#she's done nothing wrong ever in her entire life and she deserves the world /gen

[chaotic-tired-bastard]

ta min for the character bingo!!!

TA MIN I LOVE HER!!! I just wish we got to see more of her in canon, and I hope we see her in The Reckoning of Roku. Also her clothes & silhouette are awesome, great job animators!! 👍

[enkelimagnus]

Hardwood

Bucky Barnes Gen, 2393 words, rated T

Jewish Bucky Barnes, The Falcon and the Winter Soldier: Episode 5 Truth

Bucky decides to make his Brooklyn house a little more of a home for him, to his taste. A worried neighbor comes a-knocking.

TW: mention of murder of children (brief)

Read on AO3

Part 35 of Making a Home - the Jewish Bucky series

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Three days after he comes home from Delacroix, Bucky grabs a frayed edge of carpet from his bedroom floor and pulls. It comes off with a loud tearing sound, but he just keeps pulling, effortlessly baring the hardwood underneath.

He doesn’t really know why he does it. He just sees the edge and pulls and he’s halfway down the room when he realizes the furniture is definitely on the way, and if he wants to do this, he’s going to have to plan it out. You don’t just redecorate this easily.

At least as far as he knows.

He’s never done this before. His parents’ home had stayed the same through his entire life, as far as he knew. Furniture was moved once a year before Passover, when they cleaned the place from top to bottom. And after that, he’d been through many safehouses, but his handlers had never had sudden desires to redecorate.

He doesn’t really know where to start. He knows he can’t remove the entire carpeting without taking out the furniture of the bedroom. He knows the color of the walls is horrible and he wants to change that. He knows that, by himself, it’s going to be an ordeal. But he doesn’t really know who to ask for help.

Miriam is way too old, he doesn’t have that good of a relationship with Charlie, and there is no way in hell he’s letting any of his coworkers remotely close to his personal life. So he’s going to do it by himself. One room by one room, probably.

Still, he uses his left arm to pull the bed off of the ground and the other one to pull the carpeting off from under it.

He guesses being a supersoldier has some advantages in this sort of situation.

It doesn’t take long for the entire hardwood floor of the bedroom to be bare, for the loud ripping noises that came with his hard, powerful pulls. The carpet won’t be usable anymore but he doesn’t care. He’ll throw it in the trash anyway.

Nothing Hydra touched should be given to someone else. It all deserves to burn.

He’s tired of this house feeling so much like a safehouse. He wants to change things, he wants it to be his house, not Hydra’s, on more levels than just legal. He wants to truly live here. It’s his, and he can do whatever he wants with it. He could have it bulldozed if he felt like it, but he doesn’t. He wants a home.

He’s halfway through ripping off the first guest room’s carpet when the doorbell rings.

It startles him. No one ever rings his doorbell. No one comes to see him. He’s lived there for a couple months now, and not once has that bell rang. He forgets for a brief instant that he’s holding the entire bed up with one hand.

Somehow, he manages to catch the heavy bed frame before it crashes into the floor and damages it.

Despite the surprise someone is ringing, Bucky takes the time to pull on his gloves. He’s already wearing a long-sleeved tshirt, and with the gloves on, no one can see the arm. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be fully comfortable in the open, in the daylight, with the arm out, even if it isn’t Hydra’s anymore.

He should probably get used to people knowing who he is. Anonymity isn’t something he’s allowed. Not after Berlin, not after the war with Thanos, not after Riga. Before all of that, no one would have recognized him. Bucky Barnes, Captain America’s right hand, was supposed to be long dead. The only Howling Commando to lose his life in the service of his country.

Now, if no one sees the arm, he can still pass for just another white man with a vague resemblance to someone that was one tv a couple of times. That’s all he can really have.

There’s no use in raging against it. The past couple of decades of the rise of social media has made it impossible for him to be erased. Zemo knew what he was doing in Vienna.

The person behind the door is breathing steadily. They don’t seem to be filled with adrenaline, not with that relatively calm heartbeat. There is no telltale sign of aggression or preparation for violence. Bucky swallows, takes a deep breath and opens the door.

Behind the wooden panel is his neighbor. They’re tall, relatively thin, with hair so short it’s more like a five o’clock shadow spreading over their skull. They smile at him. Bucky stares. He doesn’t mean to. He doesn’t know if he’s ever seen his neighbor in the daylight.

“Hi there, I’m your neighbor,” they say, pointing towards their door, as if Bucky hasn’t recognized the one person that knows when he goes running from his nightmares. “I heard some strange noise, everything’s okay?”

Bucky keeps staring for a moment. He didn’t think the ripping of the carpeting would be loud enough to attract attention. But he was wrong. He didn’t imagine it would sound stranger than his occasional nightly shouts of terror or pain.

He quickly gets back to reality as the neighbor in front of him stares back with a smile.

“Hi,” he ends up saying. “Hm, I was… I was pulling the carpeting off of my bedroom floor. Nothing to worry about.”

It’s strange, having neighbors that seem to care whether you’re dying a strange horribly, ripping death. Or maybe they’re worried he’s killing someone, or doing some other horrible thing he would have done as the Winter Soldier.

Either way, this person’s presence in front of him right now is peculiar. It makes him think of Mrs Naumescu, his parents’ left neighbor, who would come knocking whenever she heard something that worried her.

There had been a couple of nights where Bucky had snuck back in, sometimes with Steve, sometimes after dropping Steve off at his own place, where she had heard him come in and come knocking to warn his parents of an intruder, or scare away said intruder. She’d had a baseball bat in her hand - her son’s.

Hopefully this neighbor won’t be as worried for his safety.

“Do you need help?” they ask, and Bucky stares at them again, bewildered. He wasn’t expecting to be asked such a thing. He wasn’t expecting anyone to want to help.

“I’m pretty strong…” He starts, and then stops.

He can do it alone. But he could also take the offered help, for once. There’s an outstretched hand. What horrible thing can they do to him that hasn’t already been done? He knows better than to dismiss them as just a neighbor - after all, he knows plenty of very common and innocent-looking spies. But what harm can actually be done to him?

“You know anything about hardwood floors?”

For the rest of the morning, Bucky keeps the gloves on. There are only a couple of instances of him displaying strength that is just on the edge of unusual, but they don’t comment on it. They do exchange names and - to Bucky’s surprise - pronouns.

The neighbor’s name is Olly and they use they/them pronouns. To his own shame, he has to be given an explanation on what that means. He’s so deeply out of touch with that part of the world. A part of the world that he supposedly belongs in, according to today’s definitions. Because Steve was a man, and even if he’s the only man Bucky ever willingly wanted, it still counts.

It should have been a fluke, a one-off. It shouldn’t have counted if it was only Steve. But it does, supposedly. Bucky doesn’t know much about that.

They work fast, get the carpeting out of the two other guest rooms as well as the corridor. Turns out, Olly knows how to take care of hardwood floors. They know a lot of stuff about remodeling and house work. They end up establishing together a list of items needed to properly finish the job, and do what Bucky actually wants for his home.

Bucky makes them sandwiches for lunch, with pastrami, mustard and pickles. It’s a cliché perhaps, but it’s delicious. There are a couple of beers in his fridge.

“You’re good at all of this,” Bucky says, swallowing a mouthful of pastrami. It’s a little too dry. He misses the butcher he went to as a kid. His pastrami was amazing. He hasn’t been able to find one that compares with his memories yet. “Is it what you do for a living? House renovation?"

They chuckle, shaking their head. "Oh wow, no, not at all. I’m a social worker,” they explain. Social worker. Bucky remembers those people growing up. They were trying to fix problems, especially with the crash. “When my partner, our friends and I renovated the house,” they continue, pointing towards the wall between their two houses. “We learned a few things. What do you do?"

It takes a moment for Bucky to figure out actually how to phrase it. "Military contractor."

That’s the closest he can think. He’s contracted by the military, somewhat. They did make him sign a contract, to regulate what had already been outlined by his pardon agreement.

"Like an engineer?"

Of course they’re polite and curious. Bucky would be as well. He could just come out and say it. I’m the Winter Soldier and one of the reasons I walk free is that I work to clean up Hydra’s messes. He doesn’t know how public the conditions of his pardon are.

Once again, he struggles to explain what it is he does without saying it out right.

“I guess I provide intelligence? And experience."

Phrased that way, it sounds nice. That’s what he does though, it’s not a lie. It feels… almost pleasant to be able to say it that way. He provides information on how Hydra works, experience on how the safehouses are set up… A fist too. When they break into a safehouse, he’s always first. He’s hard to kill, after all.

And maybe… just maybe, some of his higher-ups wouldn’t mind if he died on a mission. They’d tell the place he went out trying to fix what he’d done.

Sometimes, that phrasing ‘fixing what he’d done’ chokes him up. It’s the way Lieutenant General Henricksen talks about the work he makes him do. Henricksen believes it was his fault. Of course he does.

It makes sense. People have no idea what it is like to be brainwashed. They have seen movies and video games and read books about it. They have no idea what it is actually like. They have no idea how it feels.

He remembers all of it, and he remembers pulling the trigger. Sometimes because he was directly ordered to by a handler - something that was impossible for him to resist doing. Sometimes because it was what was required to complete the mission - like with the son and daughter of the Algerian FLN commander that were sleeping in their beds.

He could have disobeyed all the orders in the second category. He never did. Not until Steve.

He must have zoned out thinking about the horrible things he’s done, because Olly clears their throat.

“And if you don’t mind me asking, how did you get this house? It’s been empty for years, we always wondered what was going on with it.”

That’s, again, a really hard question to answer without saying the truth. Bucky’s not even supposed to tell the truth about his work. That’s not his job. He doesn’t work on communication.

“Inheritance?” It comes out more like a question than anything else.

So much about his life is… unexplainable. It’s like all he has to share with the world is a heavily redacted file.

Most of it is of his own doing, he realizes. He’s the one who doesn’t want people to know exactly who he is, what he’s done. The only things he is actually forbidden to talk about are the specifics of his high-profile, governmental kills, as well as his ongoing missions with the army. The rest…

He could just say that this is an ex-Hydra safehouse and he got it through work. He could just say he’s working with the army to break into Hydra properties and recover what they took from the government while they were hiding behind the SHIELD insignia.

There would be questions, of course. What of the non-governmental resources they took? That goes to various archive buildings all over the U.S., to be tagged, processed and gather dust until their rightful owners pipe up. There are a lot of items waiting for people who don’t know they’re missing something.

Olly seems to accept Bucky’s cryptic and hesitant answer. Thank G-d. Bucky doesn’t know what he would have said if they kept prying. He guesses it’s selfish. He knows he can’t finish the job by himself, and telling Olly the truth would surely make them run out of the house.

They finish lunch and Bucky makes a pot of coffee. It’s when he turns back to face Olly that his eyes catch the picture he framed on the wall when he got there.

The picture of Steve and him on the front lines, in Europe. The postcard from the Smithsonian. Both of their faces, smiling wide. As far as Bucky knows, there aren’t any images of Steve smiling that way, wide and open and carefree even in the middle of the war, from after he was unfrozen in 2012.

Perhaps because he just didn’t have time to smile like this anymore. Perhaps because this was his Bucky smile. The smile Bucky knew he only smiled for him, and because of him. The best, most beautiful smile in the world.

In any case, there is no way Olly didn’t see the picture. There is no way they don’t know who he is now, even without seeing the arm. They haven’t said anything.

Bucky reaches over and pulls his right glove off, revealing skin. It takes all the strength in his mind and body to take off the other one, revealing vibranium.

He usually never takes the gloves off in front of someone when he isn’t playing soldier. But he is in his home. He shouldn’t have to hide himself here.

[shiredded]

A white animation student’s take on Soul and POC cartoons

This got long but there’s lots of pretty pictures to go with it.

Hi, I’m Shire and I’m as white as a ripped-off Pegasus prancing on a stolen van. Feel free to add to my post, especially if you are poc. The next generation of animators needs your voice now more than ever.

My opinion doesn’t matter as much here because I’m not part of the people being represented. 

But I am part of the people to whom this film is marketed, and as the market, I think I should be Very Aware of what media does to me. 

And as the future of animation, I need to do something with what I know.

I am very white. I have blue eyes and long blond hair. I’ve seen countless protagonists, love interests, moms, and daughters that look like me. If I saw an animated character that looks like me turn into a creature for the majority of a movie, I would cheer. Bring it on! I have plenty of other representation that tells me I’m great just the way I am, and I don’t need to change to be likable. 

The moment Soul’s premise was released, many people of color expressed mistrust and disappointment on social media. Let me catch you up on the plot according to the new (march 2020) trailer. (It’s one of those dumb modern trailers that tells you the entire plot of the movie including the climax; so I recommend only watching half of it)

Our protagonist, Joe Gardner, has a rich (not in the monetary sense) and beautiful life. He has dreams! He wants to join a jazz band! So far his life looks, to me, comforting, amazing, heartfelt, and real. I’m excited to learn about his family and his music. 

Some Whoknowswhat happens, and he enters a dimension where everyone, himself included, is represented by glowing, blue, vaguely humanoid creatures. They’re adorable! But they sure as heck aren’t brown. The most common response seems to be dread at the idea of the brown human protagonist spending the majority of his screen time as a not-brown, not-human creature. 

The latest trailer definitely makes that look pretty darn true. He does spend most of the narrative - chronologically - as a blob. 

but

That isn’t the same as his screen time. 

From the look of the trailer, Joe and his not-yet-born-but-already-tired-of-life soul companion tour Joe’s story in all of its brown-skinned, human-shaped, life-loving glory. The movie is about life, not about magic beans that sing and dance about burping (though I won’t be surprised if that happens too.)

Basically! My conclusion is “it’s not as bad as it looked at first, and it looks like a wonderful story.”

but

That doesn’t mean it’s ok. 

Yes, Soul is probably going to be a really important and heartfelt story about life, the goods, the bads, the dreams, and the bonds. That story uses a fun medium to view that life; using bright, candy-bowl colors and a made-up world to draw kids in with their parents trailing behind. 

It’s a great story and there’s no reason to not create a black man for the lead role. There’s no reason not to give this story to people of color. It’s not a white story. This is great!

Except...

we’ve kind of

done this

a lot

The Book of Life and Coco also trade in their brown-skinned cast for a no-skinned cast, but I don’t know enough about Mexican culture to say those are bad and I haven't picked up on much pushback to those. There’s more nuance there, I think. 

