m starting to understand why King’s always so frustrated.”

“Probably because he has to deal with you all the time,” Ginny quips, reaching for a magazine on the floor. Ugh. Of course, it’s only the TV guide, Radio Times. They don’t even have a TV, but it came with the Daily Mail on Sunday.

Harry reaches for a glass of water on the coffee table. “Fine,” he relents, in between sips. “I’ll stay in my lane. But if I get bored, I’ll get tetchy.” He gestures to the computer. “And since they’ve given us this laptop, I’ve had time to do a bit of—”

“They’ve given me a laptop,” Ginny corrects, arching a brow. “As you’re well aware, Auror Potter, that is technically the property of the DoM.” She returns to the guide with a shrug. “I just don’t care if you use it, mostly because I don’t expect you’ll be looking up tits all day.”

He chokes on his water; Ginny just laughs and turns the page. Ooh, lovely! Eurovision looks particularly flamboyant this year…

“You’re absolutely right,” Harry says, once he recovers. “I’d never look up tits on government property!” He looks affronted as he hands over the laptop, but she knows he’s not done... not when he’s set that up so perfectly. Annnnd sure enough…

“You of all people should know I'm an arse-man, Ginny.”

Now it’s her turn for an unattractive snort as he winks over his shoulder and marches upstairs.

When he’s gone, Ginny rolls her eyes and opens her laptop. He’s an incredible liar on the arse-man front, but it was a good joke. A simple joke…. one that didn’t deserve looking into.

It’s just unfortunate that can’t stop these stupid fucking butterflies from erupting in her stomach like she’s ten years old again.

___________________________

He launches into the air again, the gardens of his neighbors spanning out in front of him. Each perfectly manicured. Each disturbing in its performative precision. None of this is real; none of this is life.

He pulled out the trampoline after dinner, when Ginny okayed it. He’s not used to that— checking before he does things. This whole exercise has been a great reminder that his teamwork skills are rusty, especially when he’s in a subordinate role. Ron left after their first year to work in the magic shop instead, which only made sense after… yeah. Harry draws a deep breath and jumps again. Ron and Hermione haven’t been problem-solving in his head for ages. There’s been no one to share the burden of choices or—

“OI!” Oliver’s voice thunders across the garden.

Harry smiles and takes another huge leap into the air. Just in time…

He rips open the fence door and stomps over, hands balled into fists. Harry’s never seen anyone look quite so furious while dressed in cashmere. And standing beside a trampoline.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Oliver hisses, eyes narrowed to slits. “Are you trying to make enemies, Henry? Is this entire estate a bloody joke to you?”

“Of course not!” Harry lands on his bum before he jumps up again. “This is very serious!”

“Oliver!” Sharon wails, hurrying over. “Oliver. Please! This really—”

“Keep your nose where it belongs, woman,” Oliver snarls, looking at her like she’s scum on his shoe. “No one wants your opinion!”

Sharon flinches… and this, more than anything else, gets Harry’s back up. “No need to take it out on her!” he snaps, climbing down from the trampoline. “Talk to me if you’ve got a problem, Ollie. Why not—”

But just as Harry’s feet touch the grass, something very weird happens: A dull buzzing fills his ears. Sharon and Oliver hear it too, but unlike Harry, they aren’t looking around in bewildered confusion. In a flash, the rage on Oliver’s face transforms into something much different: fear. And as the pressure grows, Harry can only watch as Oliver grabs Sharon’s hand, yanking her from the garden, when—

An unmistakable sound replaces the buzzing. A large piece of glass from somewhere in the front of the house shatters on the pavement. And with that, the buzzing stops.

Birds chirp again. Someone laughs in the distance. Harry jabs a finger in his ear, trying to clear it, but it seems Oliver’s returned to his furious state. He lunges towards Harry, a vein ticking in his neck, his hands outstretched as if to push him over— but Harry doesn’t have time for this. He’s already running around him, bolting towards the source of the sound, his hand inching for his pocket…

Because whatever they’ve got going on isn’t related to Oliver, is it? No… definitely not. That buzzing was too creepy to be muggle. Harry hadn’t really been convinced of the Oliver theory in the first place, even if the wanker has a criminal record for drunk driving. He mostly suggested it to Ginny to see if she’d give him any information.

Harry spots the broken glass the second he reaches the pavement. The lamppost right outside their house has shattered, light bulb and all. Bits of glass sparkle on the street, but the lamppost is at least 10 feet high. Harry scans around for signs of a ladder, or some form of a projectile… any method someone might’ve used to— oh! A baseball rolls around in one of the open garages across the street. He’s about to march over and collect it when his conscience stops him.

Because that’s the definition of circumstantial evidence, isn’t it? Harry sighs, rubbing his forehead. Snatching the baseball while working alone is one thing, but it’s not worth risking Ginny’s job. Especially because he reckons these thoroughly unmemorable homes are each equipped with monitoring systems. At absolute best, that would be… awkward to explain to the muggle police, especially without an obvious connection between the ball and the shattered lamppost...

Harry’s just about to turn back inside and write it off a freak occurrence when—

Shit.

His breath freezes in his throat.

What the...

He blinks a few times to make sure he’s not imagining it, but no...

There’s no weird buzzing this time… but something else is happening instead. The grass on the far side of their yard is bulging and curling, right in front of his eyes. The soil creaks as this… this mass — a huge sphere of some sort — passes through; bits of dirt fly into the air before settling back.

Harry’s veins turn to ice, his stomach churning. Work has introduced him to new, vile varieties of ghouls and nasties. He’s been bitten by a leprechaun. Stalked by a vampire. He’s encountered every disturbing otherworldly menace that one could imagine.

But he’s never seen anything like this.

His only solace is that it’s headed towards Mike’s empty house… this massive, rolling boulder that travels beneath the soil. ‘Boulder’ isn’t exactly the right term, though; he’s never seen a boulder move with a slinking, predatory grace. He’s never gotten gooseflesh from a rock, no matter how large.

And try as he might, he can only stand there, wide-eyed, his heart racing. Because now he knows for sure what Ginny only alluded to before: whatever they’re chasing isn’t human.

And it’s aware of them.

___________________________

The door creaks open less than five minutes after the glass shatters, but Ginny’s prepared.

She’s standing in the alcove just off the entryway, wand in one hand, fire poker in the other. It’s probably not the best strategy she’s ever had— but she reckons that if a Muggle were to catch sight of an altercation, it would be an easy memory supplantation. Wands and fire pokers don’t look that dissimilar, and—

“Ginny?” Harry calls. Directly into her ear.

Shit! She jumps into the air, the poker clattering to the ground.

“When did you learn to move like a cat?” she demands, turning to face him. “You nearly—”

“We need to talk,” he says brusquely. It’s only then that she takes in his wide, haunted eyes. His white pallor. The way he hasn’t even commented on the ridiculousness of her fire poker.

Oh.

He’s scared.

Scared in a way she hasn’t seen him in ages. Maybe ever. Which means he heard…? Shit. She’d might as well ask.

“What do you erm…” She toys with her wand handle. “Want to talk about?”

Harry heaves a tired sigh. “I’m only going to ask you this once,” he says flatly, rubbing his hand over his forehead. Then he blinks up at her, his eyes pulsing and stern. “What the fuck was that?”

“The… shattered lamppost?” she hedges. “I’ve no idea. I just—”

Apparently, that was the wrong response.

Harry groans. “You know damn well I don’t mean the bloody lamppost!” he snarls. “I mean that… that thing! First the weird buzzing, then whatever moved through the grass! It was like some creepy worm, or—”

“—not a worm,” she amends, staring at her cuticles.

This, too, was the wrong reply; she’s never seen him go from bewildered to enraged quite so fast.

Harry lets out a furious roar and kicks at an empty box. “This is why Unspeakables are so fucking annoying!” he shouts, tossing his hands in the air. “You never fucking say anything — even if it might help someone!”

Pfft! He can do better than that...

“Not sure what you expected,” she deadpans. “Would it help if I were a Speakable instead?”

Harry rolls his eyes and throws himself on the couch. Ginny just leans against the door… and waits. She can’t say she blames him for being angry. It’s probably made him feel vulnerable in ways he hasn’t in ages.

“The least you can bloody do,” Harry says, cutting into her thoughts, “is to let me know how to kill it.” He glimpses up at her, his chest still heaving. “Because if anything happened to you….” His hand curls around his wand, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “We both know I’d never forgive myself.”

Fuck.

Her heart clenches; as embarrassing as it is, tears sting the backs of her eyes. She wasn’t expecting that… but it makes perfect sense. He’s not angry because he’s vulnerable; he’s angry because he doesn’t know how to protect her.

Because he’s Harry.

Her Harry.

And try as she might, she can’t deny that. He’s hers… even though now he’s broken and angry and scared and alone. Which is probably why she loves the fucking fuck out of him.

No.

She stops herself, squeezing her eyes shut. Mission. Mission. They’re on a mission.

Right. She clears her throat and steps forward, two papers clutched in her hand.

“What’s that?” Harry grumbles as she hands them over. He scans the pages, brow furrowing. “Sugar… engine oil. Red Dye 40. What am I supposed to do with—?”

Ginny smiles and tries to make this easy. “It’s the report from the necklace. The thing that was on Mike’s medallion… it’s rubbish. Not blood, not some ghost slime. It’s just a weird mixture of types of rubbish.”

She should’ve figured he wouldn’t find this significant.

“What a brilliant scientific discovery.” Harry tosses the paper to the side. “Hermione would be thrilled.”

Ginny gnaws at her cheek, choosing her words carefully… but if he’s already seen it, if he’s already heard it, surely there’s no harm...

Harry rises to his feet and takes a step closer until he’s towering over her, all warm and brooding. They aren’t touching… not exactly. He’s just hovering close enough to give her strength, whether he knows it or not. When she finally gets the nerve to look up at him, his green eyes are swirling with more pain than rage. Truth be told, she prefers the rage. “I deserve to know,” he says thickly, like he’s suppressing something in his throat, “what the fuck is going on.”

Ginny breaks their eye contact. Some of this she hasn’t even shared with Attica yet. She’s violating about a million protocols by telling Harry first, but if they’re together on a mission…

“It’s… not what we thought. Not what I thought,” she admits softly, after a moment. “We came out here under the assumption of chasing something from the Thought Chamber. Something that erm… may have escaped. During a routine experiment.”

He’s not impressed, though. “Yeah,” he says, arching a brow. “I gathered all of that from your intro with the camera, thanks. Do you ever plan on telling me anything new?” He jerks his chin towards the window. “Because you’ve sure as hell never mentioned Evil Grass Monster Experiment #6, and that may have been helpful to fucking know before I saw it.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake!

His attitude is more infuriating than his actual words, but she lacks the patience for dealing with either. The bloody nerve, to act all impatient with information that’s kept secret for a reason...

“I don’t have to tell you shit, actually,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest. “And in case you’re unaware, I can protect myself.”

Harry pulls back with a laugh, but this one is cruel. Dark. The sort she’s never heard from him before. “Makes sense,” he says with a fake grin. Then he taps her on the nose. “Because when that thing outside inevitably kills someone else, we all know how well you’ll manage the guilt.”

Ouch.

She reels back, stung. He’s got to know that’s a low blow. Younger Ginny would have Bat Bogeyed him into oblivion, but she’s better now. She’s changed.

At least that’s what she tells herself as she glares at him, her hands fisted so tightly they turn white. “Say what you mean,” she manages several moments later, when rage isn’t clawing at her chest. “If you’d like to rehash our breakup, Auror Potter, I’m all ears!” She gives her best impression of an icy smirk. “This isn’t exactly professional… but then again, when have you ever been?”

Harry looks like he’s going to respond, but a loud vibration starts in his back pocket. “Fuck!” Now it’s his turn to leap into the air before he realizes it’s just his wand. And really, she’s tempted to laugh— but the look on his face helps her put the pieces together.

Because if his wand’s vibrating, that means it’s an emergency; only department heads can summon their employees like that. They’re the only ones with access to that sort of technology, not that she’s really interested either way.

“It’s King,” he mutters. She’s about to get on him for stating the obvious, but when he peers at her again, his face is filled with such timid yearning that she can only see the 11-year-old boy on the train platform. “Can I…erm. Use your mobile?”

Fine. Ginny nods towards the bedroom, her head still spinning. She’s still a bit angry with him, but he’s so fucking broken. They both are. And besides, they’ve got bigger problems. What could possibly have King so worried that he’d call Harry from a mission? The man is unflappable.

Harry returns a minute later, his face stony, jaw set. In another life, she might’ve seen the bulge in his pocket and asked if that’s just her mobile, or if he’s happy to see her.

Instead, she tucks her hair behind her ears like the seasoned professional she is. “There’s no reception inside,” she points out. “I’ve had luck calling Attica from up the street, right at the corner. Just watch out for…”

Harry smirks. “Grass monsters?”

Ginny draws a breath to consider her options. She could keep him in the dark forever, but isn’t that the whole point of this assignment? To learn? It’s time for the truth, she reckons...

“It’s erm. It’s called a tulpa, actually.”

His eyes light up at this. “A tulpa?”

Ginny shifts her weight and searches for the right words. “It’s a… it’s sort of like an evil imaginary friend, created by a group of people to do their bidding,” she explains, reaching for the discarded papers. “They come from the material of whatever’s underground. I’ve only heard of creatures made from clay or water, but since this village was built on a rubbish tip”— she flicks the papers with her fingers— “that’s our guy!”

She can almost see the gears spinning in Harry’s head as he studies the far wall. “So…” he says slowly, still peering off, “it’s basically an evil dump monster, made of rubbish, that can murder people.”

A laugh slips past her lips. It sounds a bit dumb when he puts it that way. She clears her throat and continues. “I was wrong because it’s not something that’s escaped, more like something that’s—”

“Formed,” Harry finishes quickly. For the first time all week, he sounds intrigued. Like he’s happy to be here. “So… they’ve made it to keep order, then?”

“It would seem so.” She shrugs. “I… honestly don’t know. But between the weird buzzing and the rubbish, it’s the closest match we’ve got. According to the system database, anyway.”

There’s another pause as Harry mulls this over. “So, how do we get rid of it, then?”

How fucked up is it that her heart warms at the way he says ‘we’?

Ginny brushes that aside. “Considering the mask in Gogolak’s house and the way they’ve made a point to tell us he’s in charge, I’d say he’s the one we need to get rid of.”

Harry crosses his arms over his chest but doesn’t object.

“Or at least… knock him totally unconscious,” she adds, swallowing; Gogolak’s a wanker, but she’d rather not kill him, either. “Beyond just being asleep. Because he sleeps at night, but the tulpa’s still here, which means he needs to be down for the count. Comatose, even.”

Harry’s wand buzzes again. Ah, shit; in all the hubbub, she’d forgotten about that.

Concern floods Harry’s face. “Give me five minutes.” He blinks. “Ok?”

She waves towards the door. “Duty calls.”

He gives her a weak smile and turns away; she begins the trek upstairs to send Attica an email update.

“Ginny?”

She stops to look down at him. Harry’s paused, halfway out the door. “Thank you,” he says softly, meeting her eyes. “And… I’m sorry. For everything. Ok? I’ll always, erm…”

But she can’t right now. She actually fucking can’t.

“Later,” she whispers, nearly begging. “Please. Let’s do this later.”

Because of course she loves him.

She’s always fucking loved him, even though that’s changed forms. It’s shifted. It’s evolved. He feels the same way… she knows he’s bloody feels the same way. She just doesn’t have the resources to deal with whatever this fuck is reigniting, right in front of her eyes, as the tulpa dances in the back of her head.

Luckily, he understands. Harry just swallows again, nods at her, and heads out into the night.

___________________________

As it would turn out, he was wrong about the identity of the summoner.

“Great news!” Hermione announces on the other end of the mobile. “MLE found Yaxley. He was hiding in a cave in Romania, just like you said.”

Harry snorts; he wishes that gave him more pride. “Well, if you’d listened to me months ago, then—”

“The important part is that we have him,” Hermione says, cutting across. “We need you back ASAP to prep for witness questioning. You’ll take the stand, of course. The trial’s set to start next week!”

He can practically hear her bouncing with excitement. Very little brings her more joy than trials of former Death Eaters.

“Erm… about that.” Harry rubs the back of his neck. “We’re actually right on the cusp of something here. I’m gonna need a couple more days to wrap things up.”

“Really?” Hermione sounds surprised. “Kingsley and Robards said you’d be pleased. Said you found this mission as useless as they did.”

Fuck, he was such an arse.

“Well, things… changed,” he offers lamely. “It’s going really well. This mission is so important to her. I’d just hate to leave at the last minute.”

“Ohhh?” Hermione draws out the word in a way that suggests she finds herself quite clever. Even before she asks, he knows what she’s on about. “How’s it going with Ginny, then?”

Harry rolls his eyes. Her coy prodding is obvious, even over the phone.

“As I already said, it’s going well,” he replies flatly. “We’re a great team. Always have been.”

But she can’t let him have that one, can she?

“Well… not always,” Hermione allows. “After Percy—”

Harry groans. For fuck’s sake, what’s her obsession with stating the obvious? “Yeah, well,” he retorts, “I’d like to know who you think did well after that, especially since…”

He trails off with a sigh.

Especially since what, exactly?

He toys with the fraying ends of his hoodie string.

Especially since Ginny was the last to speak with Percy? That she still carries the weight of the guilt for what she said that night? That she’s never admitted it, but that he suspects her choice to become an Unspeakable was influenced by the things she wishes she could un-say?

Harry makes a face. That’s corny as fuck, isn’t it? What a thing to pull from his arse...

Hermione interrupts his thoughts for a bit of bragging. “Well, Ron and I have done just fine.”

He can almost imagine her staring at her engagement ring in dreamy affection. The mental image makes his reply sound more bitter than he intends.

“Well,” Harry snaps, “Ron wasn’t the last person to speak with Percy. So I’m not sure how you could compare the two, really.”

Shit.

The silence on the other end tells him he needs to apologize, even if it’s true. Fortunately, Hermione gives him an easy out. “Anyway.” She clears her throat. “I’ll give you until tomorrow night, but we really need you the following day. If you haven’t settled this, we’re swapping you out. Got it?”

Harry sighs. He’s exhausted, but this couldn’t possibly take much longer. Ginny’s more or less got the proof she needs now. They just need to confront Gogolak, knock him out, and—

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

Harry cranes his neck towards the source of the noise. Huh… weird. Far up the street, flashing lights tip him off. That’s definitely Oliver’s Audi, the one parked in the driveway directly beside theirs. It’s in utopia blue with a metallic finish, a detail Oliver probably mentioned at least fifty times the other night. Then, while Sharon and Ginny were out walking the dog, Oliver began a mind-numbing lecture on the car’s exact miles per liter. Harry was a bit drunk, which is probably why he interrupted to ask a much more important maths question: How many blow jobs per week is too many, exactly?

Even from a distance, Harry can tell that Oliver’s nearly the same shade of murderous red now; he storms from the house and turns off the alarm with his key fob. But then he pauses, glancing around like something’s spooked him. He must decide it’s not that significant, though, because he huffs back inside soon enough. Fucking wanker...

“....Harry?”

“Sorry!” Harry shakes his head. “Yeah, sorry, that works. See you then, Hermione.”

“Can’t wait!” she trills. He doesn’t need to see her face to know she’s smug and grinning.

___________________________

Two minutes after Harry leaves, Ginny feels it again: that same sensation she experienced while walking Captain Bone.

She’s sitting at her laptop when it starts… this deeply unsettling shift. It stands the hair up on the back of her neck. She rushes to the window on instinct, but just like before, everything outside looks the same. There’s no “moving grass monster,” as Harry called it. Not yet, at least.

Still, she can’t deny it’s growing louder. Getting stronger. And now that she’s felt it for a bit longer, she can put more words to it. It’s like she’s plummeting through the absence of sound; like all the wind’s been sucked from the air. It’s a building pressure, a mounting unease, and before she knows it, her whole body starts to shake.

Then two things happen in quick succession: that weird feeling stops, and a car alarm begins to blare in the distance.

Weird.

She shudders. This whole thing is so fucking weird. Weird is her job, and this place is still Very Fucking Weird. Seriously, who enjoys living here? She’s reaching for her wand, just in case, when the front door slams open.

In retrospect, it’s a blessing she knows Harry as well as she does… because she can tell that those heavy, clobbering footsteps don’t belong to him. She knows he’s not the one drawing deep, ragged breaths as he marches up the stairs.

She hides around the corner of the bedroom, her heart racing, and goes through a mental list of spells she might use. Shield charms. Enchantments. The buzzing’s stopped, so this probably isn’t the tulpa… but who else would be here? Gogolak? It sounds more human than—

“Jenny?” a deep, soothing voice asks. “Are you in here?”

Her breath freezes in her throat. She’s only heard that voice once before… but it’s so similar to her former life that she identifies it at once.

“Mike?” A wave of relief washes through her. She shoves her wand into her dress as she comes around the corner. Sure enough, there he is, in the flesh. Mike Snodgrass. A man she presumed dead days ago.

“Hi!” Mike pants. He cracks a smile. “I’d offer to shake your hand, but.” He winces, wiping a palm on his ripped khakis. “Been hiding!” Fuck. His whole outfit (yellow Polo, khakis) is the same he wore days ago to unload their boxes, except now it’s filthy. Stained. Like he’s been living beneath cars and inside drains. He’s just missing his Saint Julian medallion, which she’s sent to the Ministry.

Ginny feels sick. She wrote him off as dead so carelessly...

“I’ve been trying to take it down,” he adds earnestly, peering at her. His cheeks are caked in something red and grimy, the same stuff she stuffed into her bra. He’s been tailing the tulpa, she realizes, her stomach plummeting…

Except he’s got no clue what he’s doing.

“I was about to leave the development, to just run away, but that’s when I figured out it was coming for you two!” He shudders, closing his eyes. It feels like he’s been waiting a long, long time to say this. “And I’ve been aimless without Jess in the first place. So what was the point in leaving, really, if I could save…?”

He trails off, clearing his throat; when he looks up at her again, there’s a flash of annoyance in his eyes. “I’ve been leaving clues, though! Why didn’t you listen?”

“Clues?” Ginny sounds like she’s a million miles away.

Mike’s nearly pleading now. “You had to go and kick the mailbox and stick the flamingo in the grass, didn’t you?” He raises his pointer finger. “And even though I left you a note, you had to make it even worse! It only attacks when the sun goes down, see.”

“You… you left the note?” she whispers. She was so certain that it was from Gogolak...

But Mike proceeds in such a rush it’s clear he hasn’t heard her. “It was about to get Henry by the trampoline, so I threw the baseball as a diversion. I broke the lamppost, too— which worked. For a second,” he adds hastily, glancing over his shoulder.

“How did you also set off the car alarm— oh.” Her head’s still spinning. “Buddy system. Right.”

Mike dangles a keyfob. “Covenant rules. Stole the spare off Jane.” He glances into the hall again before whipping back to face her. “It’ll need a sacrifice tonight, though,” he adds grimly. “And every night, until you all have perfect behavior. It was coming for you earlier, see. We aren’t meant to be outdoors after dark without a permit for dog-walking, so.” He shrugs. “If there’s an unapproved disruption like a car alarm, it knows just where to hunt.”

It’s then that the final pieces of this dreadful puzzle slide together in her brain. “Captain Bone,” Ginny breathes; she swears a feather could knock her over. “He was the first since we arrived. Punishment for us sticking out.”

“I couldn’t save him,” Mike laments. “It came up and snatched him. So I threw in my medallion, right after his collar, just to make them think I was already gone.”

“That’s… that was brilliant,” she admits, biting her lip. “Thank you. You didn’t have—”

“Nah,” he says firmly. “I did. For starters, you remind me so much of…” He stops mid-sentence, an odd expression on his face.

For a second, she thinks he’s being sentimental, but then she feels it too.

Shit.

The hairs on her arm stand up. It’s back… that weird way she felt before. Like the air’s sucked from the room. That creeping, clawing silence. This time, though, it only gets louder, louder, louder, until she’s throwing her hands over her ears, all hope of self-defense forgotten.

But Mike knows what he’s doing. He knows exactly what he’s doing. She doesn’t have the chance to object or get her wand before he’s ripping open the closet door and throwing her inside. Ginny opens her mouth in a startled cry, but it’s like she’s screaming underwater, the sound distant and distorted. Mike slams the door closed with her inside and stomps to the center of the room— but now the thundering, roaring wind is causing her physical pain… it’s so loud now that it reverberates in her chest, so loud that her hands shake as she reaches for her wand at long last, but fuck fuck fuck, it’s too late…

It’s too fucking late.

Because Mike’s made a choice. One he can’t take back. He just stands in the middle of the room, puffing out his chest, offering himself as the proud sacrifice, even as the noise grows so loud that Ginny screams her throat raw.

She feels it enter the bedroom, this looming, shifting mass— but by then, she’s certain her ears are bleeding, her eardrums bursting. Her whole body rattles and shakes as she peers through the slats in the closet door, but she’s frozen. Stuck. Miserable. She couldn’t cast a spell if she tried… even as the tulpa oozes into the room, lunges itself back, and swallows Mike with a sickening squelch.

Even though the slats of the door, Ginny’s sprayed with blood. Covered. And she’s dizzy now… so dizzy. A drop of blood trickles into her eye; she reaches up to wipe it from her face, and it’s only then that she hears her own screams again. They reverberate through the small space, anguished and pleading, so loud that she’s certain someone up the street could hear, but she doesn’t care. She doesn’t fucking care. She just screams over and over and over, her nails clawing at the walls, until the world slips away into darkness.

___________________________

Blood.

It’s the first thing he smells as he charges up the steps. His chest squeezes, his eyes water, his head pounds over and over again with one word: No.

No. No. No.

Not Ginny. It can’t be.

But almost as soon as he smells the blood, he hears her screaming, and yes! His heart soars. Screaming is good; screaming means she’s alive and breathing and—

Fuck.

His dinner rises in his throat as he steps into the bedroom. He smelled the blood from the steps, he hadn’t expected… this much. It always takes him aback, exactly how much blood is in one human body, and he’s certainly never seen it sprayed, all over the floor… covering the walls. Covering the closet, even, where Ginny’s still screaming.

He flings open the door, thinking he’s prepared for what he might see. Somehow, though, none of that measures up. Because he’s dealt with tears in his line of work… but he’s never, ever seen her so broken. His chest clenches when he takes her in. Her perfect suburban dress — the yellow floral one, the one he liked so much— is now red and grimy, caked in blood, as Ginny rocks back and forth on the floor, sobs wracking her body.

Blood’s covering her face, too, and her arms. Dried trails of it have crusted around her eyes, like she’s fallen asleep wiping them away… or perhaps lost consciousness. The thought is too terrible to bear. He kicks the door open completely and brings her into his arms in one fell swoop.

She melts against him, her voice raw and broken. “H-Harry!” she manages. “P-please! I need-I need!” She begins to shake, pressing her face to his chest.

“A shower,” he says firmly, stepping into the en-suite. “You… you just need a shower. Ok? And maybe some calming draught, I’ve got some in my luggage, and—”

“No!” she cries, shaking her head. Her eyes are wide and filled with horror. “Don’t… don’t leave. Don’t leave me, Harry, please!”

“I… ok,” he allows, carrying her to his luggage to retrieve the bottle. She clings to his neck as he reaches for it, but she weighs next to nothing. Fuck, she’s so thin… he’d just been too busy eyeing her up to realize exactly how thin. What a complete wanker.

It’s not difficult to unzip the suitcase with one hand and pass her the bottle. “Take this,” he urges, thrusting it into her hands. “Please, Ginny. You’ll feel—”

She’s already downed it before he gets to the end of the sentence. She tips her head back, drawing air into her lungs. “Thanks.” Her voice is still hoarse. Ragged.

“Shower, then,” he murmurs, walking her into the bathroom. He feels her start to relax against him, her body growing looser, as he opens the curtain and turns on the tap.

“Thanks,” she whispers again, her head tucked beneath his chin. His fingers itch with restraint; he’d do anything, he thinks, to hold her against him. To press a kiss to her temple. To tell her he loves her and that she’s beautiful and perfect and he’s sorry, so sorry, that any of this happened and—

She peers up at him, her eyes more focused now, less wide-eyed and horror-struck. “Would you stay here?” she asks, biting her lip. “While I shower? Just so I’m not—”

“‘Course.” Harry swallows, putting her on her feet. She lands with unintentional grace, one foot after the next.

“And can you… erm.” She turns her back to him, lifting her hair above her zipper. His hands shake as he reaches for the clasp. He knows the exact shape of her back as he slides it down, over the middle bump of her white bra strap. He nearly unstraps that for her, too, before he catches himself. It reeks of intimacy, doesn’t it? All of this…

His eyes linger on the soft swell of her bum before he turns around, self-disgust hammering in his throat.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” he adds feebly. He balls his hands into fists as her dress hits the floor… followed by her bra. And her knickers.

“Not your fault,” she croaks, stepping into the shower. He smiles, his glasses fogging up as he moves to sit on the closed toilet seat. Even covered in blood and traumatized, she can't bring herself to blame him.

She finishes several minutes later.

“Erm… towel?” She shuts the water off. “Could you?”

“Sure,” he soothes, thrusting one through the curtain. “D’you want me to leave, or…?”

Ginny manages a weak snort. “Nah. Nothing you haven’t seen before.”

He chuckles at the door as he turns around again. She’s right, of course; he knows every bloody inch of her… but it’s not quite the same now.

There’s a tap on his shoulder. He whips around to face her. Admittedly, she looks… better. The blood’s gone. Her eyes are still red-rimmed from sobbing, but she’s looking a bit less like a woman who witnessed a death. Which reminds him…

“Erm. Give me a second to get it all cleaned up?”

Ginny shudders and settles on the toilet seat; he immediately kicks himself for asking. “Yeah,” she says a moment later. “Just… come get me, ok? When you’re done?”

He nods.

___________________________

It can’t be later than 10 PM when he finally carries her to the bed, still wrapped in a towel.

He’s exhausted from the nights on the sofa, but he knows she’s worse off. He’s cleaned the bedroom fairly well, he thinks, considering. There’s a rust-colored stain above the closet that he reckons won’t go anywhere anytime soon. He just hopes she doesn’t see it.

He rests her on the duvet surface, fully prepared to head downstairs for the night— but the pleading look on her face informs him he’s got other plans, instead. So without sharing a single word, he spreads his palms, lies beside her, and waits.

It comes eventually, as he knew it would. One person can’t deal with all that, see all that, without eventually cracking. And as a fellow fucked-up individual, he would know.

It starts as simple tears, ones that he wipes away. It progresses into sobs… full-body sobs. The sort he heard coming up the stairs. He’s surprised she’s got any left, but Ginny’s always been the sort to keep him on his toes. And just as her water-dark hair starts to dry and sprout red tendrils, he faces the thing he expected least of all: a kiss.

She starts softly. Slowly. Her lips so tender and soft that he forgets everything. She moans against his mouth, her whole body leaning into it; he’s instantly reminded of how much he’s fucking missed her. How lonely he’s been. How could he have forgotten the tiny mewl she makes in the back of her throat as her tongue parts his lips? He must’ve blocked it out, he realizes, as she begins to slide her body against him, panting, as she tips her head back. His lips trail down her neck, nibbling and biting, as she grips his arms and hair and bum. Because if he’d remembered all of these little details, he’d have gone mad long ago.

He’s throbbing hard by the time he gets to the tail end of her towel, which brushes the tip of her thighs. He tries to adjust himself, to—

“You can take it out, you know.”

Oh. He blinks up at her, his breath freezing in his throat. She’s peering down at him, her lips red and swollen.

“I know you’re hard,” she adds, her voice still raw. “So if it’s uncomfortable… take it out.”

He arches a brow from his position at her thigh. He’s about to retort with something snappy. Something that might keep them bantering for ages. But Ginny has no patience.

“Please.” It’s nearly a command. She blinks down with glassy eyes, her lips swollen. “I want you, Harry.”

Fuck. He groans, rubbing his cock against his palm to relieve some of the pressure. It doesn’t help for long, not that it matters; he’d rather focus on her, anyway. So with a slip of his fingers, the towel opens. She releases a breathy moan, tipping her head back.

Naked.

She’s finally naked. In front of him. His breathing grows ragged, his eyes scanning the territory somehow both totally familiar and completely new. She is thinner; he was right. Her hip bones jut out now, her stomach more sunken. But most of her is the same. The smattering of freckles on her chest. The way her breasts have puckered and darkened, the way her chest is rising and falling so fast. The thatch of dark red hair at the apex of her thighs.

“Well,” she quips. He blinks up at her as she reclines on her elbow. “Are you going to fuck me, Harry, or just stare all day?”

With that, he removes his glasses and gives her a smirk— her only real warning— before he kisses her one more time, just as his fingers spread her thighs.

She opens beneath him with a breathy sigh. Fuck, she’s so wet… he groans into her mouth as he dips his fingers further and further down. She’s dripping by the time he finds her clit… by the time he begins to swirl in tight circles. Clockwise. The pattern that screams of such intimate familiarity that it’s as if the years never passed.

He’s scarcely done anything, but she’s already writhing against his fingers, arching her back. “Please,” she slurs after a minute, “put them in.”

He’s never been one to deny her, has he?

It’s like muscle memory how quickly he finds his face between her thighs instead. He spares a moment of self-indulgence as he closes his eyes, breathing her in. She smells like home. She always has. It’s comfort… but more than that, it’s proof. Proof she wants him as much as he wants her. It’s why he stuffed his face in her knickers whenever he got a spare moment on the Horcrux hunt: one hand on that black lace, the other pulling at his cock. It’s bloody erotic, seeing proof of how much she wants him… but it’s more than that.

It’s love.

And despite all the things he’s forgotten tonight, he’d never forget this. He presses two fingers inside her, his hands shaking, and lets his body do the rest. Fuck, he’s missed this. She cries out above him, her hands grasping at his hair, tugging him closer. He’s never forgotten this… the way she tastes. The way she smells. The right way to run his tongue against her clit. Exactly how many fingers she needs, pressed against her just there… crooked in a certain position… just as she begins to thrust herself up and down on them, her cries growing louder, more insistent… and yesssss, there it is, she’s right there, right fucking there—

“Harry!” Her hair rubs against the pillow with abandon. “I’m… I’m so close,” she pants, her body starting to shake.

“Come for me,” he commands, his cock fit to burst, his face slippery. “Come for me, Ginny.”

He returns to her clit for a split-second before she says the words that change everything.

Her whole body tenses, a blush spreading up her chest. “I love you!” she cries, her voice strangled… and with that, she’s coming, clenching around him, her body shaking as he rides her through it.

What he doesn’t tell her is that he comes, too. The second those words wash over him. Those fucking words that prove he’s fucked up, fucked up, fucked up… but he can’t exactly help that, can he?

He just shoves his face into the duvet, thrusting his hips once, twice, and with a grunt, he’s off. His cock tightens and bursts, filling his boxers. Soaking through his jeans. He pulls back, dizzy, when the clenching finally stops.

Luckily, she seems too distracted to notice. Ginny’s half-asleep as he rises from between her thighs, pulling the blanket over her. He presses a kiss to her temple and makes quick work of removing his soggy clothes. Fairly embarrassing, this. Like he’s 16 again and rutting on the lawn.

He mutters a quick cleaning charm and changes into basketball shorts before settling down beside her in bed… making sure he’s on top of the duvet.

But as he drifts off, there’s something far less sentimental that hammers through his chest: They need to get their shit sorted.

Before he ever, ever lets that happen again.

#harry/ginny fanfic #harry x ginny #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction

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toraodwaterlaw · 4 years ago

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Heart to Heart

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, and Part 4

This is the final part of a four part AU fic set just after Marineford. Law is the latest Corazon, but Rosinante is still alive.

1681 words (6638 total for all four parts), angst with a happy(ish) ending

Whenever he returned from a mission, Law would appear like clockwork as soon as night fell. Normally. This homecoming was anything but normal. Rosinante didn’t think much of it that first night. Law had looked worn to the bone. Rosinante had hoped he was getting rest. When Law didn’t turn up the next night, Rosinante started to worry. He checked carefully with Viola and found out Law hadn’t left his quarters once, even to eat.

That settled it. As soon as he was sure there was no one around to interrupt, he slipped into Law’s room and closed off the outside world with a snap.

Law was at his desk, medical charts and texts spread before him. Rosinante assumed Law was reading until he got close enough to see those golden eyes were fixed on the window. He was staring beyond the edges of Dressrosa toward the distant horizon. A single black feather was clutched loosely in his hand.

“Hey, kid.”

Law’s fingers twitched. For him, it was about as good as jumping in surprise. “He still hasn’t put the strings in your lips back.” This didn’t seem to be addressed to Rosinante. It certainly wasn’t directed toward him, as Law continued looking out the window. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I noticed.”

Every word continued to be a struggle for Rosinante but he would talk until he could no more if it got some reaction out of Law. As it was, there was an emptiness in Law’s eyes that was far too close to the look he’d had those first meetings on Spider Miles.

“Would you look at me?”

“You shouldn’t talk so much. You still need time to heal.” Law reached across his desk to place the feather on the windowsill. He replaced it with a quill and scrawled something out on a scrap of paper. “Here’s a list of teas and other natural remedies to help your throat.”

Rosinante took the note as it was passed back to him. “I appreciate it but—”

“I’m working on a salve for your lips.” Law rooted through bottles on his desk and on shelves to the side. He pulled open drawers on a cabinet and picked out different packets of fragrant herbs. They were all arranged carefully across the desk. “Some of the ingredients need time to cure before they’re ready, so you’ll have to wait a bit longer. I’ll write out instructions so that you know just what to do.”

Rosinante hugged his arms to himself to keep himself from grabbing Law to put a stop to all the anxious movement. The boy already had his movements controlled enough as it was. And it wasn’t what Rosinante really wanted.

“Law. Look at me. Please.”

Law sighed and turned slowly in his seat. His eyes immediately flicked to Rosinante’s chest. Rosinante had pulled on a light sweater for the meeting. The telltale hole in his chest couldn’t be visible but he knew it was all Law saw anyway. Law reached a hand toward it before quickly pulling it back to himself.

They were facing each other, which was a start, but Law didn’t seem any more inclined to talk to him. Rosinante frowned and then immediately winced at the pain it brought. At least now, with Law looking at him, he was free to us his hands to sign.

Are you okay?

Law scowled. “Me? I’m— you’re the one with a—” His frown deepened further and looked away again. He clutched at his own chest. For a while it seemed like he wasn’t going to say another word. In the end, voice low, he added, “I took your heart.”