I cut the above pics together to show how the entire ensemble changes along with the protagonist. We can lose entire casts of poc. Emperor's New Groove keeps its cast as mostly human so at least we have Pacha

And while the animals they interact with might be poc-coded, there’s nothing very special or affirming about “animals of color.” 

So, Soul.

Are we looking at the same thing here?

It’s no secret by now that this is an emerging pattern in animation. But not all poc-starring animated films have this same problem. We have Moana! With deuteragonists (basically co-protagonists) of color, heck yeah.

 Aladdin... Pocahontas... The respect those films have for their depicted culture is... an essay for another time. Mulan fits here too. the titular characters’ costars are either white, or blue, and/or straight up animals. But hey, they don’t turn into animals, and neither do the supporting cast/love interests.

Dreamworks’ Home (2015) is also worth mentioning as a poc-led film where the  deuteragonist is kind of a purple blob. But the thing I like a lot about Home is that it’s A Nice Story, where there’s no reason for the protagonist to not be poc, so she is poc. Spiderverse has a black lead with a white (or masked, or animal) supporting cast. But, spiderverse also has Miles’ dad, mom, uncle, and Penny Parker.

I’d like to see more of that.

And less of this

if you’re still having trouble seeing why this is a big deal, let’s try a little what-if scenario. 

This goes out to my fellow white girls (including LGBTA white girls, we are not immune to propaganda racism)

imagine for a second you live in a world where animation is dominated to the point of almost total saturation by protagonist after protagonist who are boys/men. You do get the occasional woman-led film, but maybe pretend that 30 to 40 percent of those films are like

(We’re pretending for a second that Queen Eleanor was the protagonist, because I couldn’t think of any animated movies where the white lady protagonist turns into and stays an animal for the majority of the film)

Or, white boys and men, how would you feel if your most popular and marketable representation was this?

Speaking of gender representation, binary trans and especially nonbinary trans people are hard pressed to find representation of who they are without the added twist of Lizard tails or horns and the hand-waving explanation of “this species doesn’t do gender” But again, that’s a different essay.

Let’s look at what we do have. In reality, we (white people) have so much representation that having a fun twist where we spend most of the movie seeing that person in glimpses between colorful, glittering felt characters that reflect our inner selves is ok. 

Wait, that aesthetic sounds kind of familiar...

But I digress. Inside Out was a successful and honestly helpful and important movie.  I have no doubt in my mind that Soul will meet and surpass it in quality and and in message. 

There is nothing wrong with turning your protagonist of color into an animal or blob for most of their own movie. 

But it’s part of a larger pattern, and that pattern tells people of color that their skin would be more fun if it was blue, or hairy, or slimy, or something. It’s fine to have films like that because heck yeah it would be fun to be a llama. But it’s also fun to not be a llama. It’s fun to be a human. It’s fun to be yourself. I don’t think children of color are told that enough. 

At least, not by mainstream studios. (The Breadwinner, produced by Cartoon Saloon)

It’s not like all these mainstream poc movies are the result of racist white producers who want us to equate people of color with animals. In fact, most of those movies these days have people of color very high up, as directors, writers, or at the very least, a pool of consultants of color.

These movies aren’t evil. They aren’t even that intrinsically racist (Pocahontas can go take a hike and rethink its life, but we knew that.) It’s that we need more than just the shape-shifting narratives of our non-white protagonists. 

It’s not like there isn’t an enormous pool of ideas, talent, visions and scripts already written and waiting to be produced. There is.

But they somehow don’t make it past the head executives, way above any creative team, who make the decisions, aiming not for top-of-the-line stories, but for the Bottom line of sales.

When Disney acquired Pixar, their main takeover was in the merchandising department. The main target for their merchandise are, honestly, white children.

So is it much of a surprise

that they are more often greenlighting things palatable for as many “discerning” mothers as possible?

I saw just as many Tiana dolls as frog toys on the front page of google, so don’t worry too much about The Princess And The Frog. Kids love her. But I didn’t find any human figures of Kenai from Brother Bear, except for dolls wearing a bear suit. 

So. What do I think of Soul? 

I think it’s going to be beautiful. I think it’s going to be a great movie.

But I also think people of color deserve more. 

Let’s take one more look at the top people who went into making this movie.

Of the six people listed here, five are white. Kemp Powers, one of the screenplay writers, is black. 

It’s cool to see women reaching power within the animation industry, but this post isn’t about us.

We need to replace the top execs and get more projects greenlit that send the message that african, asian, latinix, middle eastern, and every other non-white ethnicity is perfect and relatable as the humans they were meant to be. 

Disney is big enough that they can - and therefore should - take risks and produce movies that aren’t as “marketable” simply because art needs to be made. People need to be loved.

Come on, millennials and Gen Z. We can do better.

We Will do better.

TLDR: A lot of mainstream animation turns its protagonists of color into animals or other creatures. I (white) don’t think that’s a bad thing, except for the fact that we don’t get enough poc movies that AREN’T weird. Support Soul; it’s not going to be as bad as you think. It’s probably gonna be really good. Let’s make more good movies about people of color that stay PEOPLE of color.

[hopesilverheart]

Constellations of Faerie Lights

(read on ao3)

Pairing: Helen/Lydia Rated: Gen Summary: Helen laughed. “Have you ever heard of Faerie Lights? They're actually carefully crafted by various seelies and unseelies during the year, using what little natural magic and talent we have to create garlands made up of strands of moonlight and rays of sunshine. It’s actually one of the only things I can do as a half-faerie.”

“Must be because of how bright you are,” Lydia blurted out before she could think over her words. “I mean, it just- If you’d asked me what piece of nature you held within your heart, I would have guessed Light without a second thought. Oh my god, I’m just going to shut up and let you continue your story now.”

Or: Lydia has never seen anything quite as beautiful as faerie lights (or as the faerie who made them).

For the @malecdiscordserver Advent Calendar

For as long as she could remember, Lydia had loved learning about the world.

As a child, she’d dreamed of being an explorer who got to travel wherever she wanted to, visiting the most beautiful and forgotten of places. When her parents had tried to get her to learn how to fight, she’d snuck out of the manor’s library to wander around Idris – which had earned her more punishments than she could count.

Being a shadowhunter had never been her plan. It had been her duty, and it had been what was expected of her, but it had never been her dream. She still remembered hearing the other children talking about how great fighting was and thinking ‘why on earth would you want to hunt demons when you could discover the mysteries of the world?’

Becoming a Clave representative had been her way of trying to get away from the field and maybe get sent on missions all over the world.

Of course, no one had bothered to tell her that representatives spent most of their lives stuck in Idris, dealing with paperwork and following every order they were given without batting an eyelash. So much for travelling.

Needless to say, she’d been disappointed. She’d spent the first few years of her career wondering if she would have been better off marrying into another family and gaining leadership of an Institute. At least that way she would get to move freely and decide what she wanted to do with her life.

(As much as a shadowhunter could, at least.)

In the end, it took her two years to get sent on a visit to the Madrid Institute, and another year after that to get thrown into the madness of the New York Institute. The first trip had been educational and entertaining. The second? Not so much. In fact, it had almost been enough to get Lydia demoted – or to get her to quit, if she was being honest with herself.

Fortunately for her, things took a turn for the better once she hit her fifth year as a representative. She wasn’t sure what she’d done to deserve the sudden burst of confidence coming from the higher-ups, but she certainly wasn’t about to complain. In the span of three months, she’d been sent to deal with Downworld relation issues in Melbourne, to evaluate a couple for headship of the Saint-Petersburg Institute, and to resolve internal difficulties in Alexandria.

Finally, finally, her choices had paid off. After years of dealing with bureaucratic bullshit and being treated like she didn’t matter, she was being sent around the world to places she’d hoped to see for over a decade.

This new development in her career was how she found herself in Los Angeles just as November turned into December. The Institute had been going through some trouble as the Blackthorn family and the Lightwood patriarch fought for dominance, causing more problems with the Downworld than was usual for the very progressive city.

Lydia had been a little worried about her arrival, since her history with the Lightwood parents wasn’t exactly positive, but the Blackthorns had completely obscured Robert’s presence and had honestly turned Lydia’s trip to LA into the best one of her life.

There was just something about the set of siblings that made her heart melt and her mind feel lighter than it had in months.

“Lydia, you’re already up!”

Alright, so perhaps there was one sibling in particular who had caught Lydia’s eye, she thought as she turned around and came face to face with Helen Blackthorn, by far the prettiest woman Lydia had ever met.

“Good morning, Helen,” she said softly, hoping she didn’t sound half as flustered as she thought she did. “I thought I would get breakfast started for everyone, since you always seem to be the one left to shoulder that burden.”

“Oh, it’s hardly a burden,” Helen chuckled, sidling up to Lydia and stealing her breath away with another one of her blinding smiles. “It makes my siblings happy and keeping them happy is the only way I can make it through the day without going insane. Although I’ll never complain about someone doing my job for me. So, what are we having?”

“Nothing special,” Lydia shrugged. “Just some pancakes. Dru mentioned you all had family plans for the day, so I figured it would be good for the kids to have something that would fill them up with energy.”

“She told you about that?” Helen asked, sounding both surprised and slightly hesitant.

“I’m sorry,” Lydia winced. “Was she not supposed to? I didn’t think it was a secret since Livia also added her own two cents on the matter, but I can always pretend I didn’t hear anything if that would make you feel more comfortable.”

“It’s just not- It’s not exactly something I’d want getting back to the Clave,” Helen admitted quietly, glancing at Lydia as though she was about to run straight to the Clave and tell them the Blackthorns were hiding nefarious secrets. “We’re not doing anything illegal, I promise, but as tolerant as the Clave has prove to be in the last year or so, I don’t exactly…”

“Trust it?” Lydia completed for her, laughing lightly as Helen’s eyes filled with guilt. “Please don’t feel the need to lie about your feelings for the Clave just because I’m here. I may be a representative, but my only obligations to the institution as a whole is to follow my mission orders. I’m here to deal with the Blackthorn-Lightwood conflict, that’s all. Nothing else will get back to the Inquisitor.”

For a second, Helen didn’t say anything, only tilting her head to the side curiously, her fair hair falling to the side and revealing her pointy ears. Lydia tried her best not to stare at them, but they truly made Helen seem magical.

One thing the past two years had taught Lydia was that shadowhunters, for all their talks of righteousness and duty, weren’t half as amazing as they made themselves out to be. Faeries, on the other hand, never pretended to be something they weren’t. They were truthful and sometimes too cunning for their own good, but at least they didn’t lie about who they were.

It was a trait Helen had clearly gotten from her Seelie ancestors. She’d been honest with Lydia from the get-go, refusing to avoid the point of Lydia’s visit the same way Robert had and bluntly stating all the problems they’d had to handle ever since the Lightwood patriarch had arrived. It was something Lydia appreciated in a person, especially in one as stunning, bright, and kind as Helen.

So maybe she was a little smitten with the other woman; it wasn’t like anyone was going to notice.

“I believe you,” Helen finally answered. “I’m not sure why, but you don’t seem like the kind of person who would lie to expose a respectable family’s secrets. Although if you dig anything up on Lightwood, please don’t hesitate to send him packing. As much as I respect Alec and Isabelle, something about their father rubs me the wrong way.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Lydia snorted, biting at her bottom lip as her curiosity battled with her manners. At the end of the day, though, Lydia was far more curious than she was polite. “What is your family tradition, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Ah, it’s just something I got from my family in Seelie,” Helen shrugged sheepishly. “My parents never had the time to teach us about Blackthorn traditions, so I figured it wouldn’t hurt to give my siblings something to look forward to in place of an Advent Calendar or a Christmas tree. Something a little more… magical?”

Before Lydia could ask what the other woman meant by that, the tell-tale sound of running footsteps caught her attention and had her twisting around towards the kitchen door.

Less than three seconds later, the entire gaggle of Blackthorn children barrelled into the room, eager smiles on their faces and far too much energy in their bodies for kids who couldn’t have been up for longer than fifteen minutes.

“It’s Today!” Tavvy exclaimed happily, throwing his little hands in the air from his place in Julian’s arms.

“Yes, Tavvy, it’s today,” Helen chuckled, fluffing the young boy’s hair lightly as Julian set him down into his chair. “I see you’re all very excited. I don’t think I’ve seen you up this early since the same day last year, Liv!”

“Very funny,” Livia rolled her eyes, her eyes lighting up at the sight of Lydia’s pancakes. “Oh god, can we keep you? Helen never makes pancakes. And we’re far more fun than the Clave, as I’m sure you’ve noticed by now.”

“You do realise she has a job in Idris, right?” Emma – the only non-Blackthorn of the bunch – said sarcastically, flicking the back of Livia’s head playfully and agilely dodging the younger girl’s elbow as it flew back to nudge her in the ribs. “But I agree that I could get used to pancakes for breakfast. Perhaps Miss Branwell could teach Helen how to cook properly.”

“Lydia, please.”

“I’m sure Lydia has enough on her plate already,” Helen shook her head amusedly, chuckling as she caught sight of the plate in Lydia’s hands. “No pun intended.”

“Oh god, have the puns already started?” Ty – Livia’s twin – groaned, burying his head in his hands.

“The puns never end, brother dear,” Helen grinned widely, pulling out a seat for Lydia before sitting right next to her. Lydia tried her very best not to blush but, if the look on Emma and Julian’s faces was anything to go by, she wasn’t quite as subtle as she wanted to be. “Now please devour your pancakes like the uncivilised shadowhunters you are so we can get outside before the sun comes up.”

Lydia was about to ask why they needed to be out before sunrise, but the sudden inhalation of food by the younger Blackthorns stopped her in her tracks. She wasn’t sure whether she was impressed or horrified by their speed; perhaps a little bit of both.

“Is Miss Branwell going to put the lights up with us?” Dru asked once the pancakes had been consumed and the other children had rushed away – presumably to get their shoes and jackets or whatever else they might need for this mysterious tradition.

“If she wants to,” Helen answered quietly, sending Lydia a look that was far too hopeful for her to ignore. “You don’t have t-”

“I would love to join you,” Lydia smiled. “I have to speak to Robert this afternoon, but as long as this only takes up our morning, I should be fine.”

“Oh, you can leave whenever you want to,” Helen assured her. “The main event will be over in less than a minute, but I like to let the kids have their fun for as long as they want to be there. It keeps them busy and gives me less to worry about, so I usually just sit back and enjoy the show.”