His voice sounded as raw and pained as Rosinante’s.

Rosinante placed a gentle hand on Law’s face. He turned it so that he could get a better look at the bruising. He wished he knew what else Law was hiding because he was certain that there were other injuries. Law was no more one for covering up than Doffy was, so his crisp, black shirt doubtless covered injuries to his torso. Rosinante wished he knew what else was being hidden from him. He knew by now, though, that Law would simply brush off any such inquiries, so he’d try another approach.

What happened?

Law waved him off. “I was stupid. Straw Hat had a nightmare about his brother and I was too close when he woke up. Seems he wasn’t too thrilled about the idea of me trying to hold him in his bed so he wouldn’t reopen his injuries. I’m fine.”

Rosinante must have looked dubious because Law’s frown deepened.

“I am,” Law insisted. “I did a scan to check for serious injuries to be sure. I’ve had much worse. I’d be healed up by now if I had a chance to actually get some rest.”

Then why don’t you rest?

Law crossed his arms. He’d grown so much. He was a man now but there were often times Rosinante couldn’t help but see him as a child. Shrink him down a number of feet and he could have been ten again with as stubbornly sullen as he looked. Not that Law hadn’t had plenty of cause to be sullen, but Rosinante did sometimes wish he’d make more of an effort to smile from time to time. The boy’s face was really going to stick like that someday.

“I had two patients with life threatening injuries and then I had to work overtime to get here as soon as possible. I haven’t exactly had time, you know,” Law said with a tone he usually reserved for Trebol. It was a voice that said he thought he was speaking to someone who was being exceptionally dull.

Rosinante frowned at him in turn, disregarding the pain it caused to do so. You’re back now. He resisted the urge to add a request for Law not to take that tone with him. One of them would be an adult here.

Law’s eyes flicked over to his bed a few times. His hands absently fingered at his bangs in a sure sign that he was unconsciously hoping for his hat. It was a habit he’d never managed to grow out of, even though he usually didn’t wear it these days. Not having his hat to hide beneath, he turned around once more.

“I tried to sleep, alright? It didn’t stick,” he said.

Rosinante waited for an explanation that didn’t come. Law had to be absolutely exhausted if he hadn’t gotten a single good night’s sleep in weeks. It was amazing he didn’t just keel over on the spot. Law did excel at existing on spite alone but this was pushing it, even for him.

Rosinante placed a hand on Law’s back and found it was trembling. He rubbed soothing circles and waited. He wanted to demand Law tell him what was wrong. The urge would always be there, to search out all of Law’s ills and try to cure them through stubbornness alone if he had to. However, there were times to talk, to push, and then there were times to wait. Getting Law to open up about anything was so often a game of patience. If it was up to him, he’d bottle up his emotions until that bottle burst and destroyed him. Rosinante wasn’t especially inclined to let that happen.

Law became so still that Rosinante might have suspected he’d nodded off if not for the irregularity of his breathing. Rosinante stilled, also, and waited.

“Every time I try to sleep,” Law said, “I see you. I see Doflamingo with your heart and all the things he might do to you because of me.”

“Not because of you.”

Law looked up at him. “Your voice—”

“My voice be damned,” Rosinante all but growled. “And Doffy be damned. This is on him.”

Law’s face fell. “I didn’t have to give in. I could have resisted more. I should have. And I didn’t have to act on some stupid fucking impulse at Marineford. I’ve been so careful. I threw out over a decade of work and for what? Some kid who thought he could take on the entire World Government and a rival Warlord. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“You were thinking you could help,” Rosinante said. “You saved their lives.”

“Their lives aren’t as important as yours.”

Rosinante didn’t try to dispute that. He knew it wouldn’t do any good. And besides, he knew the feeling. He’d burn the world down if it meant keeping Law safe.

Instead of arguing, he knelt down and pulled Law into a tight embrace. Law’s breath hitched. All the emotion he’d stubbornly shoved down finally broke through and he started to cry in earnest. Even someone as bullheaded as Law had his limits. Rosinante was only glad to be there to hold Law together so he didn’t break apart.

“I’m proud of you,” Rosinante murmured.

There had rarely been truer words. He’d been scared for Law’s sake, of course, but he’d been so proud when Law first called him to say what he’d done. There were times, despite all his faith in Law, where he worried this life would be too much. It would be easy for Law to let this all change him. Perhaps it would even be better for him if he did. Less painful, certainly. But when he had a chance to show who he really was on the inside, he’d done something amazing. Something neither he nor Doflamingo nor even Rosinante himself had expected.

Not that Law would hear any of that. “You shouldn’t be,” he muttered.

Rosinante rested his cheek on top of unruly black hair. “Well, I am.”

“Well, you’re an idiot.”

Rosinante laughed and pulled Law closer. “Maybe. But I can be an idiot and rightfully proud of you, kid. They’re not mutually exclusive.”

Law let out a strangled sound that might have been a laugh if it hadn’t been so drowned in tears. Then, in a voice so quiet Rosinante had to strain to hear, he said, “Then I’ll try not to let you down. Idiot.”

#one piece #one piece au #trafalgar law #trafalgar d. water law #corazon!law #corazon #donquixote rosinante #donquixote rocinante #one piece corazon #fic

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ayuuria · 4 years ago

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Yashahime Translation: Prince Animage May 2021 Issue (Part 2)

Please do not repost this translation without my consent! This includes screenshots of any type and amount. If you wish to share this translation, simply link to this post.

For more information regarding the use of my translations, click here.

Due to the amount of content in the magazine, I have decided to the split the translation into three parts:

Part 1: Elder Son’s Resolve! Interview with Director Satou Teruo

Part 2: We Won’t Give Up On the Future! Father-Daughter Round-Table Talk with Narita Ken, Matsumoto Sara, and Komatsu Mikako

Part 3: The Strength to Overcome Destiny. Interview with Director Satou Teruo

Intertwining Fates

The curtains on the Yashahimes’ story briefly closed with the shocking scene of “Setsuna’s death”. With Towa and the others at its center, the complexly intertwined fates of various people continue into the second chapter (season).

The fire that tore Towa and Setsuna apart, the Dream Butterfly that stole Setsuna’s slumber, the sleeping Rin, and the Rainbow Pearls that possess demonic power; all these things that became key to the story were connected to Kirinmaru’s elder sister, Zero.

Zero previously heard the Shikon Jewel’s prophecy: “An existence that is neither demon nor human and can cross through time will destroy Kirinmaru.” Thinking that it refers to Towa, Setsuna, Moroha, and Inuyasha, Zero tried to eliminate them in order to protect her younger brother. However, that was just an ostensible reason. Behind her actions lurked a feeling of jealousy towards the half-demons and quarter-demon that carried the Dog General’s blood. It seems her unrealized love for the Dog General was the motivation behind her twisted emotions and actions.

Zero’s behavior rouses Kirinmaru’s anger and she disappears from his sight. However, the story does not end with just this issue being settled. As part of the “Rite of Courage and Cowardice”, Towa and the others end up having to fight Kirinmaru and unbelievably, Setsuna loses her life during the battle.

There is a heap of other issues such as Rin who still continues to sleep even now and the Grim Comet that has appeared in the modern era. It is now an anxious wait for the broadcasting to see how future mysteries will be unraveled in the second chapter (season).

Character Bios

Zero Kirinmaru’s elder sister. She was in love with the Dog General. Being that she was the one who created the Rainbow Pearls, she went to go look for the scattered pearls after her breakdown with Kirinmaru.

Kirinmaru The beast king of the eastern lands. Irritated by his elder sister, Zero’s, misconduct towards Sesshōmaru, they part ways as brother and sister as a result. He battles the three (Towa, Setsuna, Moroha) and kills Setsuna.

Sesshōmaru The son of the beast king who once stood on the same level as Kirinmaru, the Dog General, and Towa and Setsuna’s father. It seems he is searching for a child named Akuru but the reason why is unknown.

Higurashi Towa She treasures her younger twin sister, Setsuna, above all else. As she grieves over Setsuna’s death, she receives a broken Tenseiga from her father, Sesshōmaru… …?

Setsuna A half-demon whose sleep and memories were stolen by the Dream Butterfly. She loses her life while battling Kirinmaru but just before drawing her last breath, she calls Towa “Towa-neechan”.

Moroha Towa and Setsuna’s cousin. Despite being enraged by Setsuna’s death, when she turned into Beniyasha, she was able to maintain her (sound) mind and not get overwhelmed by the rampage of her demonic blood.

The Offense and Defense Concerning Half-Demons

Zero has attempted to eliminate the half-demons that carry the Dog General’s blood by doing things such as spurring Kirinmaru to kill Inuyasha or burning the forest that Towa and Setsuna were hiding in. Sesshōmaru was always by her side. Though he does not say much, Sesshōmaru may have seen through Zero’s intentions early and acted one step ahead.

Rin and Zero’s Connection

Zero can connect to others via “fate” and control them as she pleases. Those whose fates are connected to Zero will die alongside her should she lose her life. It seems Zero herself connected her fate to Rin and used that to keep Sesshōmaru in check. The details on how Rin and Zero’s fates were intertwined is of interest.

That Which Sesshōmaru Searches For

Sesshōmaru is someone who never appeared on the story’s center stage for long. During that time, he was searching for a child named Akuru. It seems that the pinwheel Akuru holds is somehow connected to the giant “Windmill of Time”. After Akuru appeared before Sesshōmaru, the Windmill of Time that had not moved for so long moved again but what does that mean… …?

Setsuna’s Seal

Zero wants Kirinmaru to exterminate Towa and the others but Kirinmaru, preferring to fight fair and square, realizes the difference in strength between him and the girls and decides to hold off battling them until they have grown (in strength). It is there that Zero forcefully releases the seal placed on Setsuna’s demon blood so that Kirinmaru will fight Towa and the others seriously.

A Broken Tenseiga

The Tenseiga that Sesshōmaru carries is a sword of healing that was created from the fang of the Dog General and is known as “the sword that saves the lives of the weak”. Sesshōmaru resurrects the dead Zero with Tenseiga but that enrages Zero and she breaks the blade. Will the broken Tenseiga be able to revive Setsuna who has lost her life?

Famous Quote Pick Up!

The role of Sesshōmaru, Narita Ken “Anymore will sadden Rin”

“Personally, the monologue in episode 24 “Anymore will sadden Rin…” struck me. Even though Sesshōmaru doesn’t show kindness, periodically he will suddenly say something like this. On top of that, he doesn’t even put a lot of emotion into it and it just comes out nonchalantly. I think that‘s what’s good about him.” (Narita)

The role of Higurashi Towa, Matsumoto Sara “We’re not alone now.”

“(the line) At the end of episode 16 “We’re not alone now.” I felt was just like Towa. She says that to Moroha but of course Setsuna is among those she’s thinking of. Towa came to the feudal era for Setsuna’s sake she has always held the feeling of “It’s okay because Setsuna is here” at her core. The strength of her unwaveringness really shows when the three of them are backed into a corner.” (Matsumoto)

The role of Setsuna, Komatsu Mikako “You can always change the way you live”

“The phrase in episode 16 “You can always change the way you live” left an impression on me. Even though Setsuna is a half-demon, she’s quite farsighted (philosophically) for a 14-year-old. I think her environment up until now and the blood that flows within her makes her that way. Having passed episode 20 which depicted Setsuna’s past, I once again feel how powerful this phrase is.” (Komatsu)

We Won’t Give Up on the Future! Father-Daughter Cast Round Table Discussion

Role of Higurashi Towa: Matsumoto Sara Role of Setsuna: Komatsu Mikako Role of Sesshōmaru: Narita Ken

Demanding “A Sense of Smell” From Playing Sesshōmaru

— Since this is after the recording of episode 23 today (the day of the interview), thank you all for your hard work!

Matsumoto: Thank you! You see, today is actually the first time I recorded with Narita-san for “Hanyō no Yashahime”. It’s like “we finally meet” kind of feeling and I’m very happy!

Narita: Finally, it was our first father-daughter meeting! I look forward to doing this interview together.

Komatsu: Likewise, I look forward to working with you as well. Narita-san went straight into recording episode 24 (the final episode) right after recording episode 23. The last episode is next week for us, but we read the script and it was completely shocking… …!

— The final episode had an ending that really made you wonder about the future. Having traversed through the story up to this point, what is everyone’s state of mind right now?

Matsumoto: After episode 20, going into the final stage, the vigor of the story increased. For viewers, I think their theories up to now were all overturned at one point. We also started recording not knowing what was going to happen in the future, so we progressed through recording while talking about “What’s going to happen next?” every time. It was a continuation of surprises. Just when I thought we finally got to interact with our father in episode 23, this time, something like that happens to Setsuna… … I was shocked like “To think they would end it like this!” and I immediately started thinking about how the second chapter (season) would connect from here. My current thought is that as I look forward to the second chapter (season), I want to rewatch season 1 one more time before the broadcasting (for season 2) begins.

Komatsu: Back when I didn’t know what was going to happen, when I asked the staff “How is season 1 going to end and what’s going to happen in season 2?”, they told me “Most of the questions that the viewers have will be answered in season 1. Around the last episode of season 1, you might be able to record with everyone in the Higurashi family again.” That’s why in my (mind), I had my hopes up like “I wonder if in the final episode, the whole Kirinmaru situation and Rin’s sleep would all be resolved and Setsuna and the others go to the modern era again, and in season 2 the three Yashahimes would start a happy school life?”

Everyone: (laughs)

Komatsu: And then it went in a completely different direction! Just when I thought the story was connecting in a line, there’s suddenly more questions. There’s still many unanswered mysteries and in the second chapter (season), what will happen (in regards to the those mysteries) … while having that anticipation, as Setsuna, I want her to be revived as soon as possible. In the Inuyasha world, you get pushed down many times, no matter what, and those intense developments where you fight as you climb back up are a distinct characteristic. Hence, I look forward to those intense developments in the second chapter (season)!

Narita: I don’t like calculating future developments and then think “I’ll do this part like this” so I go into the recordings without knowing the upcoming story or the movement of the characters as much as possible. Besides, it feels more fun to go into it without knowing the story. As such, all I use is my sense of smell. In this work, it feels like I’m using my sense of smell 1,000 times more than usual. That’s just how much concentration is needed, and I feel that this work is very stimulating in more ways than one.

— It seems that Sesshōmaru himself moves knowing what Kirinmaru and Zero are after but Narita-san, you were acting without knowing the upcoming development I see.

Narita: That’s right. Sound director Nagura Yasushi-san asked me “Would you like me to give you something that explains how things will turn out?” but I purposely declined. If I found out, it felt as though unnecessary emotions would come out of my voice. When I act, I aim for the middle between “Lines written in the script as is” and “my own considerations” like “It probably goes like this right?”.

Komatsu: Even though I think Sesshōmaru probably knows everything, his lines have various components mixed into them, so I always get a sense of “I wonder?”. That’s why as a fan, I love speculating that marginal aspect.

Matsumoto: I’m the same way. (His lines) always leave room for pondering.

Komatsu: He doesn’t speak much to begin with, but I think it’s just like father to not say everything within those few words. Watching Narita-san record in person today, I was moved by how Sesshōmaru’s nuances were expressed with such finesse.

Narita: As expected, you two are “Inuyasha” fans (laughs). But it really is difficult. He won’t say things with words after all. Although, he would just become a boring man if he said everything. I think he himself knows everything, but suppresses giving out the answer and just highlights it a little bit… that kind of moderation is important. I’m always conscious of this when I act but it’s tough after all. I only have a few lines so I have this feeling of “If I mess these words up, when is the next time (I speak)?”. That’s why I act with this feeling of “I’m going to put everything into these words” every time.

— Narita-san, how did you feel when you first heard about the “Hanyō no Yashahime” project?

Narita: I never thought they would revive “Inuyasha” in this form. If they were going to do it, I thought naturally Inuyasha would be the center of the story. The setting of Sesshōmaru’s children being the main characters never crossed my mind. I thought something like that would be impossible and I wondered about a lot of things like “Then who’s the mother?”. Rin (being the mother) was unexpected.

— It was unexpected?

Narita: I didn’t think he would ever touch upon that. I wanted to shake Sesshōmaru’s shoulders like “This isn’t like you~!” (laughs).

Komatsu: Love sprouted!

Narita: How do I put it, love is something far off to Sesshōmaru… I even think he had kids because he probably had some kind of objective.

— In other words, not because he wanted to create a family?

Narita: That might be true for Inuyasha, but for Sesshōmaru, I think there was an experimental aspect to it like “What sort of chemical reaction would happen in my heart if I had kids”. After all, I don’t think it’s necessary for him to be a dad.

Komatsu: Sesshōmaru certainly does seem like he would have that kind of desire to “want to know”.

— Then how did you feel when you saw the girls?

Narita: “Ah, so this is what they’re like” is what I thought. I thought they were brave, healthy looking kids. When color was added to the characters, I felt there were aspects similar to Sesshōmaru. But you know, the shock that he had daughters really is big. It was like “Will the Sesshōmaru up until now fall apart?” “I don’t want him to start ogling”. It was a little complicated there. It's just that it’s true that in the story of “Inuyasha”, he gradually showed his affection for Rin. In that case, something close to that may also bud for his daughters and that too may become a new appeal for him.

Reenacting Sesshōmaru’s Solitude for the Final Recording

— It’s been 20 years since the time of “Inuyasha” but Narita-san, do you remember the time you met Sesshōmaru?

Narita: I did not get the role of Sesshōmaru through auditioning. It seems there were actual auditions, but they couldn’t come to a decision, so they had Takahashi Rumiko-sensei, the author of the original work, listen to the voice samples of various candidates. It was there that Rumiko-sensei picked me is how the story goes. Until then, I did not have many appearances in anime works, so I think there are many young people who recognize me for my role as Sesshōmaru. I also felt that things changed after I played Sesshōmaru. That’s why to me, his existence is very big.

— His looks are androgynous but his voice is deep, so in the beginning, there may have been people who felt an element of surprise from that.

Narita: When I first saw his character appearance, I remember thinking he was woman dressed in a furisode. That’s why during the first test, I used a higher pitched voice. Like the pretty boy voice so to speak. Then, the sound director at the time, Tsuruoka Yōta-san told me “Please make it deeper”. I lowered my voice while thinking “What?” yet he still said “Deeper” … That’s why it was very hard in the beginning. It was to the point that I thought “I can’t keep going like this!”. That’s why I raised my voice just a little bit at time so that it wasn’t noticeable. Otherwise, I felt that I couldn’t express (things). When I did that, it gradually became easier.

Matsumoto: So that’s how it was.

Narita: Although, there was a trigger behind that. At one point, I received a letter from someone who was a fan of the work and it seemed that the Sesshōmaru that person imagined was a certain voice actor who was very popular at the time. When I read that, I thought “Whaaat!” (laughs). But if that’s the case, I thought “It’s fine if I do this more freely” and my shoulders relaxed instantly, and I felt better.

— As in acting in a way that only you can?

Narita: Yes, that’s why I’m grateful for that letter. It’s thanks to that that I was able to reach a turning point after all.

Komatsu: Meaning you broke through that “Sesshōmaru has to be like this” kind of (mentality). When I first heard Sesshōmaru’s voice in the animation, I was able to grasp that “This is what Sesshōmaru’s scariness was”. To begin with, his beauty and contrasting calmness pierced through me and I had this scary image of him from when I read the manga. However, the moment that became a voice, I really felt that it made it convincing. That’s why from the start in my mind, I couldn’t imagine anyone else for Sesshōmaru other than Narita-san. It’s the complete opposite of Inuyasha’s high tone and he’s calm. He felt like a true greater demon. His rank is much higher than Inuyasha’s and I could feel that sense of him being beyond anyone’s power.

Narita: Afterall, his father (the Dog General) was Ōtsuka Akio-san and his mother is Sakakibara Yoshiko-san. The parents were amazing, weren’t they?

Matsumoto: For sure, the whole family is strong… …!

Narita: But Sesshōmaru’s strength is that he doesn’t flinch even before such parents. Like he has his own world. I thought I really should (act) that part without wavering.

— How did it feel playing Sesshōmaru again for the first time in a while in “Hanyō no Yashahime”?

Narita: It’s been 20 years since “Inuyasha” and 10 years since “Inuyasha the Final Act” so that amount of time is pretty hefty. I thought I could do it instantly but when I tried, it felt off. I was bewildered like “I did this originally so why?”. I started acting while doing my utmost to recall the feelings from back then, but it didn’t go well immediately and even I was surprised. The stronger the emotional attachment, the closer to myself I got and I thought “This is a human”. I kept comparing and adjusting many times like “Gotta change it back, gotta change it back”.

— So there’s a certain feeling when playing a demon.

Narita: That’s when I thought I probably focused a lot more back during “Inuyasha”. The onsite studio for “Inuyasha” had a peaceful atmosphere and I felt that I couldn’t let myself get caught up in the atmosphere. Stubbornly, I strongly made myself think “I am solitary”. Until I stood in front of the microphone, I would create Sesshōmaru inside myself and carry on as such until the end. That may have been what I was missing. That’s why at the recording of the final episode today, I purposely told the girls “I want you out”.

— In other words?

Narita: Just as I said earlier, I recorded episode 23 with the girls but I recorded the final episode alone. During that time, the girls waited for me (until the interview started) and they could’ve stayed in the booth but I purposely wanted to do it alone. It probably wouldn’t have changed much whether there was someone inside or not but how to put it, I wanted to get closer to the me back then, even just a little.

— I see.

Matsumoto: There’s certainly emphasis on recording with a small number of people right now, so it might be a difficult environment to face your role in. It’s pretty much you get to the studio, immediately voice the scenes you appear in, and then immediately go home when you’re done. Even as a newbie, I can feel it throwing off my rhythm somehow.

— So even bout scenes get (cut up) into small pieces then.

Matsumoto: I think if we had recorded with everyone together from the top, we could’ve created time for each of us to focus on our roles while feeling the flow of the story. I think there’s definitely something that can be built with everyone onsite. However, there’s difficulty from not having time to build that.

Komatsu: When you can feel the flow of the whole thing onsite, the feeling changes a little from when you’re reading the script at home. There are times where you realize things for the first time. But right now, we’re only doing our corresponding scenes, so things come up that we just can’t grasp. There is merit in just doing your turn in a short time, but it feels completely different from doing it with everyone.

— So there’s a challenge that comes from the Corona crisis.

Komatsu: The staff have shown consideration for us by making it possible for us to interact with each other as much as possible, so I’m grateful. While taking in consideration counter measures against spreading the virus, they adjusted it so that those voicing scenes with character conversations can record in the same booth together. Thanks to that, the cast of the three Yashahime were basically able to record together.

Narita: They were limiting it to around 3, 4 people at most. I recorded with Kirinmaru (Yoshimasa Hosoya-san) and Zero (Sakamoto Maaya-san) many times. Then there was Jaken-chan (Chō-san). Jaken was the same old Jaken and he made me think that I had to do my best without losing. I didn’t (record) together with my younger brother (Inuyasha played by Yamaguchi Kappei-san). Not that I want to meet him or anything.

Matsumoto: It’s Lord Sesshōmaru! (laughs)

Komatsu: Thank you! (laughs)

Narita: (laughs) Also, I was able to record together with Rin (Noto Mamiko-san) in episode 1. It felt as though Noto-san had matured a little bit. Her growth as a woman came through a little in her acting, which I thought was wonderful.

Matsumoto: Us daughters haven’t recorded with Noto-san but I just happened to be able to watch the recording for episode 15, so that’s when I greeted her. When I told her “I’m your daughter; thank you for giving birth to me” Noto-san was like “Oh my god~! My daughter~!”. But we had to maintain social distancing so we were both like “I can’t hug youuuu~!” (laughs).

Komatsu: I’m so jealous. I can picture that situation (laughs)

Concern about Setsuna’s life and Towa and Riku’s relationship

— In regard to Rin, it was revealed in episode 23 and 24 that her “fate” is connected to Zero. Matsumoto-san and Komatsu-san, as daughters, what do you think?

Komatsu: I thought “what a cruel fate”. While the feeling of wanting to hurry and meet mother face to face grows stronger, currently the only way to prolong Rin’s life is to keep her asleep, and it’s there that Setsuna’s Dream Butterfly is involved. All that is linked to Zero.

Matsumoto: It’s a negative chain where in order to get Setsuna’s sleep back, you have to kill Zero but doing so would also kill Rin. Towa wants Setsuna to be able to sleep but she still doesn’t know about that connection. She tried to sever that in the final episode, but the result was…

Komatsu: Setsuna, who was never able to sleep, was finally able to sleep via death. It was such an ironic plot twist… …!

Matsumoto: Seriously, I thought “You’d write this kind of script!?”! (laughs) In the opening for cour 2, there’s a scene where Rin catches a falling Setsuna but I want them to hurry and do this scene in the main story.

Narita: Setsuna will be in season 2, right? We won’t be able to sleep in Setsuna’s place because we’re so curious.

Komatsu: I have faith that she’ll appear… … For that reason, I look forward to Towa’s efforts.

Matsumoto: I’ll do my best! At the end of the final episode, Sesshōmaru takes out a broken Tenseiga and says “Shall you try, Towa…”. That was the first time father said my name. Earlier, I watched Narita-san record from outside the booth and that was truly unforgettable. Seriously, I think it was a scene that entrusted a lot of things (to Towa) so I want to carve that voice into my heart and take on the recording for the final episode.

— In regard to Towa, her relationship with Riku is also of interest.

Matsumoto: You’re right. The scene where she told Riku “I like you!” really surprised me!

Komatsu: Love made up a large portion within the story of “Inuyasha” but “Hanyō no Yashahime” doesn’t have a love component to that level. It was a scene where you saw a small sign of that.

Matsumoto: For the line “I like you”, Nagura-san directed me before the recording “It is absolutely not fawning. Please don’t go in the LOVE (romantic) direction.” I think it was a refreshing emotion and that she liked Riku as a person type feeling. I was also told “It’s okay to show happiness when Towa sees Riku like ‘Oh it’s Riku’”. Even though she doesn’t think it’s (romantic) love, it seems she’s always had this perception of “Riku’s not a bad person” and I think what burst out from that was “I like you”. The fact that Riku hugged her was something that lingered with her into the next episode, and it was very memorable.

Narita: Riku… … he can’t be overlooked in many ways (laughs). This won’t do, I can’t let him live. I guess I should cut him down in a single stroke!

Matsumoto: Fatheeeeer!! (laughs)

Komatsu: Like “I won’t forgive anyone who make a move on my daughter” (laughs)

— Riku’s wellbeing will be something to pay attention to in season 2 (laughs). Lastly please give a message to our readers who are looking forward to the second chapter (season).

Komatsu: First off, there’s what’s going to happen to Setsuna. I’m sure Towa, who’s been entrusted with things, will revive her in the second chapter (season)… … Personally, I want to see father-daughter interaction and a reunion scene with mother. I also haven’t given up on my dream of an exciting modern era school life! Just once is fine but I want an episode where everyone goes to the modern era, wears a school uniform, and takes Kirin-sensei’s class. Having it end as “it was all just a dream” is fine too (laughs). I believe there are issues as well like Inuyasha and Kagome being trapped in the black pearl, so I hope everything is included in the second chapter (season)!

Narita: Indeed, when I think about what all is going to happen, I can’t help but be curious. Coming to episode 23, I recorded with the girls for the first time but how are things going to be between (Sesshōmaru) and the girls going forward? I’m also curious about the relationships with Inuyasha and Kirinmaru. I’m just like the viewers in that I want to enjoy each episode one at a time. I’m truly happy to have encountered this work. I would be happy if everyone continued supporting us.

Matsumoto: In terms of hopes, I want Setsuna to be revived immediately at the beginning of the second chapter (season)… … Even if that doesn’t happen, I want Setsuna to be revived as soon as possible. I think there will be new encounters getting there. At the end of season 1, there was a character named Akuru that appeared along with the keyword “Windmill of Time”. I’m excited to see how those will connect into the second chapter (season). Another thing I’m curious about is the promise that was made to Mei, “We’ll come back for sure”.

Komatsu: Oh yeah

Matsumoto: I do feel that I want to see a scene where Towa says “I’m home” to the Higurashi family… … but right now I don’t want to go back to the modern era! Need to revive Setsuna and clean up everything before that! Riku, Zero, and Kirinmaru might show some new movement in the second chapter (season). Please look forward to it without missing the details!

Q. Who did you think was Towa and Setsuna’s mother?

Narita: I thought it was Jaken (laughs).

Matsumoto: The Mama Jaken theory! (laughs)

Komatsu: Even among the fans, there was the Mama Jaken theory in the beginning (laughs).

Narita: Well, Jaken stays close to Sesshōmaru the most and knows him best. If love was going to sprout, it would’ve been from Jaken. Plus, he’s a full demon.

Matsumoto: Master Jaken really looks at Lord Sesshōmaru after all.

Komatsu: In actuality, Master Jaken was both the educator and caretaker, so his position was like a wet nurse.

Narita: He might’ve been breast feeding them periodically. Demons seem like they can do anything (laughs).

Komatsu: I think Master Jaken guessed what Lord Sesshōmaru was feeling and thought “What is my role…”.

Narita: He probably can’t be by Sesshōmaru’s side if he doesn’t have that kind of anticipation (laughs)

#Yashahime #hanyou no yashahime #yashahime: princess half demon #translation

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years ago

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Fire and Light (ao3) - on tumblr: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7

- Chapter 8 -

A small group of sects unexpectedly announced that they wanted Wen Ruohan to adjudicate a boundary line dispute – some were affiliated with the Jiang sect, others with the Jin, and they wanted a neutral party. Wen Ruohan was pleased, even smug, that they had chosen him rather than the Lan sect, which with its righteous reputation was more typically called upon to mediate for the other sects.

“Maybe none of them have a good argument,” Nie Huaisang mused. “They’re all awful, and they want someone more self-absorbed than either side to broker something out.”

“Not everyone is awful, Huaisang,” Nie Mingjue said, tucking the blankets around him. “Most people are good. Besides, there are some pretty renowned sects involved, so even if it’s true, you shouldn’t say it.”

Nie Huaisang heaved a sigh. “But da-ge –”

“Time for medicine,” Nie Mingjue said firmly, and lifted the bowl to his lips.

Nie Huaisang had a mild case of food poisoning, causing a stomachache, vomiting and a low-grade fever – Wen Qing had determined that it wasn’t infectious, but also, rather grimly, figured out that the source of the illness was most likely a particular treat that Nie Huaisang had generously shared with both her and Wen Chao, and sure enough they were both bedridden less than a day later. Luckily, Wen Qing had had enough time to boil the base for the medicine they needed, and while he wasn’t at her level, much less the now-absent Wen Ning’s, even Nie Mingjue could follow directions well enough to add the final ingredients right before serving.

(Even Wen Zhuliu, who remained Wen Chao’s bodyguard despite their best efforts, had fallen ill, except his version had been significantly worse – more or less non-stop emissions out both ends, and out of self-preservation Nie Mingjue had insisted that he remain in the servants’ quarters far away from all of them.)

Nie Huaisang finished drinking the medicine, making a face that only went away when Nie Mingjue stuffed something sweet into his mouth to help get rid of the taste. “Will you be all right helping out?”

“Of course I will,” Nie Mingjue said. “I haven’t forgotten how to help host a party.”

“No, I meant…”

Nie Mingjue shrugged. Normally, Wen Ruohan had enough concern for his face to prefer that Nie Mingjue avoid showing his own shortly after he’d been insolent enough to warrant punishment, but due to the food poisoning they were short on young masters to greet all the incoming people – and their guests were too important not to be greeted by someone with status.

“I’ll use some powder, it’ll be fine,” he said. “And anyway, even if someone notices, it’s not like they would be bold enough to comment; they’re here to ask Sect Leader Wen for a favor, after all. Who will even pay attention to me long enough to notice?”

The answer, Nie Mingjue swiftly learned, was Yu Ming, a crotchety old grandmother from Meishan Yu in Sichuan who didn’t like the food (not spicy enough), her chair (the first one was too rickety, the second too soft), her peers (idiots, all of them), her drink (they’d served tea and she wanted wine, and then later on it was the other way around), and, most problematically, was one of the more influential sect leaders on the Jiang sect’s side. Not exactly someone they wanted to offend by providing inferior hospitality.

Nie Mingjue ended up abandoning his now habitual corner in the back of the room to dash back and forth dancing attendance on her, run ragged and breathless by all of her demands.

It wasn’t exactly a surprise when she approached him in his corner during the banquet’s dessert course, and he straightened up at once, saluting politely. “Sect Leader Yu,” he said, suppressing a desire to moan and maybe beg for mercy; his legs were killing him. How this managed to be worse than serious saber training he had no idea, but it was. “Is the dessert not to your liking? I can get you something cool instead –”

“Sit down, boy,” she growled. “The crystal cakes are fine, and I’m tired of looking up at you. How tall are you? Six chi?”

“…five and a half, maybe five and three-quarters,” he confessed, sitting down obediently. At this point, she could tell him to jump out a window and he probably would – she had a very sharp walking stick and no hesitation about waving everywhere. No sympathy for her miserable victims, either.

“And you’re how old?”

“Seventeen.”

“Slowed down yet?”

“…not yet.”

She huffed. “That’s all we need, another Nie giant. I told your father that he was making a mistake, marrying a woman that needed to duck to get through doors…that how you got that black eye?”

“Huh?” Nie Mingjue said unintelligently, still caught by the mental image – he scarcely remembered his mother, having been very young when she left, but it was nice to think that it wasn’t just the perspective of having been a toddler that had made her appear quite so towering. “Oh, I – uh – training accident.”

Yu Ming squinted at him. “Same training accident that dislocated three of your fingers and a kneecap, did a number on your ribs, and cut your back up so bad that you need bandages and –” She inhaled. “– at least two doses of bai mao gen to replenish the blood lost?”

Nie Mingjue opened and closed his mouth wordlessly. Finally, yielding under her glare, he muttered, “I didn’t dislocate my kneecap.”

He might’ve preferred that, actually. Dislocations could be shoved back into place with relatively little issue; he’d sprained it, instead. A bad fall from when he’d shamefully broken and tried to run from the Fire Palace, futilely seeking safety, a place where he neither had to hurt people nor be hurt himself.

Not that such a place existed in the Nightless City, of course. He’d only been dragged back after, as he ought to have expected, and then things had gotten much worse, but he hadn’t really been thinking his actions through at the time.

“Dislocated, not dislocated, whatever. Has to be something, the way you’re dragging that left leg of yours behind you when you trot,” she said practically. “You’re a rotten liar, did anyone ever tell you that?”

“Many people,” Nie Mingjue said with a sigh. Most of them currently in bed with food poisoning, except for lucky Wen Ning away at the Lotus Pier and miserable Wen Xu now stuck standing by his father’s side, pretending to smile. “Does it matter?”

“Matter? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Other than going and applying more powder, there’s not much I can do about it even if it does offend your sight,” Nie Mingjue pointed out, reasonably enough in his view. “And no matter how many times or ways you ask it, the answer’s still going to be ‘training accident’, whether or not you believe me.”

Yu Ming poked his forehead with her finger, then his cheek. “And this is with powder,” she said, scowling and rubbing the remnants of it between her fingertips as if she hadn’t believed him that it was there until she’d verified it for herself. “If you won’t tell me anything other than ‘training accident’, will you at least tell me what you did to deserve this type of training?”

“I don’t remember,” Nie Mingjue said, and he really didn’t. All the thrashings more or less flowed together pretty well after a while, and in the end it didn’t really matter if he’d intervened on Nie Huaisang’s behalf or Wen Chao’s, whether he’d played whipping boy for Wen Xu or distracted attention away from Wen Qing – they were all close enough to be proper family now. What he did was nothing more than what you ought to do for those you loved, and he’d die before he forgot how to do that.

“Rotten liar,” Yu Ming said, maybe because she could tell he wasn’t lying, and spat on the ground. “It’s a filthy business.”

“I’m hardly going to disagree with you,” he said dryly.

“You might look a little less ragged if you did.”

He shrugged. “They say people can’t change their essential nature.”

“And what’s yours?”

“Blunt to the point of stupidity.”

“Say rather that you cut straight to the point,” she said.

“Well, you know, sabers have one blunt edge, one sharp,” he said, unable to resist a smile even if it pulled at the bruises around his eye. “I can be both.”

She was staring at him.

“…what?”

“You have dimples.”

“I’m…aware?”

He didn’t quite understand the calculating look Yu Ming had in her eyes – or, perhaps better said, he didn’t want to understand that look, and he was willing to put in a great deal of effort behind not understanding it if he had to.

“Do you want another crystal cake?” he asked her abruptly before she could say anything else. When she arched her eyebrows, he elaborated: “Sect Leader Wen will undoubtedly ask me whether I was taking good care of you, being as you are after all one of our honored guests.”

Don’t tell me anything, he meant. Even if you pity me – especially if you pity me. He has ways to make me talk. He likes making me talk.

“…fine, then,” Yu Ming said. “You said something about there being something cool?”

Nie Mingjue suppressed a groan as he dragged himself out of his seat and headed to the kitchen to see if they still had any sorbet left over.

“– going to be tricky,” Nie Huaisang was saying to a nodding Wen Xu as Nie Mingjue walked by. “Lanling Jin isn’t fond of making decisions.”

“But they are fond of profit,” Wen Xu pointed out.

“The question will be if there’s a way to strike the right balance without giving too much away –”

Nie Mingjue decided to believe that they were talking about pornography. People said Jin Guangshan was into that sort of thing, didn’t they?

Nie Mingjue trained with Baxia at least once every day, and usually more. He found the repetitive actions calming, like an active form of meditation, and he was happy to sink into the mindlessness of physical exertion and forget his worries.

Baxia was warm under his hand, as always – he thought sometimes that she’d never quite adjusted to the warmer temperatures of the Nightless City, preferring as he did the cooler weather of Qinghe.

Perhaps, in time, she would forget it.

Perhaps, in time, so would he.

Forget the cool air filling his lungs, the crisp snap of an autumn day just about to begin; forget the smell of the forests and the feeling of gravel under his shoes. Forget the strain on his muscles from climbing up a steep cliff, the taste of an early snowfall on his tongue – the metallic tang to the water, the lingering smell of smoke in the air even when there wasn’t anyone around for miles.

It felt unforgettable.

But he knew that it wasn’t. In the face of time, all things were ground down into the dust.