“You’ve got me more intrigued by the second,” Lydia admitted, standing up to follow Helen as the woman gestured for her to come along. “What was Dru saying about lights?”

“Right, we got interrupted before I could explain,” Helen laughed. “Have you ever heard of Faerie Lights? Stupid question, of course you have. Anyways, the common agreement in mundane society seems to be that once upon a time, the lights were made of actual fairies. Little do they know, the lights are actually carefully crafted by various seelies and unseelies during the year, using what little natural magic and talent we have to create garlands made up of strands of moonlight and rays of sunshine. I know it sounds very theoretical and a little silly but… I promise it works. It’s actually one of the only things I can do as a half-faerie.”

“Must be because of how bright you are,” Lydia blurted out before she could think over her words. “I mean, it just- If you’d asked me what piece of nature you held within your heart, I would have guessed Light without a second thought. Oh my god, I’m just going to shut up and let you continue your story now.”

“You’re fine,” Helen smiled, rendering Lydia speechless as she gently laced their fingers together and squeezed Lydia’s hand reassuringly. By some stroke of luck, she didn’t pull away even as the rest of the siblings joined them in the Institute’s front hall. “Alright everyone, time to get the show started!”

As one, their little group stepped out of the Institute only to be greeted by the harsh cold air of an early winter morning. LA might not have been as cold as Idris, but mornings had proved to be cruel in terms of temperature. Lydia had been fooled on her first day there, and she couldn’t help but regret not bringing anything other than lighter clothes on her trip.

Not that she thought about the cold for too long; not with Helen’s hand in hers and the rest of the Blackthorns bounding forward a few steps before coming to a halt and turning towards the Institute with wide eyes.

Lydia was about to ask what was going on but before the question could leave her lips, Helen was turning her around and giggling wildly as Lydia’s jaw dropped.

The lights weren’t on yet – she wasn’t sure how that worked exactly, since Helen had made it seem like she’d put pure moonlight into the garlands, but she was far too stunned to wonder about technicalities – however, the Institute was already the prettiest thing Lydia had ever seen.

The garlands seemed to be made of both gold and silver strands, the colours visible even from afar thanks to the first few rays of sunshine peeking through the horizon. The strands themselves were covered in tiny buds of a flower Lydia couldn’t identify but could definitely appreciate. And the lights, or at least their containers, were made of what seemed to be delicate, glittery glass.

Honestly, Lydia wasn’t sure what was going on, but she wasn’t complaining in the slightest.

She was only startled out of her daze by Helen letting go of her hand with an apologetic smile. Lydia’s fingers suddenly felt more cold than they had in days, and she wondered if there was even a chance that she could get Helen back where she’d been seconds earlier once she was done doing… whatever she was doing with the lights.

“Are you ready?” Helen called over once she’d reached the Institute’s front door again – a door from which appeared to hang the very first garland.

As soon as the Blackthorn children answered with a chorus of ‘yes’s, Helen brought her hand up to the garland, closed her eyes tightly, pressed her fingers against one of the glass containers, and-

Lydia’s mind went blank.

She had no idea how long she stood there, staring at the faerie lights as they turned on one by one, but she figured it was far longer than most people would. She didn’t care, though, because she wasn’t sure she had ever seen anything as entrancing as the lights show happening in front of her.

By the time she came back to herself, all the lights were on and the children were gone, leaving Lydia alone with Helen. Helen, who had laced their fingers back together again.

Between the lights and Helen’s warm hand in hers, Lydia wasn’t sure she was going to make it through that morning in one piece. Her heart felt fuller than it ever had, and she could feel tears of awe stinging at her eyes.

She honestly wasn’t even sure how to describe what she was feeling at that moment. She wanted to tell Helen that the little bit of magic she had was the most beautiful thing Lydia had ever seen. She wanted to tell her that she’d never felt more content than she did right then, staring at an Institute she barely knew and holding hands with a woman she probably shouldn’t have liked so much. She wanted to burst into tears and grin like a loon and just sit there all day, staring at the constellation of bright stars adorning the Institute’s façade.

“Those are- Those are the most stunning Christmas lights I’ve ever laid eyes upon,” Lydia finally breathed out, frowning at how insufficient her words sounded. “No, that’s not right. That’s the most stunning thing I’ve seen ever, full stop. I just- How did you do that?”

“Not sure,” Helen shrugged, her cheeks redder than Lydia had ever seen them. “It’s really nothing much; just something to make my siblings smile.”

“Well you’ve achieved that and more,” Lydia nudged her gently. “There aren’t many things in this world that can make me speechless. Speaking of the kids though, where are they?”

“I leave coloured faerie lights hidden all around the Institute for them to find,” Helen smiled fondly. “Whoever can find the most gets exempted from shadowhunter duties for the entire month.”

“Oh wow, pretty high stakes,” Lydia whistled, impressed. “How many are there?”

“About a hundred,” Helen admitted with a smirk. “But they never find all of them, and most of them will be back within the next hour or so. They already know who’s going to win.”

“They do?” Lydia asked, more than happy to sit there and listen to Helen talk about her siblings lovingly while Lydia admired the lights.

“Emma wins ever year,” Helen explained. “That girl is far too competitive for her own good, and Tavvy always gives her the ones he finds since he’s too little to have duties.”

“Devious,” Lydia laughed loudly. “And what do you usually do?”

“Paperwork, patrolling, whatever needs to get done, really,” Helen answered with a sigh. “There’s always too little time to do everything, and not having my siblings around means I’m far more productive. However, I suppose- Well, I could be convinced to do something else, for once, even if it’s just staring at these lights for a few hours with a pretty girl next to me.”

“I- Really?” Lydia whispered, looking between the lights and Helen disbelievingly. She wasn’t sure what she’d done to deserve the attention of the most beautiful girl in the world, but she wasn’t about to complain. “I would love that.”

“Good,” Helen murmured, squeezing her fingers again. “Because there’s nothing I’d rather be doing right now.”

If Lydia had thought the lights had stolen her breath away, it was nothing compared to what she felt at the sound of those words. Her heart skipped a beat, her stomach fluttered, and she knew her cheeks were probably brighter than ever.

Lydia hadn’t thought she would ever understand wanting to stay in one place for the rest of her life but, staring at Helen and feeling the other woman’s warmth as they sat on the grass and glanced up at the myriads of faerie lights, she thought she might finally get where everyone was coming from.

There was nothing she wanted more than for the world to stop right then, with Helen’s hand in hers and a sea of stars gleaming before her very eyes.

[astyle-alex]

[FanFic] Start with Why | the Old Guard

Another chapter goes live!

Start With Why

Fandom: the Old Guard Pairings: Background Nicky x Joe Characters / Focus: OT5 + Copley, reacting to Booker's betrayal Rating: Gen Audiences Warnings: None (well, language, because the team are all quite colorful) Total Word Count: 10,288 Chapter Word Count: 2,761

Summary:

The thing about betrayal is that it hurts. Sometimes it hurts too much to see the broader situation clearly. But after Booker's betrayal, the team has to look at themselves and see how every one of them is culpable. Booker may have done the deed, but his measly 200 years makes him a child to the others, especially Andy, and like babysitters are to blame when their charge sets the curtains on fire, the Family needs to ask themselves WHY and accept the honest answers. Why Copley, Why Merrick, and Why something made Booker believe that his choice was the right one for his Family...

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Part II  ::  BOOKER

           Booker is not a good person, not really.

           He was a decent man before he died; a faithful, loving husband and a doting, embarrassingly indulgent father, a reliable and responsible (albeit criminal) businessman, and just altogether decent.

           But he was never good.

           Not like Andy.

           Andy was a beacon for him, a light in the dark in the horror that he felt after Russia.

           She knew what pain was. She knew grief with the same intimate ache of guilt and loneliness and longing that drove him to drink, and yet she was still so good.

           So good, and so driven.

           She made him good— or, at least, she made him better, made sure that even if he wasn’t really a good person, he could damn well do some good for others.

           Nicky and Joe were good too; a different kind of good, but better than Booker could ever hope to be. They believed in Andy like the Grace of Fate she had to be, and they believed in him with the very same kind of ferocious Faith.

           Booker knew he didn’t deserve it, that he’d never deserved it.

           And as he sank into his grief, into his loneliness and loss, and as the world burned down around them ever-more efficiently, Booker knew he deserved their Faith less and less.

           As Andy began to indulge his benders more and more frequently, as she began to forget how much good she really did for the world, Booker knew he deserved their love even less.

           Andy wanted to die.

           She wanted all of it to just be over.

           Booker did too, more than anything. He fed her worst impulses and couldn’t make himself stop even when he knew it was hurting her… when he knew it was ruining her.

           Wallowing with her in the guilt and the loss and anguish… it hurt Booker far less than it did trying not to burst with the force of self-loathing he experienced while drowning his sorrows in alcohol around Joe and Nicky— hobbling their bliss with his how his demons ran unleashed.

           They’ve always thought he was jealous.

           They still do, Booker knows, they think he was so jealous of their happiness that he was willing to sell them out to Merrick because he hated how he could not have a share of their joy enough to let his selfish desire to end things overshadow any sort of more-than-Family bond they had… Than the unbreakable bond they were supposed to share implicitly after 200 years of fighting at each other’s backs and standing at each other’s sides.

           But Booker had never been jealous, not really.

           He’d been happy for them, painfully happy. He loved them. Still loves them.

           He loves them with the fierce passion of a man granted salvation by their hand— because he had been, in no uncertain terms.

           Nicky and Joe are his brothers.

           He wants them to be happy. He wants nothing more fervently, not even his own escape.

           Booker knows the true depth of love that finding a perfect compliment to your soul can create. And he knows the even deeper love of having experienced fatherhood.

           He knows what love is, what it could be, and he knows they have a true one.

           And he knows how much it would hurt when something makes it break.

           Booker might not be a good person, but he could never wish the pain he felt at losing his family on anyone— especially not on Joe and Nicky. They are his brothers and he loves them enough to want to help ensure that they would never have to face the horror of a life alone.

           To ensure that none of them did.

           After escaping Merrick, after getting cleaned up and getting alcohol acquired, and after imposing his own self-banishment to the balcony, Booker thought he’d have nothing but his own regrets for company until his Fate and punishment had been decided.

           And then he’d probably have nothing left at all.

           But that wasn’t how it turned out.

           Andy had come out to question him on Copley.

           He’d tried to answer her questions, but he knew he didn’t do it justice.

           Copley was… Copley understood. He knew the pain Booker was facing, understood the depths of his despair— not entirely, but enough to make it matter.

           And more than that, he understood Andy… He understood the good she did for the world, understood how to help her do even more good while simultaneously giving her the option of that final release which she’d been craving acutely for the last 100 years, at least.

           Copley… Copley was good, and he wanted to do good— wanted to help them do good. It would be a gift given directly to the world; one Andy could see impacting people’s lives.

           And it would be a gift to them, giving them the out they’d been both dreading and hoping for in a desperate, wavering ache of woefully undecided.

           Booker had never given Andy anything but a reflection of her grief. He’d hoped this was a way to give her something more.

           And give Joe and Nicky something, too.

           All while giving the world something greater than the good any of them had dared to hope they could ever manage to affect.

           Booker doesn’t convey it right. He knows that when Andy goes more and more rigid beside him as he speaks— knows it when she turns her back on him and rejoins the others.

           But still, if he at least managed to tell her proper that it wasn’t Merrick he’d sold them out too… Maybe Copley’s goodness wouldn’t be too overshadowed by his own mistake.

           Because even now, even after everything and all the horror of what Merrick and Kozak had planned to wreck— of all the terror that they had wrought— Booker still thinks of Copley’s goodness and does not regret getting close to him.

           He still does not regret letting him get close to them.

           Andy needs Copley. She needs to see what he can see, or else she’ll turn into something too much like the drunken, useless mess that Booker has become.

           Now, with her new mortality, she might just kill herself and finally be done with it.

           It’s a thing that Booker finds himself… actively dreading.

           She wants to die, he knows this, but… he doesn’t want her to take on that bounty of her newfound mortality just yet. He doesn’t want her to die without seeing what he always has, without seeing what he hadn’t… what he hadn’t even guessed but Copley found.

           Andy is good and deserves to know it, to feel it… and he believes Copley will help her.

           If she does die soon, Booker wants her to at least die happy— to die feeling a little bit like she can revel in what her long life has accomplished.

           “You really thought it would help.”

           Nile’s statement startles Booker, but he’s too exhausted with the effort of just existing to jump. And it takes all of his cognition to parse her words and tone together. Her eyebrow’s raised like the statement was supposed to be framed as a question, and her lip is curled with a tinge of incredulous disgust like it’s really meant to be an accusation, but her voice and shoulders and eyes are soft… like she truly wants to try to understand his side of it.

           “I was wrong,” Booker admits. “I was blind.”

           “But you really thought it would help,” Nile repeats, not taking his bullshit.

           “Yeah. I did,” Booker confesses, hanging his head until his neck screams at the strain.

           Nile doesn’t say anything more. She doesn’t have to. She just stands there and shifts her weight to the opposite heel and crosses her arms with that eyebrow still cocked as she waits for the explanation they both know she’s due.

           “Living like this, like Andy and I… it’s not okay,” Booker tells her. “I thought that if we could so some good and find a way to let this end… I thought it would be worth it.”

           Nile absorbs that, sits with it a minute to really let it process.

           Book side-eyes her and counts her steady breaths.

           “What about Joe and Nicky,” Nile asks, again in that way she has for giving a sort-of statement in an accusation but still with open room for questions to be answered.

           “They weren’t supposed to be taken,” Booker promises. “No one was. The footage was supposed to be enough to get Merrick interested, and the samples he needed were supposed to come from me, alone. Copley didn’t think we’d even need to go to Merrick’s lab directly, we thought that I could just stay with Copley for a few weeks collecting whatever samples Merrick said he needed there and just letting Copley pass them on…”

           Nile’s head cants sharply as she huffs an incredulous breath.

           “I knew pieces of me would be taken, I knew they would be studied,” Booker admitted wholly. “But I didn’t… didn’t recognize, I guess, how depraved science had gotten to be… I’d lived through witnessing Mengele’s atrocities and I thought… I thought it was a rarity, an aberration of the norm. I didn’t realize it was an infection he’d contracted that others could be infected by as well. I thought enlightened ethics would’ve bettered people smart enough to learn them in becoming doctors…”

           “But what about Joe and Nicky,” Nile presses after letting the weight Booker’s latest confession dissipate. “You said it was a gift for all of us. That’s what you told Andy, all of us.”

           “They wouldn’t have needed to use it now,” Booker told her, looking at her head on for the first time since leaving her alone at the table with the others’ waiting drinks.

           Nile waits for more and Booker can’t find the words to give her.

           “You’re so young, now, sweet girl,” Booker says, heart-breaking as it swells with the odd feeling of thinking her both a little sister and an adoptive daughter all at once. “So young.”

           She bristles, but she doesn’t bite his head off at the comment she clearly knows he doesn’t mean as an insult.

           “You don’t know what it’s like to love as they do, you cannot even fathom it,” he confides.

           She’s still stiff with a pinch of indignation, but she is mature enough to recognize that four days of being an Immortal is not enough to have the proper grasp of scale for this. She cannot truly fathom what it means to have been so in love as Joe and Nicky, to have been so in love for over 900 years. If pressed, Booker would confidently bet that she hasn’t even quite wrapped her head around what it means to live 900 years— and he can already guess that she’s stunningly self-aware of her lack in that comprehension.

           But the duration of Joe and Nicky’s love is not the only piece of it that makes it special.

           They love with a passion that ascribes their whole being— they’ve found a compliment to their very souls. Most would envy them, would do anything to feel even a fraction of it.

           But not Booker.

           Because he had it.

           And he lost it.

           And he could never wish that pain on Joe and Nicky.

           “It just stops,” Booker says suddenly in the quiet of a silence stretched too long. “We don’t know when and we don’t know why, but one day, it just stops.”

           Nile shifts closer, listening.

           “One of them will go first.”

           There’s a soft gurgle that speaks of strangled breath in Nile’s throat.

           Booker almost hates to go on, but he owes it to Nile to explain himself fully— owes it to all of them, honestly. He owes it to them to try.

           “They died together the first time, but we can’t assume they’ll die together for the last time,” Booker rambles on. “We can’t know which one will stop first, or guess by how long one will outlive the other, but there’s far too much of a risk in it to pretend we’re safe in thinking that they’ll manage to truly leave this world together.”

           Nile remains quiet as Booker looks at his hands, clasped together with white-knuckled grit that has already broken at least one finger.

           “You’re so young, Nile. You’ve lost your father and your world ended, I’m sure,” he tells her, trying to show that he truly does sympathize— trying to show that what he’s about to say is not meant to diminish her loss, but to contextualize his own.

           “But to lose a parent, even to lose one as a child,” Booker sighs, “Is to be a neighbor with a dead pet in the face of your loss in terms of you trying to understand the despair of at the heart of losing love like mine, like theirs. You simply cannot comprehend the weight of it.”

           “You don’t think they could face it,” she accuses, steady this time in her statement, making it almost purely an indictment.

           Booker hangs his head again. “I wouldn’t wish for them to ever need to…”

           “But what if they aren’t like you, aren’t doomed like you think they are? What if they could grow from the loss,” Nile presses, thinking— Booker’s certain— of how her own mother had managed to carry on fighting. “They’d know that the other would want them to keep fighting the good fight. They’ve probably had words on it directly, made each other promise not to let a loss destroy the work of the man they love.”

           She thinks he’s underestimated them, and perhaps he has.

           Nile’s right that they aren’t like him, they aren’t weak or cowardly like him.

           But still…

           “Andromache was once ‘not like me’,” Booker tells her. “Even after Quynh… Eventually, the weight of it all will change them, like it changed her… and while I know they’re strong and fierce and fearless, I also know they don’t love like her, reserved and distant and calmly comfortable. They love like me; they love in a way that consumes them, they love like they believe it can truly save the god damned world.”

           “Maybe it can,” Nile retorts, digging in. “Maybe it’s the only thing that can.”

           She leaves him there with that statement hanging in the air above his weary shoulders.

           It’s such a simple idea, and yet, it fits itself to all his jagged pieces like a balm with the pure grace of the Divine that he’s forgotten how to let himself believe in.

           When Joe or Nicky go down in combat, the other is rendered an avenger— Joe becomes a monster of fiery ferocity; Nicky, an avenging angel with the cold calculation of unyielding stone.

           But… but if one went down and stayed down…

           Maybe that focus wouldn’t stay destructive forever.

           Maybe Nile has a point, maybe the love they have for each other could change things...

           Maybe it would be enough to make itself into another miracle… Maybe it would be the inspiration needed for them to truly change the world for the better.

           Maybe love shouldn’t be what ruins him, but what saves him instead.

           His wife and children would be ashamed of who he has become.

           How they were at the end… how they’d hated him, how they’d only seen the selfish coward who wouldn’t help them when they needed it most… They wasn’t how he wanted to remember them, and it wasn’t how he would’ve wanted to let himself be remembered.

           Booker wasn’t ever a good person.

           But he hadn’t always been this bad.

           Perhaps it was time to let go of the time between when he died in Russia and when he’d died again as the one he loved had. Perhaps it was time to live as if he’d truly died the first time.

           And been reborn entirely new.

           He still had a Family after all, and he loved him every bit as fiercely as if they had truly been born his brothers and sister— he loved them far more fiercely than any of his fellows from the war where he’d felt the fraternal camaraderie of being ‘brothers at arms’…

           Maybe it was time to be the man he could have been if his wife had ever known what could happen to him in despair and had then asked him directly to be better than to let himself succumb to such a fall.

          Perhaps in another version of reality she had.

          Perhaps even in this version, he could start living up to what she would've hoped for if things had turned out differently...

           If she had ever asked him to live on and be better… maybe he would have found within him a bit more strength to do so.

          Maybe he still could...

- - - - -

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[arcturusblackiii]

Title: The stars may be covered by clouds and the moon may be new (but your smile is all the light I need)

Fandom: Harry Potter Wordcount: 1820 Category: Gen Warnings: Implied/referenced child abuse Rating: Teen Relationships: Regulus Black & Sirius Black Characters: Regulus Black, Sirius Black Summary:

The year is 1977 Its been several months since Sirius ran away

Its the new Hogwarts year, and Regulus has finally, finally worked up the courage to talk to his (disowned) brother. Sirius worries about Regulus and Regulus attempts to convince him that yes, he's fine. He isn't exactly convincing, and Sirius has him make a promise.

Otherwise summed up as "Sirius and Regulus talk out their emotions and things look towards the better"

Tags:

Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Sibling Bonding, Sirius Black is a Good Brother, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Hopeful Ending, Light Angst, Good Regulus Black, circa 1977, Walburga Black's A+ Parenting, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

For @youurelovely

Mid October, 1977

Sirius’s 7th year, Regulus’s 6th.

Regulus sat on a bench by the edge lake, staring aimlessly over the water. Watching it ripple.

He had his gaze fixed on a spot where he was particularly sure there was a turtle of sorts.

It’s late.

Of course it's late.

The sky is dark, the moon new.

Clouds blotted out most the stars, making the night somehow even gloomier.

It was cold, but not bitingly so. Regardless, the thick robe he wore kept the cold out.

Overall, it was exactly the sort of night he would have expected to meet Sirius on.

He wondered if Sirius would show.

He doubted it.

After all, why would he?

Why would he bother with sneaking out to see him of all people?

Risk getting detention and other various consequences.

He wasn't worth that.

Besides, Sirius hated him.

He knew Sirius hated him.

He’d made that clear.

He didn't even know why he was trying this.

What were the outcomes even, Sirius coming and them fighting, or Sirius not coming and leaving the aching hole in his chest wider.

There was no good outcome of this.

He was pulled from his musing by footsteps.

He resisted the temptation to look over his shoulder and see who was coming, and kept his gaze fixed on the water.

It could only be Sirius.

Well, it technically could have been anyone.

But it was most likely Sirius.

His suspicions were confirmed when Sirius sat down next to him.

Regulus exhaled a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding.

“So..” Sirius started. “I’m here.”

He didn't seem angry, or exasperated, or even annoyed.

It was more reassuring than anything else Regulus had tried to calm his nerves about this. “Sirius.. I..”

There was so much he wanted to say, but he said none of it.

He didn't even know where to begin with this conversation.

“How have you been?” He asked after a moment, desperate to break the choking silence.

“Better than the last time we properly spoke.”

Sirius responded effortlessly. Like every word wasn't hard to get out.

Like it was easy to talk to him.

Like talking to him wasn't stressful.

Like things were normal and okay. Like he hadn’t run away. Like there was no hundred kilometer chasm between them growing wider by the minute.

Regulus drew his knees to his chest. “That's good. I’m glad you’re okay.” He spoke softly, keeping his eyes fixed somewhere far out over the water.

If he had looked at Sirius, he would have seen how his expression moved from curiosity to more worry.

“Okay. What's up with you, you’re never like this.” He knew Sirius was looking at him, seeing if he could spot anything glaringly wrong.

He also knew that if he looked at Sirius, he would probably tear up and that wouldn't be good for anybody.

Because if he started crying, that would just complicate things even further.

He thought of Walburga’s anger, growing hotter by the day, and Orion's forced indifference and cold disappointment. He thought of the cuts and bruises over the summer. The broken arm. Thought of Walburga’s growing desperation to redeem herself in the eyes of the other pureblood woman she would see at parties. Of her mortification over Sirius and how much she wanted to separate herself from her failed son and heir. Of how furious she would get at him being brought up.

He thought of the fights between her and Orion once far and inbetween that now sat like rainclouds on the horizon. Dark and ominous.

He thought of his growing fear of Walburga having him join the death eaters..

He thought about how everything seemed to be falling apart in slow motion, all orbiting around him.

“I’m fine.” He lied.

“Sure you are.” Sirius had hardly been here a minute, and he had already begun worrying him. He knew Sirius had seen right through the lie. A sideways glance at him revealed he was wearing that expression that revealed he could see right through him.

“Why did you want to talk with me?”

I miss you.

It's been hell without you.

You were the only good thing in my life.

I love you.

Instead of saying any of that, Regulus shrugged and folded his hands. staring intently over the lake.

“..Okay.”

Regulus forced himself to keep his gaze over the water. To not look at Sirius to gauge his reaction.

“Regulus, What's really happening?”

Regulus bit his lip, and slowly exhaled. Forcing his shoulders to relax and trying to smile. “Sirius, I’m okay. Really.”

“Oh don’t even try and pull that shit on me. You couldn't even fool Aunt Charis with that fake smile. You wouldn't.. You wouldn't go through the hassle of planning an entire meeting thing if nothing was wrong.”

“Maybe I just wanted to talk to you like everything was normal, okay? I don't know.” Regulus tried, still avoiding Sirius’s scrutinizing gaze.

It wasn't a lie, really.

He desperately wanted to talk to Sirius like things were okay.

“Reg..”

“And it's not like I can talk to you in broad daylight, right? Someone will see and news will get back to Her somehow and you know how that is.”

“Yeah, I do.” There was worry in Sirius’s voice.

He was still looking at him expectantly. Like he expected a real answer to why Regulus asked to meet him.

Too bad Regulus was too ashamed to admit it.

“This was a terrible idea. I’m sorry.” Regulus finally looked at Sirius, hugging his knees tighter to his chest.

Sirius looked just as worried as his voice had implied.

He looked actually worried. Not false worry, or angry worried, really and truly worried.

He hadnt seen Sirius really and truly worried in a long while.

“I—” He choked on his words. He hadnt expected that.

He was going to say he missed him.

But he just.. couldn't.

Out of fear, out of mortification, out of denial, he didn't know.

“I’m happy you're safe.” He said instead.

“Thanks.” Sirius kept his gaze fixed on Regulus with that real, genuine worried expression. “How have things been without me? Must be nice not having me around to piss her off all the time.”

Regulus thought about how angry Walburga was constantly these days. Her bitter, hysterical anger.

He nearly laughed.

“No, actually.” Regulus returned his gaze to the lake, so he doesn't have to see Sirius’s reaction. “It's been.. It's been really hard.” His voice couldn't have been much louder than a whisper as he confessed that. But somehow, he felt like he was screaming it for the whole world to hear.

Like there was no possible way to be quiet enough when saying it.

“Has it?”

“She..” He swallows his trepidation. There wasn't much point in hiding things, not really.

And Sirius deserved to know anyway.

“She’s really.. She’s gotten angrier, somehow. Bitterer. It's uh, with you being a..” He cleared his throat, slipping into a mocking voice that was meant to sound vaguely like Walburga. “‘Worthless mudblood loving blood traitor who should rot’ or something like that. But ah.. She’s gotten worse, I think.”

“Do you need me to come back?” Sirius asked with absolutely no hesitation.

The question made his blood freeze in his veins.

“What?” Regulus turned to look at Sirius, convinced he’d heard him wrong.

Because that didn't make sense. Why would he ever suggest something like that?

“Do you need me to come back, Regulus. Because I will. I could make up some, I don't know, bullshit about ‘Learning the awful truth of mudbloods’ or some.. absolute bullshit like that. And I would come back.”

“No. No. Never.” Regulus didn't even try to hide how stunned he was.

Because that was honestly the most idiotic, ill adviced thing he had ever heard Sirius say.

Well, no, it wasn't. But it was pretty far up there.

“Do not come back. She’ll — god Sirius I don't even know what she’d do. She’d kill you. She’d beat you half to death then kill you.”

“That wasn't the question, Regulus. Do you need me to come back? Will she kill you. Will she hurt you. Do you need me there?”

“I-” Regulus bit his lip. Because the answer was yes. “I’ll live.”

“Regulus.”

“She — Look. There hasn’t been much beyond, you know how she is. Cuts. Bruises. Yelling. The occasional spell. It’ll be fine. I’m fine.”

“You're lying.” Sirius said without breaking eye contact with him. “You're fucking lying. What has she done? Did she fucking Crucio you?”

“No! No. She didn't.” Not yet, at least. He added mentally. “Look. She broke my arm about 2 weeks after you left and that's the worst physical damage done. It's just been fucking hell without you, okay? But you can't come back. I will be fine.”

“She’ll kill you!”

“She’d kill you long before she kills me, Sirius. I’ll be fine.”

They held eye contact for a few seconds, challenging each other.

Surprisingly, Sirius caved first.

“Then I need you to really, and truly promise me something. Okay?”

“Why?”

“I just need you to.”