He would be eighteen years old this year. Still a little shy of proper adulthood, an unlucky year, if luck had anything to do with his life any longer. He’d been here for four years, just shy of a quarter of all the years he’d ever lived.

Perhaps that was what made him melancholy.

Or perhaps it was only that he had been unable to light incense on the anniversary of his father’s death yet again this year. Wen Ruohan took particular pleasure in ensuring that he couldn’t – he had spent the first year unconscious, the second year immobilized, the third…he tried not to remember.

It didn’t really matter, he supposed, since he’d always agreed in advance that Nie Huaisang would light the incense on behalf of them both, both on the anniversary and on Qingming – they hadn’t ever been given leave to return to Qinghe to sweep their ancestral graves, not once, not even when some of the other sects had complained about the impropriety of it. No one ever paid attention to Nie Huaisang, underestimating how sneaky he could be, and so he’d managed it just fine. Still, the failure to do it himself tugged at Nie Mingjue’s heart, disappointed him in himself - in his failure to be a good son, just as he so often failed to be a good brother.

He sank back into his training by force of willpower.

His cultivation was increasing at an acceptable rate, he thought – shockingly fast by all metrics, but all of his teachers said that his foundations were good, steady as mountains, and his progression through each stage was smooth and unhindered by bottlenecks. The consequences of genius, they said with a shrug.

It was about the only thing that was going in an acceptable manner.

Ma Liyuan had fallen out of favor, as Wen Xu had predicted – she’d failed to remain pregnant despite repeated efforts, and Wen Ruohan took such pleasure in criticizing her for it that Nie Mingjue suspected he’d dosed her tea with contraceptives specifically to set her up for the failure, since he didn’t actually need more sons – but her usefulness remained, so she was married in with all pomp to Wen Chao’s household as a secondary wife.

(She’d been promised the position of first wife, and threw a fit when she realized the change, but Wen Ruohan had reminded her, sneering, that that had been when she’d been a pure and untouched maiden; she really couldn’t expect them to pay such a high price for secondhand goods, now could she?)

Wen Chao obviously had no interest in her at all – she’d tried, once, to make herself up and smile at him and he’d recoiled as if he’d seen a snake, then stared at her and said, “You’re joking, right?” – so she’d taken the next best option and sent her maid to seduce him in her stead.

Wang Lingjiao was pretty enough, with curves enough to make just about any man stare, and pretty cunning to boot. In a different world, a world where Wen Chao had fallen for his father’s nasty little tricks and become a stupid oversexed princeling, a waste of space that would have been incited into fighting against Wen Xu for the sole purpose of being crushed to prove some imagined point of about the necessity of cruelty, she probably would have been able to crawl into his bed and keep her place there without much difficulty.

Wen Chao was a bit of a romantic, after all, no matter how much he tried to deny it.

As it was, when her first few efforts at flirtation failed – or, well, mostly failed, given that Wen Chao held her hands in his own during a garden stroll in the moonlight and told her, with great earnestness, that she was very beautiful and it was such a pity that he wasn’t allowed to think of women romantically until he was fifteen on pain of utmost humiliation and also was she aware of the dangers of venereal disease – Wang Lingjiao pulled back and recalibrated her approach.

This time, she went for Nie Mingjue.

“You’re joking, right?” he asked her.

She arched an eyebrow at him. “Is that a deliberate reference to what Wen Chao said?”

“No, just the same idea. I’m not interested.”

“That much is obvious enough,” she said, tossing her hair. “I want you to tell me what I need to do to get someone to be interested. I don’t want to be a servant any longer.”

Nie Mingjue was at something of a loss for words.

“There must be something I can provide,” Wang Lingjiao demanded. “Some service, some use…I’m a weak cultivator, but that clearly doesn’t bother you lot – your younger brother is weak, too, though I’m still a bit worse. I’m not as dumb as Ma Liyuan; I know there’s more you can sell in life than sex, even if that’s easier. What do you want? What do any of you want?”

Wang Lingjiao was from the Yingchuan Wang cultivation clan, Nie Mingjue abruptly remembered. A smaller sect, with too many children, but a standalone sect nonetheless; their children were born as gentry, not servants. No, they must have sold Wang Lingjiao into servitude, though whether it was to get an in with Qishan Wen or simply to get rid of a budding problem – and extremely beautiful young women with poor cultivation were often a problem, especially when their beauty suggested how their mothers had gotten themselves selected to be wives, or, more likely, concubines – he did not know.

“Do you mix your own makeup?” he asked, and she stared at him. “It’s very well done.”

“…yes,” she said, giving him a strange look. “I do. None that’ll fit you, though.”

He blinked, then laughed. “No, I don’t want any; the only use I have for powder is to cover up bruises when I need to be presentable. I just meant that it seems you have a steady hand at mixing things and judging proportions – A-Qing appreciates those qualities.”

“Wen Qing?” Wang Lingjiao asked, bewildered. “You want to send me to a woman?”

“She’s expressed before that she would like to have more female company,” Nie Mingjue explained, and Wang Lingjiao’s expression only got more fish-like as she gaped at him. “A fair while back, in fairness, but the numbers really are skewed fairly strongly against her. I thought you might get along. Be friends.”

“I’ve never had a female friend in my life,” Wang Lingjiao told him.

“I thought – you’re always chatting with the other serving girls…?”

Wang Lingjiao rolled her eyes as if he were being stupid. He probably was. Forget Qishan ways, the ways of the teenaged girl were utterly beyond his grasp.

“I don’t see what you have to lose by trying,” Nie Mingjue pointed out. “I’m not interested, Xu-ge’s too paranoid to get within touching distance of anyone he thinks has an ulterior motive, A-Chao isn’t allowed to touch women for a few more years –”

“Why is that?”

“He’s gullible, and has both questionable taste and sibling-inflicted trauma relating to brothels,” Nie Mingjue explained, and Wang Lingjiao wrinkled her nose, looking a little amused despite herself. “A-Ning isn’t the type to womanize, and Huaisang is too young. Also a vicious cutthroat when it comes to interpersonal relations, so who even knows what type of person he’d like, if any.”

“I’d noticed that about him.”

“In sum, A-Qing is your best bet,” he concluded. “And all the more so if you approach her in a business-like fashion: make clear to her what benefits you bring and how you’ll compensate for the drawbacks, be practical and reasonable, and you’ll do fine. Do well, and you won’t ever need to fear being sent back to Ma Liyuan – or to Yingchuan.”

Wang Lingjiao stared at him for a moment – she hadn’t expected him to be able to figure that out, he thought, since she was just clever enough to manage to puzzle out that he was the heart and core of their little group but not quite smart enough to realize why – but in the end she seemed to take his advice to heart, nodding and walking away.

He hoped Wen Qing didn’t kill him for sending her a terrible lab assistant.

#mdzs #nie mingjue #nie huaisang #wen xu #wen chao #wang lingjiao #wen qing #wen ning #my fic #my fics #fire and light

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starring-movies · 4 years ago

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The Haunting of Bly Manor: Episode Analysis

*SPOILERS*

Episode 7 - The Two Faces, Part Two

Episode 7 of The Haunting of Bly Manor is mainly a continuation of Episode 3, which has the same name, as we explore more of Peter and Rebecca’s backstory and a lot more questions also start to get answered.

The episode starts as Dani has been tied up and is coming back into consciousness after Miles (possessed by Peter) hit her over the head at the end of Episode 6. As Peter is trying to set his plan in motion, for him and Rebecca to possess Miles and Flora’s bodies permanently, he suddenly gets thrown into a memory. Unlike Hannah, Rebecca and Flora who ‘dream-hop’ through many of their memories, Peter only ever gets put into one of his memories.

The memory that Peter repeatedly gets pulled into is the memory of a time when his mother came to visit him. Peter’s mother knocks on the door and when Peter lets her in, she tells him “I’m out” and that this time she’s out “forever”, because she says “I suppose they’d say I’m cured”. It’s never explicitly made clear where she’s “out” from, but it’s most likely that she’s been released from a mental institution for her failure to help her son when she knew that her husband was molesting him (which is something that is insinuated later in the episode).

Peter’s mother tells Peter that she needs money from him now that she’s been released and so she blackmails him, saying that she’ll show Henry his “juvenile records”, if he doesn’t give her any money.

The scene then moves to the memory which Rebecca has entered, where we find out that “priceless heirlooms” have been stolen from the manor and that Peter had been embezzling money from Henry. From this it becomes apparent that in Episode 5 when Hannah saw Peter stealing a necklace from Charlotte’s vanity, he was stealing it so that he could sell it and give the money to his other to keep her quiet. It seems that Peter was stealing the “priceless heirlooms”, such as the necklace, to give the money to his mother. However, the “quarter million pounds” that Peter embezzled from Henry most likely really was for the purpose that he said - so that he could run away to make a life in America with Rebecca and free himself from his mother’s blackmailing.

A small little detail; is that after Rebecca finds out that Peter is dead, we see her zoned out in one of Miles and Flora’s lessons. On the desk that Rebecca is sitting behind, there are some word blocks that spell out “redrum”, which is a nod to the 1980’s film ‘The Shining’. Mike Flanagan created The Haunting of Bly Manor and also directed the 2019 sequel to The Shining, Doctor Sleep.

It’s interesting to note that in The Shining “redrum” spells “murder” backwards, and Rebecca ends up being murdered by Peter.

This is not the only reference to The Shining, as there was another one in Episode 1. When we see Dani leaving the hostel which she’s been staying at, as she’s shutting the door behind her, we can see that her room number was 217. In the original book of The Shining by Steven King, the haunted room that Jack Torrance enters is room 217 (but in the movie it’s room 237).

As well as these two instances, there is yet another reference to The Shining, also in Episode 1. When Miles and Flora are locking Dani in the cupboard, we get a shot of them just before the shut the door on her. The shot of Miles and Flora standing side by side with one another evokes the memorable shot of the twins in The Shining.

Rebecca tries to suggest to Peter that they still continue their previous plan to run off to America and tells him that she doesn’t mind if people think that she’s “some batty old witch who talks to thin air”. Peter tells her that they can’t do that because he “can’t leave Bly” and he “can’t get past the end of the drive”, but then he discovers that he can possess Rebecca’s body just like he can with Miles’. The two of them devise a plan where Peter will possess Rebecca’s body and he’ll try to leave while still in her body. They carry out the plan the next morning but as Rebecca runs to the boundary of the grounds, Peter is ejected from her body.

This brings up a question of confusion, as in Episode 9 Dani manages to leave Bly with The Lady in the Lake in partial possession of her body and neither of them were thrown out from Dani’s body. Since Dani is able to leave the grounds, the reason that Peter was pushed out of Rebecca’s body must be because he exited her body himself. As he was about to cross the boundary he probably came to the realisation that if he left while still in Rebecca’s body, then he and Rebecca will never be able to be properly together again and so he pulled himself out so that he could think of another way that they could be together. However it also could be that Dani stopped Viola’s gravity well when she invited Viola into herself (we see all the other ghosts are released when this happens in Episode 9), but this still wouldn’t explain Peter’s oddly quiet reaction when he gets pushed out of Rebecca’s body at the manor’s boundary.

This would also make sense of a lot of a few other things as well. It would make sense of the odd reaction that Peter gives after the failed attempt at escape, when Rebecca says “it didn’t work” - he doesn’t look particularly sad that it didn’t work, even though he was so enthusiastic to finally be able leave and be with Rebecca. It would also make sense of when Older Jamie says that “Peter had not been back to find her, he had left her at the boundary of Bly”. Peter disappears for so long because he’s trying to come up with a different plan for them to be able to be with one another.

After trying to leave the manor in Rebecca’ body doesn’t work, for whatever reason, Peter then comes back to Rebecca with his new plan. Peter explains that when he tries to take possession of Rebecca’s body, neither of them mean to, but he always tries to push her out and she always tries to push him out and so the possession is “temporary”. He tells her that there is a way that they can be together forever and able to touch each other but to do this he says he needs to be given permanent possession of her body and for this to happen she needs to invite him in and give him consent. However when he’s explaining this to Rebecca, Peter doesn’t explain that his grand plan for them to be together means that he’ll take over her body and they’ll only be together by being tucked away in a memory together.

After being given consent from Rebecca to have permanent control over her body, which he gets through the phrase “it’s you, it’s me, it’s us”, Peter carries out his plan. Rebecca gets tucked away “in a memory of them”, and although they are together and can touch one another, this is not what she wanted (nor is this what he really promised to her when he got her to give him her consent) and it’s not ideal for him either as he is now left in Rebecca’s body “here, alone”.

Since Peter is now alone in Rebecca’s body and he doesn’t want to continue to be alone, he decides that he’ll drown her body so that they’ll both become ghosts and they will both be together that way. We see Rebecca (possessed by Peter) crying as she walks into the lake, and then we see Peter crying in bed with Rebecca in the tucked away memory, which is how we know that Peter was in possession of Rebecca’s body when she drowned.

But then as the water starts to enter Rebecca’s body’s lungs, Peter leaves and Rebecca herself is forced back into control of her own body again. We see just what type of a person he is, as he leaves her on her own to feel the pain of the drowning. In a parallel to this, this shows us just how much Rebecca cares for Flora, as in Episode 9 she tells Flora that she’ll take over her body before she’s dragged into the lake and she’ll feel everything for her - a completely selfless action considering that she’s already had to endure the pain once.

Like Peter and Hannah, Rebecca immediately turns into a ghost and we see her mourning her body and the betrayal of her trust, as she stands by the side of the lake and cries. This explains to us why, when Rebecca was possessing Flora’s body, she always walked to the lake - because she sits by the lake and mourns her life.

This is the most prominent example of the love versus possession conversation that Dani and Jamie were having in Episode 3. Peter says that he loves Rebecca, but he displays no true love for her at all, to ask for her complete trust and consent and then to betray her by stealing her life. Peter is acting completely on selfishness and is treating Rebecca like a possession who he manipulate for his own personal benefit. To truly love someone is to want the absolute best for them, even if that comes at your own expense; but when Peter makes this decision he isn’t thinking about Rebecca at all, he’s only thinking about his own desires and loneliness.

After Peter drowns her body, Rebecca returns once more to the memory of when Peter gave her Charlotte’s fur coat. The memory was once a very happy one for Rebecca, but now it’s been tainted by Peter’s selfish actions. Rebecca now sees how Peter manipulated her as she says that “I didn’t agree”, she only agreed to them being together not for him to take her life from her.

Peter suddenly gets pulled back into the only memory that he gets pulled into, the memory of his mother coming to visit him. Peter says that from constantly having to return to this memory he feels “like I’m in hell” and his mother says “well, where else would you go”, stating that there is nowhere else that he could go after what he did to to Rebecca.

Peter then gets released from the memory he was being tucked away in and he returns to the attic, where Miles and Flora are in the process of freeing Dani. Peter stops Miles and Flora from letting Dani go and Rebecca returns from her dream hopping.

To try and convince Miles and Flora to give consent for their bodies to be possessed, Peter says that they’ll be able to go to their “forever house” where they’ll be with their parents forever. The “forever house” is a reference to The Haunting of Hill House where Olivia made blueprints of a “forever home” for the family to live in once they got enough money from flipping Hill House (but when Olivia dies, Hill House becomes the forever home). The “forever house/home” is something that is supposed to symbolise safety and family, however in both Hill House and Bly Manor this isn’t really the case. In Hill house the promise of the “forever home” that Olivia dreamt of was never fulfilled; and in Bly Manor the “forever house” that Peter is talking about is just for Miles and Flora to be permanently tucked away in false memories.

Despite Peter’s manipulation, he does know what love really looks like. He tells Miles that, when he’s tucked away in the “forever house” with his parents, he’ll be “with two people who love you so much, so much. That makes you the luckiest man in the world, the richest person, I wish I could be that rich”. Peter recognises that being in a safe place with two people who love you makes you the “richest person” and was something that he never got to experience himself. Not that this makes his behaviour acceptable, but it may from his childhood where Peter developed a distorted view of love and posession, and so this is why he manipulates others and treats them as his possessions - while Peter is supposed to be the conventional ‘villain’, this fleshing out of his past makes his character much more multifaceted and complex, as well as making his actions much less black and white. This added depth and complication is one of the things that makes Bly Manor and its characters so deeply flawed yet extremely relatable.

When Peter takes permanent possession of Miles’ body, when Miles gets up we can see that his right eye is still blue but his left eye is now brown. This is a sign that the person is no longer completely themselves anymore and we see the same thing happen to Dani’s eyes in Episode 9.

We then see Miles (possessed by Peter) walking with Hannah to the well, to try and get her to come to the realisation that she’s dead. He compares Hannah to the cartoon Wile E. Coyote, who would run off a cliff and just keep going, just as Hannah has died (run off the cliff) but she just keeps going and doesn’t become a proper ghost. Miles explains to Hannah that “when Wile E. Coyote looked down, then he’d fall, only when he looked down”, so he tells Hannah that she also needs to look down in order for her to come to terms with her situation and then she’ll also fall (become a ghost). The looking down that Miles wants Hannah to do is not just an actual looking down the well to see her corpse, but this is also a metaphorical looking down of her seeing the ‘big picture’ and for her to stop being in denial.

Hannah finally looks down the well and sees her corpse. She isn’t interrupted (like when Dani interrupted her doing this in Episode 1), but she’s given a proper moment to take in what she’s seeing, and so she is able to come to process and accept her death - just like Peter got to see and accept his body being dragged away by The Lady in the Lake; and just like Rebecca saw and mourned for her body by the side of the lake.

We then return to Flora and Dani in the attic and we find out that Rebecca only pretended to go along with Peter’s plan and possess Flora’s body. Rebecca tells Flora that “no one should ever need that much help”, showing us that she understands true, selfless love and to ask that much of someone is not caring for them at all. This also relates back to what Peter did to Rebecca, he should have never needed “that much help” from Rebecca as to take her entire life from her.

As well as this, it shows us how much Peter is like his mother. Peter’s mother asked too much of him and, in a way, ended up killing him by blackmailing him for money, which is just as he told her that “I hope you know that, late at night, that you killed your own son”. Peter is just as manipulative as his mother when he persuades Rebecca and Miles to trust him so that he can possess their bodies - needing to ask for “that much help” from a person is not love.

You can read my previous The Haunting of Bly Manor posts here:-

Episode 1 - The Great Good Place

Episode 2 - The Pupil

Episode 3 - The Two Faces, Part One

Episode 4 - The Way It Came

Episode 5 - Altar of the Dead

Episode 6 - The Jolly Corner

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sinarose · 4 years ago

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Levi's Motive

Pairing: Erwin Smith x Levi Ackerman

Summary: Levi’s had this lullaby stuck in his head his whole life. He’s not sure where he first heard it, but it’s the only thing that can calm him. He’s never heard anyone else sing it, well, besides Erwin Smith.

Word Count: 2985

Tags: Angst. Like a lot of angst. Major character death. There’s like a paragraph of fluff. Don’t know why I put Levi through this tbh.

A/N: Hi everyone! My first fic on this blog just had to be eruri! This is inspired by a tiktok I saw recently... lots of eruri angst. Read at your own risk haha. Enjoy!

(Spoilers for season 3 of aot)

Motive: A short melodic or rhythmic idea (sometimes as few as two or three notes). A brief succession of pitches out of which a melody grows by repetition, sequence, and contrast.

~~~

Levi’s not a fan of music. He doesn’t particularly hate it, but there’s no specific genre or instrument that he enjoys enough to seek out. Truly there’s only one tune he’s ever been able to carry, a soft lullaby that he hums to himself. He’s never heard anyone else sing it, nor does he plan to perform for anyone. It’s his and his alone.

He’s not entirely sure when he first heard it or who he heard it from. He suspects he must’ve heard it as a child but he’s got so few memories of the underground he can’t be sure. It’s lived in his heart for as long as he can remember and it’s proven to be the only thing he finds solace in when things get especially bad.

When he can’t sleep at night or is jolted awake by a dream. When he goes too long between meals and has to force something down before he spirals back in time. When he loses someone. The short melody will bathe him in comfort, if only for a short while.

So you can imagine his shock when he hears that same tune from someone else. His tune. The tune that’s been locked away in the deepest parts of his soul for a lifetime. Coming from a foreign tongue?

Of course it would be Erwin. If anyone would somehow know the theme that’s followed Levi his whole life it would be Erwin.

Levi wants to ask how he knows the lullaby, if he knows the words, where he heard it; but the words die on his tongue. Erwin’s always had such a nice voice. A voice full of bass and power that has persuaded entire armies to march to their death. Its smooth timbre does wonders when carrying a melody.

So instead Levi closes his eyes. He leans against Erwin on the too small bed and allows himself to indulge. Humanity’s strongest can allow himself one night off. And so he falls into a dreamless slumber, absentmindedly clutching onto Erwin’s arm as his singing carries him off to the void.

~~~

It’s not long before the two fall into a comfortable rhythm. They never talk about it, don’t acknowledge that this lullaby might mean something.

Erwin picks up on how his smooth voice pours over Levi. He notices how his brow relaxes and he allows himself to breathe. Something in his eyes shifts and Erwin can tell that he’s at peace, even if humanity is anything but. Erwin sings to him when he knows he’s overwhelmed. When he sees the sleep in his eyes he keeps trying to fight. When they’re finally in their quarters after a particularly rough expedition. When he simply wants to.

Levi never sings it back, but Erwin doesn’t seem to mind. He’s content with what he has.

Neither of the two could be considered too emotional, if they are they don’t show it. They‘d much prefer to dedicate their lives to the cause, to humanity. Feelings and romance just get in the way. That being said, the unspoken rule between the two about the lullaby is more than enough to express how they feel. It’s a quiet “companionship”, one that works for them.

Stolen glances and fleeting touches during the day, hushed singing and quiet humming during the night.

~~~

Levi expected to be nervous the first time he hummed the lullaby loud enough for someone else to hear. He’d spent the last 30 years humming to himself, keeping the melody in his chest, singing in his head. He wasn’t sure what he’d even sound like at a louder volume.

However, when he saw the deep wrinkles in Erwin’s forehead as he read over the paperwork again for the millionth time it bubbled out of him as naturally as breathing. Levi wasn’t sure if it would even help, afraid that he might interrupt his train of thought. But just as Levi has so many times before, Erwin closed his eyes and leant into Levi on the bed.

Levi’s hands found purchase in his blond hair, watching as his breathing deepened and the wrinkles faded away. It wasn’t often that Levi watched Erwin sleep, even if Levi spent more time lying awake than at rest in the bed. It felt strange and invasive to him. Now though, as he got to watch Erwin relax slowly into the sheets and free himself of all the worries that were weighing him down, Levi couldn’t help the swelling of his heart.

He reached down to grab the papers, placed them on the bedside table next to them, and watched Erwin sleep until he could no longer keep his eyes open.

~~~

Levi can’t believe what he’s hearing, doesn’t want to believe. He wants Erwin to use his brain and think of something else. Anything else.

“I will die, without ever learning what’s in the basement.”

He watches in silence as Erwin takes a seat on a crate, a broken sigh leaving his lips as he comes to terms with what he will have to do.

Levi’s mind is racing looking for an alternative, he has to remind himself to be in the moment and process Erwin’s words. There needs to be another way. They could take the horses and flee, even if it is just the commander and Eren, currently passed out up on the wall. Without the commander how could they ever hope to win? How would humanity stand a chance? How would Levi?

“The answers are close enough to grab, they’re right there... but Levi? Do you see them? Our comrades? They’re looking at us, wondering what became of the hearts they gave... because the fight isn’t over yet.”

Levi feels like his mind is tearing itself apart. He keeps his composure, knows they’d be a lost cause if both he and Erwin break down, but inside he’s beginning to spiral as Erwin’s words sink in.

“Is it all just in my head? A childish delusion?”

When their eyes meet, Levi’s legs almost give out. His heart squeezes painfully and he feels tingles run down his spine. A headache begins to form behind his eyes, and it takes all his willpower not to look away from the man that he devoted his heart to years ago.

Levi takes a step and kneels, not trusting his legs to hold him up any longer. He forces the lump down his throat, looks down at the dirt below their feet, and speaks. “You’ve fought well, Erwin. It’s all thanks to you that we’ve come this far.”

Levi climbed the ranks quickly upon joining the scouts. He’s been a captain for years now. He’s never once hesitated or doubted his decisions, stays calm in the face of danger. He trusts himself always even though he can’t be sure of the outcome, but for once he wishes he didn’t have to make the choice. That it wasn’t all up to him. “I’m making the choice for you.”

His eyes are wide open in terror at the words that will come out of his mouth next. He wills himself to carry on and say what he needs to say, not for himself but for Erwin. He steels his face and looks up at the commander. “Give up on your dream and die.”

He wants to puke. Scream. Curse the world that’s led him down this path. If the church was right, if the Three Ladies of the Wall really do exist and watch down on them then Levi hopes he’ll be able to slice his swords into their napes too someday. What a cruel joke to offer someone salvation only to ask something like this of them in the end.

“Lead the recruits straight into hell, I will take down the beast titan.” He feels like he’s already there. He’s hot all over, vision spotting around the edges. Flames lap up at his legs and over his back. The dull headache behind his eyes has morphed. It’s pounding into his brain as if it’s trying to take back the words that have left Levi’s mouth. Take back the decision he’s made for the both of them. It all gives way to an icy feeling at the very tips of his fingers and toes, seeking the warmth they’ve found in the commander’s touch so many times before. His heart is squeezing and his mind is racing, trying to slow time down enough to have just one moment to breathe.

Levi’s lost in his own negative thoughts when something anchors him back. He’s not in hell anymore. He’s just inside Wall Maria, though who can tell the difference? He hears faint screaming and explosions coming from all around him, but they’re deafened by a hushed lullaby.

It’s soft and quiet, unsure if he’s humming to comfort himself or the raven-haired man kneeling before him. Probably both.

Levi feels relief flood his veins, even though he’s much too aware of the circumstances. He watches Erwin’s eyes as they pass through a million emotions at once. Shock. Disappointment. Grief. Acceptance. Gratitude. “Levi, thank you.”

Even in their last moments together. Even as he is about to ride off on a suicide mission for the sake of humanity. Even when it really should be Levi trying to save him, Erwin finds a way to save Levi from himself.

~~~

Levi knows he’s different now. He’ll go on. Survive. Live without really being alive. He knows everyone else can tell too. He wasn’t ever known to be exactly happy, but now there’s something missing. So much had been ripped from his hands in his lifetime, so much broken. He hoped Erwin at least could be spared.

No one ever is safe in his life though. From the beginning when he’d been cursed to be born into this world an Ackerman he had sealed the fate of everyone who’d ever be close to him. Isabel. Farlan. His comrades. His squad. Kenny. Erwin. His own mother. Hange would get the axe eventually, he’s sure of it.

He’s drowning in his own head when a hand is placed on his shoulder, a life raft thrown out to hold onto. Hange, with a patched-up eye, is looking straight ahead guiding him to kneel before the new queen.

It’s not long before the ceremony finishes. Before what remains of the Scouts are ushered out into the courtyard housing what must be thousands of headstones at this point. It must be easy to run the burial services for the scouts, Levi thinks. Not like there’s ever many bodies brought back to actually bury anyway.

Hange says a few words for those fallen in the battle of Shiganshina, their face never betraying what’s going on inside. After all, Levi’s far from the only person to have lost a piece of themselves on that day. In fact, he doubts anyone has moved on from that day unscathed.

The group disperses shortly after, off to wander through the endless rows of stone and grass to find their many fallen comrades.

He hears Eren choke out a sob as he and Mikasa pull Armin into a tight embrace, thankful that of all the names lying in the courtyard at least Armin’s was brought back to them safe. He watches as Jean walks off alone into the area dedicated to the Trost Battle from months prior. Sasha and Connie walk through the rows aimlessly, not speaking or stopping at any particular tomb but holding each other all the same. Hange isn’t far off, staring down at one headstone in particular as heavy tears stain the stone. Floch went back inside.

Levi’s not even aware he’s reached the ornately decorated tombstone until he’s standing right in front of it. He hasn’t noticed the tears welling in his eyes, fighting to crest over the same way they do behind closed doors. He’s barely registering a faint tune hitting his ears, and for a moment he thinks he’s back.

He’s never heard anyone else sing the somber melody. Only Erwin. And just as quickly as the relief hits him he realizes it’s his own voice. The sound is choked and mangled, as if he hadn’t spoken in days. He hasn’t really.

He allows one tear to fall to the floor as he kneels before his commander. Just like he had back then. He’s no longer sitting before him though, the marker sits above grass and dirt and not much else. His body laying back in Shiganshina on the one bed he’d found intact in the back of a random house. An unfitting place for a man like him to rest.

The song he’s singing doesn’t bring him relief like it’s supposed to, like it always has. It makes his heart feel heavy in his chest.

He leans his head on the tomb, right where it spells the name of his fallen commander, comrade, love. “I promise, Erwin.”

~~~

It’s been months now. The land inside Wall Maria is all but titan-free at this point, most having been killed in the previous attacks from across the sea. Even so, no one's been back to see the devastation caused that day. Not until now.

What remained of the Scouts, all veterans and high-ranking officers now, have been planning one final expedition beyond the walls. The last of its kind before they break into a new age, post the threat of titans.

The 9 veterans were planning on departing a month from now, taking the worn path they always took before the wall fell. Down through Trost and Shiganshina. Where the Survey Corps had met their end.

Levi needed to go alone first. No stranger to coming across the corpses of his fallen comrades, he’s sure he’d be able to stomach seeing the recruits laying as they had months before inside the wall, scattered in the formation of a successful suicide charge. It’s the being in the general vicinity of a certain commander that he’s sure will make him falter.

He’s not sure what he’ll even find when he embarks on his solo trip. With only the company of the mostly empty wagon behind him and his horse he’s had for years now pulling forward, he’s left alone to think. To imagine what state he’ll find him in. He wishes he had at least brought something to read if he knew he’d be left to his thoughts like this.

He enters Shiganshina. Follows the winding roads to the one house still intact. Comes across the room in the back with the bed and window overlooking what was once a bustling marketplace.

He’s not prepared to see a fossil of what was once all his, but he feels a relief he hasn’t felt in months. Levi carefully hauls the coffin he’d brought in on the wagon to the back room. He gingerly places what’s left of him inside, trying his best to ignore the stained bedding and uniform.

He didn’t know what to expect, but he had hoped he’d still look like himself. In this state, he could be anyone.

He places the coffin back in the wagon, now housing only bones, and turns back the way he came. He sang the tune once more, for what would be the last time, and he swears he hears a second voice, a harmony, mix in with his melody.

Truly there’s only one tune he’s ever been able to carry, and it’s never sounded as beautiful and relieving to him as he rode out of Shiganshina that day, on his way to finally lay his commander to rest in the both full and empty courtyard.