“Fine. What is it.”

“If you ever need me, if she ever uses Cruciatus or, fuck I don't know. Imperius or some shit. If she ever, ever does anything that will ruin your life, or hurt you like that, write me. Just write me. Firecall me even. I’ll come get you. No questions asked.”

“You don't need—”

“No, Regulus. You’re my brother. No matter what her tree says. I’ll be here for as long as you want me. I’m still here, I’m still your brother. So promise me that. Promise me that you’ll get me.”

“Sirius..” His voice is thick with all the emotion he’s forced back since the night Sirius ran away, and probably some more at Sirius’s words. “Okay. I promise.”

Sirius’s resulting smile was enough to make him smile back.

“Good. If she ever, ever goes to far, if you ever need somewhere to go, or hell, even just an outside opinion, I’m here.”

Regulus blinked back tears, still smiling a watery smile.

“All you need to do is ask, and I’ll be there.”

“Okay.” Regulus managed though his churning emotions. He felt something suspiciously like happiness. “Thank you.”

“It's nothing, Reggie.” Sirius wrapped an arm around his shoulders and tugged him into what was a slightly rough hug.

Regulus hugged him back, and for all of 5 seconds they were quiet.

“I love you, you know.” Sirius whispered. “You're not allowed to forget that.”

Regulus rubbed at his eyes as he pulled back. “I love you too, Sirius.”

“That's good, because if you didn't this would be rather awkward.”

“Shush.”

“You have never once been able to make me be quiet, and I doubt you’ll have suddenly acquired that ability.”

Regulus laughed softly, and smiled again. “No, I don't think I have.”

[bisexualfelicity]

No Other Version of Me - Chapter Two

Amalia Queen was once said to be so important that the universe made sure she happened. Yes, it was her mom who said that but it still counts. Now, she's an adult and struggles to be worthy of such sentence. She doesn't want to be a vigilante and make so many sacrifices like the rest of her family, but it doesn't mean she doesn't want to save the world.

Sequel to "Five Lives"

Next Gen, not canon compliant.

Previous chapters on AO3

“I think you got the wrong place, the bunker is on the other side of town,” Amalia hates how bitter she sounds, but can’t help it.

Naila doesn’t seem affected by it though. Amalia expects her to look hurt over it, maybe try to say there was no need for that, but the other girl seems completely indifferent to Amalia’s tone, inspecting her room and settling on top of her bed.

“I need your help,” she repeats, as if Amalia hadn’t heard the first time. “Samyia is in danger.”

“What have I got to do with that?”

“I need help rescuing her,” she says.

“I’m not a part of the team. Have never been. Did you forget that?” Amalia asks, hurt giving place to confusion. “Besides, we already know that. Team Arrow has been talking to Sara, everything is already handled.”

Continue reading under the cut or on AO3

“I didn’t come to ask for the team’s help. I’ve come to ask for yours. I know our parents are working together and they have a plan. This is not about that.”

“What is it about then?”

“They are not accepting my help. They think it’s too dangerous, considering…” she doesn’t end her sentence and Amalia does not ask what she means, she’s more curious about how she fits in all of this. “But I know going there is the best chance to get Samyia out safely.”

“That sounds like a discussion you should be having with the rest of the team, Naila. If you don’t mind, it’s late, I’ve had a long day and would like to rest now.”

“Mali, please,” the nickname only makes Amalia less inclined to listen to her, but Naila doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, “Just listen to me. I’m not asking you to do anything crazy, I just need someone to watch my back while I go save Samyia. The others won’t risk it, but I know you’ll do what is right.”

Amalia stays quiet, trying to understand what was happening. She very much wants Naila to leave her room, so she can just think about all of that. Half of what she was saying doesn’t even make sense. And besides why come to her? Amalia is not a vigilante. She’s trained, of course, she needs to know how to defend herself and it had been needed over the years, but she’s not used to being in combat and would rather be safe at home.

“I’m sure if you explain your side they are going to understand.”

“Why don’t you ever listen to what I’m saying? They won’t. Don’t you think I tried? Do you think coming here was my first option?”

While Amalia herself thought it was not logical to ask for her help, it still hurts when Naila put it like that.

“Why don’t they want you going?” Amalia asks, trying to decide if it’s even worth losing her time like that.

“It’s a long story. Maybe… Maybe I can tell you later. Will you help me if I tell you?”

“Of course not. I’m pretty sure the best way I can help you is by getting out of the way,” Amalia says, crossing her arms and raising her eyebrows.

“Fine. I see you’re still mad at me. I thought you were a lot of things, Amalia, but I never thought you’d be that selfish to deny help to someone you once called your friend.”

“I called you a lot of things, but, guess what, when you end a conversation by disappearing for five years you lose any right to complain!”

“I didn’t come here to complain. And I definitely didn’t come here to have a repeat of that fight, okay? I’m here because I’m desperate! I’m here because my sister is gone and she’s going to do something very stupid and if I don’t go people are going to get hurt. I know you care, Amalia, you can’t have changed that much.”

Amalia stays quiet at that. Tears are burning in her eyes but she refuses to let them fall, she is not a teen anymore, she’s over this. It is true that she cares, she cares about Naila, she cares about whatever is happening with Samyia, she cares about anyone possibly getting hurt and she cares about whether she is being selfish or not.

She likes helping people. She built her entire life so she could help as many people as she could. Being called selfish and sounding like she didn’t really care about the outcome of all of that? That damages her core. That’s not who she wants to be. And Naila knows it very well, Amalia is not naïve enough to think Naila didn’t use these words on purpose, the girl is trying to manipulate her and knows how to do it well.

“Here’s what I can do,” she finally says and almost shivers as she sees the hope in Naila’s eyes. “I will go to you with the bunker, I’ll help you convince them to hear you…”

“No! That’s not what I said,” Naila interrupts her, the hope giving way to anger and impatience. “Sara is going to arrive at any minute. She can’t know I’m here.”

“Your mom can’t know you’re here? What the fuck did you get into?”

“Look, are you going to help me or not? I don’t have enough time for this.”

“Then go. I didn’t ask for any of that. You didn’t say anything good enough to convince me I should go with you. I don’t even know what I’m dealing with and if you’re hiding that from Sara, I’m not sure you’re even on the right side.”

“Fine. You don’t trust me anymore, I guess I deserve it. Just… Don’t tell anyone about this, okay?”

Before Amalia can even think about answering her, Naila gets up from the bed and heads to the window. Naila looks back at her and Amalia thinks of saying she could just leave through the door, but it sounds like the wrong thing to say – and she doesn’t really want to explain to her friends in the living room what is going on – so she says nothing. Naila doesn’t say anything else either, just stares at Amalia and goes through the window, disappearing into the night. There is no anger in her face, but there is something there and it takes Amalia too long to realize what it is.

Disappointment. 

Amalia tries to forget this meeting ever happened. She puts her pajamas on, goes to the living room, joining her friends in watching TV and laughing for the rest of the night and, when it’s day again, she throws herself in work and pushes thoughts of Naila as far as she can. There might be a part of her that is a little over the edge for the next day, but if her coworkers ask what’s got her in a mood, she’ll definitely just smile and says she has no idea what they mean. 

Maybe she activates notifications on many news websites and keeps checking to see if anything comes up, but if that’s the case it’s certainly because she’s a concerned citizen and why shouldn’t she care about what happens in the world? She likes being updated. There’s nothing wrong with that. 

But all the lies can’t hide forever from her mind. Her fast heartbeat is a constant reminder that she’s anxious and she has reasons to be. Did Naila talk to the team? To her mom at least? Did she go alone? Have they saved Samyia? Is everyone okay? She can only assume nothing terrible has happened or else she would have heard about it by now… Right? 

By Friday, her phone aches next to her. Emma is on a date and Ilana always goes to her parents’ for shabbat dinner, so she finds herself alone in her apartment after work with nothing to do but wonder. Sure, she has other friends, she has stuff she meant to do, there’s always more work waiting for her, but it’s been 48 hours and she hasn’t heard anything and she can’t stand waiting like this all weekend. 

Amalia is debating which family member she should call when she gets a message from Mom asking about having lunch together the next day. She confirms it, telling herself it doesn’t mean anything. Nobody is in the hospital. Mom would have just said that otherwise. 

She considers herself a practical person most of the time, but can barely recognize herself now. The practical thing would be to just call literally anyone in the family and be done with this, ask everything they know and satisfy her curiosity. Even following her instincts again and showing up on the bunker would be more practical than laying in bed for hours, thinking of the worst scenarios and then arguing in her mind about how unlikely it is that it would happen. But it’s too much; she can’t move. 

The night goes on like this. Amalia has spent sleepless nights before, many during college, a few having fun, but never because she was too worried to relax. Just close your eyes and think of nothing, it isn’t that hard. Except her brain won’t shut up, no matter how she says that it’s too late now and everyone else is asleep, nothing is going to happen until the morning. But what is going to happen in the morning? 

When did she become that person?

Amalia is about to have a full identity crisis by the time the sun comes up. She tries to sleep one last time, fails to do it, meditates with an app she just downloaded and eats breakfast. It’s the longest she manages to stall before heading to her parents’ house, ready to just face the truth, whatever it is. 

She lets herself in without ringing the bell and finds that she can already breathe better just by being in her family’s home. The house is completely silent and Amalia assumes everyone is still asleep. Not thinking much about it, she goes to her old room, lays in her bed and closes her eyes. For a moment, she thinks she might actually sleep this time and wouldn’t that be ironic? But her insomnia doesn’t have much of a sense of humor and doesn’t give up just because she’s home. 

Meredith, the cat, soon joins her in the bed, meowing at Amalia’s face, either asking for cuddles or complaining it’s been too long since she visited last week. Amalia really misses the cat and wishes she could steal Meredith and go home. Life would be much better if she had her cat with her. But Mom would be really angry if she did it and Libbi would definitely steal her back. Meredith didn’t need that kind of stress. 

Amalia is telling all of this to the cat, hugging the cat against her will, when she hears a knock on the door. 

“Mali? What are you doing here so early?” Dad asks as he comes into the room and sits next to her in the bed. Finding the bed too crowded, Meredith decides to leave.

“Lunch,” she says not answering it at all.

It shouldn’t surprise her that her dad is up and dressed like he had just came back from running. Dad had never been one to sleep a lot and is getting worse every year, of course she wouldn’t be able to arrive before he woke up. Dad just stares at her, waiting for her to complete.

“Couldn’t sleep, sorry,” she’s stalling to ask and kinda wished Mom was here, because she’d just try to guess what is happening instead of looking at her and respecting her time. “I need to know what happened.”

Dad seems surprised by it, like he had no idea she even suspected anything. He sighs and stays silent for a bit, but Amalia doesn’t pressure him, she knows he’s trying to find the right words and she’s not sure she wants to hear them. Her thoughts start spiraling and she only focus again once Dad touches her shoulder, steadying her. 

“The League asked for our help on a mission,” he starts, Amalia just nods even though part of her wants to say she already knows that and he can just fast forward to what happened. “They had been dealing with a threat and Samyia was captured in action. Their enemies are based just outside Star City and we could help retrieve her so they could go back safely to Nanda Parbat…” Dad pauses and she knows the worst is to come. “We had everything ready to go, but then Sara found out Naila went alone without back up when she was supposed to stay behind. I’m sorry, Mali, but Naila was captured as well.”

“What does that mean?” 

“It means she’s missing. We’re still going to try to get them back, but you have to know… Naila was what they were after. Samyia was being used as blackmail. There’s no way of knowing what they intend on doing to Naila now that they have her.”

She tries to breathe in and out and not freak out, she tells herself she was expecting it. Yes, Naila was taken. Of course she was taken. Because she had no back up and she had literally told Amalia that she needed someone to watch her back. They wanted Naila, this is why Sara or the Team wouldn’t let her help. They were scared this would happen.

She should have gone with her. Or, better yet, she should have told her family or Sara what Naila was doing.

“It’s going to be okay, honey, breathe with me,” Dad is saying besides her, his hands comforting in her back, breathing slowly and waiting until she did she same. “I know you care about her, Mali, but we’re going to bring her back safely. You don’t need to worry about that.”

“Don’t worry?! How am I going to do it when it’s all my fault?”

August 2036

When Amalia finds Naila standing in her living room, her first thought is that someone died and she’s here for another funeral. She can hear her parents’ voices echoing through the house, laughing with Sara, so she assures herself that nothing bad happened again. Naila looks uncomfortable, sitting alone on the sofa in an extremely poised way, but Amalia makes no movement to join her. 

Last time they’ve talked to each other it was Quentin Lance’s funeral and it was not a good day. Amalia had heard about Naila since, Becky commented about her cousins and Naila had been in Star City a few times since, but never in her house. Amalia doesn’t know what her presence means and doesn’t like it. 

She knows why Sara is here: because everything sucks right now. There have always been bad guys creeping around, always some danger, but it got worse. She doesn’t know who’s behind, she thinks there are superpowers involved but she’s not sure and she honestly doesn’t want to know. All she wants is to forget that this is her life. 

But she can’t. Because Uncle Roy died and she had to look at her little cousin Elliot and know that it could have been her without a dad. And then Laurel got hurt last month and still hasn’t recovered. She knew it was only time before something happened to her parents and then it did. Her dad was thrown from a bridge and could barely leave the bed now. 

She knows she’s lucky. Dad’s at home, when he could very well had ended up in the hospital or in a coffin. If it served for anything, they should all have just learned that vigilantism is not worth it. 

But instead Sara showed up. Not just to see her sister and make sure this side of the family was okay, but to fill in for Dad in Team Arrow.

And she’s bringing her daughter? That is just weird. 

Amalia is still standing in the door when Naila looks directly at her, not saying anything. Amalia tries to smile but Naila doesn’t bother to copy her, staring with curious eyes. Not knowing what to do, Amalia decides to join Naila at the sofa, sitting next to the girl, still silent.

“So.. You’re visiting Laurel?” Amalia asks, trying to start a conversation.

“We’ve visited her yesterday, we’re visiting your parents now,” Naila says, frowning and Amalia can’t help but laugh at that answer. “Sara wanted me to meet you. I’m Naila,” she extends her hand and Amalia finds herself shaking it even though it feels weird to shake hands with someone her age. 

“I know that. I’m Amalia. We’ve met already.”

“I remember, but we weren’t formally introduced then. I’d like to get acquainted with you since I will be attending school where you go comes September.”