There’s one thought that has weighed heavy in his mind for months now. A multitude of questions really. He never did get to talk to Erwin about his lullaby. Will never know how he knew it or where he heard it. Will never be able to thank him for the comfort he found in him, for saving him so many times with a simple hum. He thinks that’s ok, the song can be just theirs. He can share.

~~~

Mothers are a resilient creature. They go through hell and back at a moment's notice. They’re willing to kill parts of themselves if it means their children live on.

Well, the good ones do anyway.

Kuchel wishes she could live up to the title. Wishes that by giving a piece of herself she could ensure the boy in her arms would know no hardship. Wishes she could do something about the way his cheeks sink in and his eyes are dim when they look into hers. Wishes he could at the very least see the sun, feel its warmth.

He’s perfect in her eyes. He laughs when she blows on his tummy, and smiles when she strokes his cheek. He hums to her with a smile on his face when she can afford to put a meal in her stomach and in turn some milk in his. When she can’t, he just sleeps, never really crying or fussing.

When he’s older, he lets her run her hands through his straight, obsidian hair. Never whines when she finds a knot to untangle. He doesn’t say anything when she cries on the bed as she thinks of how much of herself she’s given to others and how little she’s been able to make of it. He holds her on her rough nights, and she holds him when the hunger keeps him awake.

She’s not sure how but somehow he’s a happy kid, all things considered. She thinks the way she rocks him to sleep at night and hums a lullaby in his ear like she would when he was a baby might have something to do with it.

A/N: I remember seeing somewhere that Isayama imagines that Levi went back for Erwin’s body months after Shiganshina and that by then it was completely skeletonized 😢 (it's mentioned in this post!)

Anyways don’t be too hard on me pls I haven’t written fic in years lmao. I can’t promise that I’ll post many more fics but I got the blog set up just in case. I will be cross-posting this to ao3 at some point, so I’ll link that once I’ve got it up on there.

Thanks for reading! Until next time

#attack on titan season 3 spoiler #eruri #erwin smith x levi ackerman #erwin smith x reader #levi ackerman x reader #eruri fanfic #aot fanfiction #attack on titan fic #aot #erwin smith #levi ackerman #angst #LOTS OF ANGST....sorry lmao #Sina writes

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katierosefun · 5 years ago

Text

rest now

or five times people used obi-wan kenobi as a pillow, and the one time everyone let themselves be obi-wan’s pillow. based on this post i made a little while back.

read on ao3 | read on ff

wc: 6732

1. Commander Cody

They were exhausted and battle worn, their armor cracked and coated with the dirt and dust of the battleground, but still, Obi-Wan and Cody stayed standing until the rest of the 212th were evacuated from the site. A bug buzzed somewhere near Obi-Wan’s neck, and he batted it away. The bugs were probably attracted to the sweat and the blood—not his—still dipping into the collar of his tunic.

He couldn’t wait to get off this planet.

He knew he wasn’t the only one.

Obi-Wan had only been working with Cody for a few weeks now, but already, he had grown accustomed to the commander’s demeanor. Quiet and steady, Cody hadn’t so much as faltered at the battles that they had gone into. A part of Obi-Wan worried at that—grew wary at the case with which Cody, along with so many other men, could go into war seemingly without a second thought.

Or maybe not completely without a second thought, Obi-Wan thought now as the last shuttle dropped in front of Cody and himself. Now that all the 212th had left, Obi-Wan sensed the fractures in Cody’s own mask of calm.

They wordlessly got on the shuttle, the doors shutting out the heat and the bugs. For a moment, all Obi-Wan saw was darkness—and then the lights inside the shuttle flickered on, and then they were taking off, leaving the blasted dusty planet behind.

Obi-Wan let out a breath as the shuttle ascended into the atmosphere. Somewhere up there, he knew that they would get into the cruiser, and then Obi-Wan would probably find Anakin and Ahsoka, probably just as batter-worn from their own share of the fight. Obi-Wan would have to go to the debriefing after checking with his men—his men, something he still couldn’t quite get used to.

A burst of cool air from the shuttle’s ventilation system dried the remaining sweat on Obi-Wan’s face. He swiped an arm over his forehead. A shower. He wouldn’t mind a shower right after the meeting, either, even if the idea of staying awake and upright for any longer than he had to felt like another battle on its own.

But he would bear it, just as he had everything in the last few weeks.

He had only just completed that thought when he felt something drop against his shoulder. Obi-Wan looked down and made out the top of his commander’s helmet. He paused, unsure what exactly to—how exactly would he—

Obi-Wan half-expected Cody to bolt awake, and he angled his head slightly away to avoid the oncoming jerk against his chin—but Cody stayed fast asleep, his breathing deep and even within the helmet.

And Obi-Wan could feel the weariness radiating off his commander, the bone-deep kind of weariness that came with perhaps too many days of fighting and not enough rest.

So Obi-Wan turned back towards to the viewport. He inhaled slowly, so as to not even let his breath disturb Cody’s rest. They would get into the cruiser in a few minutes, anyways. Obi-Wan decided, with a slight, wistful smile on his face, that he would grant his commander these few minutes of peace before the next storm.

2. Padmé Amidala

“Thank you for the meal, Bail,” Obi-Wan said as he helped the senator move the dishes into the kitchen.

“You’re welcome,” Bail replied. He took the plates from Obi-Wan’s hands and jerked his head into the sitting room. “You sit down. Guests aren’t allowed to do the dishes.”

“You know I don’t—”

“Doesn’t matter if you don’t mind—go.”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, but he lifted his hands in mock surrender before walking out of the kitchen. He found Padmé and Anakin already in the sitting room, their heads bent low near each other’s—and then quickly parting as Obi-Wan made his steps heard.

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin said loudly, his face flushed with either the alcohol or something else, Obi-Wan wasn’t entirely sure. Watching Anakin’s eyes dart quickly over to Padmé, Obi-Wan changed his mind. He decided the faint pink in his former apprentice’s face was definitley due to something other than alcohol.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan only replied, sitting down on the couch beside Padmé.

The senator and he exchanged a brief smile, and though Padmé’s face, too, was just a tad brighter than a few minutes before, the senator’s face remained neutral as she said, “I see that Bail finally managed to get you out of the kitchen.”

“He practically chased me out,” Obi-Wan said, ignoring the bark of laughter from the kitchen.

“Well, given your track record, I would think that chasing was a bit necessary,” Padmé replied. “Don’t you think, Anakin?”

“Absolutely,” Anakin replied, and though the color in his face was dying down, Obi-Wan still noticed the shine in Anakin’s eyes as he fixed his attention back on Padmé. It was almost enough for Obi-Wan to start shaking his head right there—really, Anakin was terrible at keeping secrets. Padmé and Anakin both were, but Obi-Wan had neither the capacity nor the desire to protest against their manners.

He briefly wondered if that made him a bad Jedi, quietly turning blind in this moment—but he quickly shoved those thoughts away.

Obi-Wan was relieved when Bail finally walked into the sitting room, glasses in hand. He set them down on the table and passed one automatically to Obi-Wan, and then the conversation slowly turned to talk of politics and home worlds and speeder models and a holodrama that Bail and Padmé had apparently started watching.

Obi-Wan was glad to let the conversation wash over him, glad to just smile and offer the occasional quip or question. He leaned back against the couch, leaving his glass three-quarters of the way drained, his head only slightly buzzing with the alcohol. His whole body felt comfortably warm otherwise, and through his own haze, he noticed that Anakin had only taken a few sips from his own glass. When Anakin caught Obi-Wan looking, he only grinned and mouthed, driving.

Obi-Wan smiled and let his head fall back against the couch cushions as the conversation dulled down further, until it was just Bail and Anakin talking—Bail, still very much awake and cheerfully carrying conversation with Anakin about the latest updates on whatever new speeder model had come out.

While Padmé…at some point, Padmé had gone quiet, and only when her head fell on his shoulder did Obi-Wan realize that the senator had fallen asleep. Obi-Wan lifted his head to look first at Anakin and then Bail in silent question, but without even breaking from the conversation, Bail reached over for one of the throw blankets on one of the couches and tossed it to Anakin.

And Anakin, still not breaking from conversation, only heaped the blanket over Padmé’s sleeping form. Obi-Wan managed to catch Anakin’s eyes a second time—and found, with some curiosity, that he felt some strange relief in the smirk Anakin tossed Obi-Wan’s way.

Deciding that he didn’t want to decipher that smirk, Obi-Wan slowly, carefully re-settled back on the couch and only re-adjusted the blanket around Padmé’s shoulders before leaving her to sleep on his shoulder.

3. Satine Kryze

“I should have known you’d be here.”

Satine lifted her head from her book. Night had completely fallen over Mandalore, the distant lights of the city and the moon being the only source of brightness in the otherwise sleeping planet. A small pool of moonlight encircled Satine now as she stood up, closing her book.

“Obi-Wan,” she said. “I thought you would be sleeping by now.”

Obi-Wan dipped his head towards Satine. “The excitements of the day haven’t quite worn me out, I’m afraid.”

“Ah.” Satine settled the book against her front. She sat back down on the grass. “Care to join me?”

Obi-Wan glanced around the courtyard. He had been in this place before, in the last few days he had on Mandalore, back those years ago. Satine and he had explored some of the courtyards, and this one had been one of their favorites. Smaller than the others, a little more secluded. A pond was somewhere nearby, bubbling with only some of the fish that dared flick their tails above water. A tree swaying with a warm breeze that could only somehow be carried in this section of the palace. With the breeze, Obi-Wan caught the scents of the courtyard: grass, some nighttime flowers, and Satine.

“Shouldn’t you be resting?” Obi-Wan only asked, walking into the courtyard. He sat down next to Satine, who only gave him a brief smile. “What are you reading?”

She lifted the book. “A childhood favorite of mine,” she replied somewhat wistfully. “Although I’m afraid the story isn’t quite as captivating as it once was. A consequence of no longer being a child, I suppose.”

“Different times, different tastes,” Obi-Wan replied conversationally. He tilted his head towards the book. “I would still like to know what it’s about.”

“Well,” Satine said, handing the book to Obi-Wan, “it’s all rather dramatic, if you must know.”

“Is it now,” Obi-Wan said, amused. The book was lighter than Obi-Wan expected. He could feel the slight wear on the spine, the cover as he flipped it open. The pages were slightly curled with age and years of use.

“It’s about two eventual lovers,” Satine said, a smile curling over her lips. “Separated by a conflict between their own families, although we never learn what exactly that conflict was.” She shrugged, leaning back down against the grass. “An unhappy tale, really.”

Obi-Wan looked down at Satine, at those clear eyes of hers reflecting back the night sky. “How so?”

“Well,” Satine murmured, folding her hands against her stomach, “the lovers both die in the end, although neither had to.” She nodded to the volume in Obi-Wan’s hand. “The girl fakes her death, and thinking that she truly is dead, the boy kills himself. The girl wakes, and upon seeing her lover dead, she kills herself as well.” She turned back up to the sky. “Truly horrible.”

Obi-Wan looked down at the book. “And this was a childhood favorite?”

“Don’t laugh,” Satine said. “I used to think it was romantic. Used to.”

“And now?”

Satine looked at Obi-Wan and laughed. “Now I think it’s rather silly,” she replied. “A tutor of mine once explained that the author might have written this story as a mockery of love rather than a true expression of it. I’m rather inclined to agree.”

“An interesting interpretation,” Obi-Wan said. He flipped over to the first page and, clearing his throat, read, “Two households, both alike in dignity—”

“What are you doing?” Satine asked, propping herself up on an elbow.

“Well, you said this was a childhood favorite,” Obi-Wan replied lightly. “I might as well see why.”

“Obi-Wan—”

“As I was saying—in fair Verona, where we lay our scene…”

Satine only huffed and settled back down on the grass. “Impossible,” she said. “That’s what you are.”

“Now, don’t interrupt Duchess, I’m already rather intrigued.”

Satine laughed again, and Obi-Wan made it through the entire prologue before he, too, settled down on the grass beside the duchess. He was aware of how their heads were brushing against each other, the rise and fall of Satine’s chest, the occasional sigh as he read on. He read until his voice was little more than a murmur, and he had read up until the fifth scene of the first act before he felt Satine’s head nestle against the crook between his shoulder and neck.

Obi-Wan’s voice stuttered for a moment, and he looked down to find Satine’s face buried against him, her expression content. She let out a soft sigh, and Obi-Wan took that as a signal to keep reading, his voice growing softer and softer until he was doing little more than just mouthing the words.

But he had completely forgotten about what he was reading, and only when he actually got to the ending did he remember where they were.

Obi-Wan looked down at Satine, still asleep.

He brushed a strand of her hair back. She shivered a little, the rest of her face disappearing into Obi-Wan’s neck.

Obi-Wan smiled. “You’re right, my dear,” he said quietly. “That was a horrible ending.”

4. Ahsoka Tano

“I just don’t understand,” Ahsoka huffed from across the table. She was clicking through documents on the computer, her eyes already glazed from the screen. “Master Skywalker agrees that I learn better on the field than I do with these lessons.”

“I’m sure he does,” Obi-Wan murmured, adjusting the brightness on the computer screen. The Archives had gotten considerably darker, and though the lights adjusted accordingly, the computers unfortunately did not. Obi-Wan’s eyesight wasn’t getting any better, either. He swiped a hand across his eyes before re-focusing on the screen.

“I just don’t understand,” Ahsoka repeated. “We’re fighting a war. Why do I need to know about this stuff? It’s not like a droid is going to ask me to recite philosophy before shooting me.”

“Padawan.”

“Yes, Master Kenobi?” Ahsoka asked, ducking her head around the computer. She blinked with comical innocence at Obi-Wan. And Obi-Wan only shook his head. A part of him wanted to smile—Ahsoka reminded him so much of Anakin in some ways, especially with that cheerful look she gave him now. But another part of him couldn’t help but feel a kick to his chest—there was something so incredibly strange and wrong about hearing a child so casually talk of being targeted on the battlefield.

Then again, the war had changed what childhood meant for so many, and the Jedi were not exempt from such changes.

“Focus on your studies,” Obi-Wan only said, looking back at his computer. Ignoring Ahsoka’s groan, Obi-Wan added, “You may not need to recite philosophy for a droid, but you will need to sharpen all parts of your mind.”

“My mind’s already sharpened,” Ahsoka mumbled.

“Then sharpen it more.”

Ahsoka groaned again, but she didn’t argue. The evening sounds of the Archives slowly filled the long room: the rustle of robes and cloaks, the scrape of chairs being pushed out or pushed in, the buzz of the lamps, the whir of a droid somewhere down the hall.

Obi-Wan had lost himself in the near-silence of the Archives before he suddenly became aware that Ahsoka was no longer clicking or typing on her computer.

“Ahsoka?” Obi-Wan called, ducking around the computer.

And he found Ahsoka with her head resting against a propped-up hand, lips slightly parted against her palm.

Obi-Wan smiled to himself. He glanced out the windows, knowing even before he found the dark sky that night had completely fallen. They had been in the Archives for many hours now, and frankly, despite Ahsoka’s complaining, the girl had lasted longer than Obi-Wan had figured she would. That would be something Obi-Wan would have to tell Anakin once he got back from his mission.

Obi-Wan pushed himself out of his chair and after shutting off his own computer, made his way around to Ahsoka’s side.

A few books were still scattered around the computer, some half-open, others with pages still fluttering against some phantom breeze. Obi-Wan closed those books and pushed them to the side, stacking them neatly by the organization system the Archives called for. Then he leaned across the desk to shut down Ahsoka’s computer. He found the philosophy text still up on the screen. Ahsoka had gotten through perhaps three-quarters of the way before falling asleep. Which was impressive, Obi-Wan figured, for someone who so clearly hated philosophy.

Obi-Wan shut off the computer and looked down at Ahsoka. She was still asleep, her hand still holding up her head.

“Ahsoka,” Obi-Wan said quietly, resting a hand on her shoulder. He shook it once, just enough for Ahsoka to stir. “Perhaps you should sleep in a more comfortable place.”

Ahsoka, her eyes glazed over with sleep, only blinked owlishly at Obi-Wan. She rubbed a fist over her eyes, and Obi-Wan became painfully aware of how young she truly was. Fourteen years old—still a little older than most younglings who became Padawans, but still unbearably young for someone about to be launched into a war.

“Okay,” Ahsoka murmured, and she started up from her chair, only to plop right back down, eyes already fluttering shut. “’m tired.” Her voice was small, plaintive—a tone that Obi-Wan had not heard Ahsoka use ever.

“Here,” Obi-Wan said, and gently, he tugged Ahsoka up by the wrists. “To your quarters now.” He directed themselves away from the desks, but before he could fully get them to the main corridor of the Archives, Ahsoka’s head bumped against Obi-Wan’s chest, her eyes still closed.

“Ahsoka—”

“Sorry, sorry,” Ahsoka mumbled, stepping backwards. She blinked a few more times, crashing against the back of one of the chairs. “Sorry.”

Obi-Wan wasn’t sure whether to laugh or be concerned. “Are you alright?”

“’m fine,” Ahsoka said, rubbing her fist over her eyes again. “Just…” She took a small step away from the chair, towards Obi-Wan—and stumbled again.

Tired—she must have been more tired than she had been letting on, Obi-Wan noted as Ahsoka sat back down on the chair, her head resting against its back. Another pang went through Obi-Wan’s chest. The girl held much of her strength like a shield around herself everyone carried a shield around themselves these days, Jedi and non-Jedi alike—and now, apparently, the young as well as the old.

Obi-Wan sighed. Then, sinking down in front of Ahsoka, he guided her arms around his shoulders, found the back of her legs and hoisted themselves up.

Ahsoka’s head bobbed against Obi-Wan’s shoulder, her hands dangling in front of him.

“Master?” Ahsoka mumbled, her feet knocking lightly against the sides of Obi-Wan’s legs. “What’re you…”

“We can’t have you stumbling around the halls, now, can we?” Obi-Wan only said. He swiveled his back just enough to give Ahsoka a small smile. “Rest, young one.”

Ahsoka hummed a little, her head falling against Obi-Wan’s shoulder once more.

And Obi-Wan carried Ahsoka all the way back to her quarters.

5. Anakin Skywalker

“Have you seen Anakin?”

“He was by the cliffs, sir,” Rex replied, gesturing back to where a cluster of troopers still stood. Obi-Wan stood up and, narrowing his eyes, he indeed spotted the one spot of black clothing, and then the bright flash of a blue saber.

“What is he doing?” Obi-Wan asked, more to himself than to Rex.

“Leading the sweep on the last few droids,” Rex replied. “I only just came back from my half of the sweep.”

Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes at that still-swinging slash of blue. “He’s hurt,” he said.

“I tried to tell him,” Rex said.

Obi-Wan gave Rex a dry smile. “I’m sure you did, Captain,” he replied. “Not to worry—Anakin tends to be stubborn.”

Rex smiled back, but it quickly faded as the two men turned their attention back on Anakin. “If he’s hurt, then—”

“Not to worry,” Obi-Wan repeated, already swinging down from the low platform. He looked up to Rex. “Just be prepared when I finally bring him back. Make sure Kix is available.”

“Yes, sir,” Rex replied, and he hurried off in a flash of white and blue.

Which left Obi-Wan to Anakin.

He turned around and made his way through the battle-worn grounds, pointedly walking around droid parts and fallen blasters. The closer he walked, the louder Anakin’s lightsaber and the other troopers’ blaster fire became until even the sounds of the bugs and the other critters of the planet were drowned out by the action.

Obi-Wan found Anakin quickly. Hair plastered to the back of his neck, face pale but eyes and cheeks bright, a confident swagger in his step even when clearly injured—Anakin was the glowing image of the Hero with No Fear that Chancellor Palpatine had instilled for the Republic. The image and the title didn’t sit well with Obi-Wan—he barely liked the title instilled on him (The Negotiator, as though he were a character in a story), but looking at Anakin’s bold movements and bright smile, Obi-Wan could understand where at least his former apprentice’s new title came from.

“That’s the last of them, boys!” Anakin said now, just as Obi-Wan heard the dull clatter of what he could have only assumed was the destroyed battle droids. Obi-Wan felt both relief and pride radiating off the cluster of troopers, off Anakin.

And then Anakin’s eyes found Obi-Wan’s, and he grinned, shutting off his lightsaber. “You’re a little late for the party, Master,” he said. “We’ve taken care of it.”

“Yes, I can tell,” Obi-Wan said. “Well done.” He weaved through the troopers until he reached Anakin at last. Up this close, Obi-Wan could make out the individual beads of sweat rolling down the side of Anakin’s face, his neck. The slight heave of his chest as he tried to keep his breathing even. Obi-Wan flicked his gaze down to Anakin’s side. Even without touching him, he could sense the damage done.

Anakin’s eyes followed Obi-Wan’s, the smile fading from his face. He subtly moved away, clipping his lightsaber to his side. “Right,” he said loudly. “Back to the ships, men.”

“Sir, yes sir!”

Obi-Wan waited until the troopers had all left before saying, “You should know better.”

“I’m fine,” Anakin said automatically, but now that the troopers were gone, Obi-Wan could hear the slight strain in his friend’s voice. “It’s not even that bad.” He took a few steps forward—shuffled, more like, and that was when Obi-Wan knew that the situation was much worse than he had originally thought.

“Anakin, wait—”

But Anakin was sliding down from the ledge, and for a moment, he stayed upright.

Obi-Wan slipped down the ledge next to Anakin just as he started swaying, one hand reaching for his side.

“Anakin—”

Anakin’s face tightened as he leaned back against the rock ledge. Obi-Wan reached for Anakin automatically, catching him by the arm just as Anakin started to slide down. “Probably shouldn’t have…done that,” Anakin ground out through clenched teeth.

“You shouldn’t have,” Obi-Wan agreed, winding an arm gingerly around Anakin’s side. Though he kept his own touches light, he felt the flare of pain underneath—fractured ribs. Multiple. Obi-Wan inhaled sharply.

“It’s not that bad,” Anakin mumbled, but the reediness in his voice suggested otherwise. “I can walk back.”

“Clearly, you can’t,” Obi-Wan replied. “I can call Kix—he’ll bring a stretcher.”

Anakin let out a breath, sinking directly into Obi-Wan’s side—which was another sure sign that the injuries must have been more painful than usual, because Anakin never gave himself away, not like this. So Obi-Wan only re-adjusted his grip on Anakin and suggested, “We should sit down first.”

Anakin nodded mutely, and with that, the two settled back down on the dirt.

“Kix,” Obi-Wan said into his comm.

“Yes, General.”

“General Skywalker is injured,” Obi-Wan said as Anakin’s head lolled against his shoulder. Obi-Wan glanced over at Anakin. His eyes were drifting shut, whether from the pain or exhaustion, Obi-Wan wasn’t sure. All the same, Obi-Wan’s chest tightened as a shudder ran through Anakin’s body. “We will need a stretcher.”

“Yes, General.”

With that, Obi-Wan turned towards Anakin. His former apprentice’s eyes were completely closed now, his chest rising and falling unevenly. Obi-Wan could feel the damp of Anakin’s hair, his warm breath against his skin.

And then Anakin’s head rolled past Obi-Wan’s shoulder, causing both Obi-Wan and Anakin to startle.

“Sorry,” Anakin mumbled, opening his eyes. “I didn’t—” He started to move upright but stopped mid-motion, a low groan leaving his lips.

“Don’t,” Obi-Wan said, setting a hand on Anakin’s shoulder. Anakin relaxed under Obi-Wan’s hand. “Rest.”

Anakin huffed out a breath. “You’re never going to let me hear the end of this, are you?”

“Never,” Obi-Wan replied with a brief smile. He guided Anakin towards himself. “It might do you better to lie down with your ribs the way they are. It’ll make getting on the stretcher easier as well.”