“Are you… staying in Starling?”

“Yes, Nyssa and Samyia are going to continue in Nanda Parbat for most of the time, but it was decided that I should accompany Sara while she’s here. Sara thought I would enjoy experimenting formal education, so I am here.”

“Did you not go to school there?”

“I had lessons with my moms and other members, but there isn’t anyone else my age in the League, so no school.”

Amalia frowns at that. No wonder the girl sounds so weird if she doesn’t interact with anyone their age. Amalia could only imagine how shocking would be to suddenly start high school with hundreds of teenagers, well, being teenagers. Amalia had some difficulty belonging there and she had studied with those people her entire life.

“I can help you around in school,” Amalia offers, “I can introduce you to my friends and we can hang out, if you want that is.”

“That would be lovely,” Naila smiles for the first time and her whole face transforms, she seems so happy at that moment that Amalia for a moment thinks she has offered more than just helping in school. 

Naila is looking at her expectantly, waiting for Amalia to continue the conversation. Later, Amalia will be able to pinpoint this as the exact moment she decided to befriend Naila. They’d have to be friendly with each other anyway, Naila didn’t know anyone else in the school and it’d be the right thing to do; but it’d be easier if it was something genuine and not a friendship out of parental obligation. It’s the bright in her brown eyes and the way she blushes after smiling that sticks for Amalia, the red hardly apparent in her sand skin.  Naila looks shy in a way that Amalia has never pegged Sara and Nyssa’s daughter for.

“Tell me about Nanda Parbat, what do you usually do there?”

While Naila talk about her life, Amalia can’t help but find it all fascinating and soon they are able to maintain a conversation without much awkwardness. Naila takes a while to be comfortable, but by the time their parents arrive in the room, it’s clear that Felicity won’t have to ask Amalia to hang out with Naila, they have already made their own plans. 

Amalia thinks of her two best friends, trying to think of how to introduce Naila and wondering if they have a good backstory planned. Amalia is not ready to explain to her friends what the League of Assassins is and how she’s associated with then. Luckily for them, Amalia is a great liar and has been doing that since she was young enough to talk. 

Somehow, even though she sounded like she was from a different world, Naila would fit right in her life.

[ineffablywriting]

you make everything better

Peter and Lara Jean broke up; Peter's not quite ready to let her go. If only he'd stop saying all the wrong things and just told her the truth. After all, Lara Jean and Peter will not break each other's hearts. ** Peter's POV from scenes in book 2. 

Read on AO3 // Let me know what you think!

You knew? He can’t help it, the scene replaying over and over in his head. The way the colour drained from Lara Jean’s face, her eyes shuttering as she completely closed herself off from him - but not before he saw the betrayal that twisted every feature. He’d known when he hadn’t told her that he was breaking a rule. Their last rule, the only rule that really mattered. But how could he tell her that she’d been right? That Gen had posted the video, that she had been the one to take it in the first place; that had Lara Jean not come out to the hot tub, he’d have gone back to Gen’s room for an entirely different reason that night.

But she had come out and he hadn’t told her the truth and he’d had to watch as he’d broken her heart and his own in return.

He was so in love with this girl with the long dark hair and unapologetically romantic take on the world. She’d told him, confided in him, how difficult it was for her to open up. How getting lost in a world of fantasy kept her safe and secure and her heart fractured but not broken after the loss of her mother. And then she’d let him in. Little Peter Kavinsky, as Dr Covey called him, who’d been Lara Jean’s first kiss, and she’d been his in return.

He’d promised to tell her the truth, always; to never break her heart. But he’d broken both rules in one fell swoop and he didn’t know if he could ever fix it.

You knew?

Those two words continued to echo through his head, flashes of Lara Jean smiling at him, laughing with him, handing him a Yakult first thing in the morning replaced with glimpses of Lara Jean with her sad eyes and pale face and ‘you knew?’ and ‘I’d wish we never started any of this’ and ‘bye Peter’.

And all Peter K could do was suck in a breath and try not to think about how it had never hurt this much when Gen had left him.

-

Peter hadn’t realised how much of his life was Lara Jean until she was nowhere to be seen. He didn’t pick her up in the mornings anymore, the one time he’d picked up Kitty he’d kept his face carefully blank even as his heart pounded loudly in his ears before promptly falling apart at the look on her face.

He missed her cookies and writing the silly little notes he’d leave her - he knew she kept them in her little Hat Box (Kitty had told him so). He missed the way she so easily fit in with his friends and how he never had to worry if he was paying her enough attention because Lara Jean wasn’t like Gen - which is why he thinks he liked - loved, loves - her so much. She was happy to simply sit beside him, tupperware of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies resting on the cafeteria table between everyone as they all gobbled it up, rushing to grab one or two before there was nothing left - much to Lara Jean’s delight. He’d grab her hand most times, rubbing his name into the palm of her hand, not that she ever noticed. Or maybe she did. He remembered moments when she’d look over at him, eyes soft and fond and happy and Peter would feel his heart swell so much he was worried it would burst and everyone would be covered in little confetti Lara Jeans.  

He hadn’t told the rest of his friends that they’d broken up yet, too miserable to do so and the slightest bit hopeful that somehow this mess he’d created would clean itself up. That somehow he could wake up one day and just go back to cuddling with her on the couch while they made their way through the list of movies they’d vowed to watch.

“Oi, Kavinsky, you with us?” Gabe waved a hand in front of his face forcing Peter to look away from the cafeteria entrance.

“What’s up, dude?” Peter asked, clearly annoyed.

“I asked you where Large was, we haven’t seen her all week?” Gabe posed it as a question, brow furrowing at the look on Peter’s face.

“We broke up,” he told them quickly, ripping the words out of his throat like a well adhered bandaid.

“What? Why?” he asked, clearly shocked.

“Shit happens,” Peter shrugged, face stony.

Gabe backed off.

-

He couldn’t believe he had asked for the necklace back, hating himself as he stared at the tiny gold locket he’d picked up extra shifts at his mum’s store to pay for.

He’d lingered behind after chemistry to beg her for another chance, to let him explain but instead he’d been a total dick and broken the rules in the contract again.

She’d been standing in front of him, eyes wide and hopeful and necklace resting between her collarbones and Peter’s brain had short circuited and he’d said the total opposite of what he’d wanted to.

I’m sorry. Please don’t let this be the end. Please let me explain. My heart will always be yours.

“I want my necklace back. Obviously.”

He didn’t deserve her, he didn’t deserve anyone. No wonder why his dad had left them.

Peter had always vowed he’d never be like his dad. He’d never walk out on his family. He’d never break someone’s heart like his dad had broken his when he’d been only fourteen.

Yet he’d done exactly that. Maybe he was more like his father than he thought.

He was still sitting in bed miserably when Gen texted him asking if he’d come along with her to grab something from her grandma’s friend.

He agreed grudgingly, hoping to maybe distract himself from Covey and how his chest felt hollow and bare.

She slipped her arm through his as they made their way down the sidewalk, much to his annoyance. But he’d let her because this was Gen and Peter was Peter.

He spotted her just moments after she’d seen them and he dropped Gen’s arm immediately, blood rushing to his head at what this might look like and heart coming back to life at the sight of Lara Jean.

She was all dressed up, hair pinned to the top of her head, lips red and looking as beautiful as ever, though in a different way than usual.

He knew he spoke, asked her a question - what are you doing here? - maybe even something more, but all he could really hear was the blood in his ears and his soul singing Lara Jean, Lara Jean, Lara Jean, begging him to run over and wrap her in his arms and never let go.

But he stayed put, looking over at her carefully.

She asked him something and he responded before turning accusingly back to Gen.

And then Peter saw red, or maybe it was just John Ambrose’s car, but no. Peter was furious because Lara Jean looked beautiful and John Ambrose was with her, got to see her like this, probably picked her up from her house the way he’d done so many times before.

“What are you doing here?” Peter heard himself ask bitterly.

“My great-grandmother lives here. Stormy. You may have heard of her. She’s a friend of Lara Jean’s,” John replied to him casually, arm resting on the passenger seat of the mustang.

“I’m sure he wouldn’t remember,” Lara Jean stated matter of factly and Peter frowned over at her, because he didn’t. He didn’t remember at all and he was wracked with guilt because clearly this had been something she’d been working on for a while.

“What’s with the outfits?” he asked instead, his voice gruff.

“USO party,” John replied. “Very exclusive. VIPs only—sorry, guys.” Then he tipped his hat at Peter, making his blood boil and fury lace his face.

“What the hell is a USO party?” Peter asked Lara Jean, deciding to ignore both Gen and John. He didn’t care about them. He only cared about her .

John didn't seem to realise this, or he didn’t care because he replied: “It’s from World War Two.”

“I wasn’t asking you; I was asking her,” Peter snapped, unable to hide his anger. “Is this a date? Are you on a date with him?” he asked her, voice angry but heart cracking and falling apart all over again. He didn’t think he had anything left that could be broken.

And then Gen was rushing over towards Lara Jean and Lara Jean was jumping into John’s car and Peter was standing as they drove away together, echoes of their laughter suffocating him.

You knew.

-

She’d kissed him. His Lara Jean had kissed John Ambrose McClaren and Peter hadn’t thought it could truly be over between them until he’d heard that.

She’d kissed him.

He’d gone to the cake walk to make amends and all he’d done was find out there was still pieces of him that could be broken and pulled apart.

Now it was after chemistry and he was playing with the tiny gold locket he had in his hand as he rushed out into the carpark.

He spotted her instantly, as though she were pulling him towards her with invisible strings. Peter didn’t think he’d mind if she were.

But then he saw John standing with her and Lara Jean had this smile on her face as she looked down at a snowglobe and Peter found himself rushing across towards them.

He nodded over at John before promptly ignoring him and looking only at Lara Jean - as though he’d ever be able to look at anyone else.

“I didn’t get a chance to say happy birthday, Covey,” he told her, hiding his nerves behind a blank face.

“But—you saw me in chem class,” she frowned at him and all Peter wanted to do was smooth the furrow between her brows and kiss her senseless until she filled him back up and glued him back together.

“Well, you left in a hurry. I have something for you. Open up your hands,” he said instead, taking the snow globe out of her hand and forcing it into John’s hands with a casual. “Here, can you hold this?”

Lara Jean glanced over at John and Peter felt his heart strain - don’t look at him, look at me. I love you, Covey, I’m sorry. Look at me.  

“Hold your hands out,” Peter said, ignoring the churning in his stomach. Look at me, don’t look at him. “It’s yours,” he told her quietly, dropping the gold locket in her hands.

Lara Jean was quiet for a moment. “I thought you returned the necklace to your mom’s store,” she spoke, almost sounding out of breath.

“Nope. Wouldn’t look right on another girl,” Peter blurted out, unable to regret his confession at the look on her face. That’s right, look at me. Can you see how much I love you?

But then she blinked and looked back at him and tried to shove the locket back into his hands. “Peter, I can’t accept this.” But he shook his head, clenching his teeth to keep himself from saying anything. “Peter, please.”

“No,” he caved. He couldn’t keep quiet. Not with her looking at him like he was breaking her all over again. She had to know that this wasn’t the end. It would never be the end for him - for them . “When I get you back, I’m gonna put that necklace back around your neck and pin you,” he said, trying to hold her eyes with his own. “Like the 1950s. Remember, Lara Jean?”

“I don’t think pin means what you think it means,” she said to him, holding the necklace out even as she gripped it tightly in her fist. “Please, just take it.”

“Tell me what your wish is,” he urged her instead, no longer worried about sounding desperate. He was. He was miserable and lonely and desperate for no one but the girl standing broken and perfect right in front of him. “Wish for anything, and I’ll give it to you, Lara Jean. All you have to do is ask,” he begged her.

“What are you doing, Kavinsky?” John glared at Peter, shaking his head. “This is pathetic. You treated her like garbage and now you decide you want her back?”

“Stay out of it, Sundance Kid,” Peter snapped back, turning back to Lara Jean and saying quietly like there was no one in the whole entire world but the two of them (and to Peter there wasn’t), “You promised you wouldn’t break my heart. In the contract you said you wouldn’t, but you did, Covey.”

“I’m sorry,” she said to him, voice whisper-thin. “I just can’t.”

You knew.

-

Peter tried not to get his hopes up, tried not to let his heart swell with joy when his phone had lit up with Lara Jean’s name. He’d tried but he was still nervous and hopeful and jittery as he drove to her house.

He called out to her once he was standing under the tree they’d spent so much of their childhood in, looking up at the treehouse and then racing up when he heard her reply. He had to duck to fit in, all long limbs and lean muscle. But then he was crawling over and sitting stiffly opposite her, all the bludgeoned pieces of his heart in his hand as an offering.

He was only half listening as she told him they were getting rid of the treehouse. Only half listening as she spoke of the last movie they’d watched together - Peter hadn’t been able to watch a film since.

And then he can’t take it anymore and he blurted out: “Why did you call me over here, Lara Jean? I know it wasn’t to talk about The Sound of Music.”

Peter had a whole speech prepared for her, of his undying devotion and love and how he could give her so much more than John Ambrose McClaren, but then she told him she knew about Gen and he’s shocked at first. Then, so, so, so relieved.

The words rushed past his lips without him even realising at first and then he can’t seem to stop. He told her everything, every dark and close kept secret he’d held propped up on his shoulders.

“I think maybe I was scared,” he finally confessed, unable to stop himself from noticing the way Lara Jean’s breath hitched at his voice.

“Of what?” she asked him.

“Of disappointing you.” Peter looked away from her then and it was quiet again, both of them lost in their own thoughts before Peter suddenly asked, “What do you wish for, Lara Jean? Now that you’ve won?”

“I wish that things could go back to the way they were between us. That you could be you and I could be me, and we’d have fun with each other, and it would be a really sweet first romance that I’ll remember my whole life,” she burst out, unable to look at him.

Peter felt his heart start to mend itself at her admission and then unravel again at how dejected she looked. “Don’t talk like it’s doomed already,” he muttered quietly, terrified he’d say the wrong thing and ruin everything all over again.

“I don’t mean to,” she told him honestly before hesitantly crawling over towards him and tracing his eyebrow. Peter didn’t even realise it, but he was holding his breath, waiting for her next move. “In the contract we said we wouldn’t break each other’s hearts. What if we do it again?

“What if we do? If we’re so guarded, it’s not going to be anything. Let’s do it fucking for real, Lara Jean. Let’s go all in. No more contract. No more safety net. You can break my heart. Do whatever you want with it. It’s yours anyway, it’s always been yours,” he told her fiercely, eyes alight with determination and love and all things Lara Jean.

She placed her hand on his chest, Peter holding it there with a hand of his own, urging her to feel the way his heart was stuttering under her fingers. Urging her to listen, to believe him when he told her that it was hers and hers alone. That it would never beat for anyone the way it beat for her. She tilted her head, looking up at him with those shining brown eyes and before she knew it, before he even realises what he’s doing, she’s in his arms. And he doesn’t know if he’s shaking or if it’s Lara Jean, but he had a feeling it was probably both of them, and he’s kissing her and she’s hugging him and Peter knows for sure that he��s never letting this girl go.

[strrne]

Give Me a Signal, Ch.6

Chapters: 6/?

Word count (so far): 16295

AO3  Ch.1 Ch.2  Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.7

Summary: When Padmé Amidala is unable to contact Coruscant while negotiating a loan on Scipio, the Senate suspects trouble, and sends Anakin Skywalker to go check on her. Of course, the resourceful senator isn’t really in any trouble – don’t flatter yourself, Rush Clovis – but there’s definitely some brewing.

(or; rewrite of the tcw S6 Clovis arc; anidala + gen)

Chapter 6

For once in his life, for the good of everything not yet tainted by the war… Rush Clovis had done the right thing. He had made the right call. And he was at last reaping the well-deserved rewards.

It had all happened in a heartbeat. He had been a hair trigger away from choosing wrong. Dooku had made him an enticing offer – take the file, play dumb about its origins, convict the Core Five, secure at least a significant position in shaping the future of the banks. He had made it sound so easy – and oh, so tempting. Padmé would have never known. No one would have ever found out.

But something – the faintest feeling of unease, of too-good-to-be-true – had stopped him. The impulse was there, ready to be indulged, but so was his ability to think twice, and think logically. Dooku was a Separatist – Clovis a traitor to their cause. No matter how convincing the Count's arguments, how silver his tongue, he had to have some kind of hidden agenda. And as far as hidden agendas went, this one was beginning to look more and more obvious. Dooku was planning to make him into some kind of puppet. Failing to mention the Separatist involvement in acquiring the correct file would make him a co-conspirator, if not effectively a reborn Separatist, and that would give Dooku leverage over him. And he had vowed to never again let himself be used this way.

But then – they needed that file. They needed it desperately, in order for any legal action or re-shaping of the banks to take place at all. And if Dooku himself had gone to the trouble of getting hold of it, he would have also made sure there would be no other copies, no other way of getting it except through his deceitful hand.

And as soon as Clovis had snapped back to reality – he had already thought about this too long – he had known exactly what to do. He would have the Jogan fruit cake and eat it too. He would take the file – and expose Dooku.

Instead of looking like a partner in crime, he'd be a hero. He would have successfully outsmarted the Count and the Separatists – he would have been honest. He would have been clever. He would have been worthy of the Republic's trust.

The moment he had held out his hand to accept the data file from Dooku, he had already seen his future play out before his eyes, as though in a vision. He would tell Padmé first. They would look at the file together and confirm its valuable contents. Padmé would not want to kiss him – not yet – not before sharing the good news with the Chancellor and granting Clovis a chance to explain himself. Besides exposing the crimes of the Core Five, he would expose the Separatist scheme to make him a co-conspirator, and he would gain the Chancellor's trust for his honesty. The Senate would be suspicious at first – but also impressed.

This is how the Clan ought to deal with the Separatists in the future, he would say – in the spirit of cooperation, without dancing to their fancies. With honesty and transparency. Rising above any and all attempts at deception. He was not afraid of them – neither should you be.

A task team would be dispatched to Scipio to apprehend and convict the Five. Meanwhile on Coruscant, there would be a vote. A vote to determine the next Head of the Clan. Someone already familiar with Scipio and the inner workings of the bank system. Someone wise, and impartial. Someone of strong backbone.

Someone like him, Rush Clovis.

So when all of this had transpired exactly like he had pictured it, it had felt like a playback of a favorite holonovela. One with – hopefully – a romantic ending.

-

It was a 'so glad you're here with me' kind of kiss. Anakin could feel it – sense it. And not anywhere else. So glad I'm not anywhere else. There's nothing else that matters – just you and me. Please believe me.

Her lips tasted as sweet and soft as always – she was as angelically beautiful as always. But there was a distance between them, even as their bodies writhed closer and closer. (Still fully clothed. They were at a party, and at any given time someone could mistake this maintenance closet for a fresher and empty the shaken contents of their stomach on them.)

The distance had nothing to do with their present whereabouts – they were used to hiding and fibbing, and even found a certain thrill in these adventures. It was an intangible distance – Anakin could sense it in her unspoken words. She was telling him not to go – no, she knew he had to. But she was telling him not to go anywhere he couldn't come back from. Nowhere where he would be out of options – where the only road to take was the wrong one. And she was urging him to trust her – but it felt as though she didn't trust him.

“You never did go to Scipio,” she whispered as she withdrew from another little taste of alternate reality. Anakin sighed, disappointed. Had she already had enough of this deceptive ecstasy? Why the hurry to return to the real world? Back to this puny, dingy closet? Why couldn't she have kept kissing him and let him sulk in secrecy?

“I finally figured out where I'd put my 87's," Anakin answered dutifully. "They were in the cockpit.”

“What?”

Anakin mentally rolled his eyes as he suddenly remembered one of Obi-Wan's wisecracks from a few weeks back.

“When I… when I crashed, about two months ago. I'd been fixing the ship's intercom system, and they were in the cockpit. Cockpit was destroyed… you know... just one of those days.”

His wife made an expression that seemed to indicate that no, she did not know those days, but she did dread them – if those days meant her husband in life-threatening danger that she was only now learning about.

She almost kissed him out of sheer belated relief, before remembering she needed to punish him for the very same reason.

“But you haven't purchased a replacement,” she pointed out.  

Anakin shook his head.

“I really prefer working with self-built tools these days. And no, I haven't finished constructing the replacement.” Padmé gaped at him. Two can play this punishment game, Anakin thought as he added, “Just haven't been able to get away from the field. Almost lost a leg last night.”

“Anakin, I've told you,” Padmé huffed, feigning indifference at Anakin's battlefront stories. “The signal has been much better since you… did something to it. The local professionals have been alerted. You don't need to go there again. Clovis starts in office in a few days' time, which will signal the start of yet another round of negotiations, then another, then another. Silly regulation or not, you could get arrested again, and you've already made a bad name for yourself over there. Last time the blame fell on Scipio. This time, it'll be on you. You're planning to break into their property and trample all over a law that's already caused us enough problems. You're interfering with my job, Anakin. Whatever you do will reflect on all of us. The Republic, the Order… and you!”

Anakin stared at her in silence. Truth was, he himself didn't quite understand why he was digging himself deeper and deeper into this hole. He had long since ceased to be able to quite distinguish between 'strong interest' and' unhealthy obsession', but he suspected his 'strong interest' in the tower was starting to fall under the latter category. Still, recognizing it as such did nothing to quench the obsession. He had already almost ruined something – so he needed to fix twice as good. Two negatives would make a positive. He had disrespected a law? He'd disrespect it again if it meant mending something far more consequential than hurt feelings.

“I don't understand why you're being so underhanded about this," Padmé went on. "Look at Clovis and his honesty. And he worked so hard to mend the Scipio-Republic relations, too!”

Anakin jerked back. There it was – that cursed name, that taboo word that he had already ignored once during the course of this conversation. Thrown right at his face – where it bounced off and curved over to hit him below the belt. He could no longer find words – but he was angry – at something. At someone. Clovis. Yes, obviously Clovis. That serpent had been leaving a trail of drool behind Padmé's every step for weeks now – he had been shaking her hand at inappropriate times, in an inappropriate manner. He had been casting Anakin knowing glances - “See, she has other interests than you. Yes, that's a banking pun.” Anakin had barely been holding himself together – drowning himself in dangerous, important and trivial missions – it didn't matter which kind – and in his pet project, a Skywalker Original that he could use to fix a stupid connectivity issue on Clovis's stupid planet – and never be thanked.

But to have to hear from his wife that Clovis – a traitor and a creep – was better than him, her husband – why did it sting this bad? Why did it immediately jumble his deck of sabacc, and spread it on the floor like it had been soaked in rhydonium and was waiting to be set on fire?

Anakin didn't respond, although his nostrils visibly flaring was probably enough of a response. He whirled around in the small space to peek out of the keyhole. The entire party crowd had their backs turned to their direction, presently listening to a speech given by – wouldn't you know it – the newly instated head of the Banking Clan. Anakin narrowed his eyes to catch a better view. Clovis's gaze was scanning through the audience – searching for Padmé, who else.

“You should probably go first,” Anakin suggested, knowing nobody would miss him whether he chose to wait five minutes or five hours before exiting their secret hideout.

-

“Padmé,” Clovis beamed as he darted off the stage to meet his colleague. The audience was still clapping. Padmé took two steps back, but gave a slight smile.

“Again, congratulations,” she said. “What are you planning to-”

Whatever Clovis was planning, it was not a conversation. And whatever he was planning, he was planning to do right then and there, in front of all these people. He was planning on marking his territory – that a certain overstepping Jedi was not here to protect.

But he was making a grave mistake – in supposing Padmé needed protection. She didn't even need a plan – she was going to embarrass him in public, without hesitation.

But Clovis had evidently been prepared – at the last justifiable moment, he managed to transform his attempted kiss into a friendly-looking whisper, like one used to tell an inside joke. The crowds stared – most of them probably still seeing a pair of chummy colleagues. Some of them maybe exchanged significant looks – suspected something between them.

But Padmé knew. She knew what Clovis had meant to do. And suddenly she felt quite uncomfortable.

But she also knew she had just lectured Anakin on the importance of diplomacy – told him not to do anything to risk good relations between the Republic and the banks – and she knew, she couldn't either. She couldn't tell Clovis to leave – not here, not like this.

Anakin might have been childish to storm off like he had – but suddenly she couldn't wait to quit this party. Suddenly she couldn't wait for all of this to be over.

-

”General Kenobi. Are you on your way to see Anakin as well?” Padmé gave a slight smile, to hide her frustration. ”Do I have to get in line?”

Obi-Wan stared at Padmé for quite a while before he answered, which would have probably made her nervous, had his expression not been so completely blank and unreadable.

”I shall grant your priority, Senator.”

Or perhaps it was perfectly readable. Padmé felt her cheeks warm up, pretending to fix her hair to hide the scarlet. The enigmatic Jedi Master would make comments like this every once in a while – comments that said everything, yet compelled no further discussion. Still – something in his manner seemed to have shifted. But that was as far as Padmé could judge, without the Force, or a more intimate acquaintance with the closed-off man.

Padme cleared her throat. ”Have you been in contact with him lately? I'm afraid Scipio has been weighing hard on him, and I, um... feel partially responsible.”

Ever since Scipio, Anakin had thrown himself on an unprecedented number of mandatory and voluntary missions, all but locked himself into his quarters in his spare time, and hardly spoken to anyone. She had shared the bed with him on a few nights, stolen a kiss or an embrace when she could, but even then – it had felt like he had been there, but hadn't been there. Like he had been but an apparition.

Now he was back from yet another mission, fixing up his starfighter - or possibly plotting his next arrest.

”Last time we spoke, he was looking for something called an '87'," Kenobi replied. "Some kind of… hammer, I think?”

Padmé sighed. Definitely still plotting his next arrest.

”It's a type of wrench," Padmé corrected. "And did you ask him what he needed that for?”

Obi-Wan stared at her in silence again, opening his mouth several times, as though trying to choose between three or four either equally good or equally bad responses.

”That… I did not ask him.”

Padmé nodded, not all that inclined to inquire what Obi-Wan had asked Anakin. The man could only blame himself - he was none too open nor talkative. She and Anakin were aware that Obi-Wan knew about them on some level, and was both too kind-hearted and too apathetic to say or do anything – to them, or about them.

And if he were to do so, one day, Padmé found herself hypothesizing - her first response would probably be that of fight or flight – a last desperate denial, perhaps. But in the end - she knew that it wouldn't last. Because she also knew that she and Anakin could have really used an ally – a friend. A friend who admitted to being their friend.

”Well, if you had – you would know that he's planning to do something ill-advised.”

Obi-Wan didn't seem surprised by this revelation – in fact, he seemed to have just learned that space was indeed vast – but he also didn't seem to take well to the criticism directed at him. He studied her a while, then said, “You know, Senator... the Chancellor only sent Anakin to Scipio. I tagged along on my day off. I know that I probably only managed to make things worse… but I thought I was stopping him from doing something 'ill-advised'. I sensed that he had a lot… personal feelings as to the… situation.”

Padmé couldn't help but smile. She remembered at first being irritated at Obi-Wan's presence there – couldn't a woman kiss her secret husband anymore, without having to put up a show of 'just friends' in front of his best friend/mentor who had 'tagged along', and who clearly already knew?

But now, hearing his words – she knew Obi-Wan had meant well.

“I'll take you up on your kind offer and go check on him first," she said, picking up the pace, hearing Obi-Wan halt in place behind her.

But Padmé was not there first. She had barely reached the hangar when she almost bumped into Clovis at the doorway. He was rubbing his cheek with both his hands, muttering something about maybe having dislocated a molar.

”Padmé." He took both her shoulders in his hands, pulling her closer. His eyes moved about wildly. "That man is insane. You know he's insane, don't you?”

Padmé stared at him. ”Clovis, what happened?”

”I was going to check up on the ship that is to take me to Scipio tomorrow," he explained with great urgency.

”Anakin… attacked you?” Not only was Padmé shocked at her own deduction, she was also shocked at the speed at which it came out of her mouth.

”Padmé,” Clovis said, lowering his voice while continuing to hold his cheek, ”I do not want to cause any more public uproar."

Padmé could hardly believe it. But the worst of it was – that she could.

-

”Anakin, what did you do?"

Anakin turned towards her slowly in the pilot's seat. The doors had been open – he had to have heard her arrival and chosen to keep them that way. And guilty he did look – of something. His expression was oddly calm, but his eyes were blazing. At first, he looked like he wanted to scream – or cry – or something. But he stayed silent, for a long while.