Anakin huffed out another breath—one that sounded more like a laugh, but he managed a small nod. He started to lower himself to the ground, wincing at even that slight movement. Obi-Wan kept his hand on Anakin’s shoulder, murmuring encouragements until Anakin’s head was right on Obi-Wan’s lap.

“You’re definitley not going to let me hear the end of this,” Anakin mumbled, his eyes already closing.

“No,” Obi-Wan agreed, resting his head against the rock ledge. He saw troopers still hustling on the platform in the distance, and above that, the now darkening sky. Obi-Wan saw some stars glimmer into existence—just the earliest, brightest ones as the sun’s last yellow rays hushed themselves over the horizon.

Obi-Wan heard a small sigh, and when he looked down, he found that Anakin’s eyes had closed completely.

Obi-Wan smiled to himself, brushing back a strand of still-damp hair from Anakin’s forehead. And then he looked back up at the darkening sky, where he found two bright stars winking down at him.

+1.

It was a universally known fact that Obi-Wan Kenobi needed sleep.

Which was why today, everyone was staring at Obi-Wan Kenobi like he had just grown a pair of wings, because he was asleep. And sleeping on Commander Cody’s shoulder, no less.

Cody only stared at the rest of the troopers in front of him in silent panic. But they only watched with mild amusement as the gunship landed down on Coruscant. The flight had been smooth, thankfully, and perhaps it being too smooth had been the reason why the general of the 212th had chosen that specific time to doze off.

Not that Cody necessarily minded. It was no secret that Kenobi was exhausted, and they had been running operations for seemingly weeks on end. This temporary leave had come as a relief to all.

Still, Cody wasn’t sure what exactly he was supposed to do, now that Obi-Wan was at his shoulder. Cody expected that the man would wake soon, probably jerk up the minute the gunship doors opened, but he did nothing of the sort. Cody wasn’t sure if that made him relieved or not. Because on the one hand, the general truly did need his sleep, but on the other—

“Got something there, Cody?”

Cody only gestured a finger to his lips as a signal to keep Rex’s voice down.

But the captain only grinned. “How’d that happen?” he asked, nodding at Obi-Wan, still fast asleep.

“I don’t know,” Cody replied quietly, not trusting himself to raise his voice any louder without waking the general. “Should I…” He glanced down at Obi-Wan, and then glanced back at Rex. “I don’t know if I should wake him.”

“I wouldn’t either,” Rex replied. “He probably needs the rest.” He looked over his shoulder, and Cody followed the captain’s gaze to where a few senators were speaking amongst each other. They technically didn’t have to be there—Cody knew that they only came to boost morale, but still, he saw a semi-familiar face amongst that small group.

“Senator Amidala is a friend of his,” Rex said. “I’m sure she could help.”

Before Cody could say anything else, Rex walked away and returned with the warm-eyed senator.

“Commander,” Padmé said, tilting her head in a nod.

“Senator,” Cody replied. He didn’t really know the senator, but the minute Padmé smiled at Obi-Wan, Cody decided that he trusted her.

“I see you’re in a bit of a situation,” Padmé said.

“Not a situation, Senator,” Cody replied. “Not too much trouble.”

“Yes,” Padmé said, amused. “I see.” She looked backwards, nodding to where a speeder waited. “I’m about to head back to the Senate Building—and that’s a bit closer to the Temple from here. I would be glad to take him there.”

“We wouldn’t want to trouble—”

“It’s no trouble, Commander,” Padmé said, that smile of hers returning.

Cody exchanged a look with Rex, who just shrugged.

“If you say so, Senator,” Cody said, and with that, Padmé came around to Obi-Wan’s other side. Again, Cody expected Obi-Wan to wake, but he didn’t so much as stir as Padmé wrapped an arm around Obi-Wan’s waist. The warm weight of Obi-Wan’s head left Cody’s shoulder, and Padmé nodded once again to Cody and Rex.

“Have a nice day, gentlemen,” she said, and then she turned, supporting Obi-Wan to the speeder.

And Padmé, like Cody, didn’t terribly mind the fact that Obi-Wan was leaning against her, nor did she terribly mind Obi-Wan’s head on her shoulder as she started up the speeder. He only stirred awake at the grumble of the speeder, his eyes blinking open briefly.

“Where…” he started to murmur, but then he blinked at his surroundings: the blurring skyscrapers of Coruscant, the glow of the lights both above and below. And then, clearly reassured that there was no danger, Obi-Wan dropped his head back against Padmé’s shoulder.

Padmé only laughed quietly to herself, mentally noting the moment as something to tell Anakin later. He probably wouldn’t believe her even if she told him. So Padmé pressed on, taking care not to run into any of the rougher-trafficked lanes. She technically could have been escorted, and that might have made being in a speeder easier, but Padmé had wanted the freedom. And besides, she was grateful for that now.

Only just as the Senate Building came into view, Padmé’s speeder blinked a light to warn her that its fuel was running out.

She murmured a soft curse at the alert. She should have probably checked before taking this speeder out to begin with. She looked up to the Senate Building and then back to the little alert. She probably had just enough fuel to get her to the Senate, but then—

Padmé sighed. She felt Obi-Wan stir at her side, and she stilled, hoping that the man didn’t sense any of her own annoyance at the speeder. So she steered her speeder all the way to the platform of the Senate Building, her mind already running with possibilities of exactly who to notify about the empty fuel tank when she saw a familiar flash of blue from the distance.

“Duchess,” Padmé said, lifting her head, careful to still not wake Obi-Wan.

“Senator,” Satine said, stopping short in front of the speeder. If the guards behind Satine or the duchess herself found something strange about the fact that Obi-Wan Kenobi was sleeping on Padmé’s shoulder, they didn’t show it. Well—the guards didn’t show it. Padmé didn’t miss the way Satine’s eyes softened at the sight of Obi-Wan, nor did Padmé miss the slight flicker of concern across the duchess’ face. “Did something—”

“He’s fine,” Padmé said quickly. “Just tired. He fell asleep.” She gave Satine an embarrassed smile. “I meant to return him to the Temple, but it seems my speeder’s not quite up for the challenge.” She gave her speeder a rueful pat on the controls before asking, “Would you mind…”

“Of course not,” Satine said. “I was just about to go for a drive around the city, anyways.”

“Wonderful,” Padmé said, relieved. She started to rise from the speeder, but this time, Obi-Wan awoke, his eyes prying open fully.

A few awkward moments passed before Obi-Wan asked, “What happened?”

“You fell asleep,” Padmé said simply. “You were with Cody, and I offered to take you to the Temple, only my speeder…” She grimaced and turned to Satine. “Luckily, Duchess Satine was willing to help.”

Obi-Wan only blinked a few times, still clearly trying to escape the throes of a deep sleep. “I wouldn’t want to trouble anyone,” he said, swiping a hand over his eyes. “Really, I’m…” He started to get out of the speeder, but not before his foot got caught on something. Padmé pulled him back before he could fall on his face.

“Yes, of course, Master Jedi,” Padmé said, ignoring the wounded look Obi-Wan threw her way. “Duchess?”

“Of course,” Satine said, and she stepped forward, extending a hand towards Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan looked down at Satine’s hand warily and then, taking it, he stepped out of the speeder. Padmé didn’t miss the slight flush creeping up Obi-Wan’s cheeks, nor did she miss the identical shade of pink creeping up Satine’s own face. Padmé happily decided that perhaps the speeder running out of fuel was a good thing instead.

“Good night, Duchess, Master Kenobi!” Padmé called.

Satine only tossed Padmé a smile over her shoulder, and then Padmé watched Obi-Wan and Satine start for their own speeder. Satisfied, Padmé hopped down from her speeder and decided to make a call about refilling the fuel tank.

In the meantime, Satine guided Obi-Wan to the speeder, and the two settled in the backseat as the guards settled in the front. For a few minutes, neither of them spoke, not as the speeder rumbled to life. Satine kept her eyes ahead, focusing instead on the glint of the skyscrapers against the setting sun. As the speeder picked up into the air, a warm breeze swept over them.

And then they were off, taking for the Jedi Temple on the other side of the city. Satine let her gaze drift from the skyscrapers to the lines of speeders below her, and then to the sun setting over the horizon. She was all too aware of Obi-Wan’s warmth beside her, the calm of his presence.

Still—Satine needed to be still, even though a part of her was overwhelmingly relieved that he had returned. A senseless war: that was what had somehow tied their paths together again, and Satine wished that the circumstances were different, but at the same time—

She would be returning to Mandalore in a while yet, and she supposed she was grateful for the time they had still.

And suddenly, Satine felt a weight settle on her shoulder.

Satine didn’t dare look down at Obi-Wan as he shifted against her, a soft sigh leaving his lips. Satine only kept her eyes straight ahead, daring her guards to say anything. But they didn’t react, didn’t so much as blink as Obi-Wan turned his face into Satine’s shoulder, his forehead bumping against the base of Satine’s neck.

Satine was selfishly glad that the speeder ride was smooth. A part of her knew that she should probably wake Obi-Wan, probably gently direct him away, but—

Well, that selfish part of her remained.

And only when the speeder landed in front of the Temple did Satine bring herself to stir. She was sorry for it, but then she heard—

“Master Kenobi?”

Satine looked up to find a young girl standing up from the Temple steps, her brows furrowing. The girl looked from Obi-Wan to Satine, her brows furrowing even more, but she ducked her head into a quick bow. “Duchess Kryze.”

Ahsoka Tano, Satine remembered. She had seen the girl only a few times, mostly accompanying Anakin Skywalker. She couldn’t have been much older than fourteen, fifteen, but she was yet another one of the children involved in the war. But she was a friend of Obi-Wan’s—that much, Satine also knew.

“Good evening,” Satine said, bowing her head. She gestured to Obi-Wan. “Would you know where his quarters are? I was only helping him get to the Temple.”

“Of course,” Ahsoka said, the girl’s lips twitching into a smile. “Is he…” She nodded at Obi-Wan, whose head was starting to slip from Satine’s shoulder.

“He was only sleeping,” Satine replied, gently bringing Obi-Wan’s head up to keep him from slipping entirely. “Nothing more than that.”

“Master Kenobi, sleeping?” Ahsoka asked, eyes widening. Then, quieter, “That’s a first.”

Satine decided that she liked this girl. She smiled, and Ahsoka smiled back.

“Don’t worry, Duchess,” she said. “I’ll make sure he gets his way around.”

“Thank you,” Satine replied, as the guard opened the speeder door. And with careful hands, Satine guided Obi-Wan over to Ahsoka. For one so small, the girl surprisingly kept both Obi-Wan and herself steady, even as she stepped themselves away from the speeder.

“I’m Ahsoka, by the way,” the girl said. “Ahsoka Tano.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ahsoka Tano,” Satine replied. “Thank you.”

“Of course, Duchess,” Ahsoka said cheerfully. And then she waved as the speeder started up, and Satine waved back until the Temple was out of her line of vision.

And when the speeder had disappeared, Ahsoka, too, turned around. She readjusted her grip around Obi-Wan’s side. She looked over at the man’s face and couldn’t help but laugh to herself. She wished she could take a picture. But she supposed she would just have to settle with memorizing this moment instead, everything from the nearly-darkened sky to the rustle of their clothes to Obi-Wan’s quiet sounds of protest as they walked through the halls.

The cool of air from the Temple rushed over them both, and Obi-Wan shivered slightly beside Ahsoka. She only adjusted his cloak around himself before walking on, nodding casually to some passing younglings. She couldn’t help but smile at their temporary awe and also disbelief at seeing Ahsoka supporting Obi-Wan through the halls. A sight, she was sure.

Ahsoka guided Obi-Wan’s arm over her shoulders for better support as they rounded a corner. Obi-Wan stirred lightly then, mumbling, “’soka—”

“That’s right,” Ahsoka said, rolling her shoulders. “You’re a lot heavier than you look, Master Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan started to shift against Ahsoka, but she only said, “We’re almost to your quarters, though.”

A small sound of disbelief. “When…”

“Just a little while ago,” Ahsoka replied, keeping her voice nonchalant. “Duchess Kryze dropped you off.” She paused, giving her next words only a second of consideration before adding, “You were sleeping on her shoulder.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes fluttered open at that. “Was…”

“Oh, she didn’t seem to mind,” Ahsoka replied. She saw Obi-Wan’s door in the distance. She patted Obi-Wan’s arm twice in some reassurance as she added, “I think she was actually smiling. I think she’s nice.”

Obi-Wan only mumbled something that Ahsoka couldn’t quite make out—which was impressive, considering she was right under Obi-Wan’s mouth. “Anyways,” Ahsoka continued as they came closer to the door, “I’m glad that you got some sleep, Master. You looked exhausted.” She managed to break her hand away enough to wave open the door.

They ducked into Obi-Wan’s quarters—only it wasn’t empty.

“Is he okay?” Anakin asked, jumping up from the desk. “I got a call from Rex that—”

“He’s just tired,” Ahsoka said, disentangling Obi-Wan’s arm from her shoulder. Obi-Wan swayed a little, but then Anakin was at Obi-Wan’s other side, catching him by the shoulder. “Really tired. I don’t even think he’s actually awake right now.”

Anakin looked down at Obi-Wan, who only blinked wearily up at him.

Anakin smiled. “Well, look at that,” he said, and Obi-Wan sighed, resting his head against Anakin’s shoulder.

“I’ve got it from here, Snips,” Anakin said, looking at Ahsoka. “I’ll make sure he actually stays asleep.”

“Sounds good,” Ahsoka said, grinning. Then, whispering, she added, “Good night, Master Kenobi!”

And then she was gone, the door sliding shut behind her.

So Anakin settled both Obi-Wan and himself on the bed. Careful not to let Obi-Wan slide forward, Anakin slipped off Obi-Wan’s boots, unfastened the armor. All the while, Obi-Wan remained asleep, only mumbling only the occasional complaint.

Anakin only smiled to himself, setting the boots and the armor down on the ground. “Look at that,” he repeated. “You can sleep.”

“I can hear you,” Obi-Wan mumbled against Anakin’s shoulder.

Anakin settled an arm around Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “I was counting on it,” he said quietly. He gave Obi-Wan’s shoulder a quick squeeze, and then he slid away, guiding Obi-Wan’s head back to an actual pillow. He heard a sigh, and then Anakin brought the blankets over his former master, letting it settle right over Obi-Wan’s shoulders.

Obi-Wan’s eyes opened just a little, the deep grey-blue shining up at Anakin in the otherwise dim room. “I should finish the reports,” he only mumbled.

“Don’t even think about it,” Anakin said, settling down on the floor next to Obi-Wan’s bed. He rested his head back against the mattress. “Just go to sleep, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan slept.

#tcw #star wars #star wars: the clone wars #sw #swtcw #obi-wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #ahsoka tano #padme amidala #satine kryze #commander cody #my fic #wow i really thought this was just gonna be 2k words hA I WAS WRONG--

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person-of-varying-obsessions · 3 years ago

Text

Lif/Summoner (Part 2)

It wasn’t until three months passed that he finally gathered the courage to visit Zera of his own accord.

After telling himself over and over that it was fine for him to visit the summoner, he hesitantly made his way to her quarters and quickly knocked on her door.

She immediately responded with a call of “Just a second!” followed by something falling over. He had to bite back the upward tilt of his mouth at the memories of her little habits and tendencies. A moment passed before the door opened, revealing a semi-disheveled Zera.

“Oh, hello, Lif. Did you need something?”

“Yes.” He quickly went over everything he had planned to say before coming here, making sure he didn’t draw a blank. “I need to talk with you, if you have the time.”

“Of course. Just give me a second to clean up a few things.” Rather than close the door again, she left it open as she turned to walk back inside. He followed her but waited near the door. There were various books strewn about, each opened to a certain page.

Lif noticed one of them by his foot and picked it up. The page it had been opened to showed a sketch of a person’s neck with some kind of dark coloring covered most of it. The parts that weren’t colored were their collarbone and the bottom half of their jaw. Various notes were scribbled on the mirrored page.

Attempt #1: Healing Magic

Neither Natasha nor Silque could purify it

Even got Mercedes and Flayn to try but nothing worked

Attempt #2: Curse Canceling

Tried to get Tharja to curse me with something that could be removed, but all it did was overlap with the other and be removed, leaving the original as it was

Attempt #3: Physical Removal

I dug my fingers underneath it and pulled as hard as I could, but the only thing that happened was that I started bleeding. Again

Attempt #4: Enchanting Tools

Results are yet to be determined

The book fell from his hands, landing with a muted thud. He could only stare down at what he now knew was a sketch done by Zera of her own neck area. Somehow, he had never noticed that she was in pain, even when he was still the Alfonse of his world. She never mentioned it, nor did she show any signs that she was ever in pain from whatever the curse is.

She must have heard the book fall because she was rushing over in an instant, scrambling to close the book and stack it with the rest. Silence filled the room like a dense fog as Zera was now taking her time cleaning up the rest of her items.

When she finished, she flopped onto her bed with a heavy sigh. Lif walked over to her and stood at the end of her bed.

She slapped the space next to her. “Take a seat if you wish to speak with me.” As she sat up, Lif sat beside her.

He was quiet at first; in his mind, two topics bounced around. One was the question sitting on the tip of his tongue: what were those notes and sketches about? The second was what he initially came to her for.

“You seem frazzled. Did something happen?” Instead of choosing between the two foremost topics, he took the indirect approach to getting answers about what was in that journal.

That seemed to shock her, as she stared at him with wide eyes before heaving a sigh. “You could say that.” Their eyes met, and she could see the concerned curiosity in his gaze. She knew exactly which book he had looked at, and it was the worst possible book he could have looked at. Any of the other tomes she had would have been better than her personal journal.

“You do not have to share if-”

“No,” she huffed. “If I can get this to work, then there would have been no need for me to have said anything, and nobody would have to worry over me.”

Lif glanced away from Zera, fighting off guilt from looking at her journal.

With practiced motions, she stood and removed her signature cloak, followed by the now-apparent bandages that were wrapped around her neck and collarbone. The bandages were stained with red - most likely from when she tried to use “physical removal” on the curse she has. With the bandages gone, he could see what the sketch tried to replicate.

Some kind of dark substance was wrapped around her neck, stopping between where her head connected to her neck and the very top of her collarbone area. It seemed to be swirling with magic as she turned to face him, allowing the light of her room to shine on it.

“It is… a curse I’ve had since I was a child. It binds me to one of higher power in the universe and allows her to control me whenever she needs me. However, since I was brought into this world, I have felt a sort of ‘loss of connection’ with her, so I was trying to terminate my connection with her while I was here.”

He moved without thinking, rising from his spot on the bed to see the cursed spot up close. It resembled his own cursed flesh and, as he used two fingertips to touch it, he felt the same sort of power radiating from it. It was a power that came from darkness, a power drawn from the most morbid of curiosities and the most evil of beings. Despite how detrimental this was to Zera’s life, knowing about her curse made Lif feel a stronger relation to her.

“I wonder if the summoner of my world also had this curse…” The words came out without him realizing it. Rather than panic, he just stayed in place, fingers idly stroking the dark area of Zera’s neck.

“She did.” Lif’s eyes widened, but he said nothing. “When she died - rather, when I died - I returned to the realm of my controller. She greeted me with nothing more than curiosity regarding what this world was like. I was brought back by this world’s Alfonse and Sharena, and I realized that, if I am ever cut down again, I will simply return to that realm. No matter what, I will never die so long as she has a hold on me.”

“So you are like me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have yet to tell you, but I am tethered to those who govern the different realms of this world. They have promised to bring my world back in return for my cooperation, but I am always working to find anything about their weaknesses in order to strike them down if it becomes necessary to do so.”

She reached up to hold his masked face in her hands, regarding him with a painfully sympathetic look. “So you are a puppet of the gods as well…”

His free hand rested over one of hers. “Indeed I am. Though, if my assumption is correct, you were taken by force rather than offered the choice.”

“Your assumption is correct.” She moved her free hand to hold the wrist that was by her neck and squeezed it. “I was manipulated, taken advantage of because my emotions and thoughts were tainted by my circumstances.” As she looked away from him, she muttered something under her breath. Her voice came out as a breath of air, but Lif could tell it was something he had no right to ask about.

He stepped just the shortest bit closer. Their faces were now only an inch apart, his sharp red eyes boring into her own violet and silver eyes.

Her other hand once again rested over his mask, though she used both hands to gingerly remove his mask. She tossed it onto her bed behind him and coaxed him into leaning down to her level. Lif opened his mouth to say something, most likely a protest against whatever was about to happen, but Zera covered his mouth with hers to silence him.

The kiss was slow, her movements working to express what she couldn’t say aloud. He quickly reciprocated, moving both of his hands to cup her head by the base of her neck. The sensation of touch against her cursed flesh was something she had never felt before. She slid her fingers into his hair, entangling them in the short blue strands that resembled his previous self. As she pulled back, she had to catch her breath before leaning in to kiss him again.

This time, the kiss was more impassioned. Lif took hold of her waist and pulled her flush against him. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pushed herself towards him to hint that he should move back. He followed her silent suggestion, walking them both back so he could sit on the bed’s edge and have her sit on his lap.

She winced, slowly moving back. He opened his eyes, suddenly concerned. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No. Your armor just… poked me. It hurt.”

He nodded, eyes closed in thought. After a moment, he lifted her, standing so he could set her down, and started removing his armor. She was used to seeing her partner haphazardly throw their clothing on the floor; the meticulous and neat way Lif put his armor away was both strange and endearing to her.

Zera felt warmth run all over her body, though it settled over her face and in her lower body. She could only watch, entranced as he slowly but surely revealed his form to her.

“For the record,” she found herself saying out of habit, “nothing needs to happen tonight. If you are uncomfortable in any way, I-”

She was cut off when Lif, now wearing nothing but his thin trousers, took hold of her hands and knelt before her. “I should be the one saying that, not you. As you said, nothing has to happen. However, if you are wanting, I will stay and please you in any way you may need.”

“I-” Her voice cut out, and she could feel an unfamiliar burning both behind her eyes and in the back of her throat. The last time she had felt this way was with Shiori, and even then, it wasn’t this intense. The love she received from her sister - which she felt undeserving of - was different from whatever spark had ignited the flame between her and Lif.

“I want you to stay.”

“Then I shall stay.” He rose and sat beside her, grabbing his mask and setting it on her bedside table. Taking her face into his hands, he pulled her into another kiss. She returned it with fervor, laying her hands over where his pectorals would be. A shiver went through her as he combed his fingers over her neck once more. He worked to turn them, guiding her with one of his hands to lay down on her side while he laid parallel to her. They parted once more, gazed at each other, then kissed once more.

#Lif/Summoner #Lil bit of lore for Zera/Summoner #She has some deep-seeded trauma #There will most likely be more Lif/Summoner coming in the future #Lif is my favorite #In case you couldn't tell :)

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