”I shouldn't have,” he finally said quietly. “I know that.”

”Anakin, what did you do?”

”I punched him.”

Padmé gave a small gasp – but then, she had known the molar had not dislocated itself. Anakin then added, turning his other cheek, which wore the faintest hue of red, ”And he returned the courtesy.”

Padmé glanced at the cheek, then stared at him in the eye.

”That's when I sensed you coming," Anakin went on. He seemed to be barely comprehending his own words, or the fact that he was speaking at all. "And I... I know there was a third punch – but I have no memory of who delivered it. But I know it did the most damage.”

Padmé suddenly took a good look at the ship's control table. By the looks of it, the table had been on the receiving end of the mystery punch – that, or someone had been pinned against it.

"What was he doing in your ship?" she forced herself to ask.

Anakin only shook his head.

”Both of you..." Padmé drew a deep breath, sat in the passenger's seat, and started again. "Both of you need to stop before you do something you'll regret. I don't... need this. Nobody needs this. There are much bigger things going on here than... whatever this is."

Anakin nodded. He could not seem to meet her eyes.

"I don't even remember what he said before... before..." he whispered, trailing off.

Padmé bit her lower lip. She had a natural inclination to rationalize, to somehow justify her husband's actions... and perhaps even judge Clovis' instead, or more harshly. But in the end, did it really matter what Clovis had said? Did it really make a difference whether he'd provoked Anakin?

”I saw you two at the party,” Anakin continued. ”I wanted to punch him then, too.”

Well, there it was.

”…What stopped you?” she asked, as though out of academic curiosity.

”Nothing did,” Anakin said quietly. “I… I only put off the inevitable.”

”The inevitable?”

“I was… I was always going to do it. I was always going to lose control. I was just so… angry. Too angry…”

Anakin’s voice sounded pained – as though he’d rather have been anything but angry – been anyone but himself: the Chosen One, powerful Jedi, competent military officer, great pilot, master engineer, loving husband – who was always, inevitably, going to lose control.

Padmé didn’t quite know what to say. To be angry was to be human – but to act on it was to be destructive. And today, fortunately, that destruction had only spread as far as the control table, and a molar.

[darkmeditation]

So in our titans server, there is a channel specifically for tweet style gossip and shit-talking courtesy of Snapper Carr. Enjoy this glory.

The following was an RP thread, peppered with the fake tweets in live-time.

Jason Todd

Jason woke up pretty early. There was already going to be talk when he and Rose left. Let alone if anyone saw him leave her room in the morning. He stirred her just enough to let her know he was leaving and why before quietly slipping out the door. He of course never expected the brother that never sleeps in be in the wrong hallway at the right time 

Tim Drake

Another sleepless night. Tim was used to it at this point, usually wiping away the hours on his computer working one of his many projects. This time though, he found himself quietly wandering the hallway after returning from a late night patrol. He rounded the corner, pulling the cowl back when he spotted Jason. He knew the room Jason was exiting, and that sinking feeling rose up inside once again. “Are you just that determined to ruin everything I like?” 

Jason Todd

"In my defense I came first in most regards so if anyone ruined..." Jason stopped himself short before they fell into the same old argument. "it's not like that Drake. Despite what you've convinced yourself I'm not a monster intent solely on your pain."

Tim Drake

“First Steph, and now Rose? Forgive me if I have a hard time believing that. I know I’m just the filthy ‘replacement’ to you, but that doesn’t mean you get to just push me aside and go after the people I care about.” His voice was raising, even if he didn’t mean for it to. At this point, he was running purely on instinct.

Jason Todd

"Oh get bent Tim. I know it might shock you to realize you don't cross my mind as near as you think you do." Jason was not about to stand there and let this little... whelp rail against him for doing nothing. "I was up in the catwalk in the theatre to have a smoke.

Steph happened to like to hang out there too. And besides. You aren't together anymore so who she spends her time with isn't your skinny asses concern. And more to the point. Rose is my friend you... You... Ass. Just cause you decided to pay a little extra attention to her this year doesn't mean you suddenly are the only one of us she gets to hang out with." The larger boy was closing the gap between them now."I'd really love to find out who shined your ass and convinced you it was the sun that my universe revolves around and leave them eating through a straw."

Tim Drake

Things were starting to boil over. Years of constant harassment were finally starting to make the cracks in Tim's normally calm demeanor appear. "I can forgive a lot of things. I forgave you beating me senseless when you first came back, I forgave you constantly referring to me only as Replacement. Hell, I even forgave the time you stole the Redbird and decided to take it on a road trip to Star City." He stepped even closer, glaring up at Jason. "But this is just one step too many." With those words he extended his staff, slamming it straight into Jason's crotch.

Jason Todd

Jason grunted hard feeling the swift snap on the staff to his crotch. "you... Self absorbed little shit..." He grabbed the staff and wrenched Tim towards him and swung to collide his forearm into his face. "this.. Is not...about... You!" Each word punctuated with a swing. "you are a smarmy, Shitty little whelp who I wish I didn't have to waste my time with. But you wiggled your way into MY family, and I came back cracked to see you in MY suit and so I am stuck with you! " Jason snarled pushed the younger boy away.

"But grasp..attempt to fucking grasp for a breif second. That me, the dead kid and Rose, the kid with the dad who fucking tortured her might appreciate each other as friend. And try to realize that in a better world you wouldn't mean shit to me and really I would love that for be how it works now. I get it man. I've made your life hell over the last few years. But goddamn it I am TRYING. I signed up for this fucking school with all your your stupid friends that hate me and all of Duck's stupid friends that mostly hate me. Because I'm TRYING to be a better fucking person. But you...you little... Troglodyte. You've got your fucking narrative to tell. You ask Rosie you ask steph what we did...see how big you feel then. "

Rose Wilson

Rose’s eyes snapped open. She could definitely hear Jason and she had thought someone else. But then the shouting increased and she really really wanted to cry because she was just so fucking tired. She stood up, slipping some shorts on under her T-shirt and putting her patch on. {SMS:RAE} There are people shouting outside my room. She then proceeded to slam the door open. "Does someone wanna tell me why in fucks sake you are screaming outside my door? I really haven't slept much in the past two days. " she could feel her anger rolling off of her in waves.

Tim Drake

Fight or flight kicked in hard. Tim couldn't see or hear anything else that was going on. All he was focused on was taking Jason down hard. Spitting blood, he charged forward. The ballistic shield within his staff deployed and he used all his strength to slam into Jason, sending him down the hallway. Once they landed, Tim put the tip of his staff inches above Jason's nose. "I don't give a damn about your sob story, and no one else does either. You skate on thin ice with everyone and you're shocked that I finally snapped?? Maybe if you weren't such an unlikable basket case, you wouldn't be in this mess."

Jason Todd

"No you stupid asshole. LOOK AROUND. The only people convinced I'm the bad guy are you and your second rate Gen titans. I don't give a fuck about your sympathy you skinny waste of space. At least I died before I got replaced. God you can't fucking for a second look at the world any way but the way you want it to be can you you cretin. You really are a little Bruce wannabe" He looked up to see Rose and knocked the staff away. "Yeah. Tim here has decide since you flirted with him me and you were never friends and all I wanna do is steal his happiness."

Tim Drake

Tim retracted the staff, stowing it away before the urge to continue beating Jason with it flared up again. He was starting to come down, with the anger slowly being replaced by regret. He definitely shouldn't have done that. He turned to Rose, the regret showing through the bruises and cuts. "I should've talked to you first, but this whole situation just didn't sit well with me. I'm sorry."

Raven

[TXT: Rose] Oh for the love of- Okay. I'll be right there.

Raven had a bad feeling, but if this involved who she thought it did... May Azar have mercy on their souls. Rose was distressed enough, she did not need this too. She needed sleep and some alone time. Raven ripped a portal open in the space before her and stepped through. As chance would have it, she stepped right in the middle of Jason and Tim. Tim. Really? Of all the people to pick a fight, and with Jason no less. There was an overbearing wave of anger and regret in this very tense, very small space.

With a snarl, the ordinarily soft-spoken girl growled and her voice came out in a deep and multi-faceted tone. "Timothy!" Raven glared at one first, and then the other. They should know better than to get her to raise her voice. "Jason!" Tense hands gripped at each of their shirts and pulled them in close to her. And her eyes went red. "What the FUCK are you two doing right now!"

Jason Todd

Jason entire being shut down as the empathic tsunami of rage washed over him and the small and extremely powerful girl was suddenly there and had him in her hands. He locked his eyes on the glower orbs of 'boy you fucked up' and looked at the disgruntled assassin he had been attempting to help just hours before. He looked away and squeaked out. "I was...I...he started it..."

Tim Drake

Tim had never experienced fear that potent before in his life. In an instant, any sense of rage or regret was gone, only to be replaced by unimaginable fear. This fear was even more potent than anything Jonathan Crane could ever concoct in a lab. He stared down at his feet, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "I acted way too rashly."

Raven

The demon drew each of the boys closer to her, so close that they could feel the radiant heat emanating from her now reddened skin. Raven bared her teeth. "You absolute idiots!"

Students in the surrounding rooms were starting to poke their heads out into the hallway, only to immediately nope right on back into their rooms. "I have seen you both make some goddamned asinine choices in your life." At Jason's half-assed reply she growled deeper. He should know by now not to go there.

"I don't care who in the hell started it, I'm going to finish it." With a glance up at Rose, Raven pulled the two bat-boys apart and then slammed their heads against one another. Once she was absolutely certain that these two morons were out cold and slumped over, she let her arms drop and began to drag their not-so-happy asses off to get a proper talking to.

Rose Wilson

Rose watched everything that was happening. Certainly happy that she had called her to begin with. Though she was very happy at hoe suddenly repentant they were. "Jason you should have known better. " Rose said a she placed her hands on her hips. Raven was quite scary and she was happy that it wasn't directed at her. She ran her hand through her hair and let out a sigh of frustration. "I've literally only been asleep like two hours. And then you two idiots fight right in front of my door. ". She takes a deep breath to try and settle herself. She felt like she was vibrating with the anger she felt coursing through her. She certainly wasn't going to be able to fall right back asleep now. "Thanks Raven. I don't think I'll be going back to sleep, but these fucks deserves what they got. " Rose sighed. "I'm going to the kitchen. "

@outlawxhood @tinyballofswordfilledrage @titansinmycrosshairs

[maychorian]

Weekly Voltron Fic Recs #36

Rules: You can find past weekly rec lists here, and non-list recs in my general fic rec tag. Also follow @maychorianrecs for individually tagged posts, the easier to search and reblog. This is stuff I like, and I have a huge bias toward Lance, hurt/comfort, and general fluff, in that order. Gen unless otherwise noted. Please comment on the fics if you read and enjoy them!

The Hunter from the Hill by valkyriered Words: 5,741 (3/?) Author’s Summary: Post-series, the Holts welcome Shiro into their home. A series of ficlets crossposted from tumblr. Not necessarily in chronological order– posted in the order they were written. My Comments: Warning for heavy angst, depression, PTSD, and various anxiety responses to trauma. This is realistic and very well-written, but mind the tags. I love the idea of the Holts taking in Shiro post-series and caring for him, but everyone is having a very rough time. The fic is technically complete, as each chapter is its own story, but the author is leaving it open to add more in the future. I adore these aftermath stories. Exactly the kind of stuff I want to read.

Space Hell by firesfly Words: 5,008 Author’s Summary: “I wonder if there’s such thing as space-hell,” Lance mused. “Like, the higher you go into space, the closer you are to hell.“ or. The paladins find Space Hell and it’s just as bad as it sounds. My Comments: Really interesting episode-like fic with the paladins fighting a horrible environment, plus some monsters. It’s up to Keith to save them all, and it’s a rough road.

Cookies, candles and some care by SerenePhenix Words: 3,603 Author’s Summary: It had to come full circle. That was the way things worked. That’s what made the world go round. Shiro’s just glad that Lance is there to help. -OR: After Lance it’s now everybody else’s turn to get the sniffles. My Comments: A follow-up to that modern AU sickfic where deathly ill pizza boy Lance stumbles onto the other paladins, who instantly take him under their wing. This time everyone else is sick and Lance is the best nurse ever. So sweet.

Dear Little One by SunshineAndRainbows Words: 3,986 (2/3) Author’s Summary: The paladins hadn’t been expecting to find the baby. Allura hadn’t been expecting their reaction to it. My Comments: The paladins with kids or babies is always adorable, and this one is particularly so. Very interesting worldbuilding here, too, more plot-oriented than most kidfics. I’m interested to see how it will shake out.

Perdu by SerenePhenix Words: 7,130 (1/3) Author’s Summary: He did everything they’d asked of him. He had fought a war that had not been his to begin with because it was the right thing to do, because at the end of it all stood the promise of returning to his family. He was done. He wanted home. What he did not expect was for a man obviously just as lonely as him to join him on the journey. A man willing to listen, willing to understand.So many possible realities and so many ways that it could go wrong. Or maybe just right. My Comments: Really interesting fic with Lance leaving Team Voltron after Shiro’s loss makes them all a little crazy, then running into Lotor and traveling with him without realizing that they’re supposed to be enemies. I’m not sure what’s coming next, and I am both nervous and excited. Really well done and heartachey.

Black by Any Other Color by mckinlily Words: 4,430 Author’s Summary: Team Voltron is in shambles. Lost and hurting in the wake of Shiro’s disappearance, they can hardly stand each other, let alone work together. And in the midst of this, Hunk finds Keith in the Black Lion’s hangar.Hunk learns something about Keith, leadership, and his role as the Yellow Paladin. My Comments: I love Hunk as the heart of the team, chasing down hurting teammates and doing his best to bring them in and show them some love. Keith desperately needs support here. They all do.

Takashi Shirogane Takes the World by EdgarAllenPoet Words: 4,384 (2/?) Author’s Summary: Shiro has seen more foster homes than he has years on Earth, but he’s certain that this one is the last. He’s fiesty, angry, and thinks he can handle anything. That’s until he meets his new foster parents, with their never ending patience and understanding; his foster brother, with his bizarre habits; and the ghost of a boy who lives in his room, who turns into his best friend. He’s not ready for anything, but especially not a new family. My Comments: Family AU in which the Holts take in Shiro and Keith, based The Great Gilly Hopkins. I haven’t seen or read that one, but already this AU is tugging at my heartstrings and making me eager for more. Great stuff, very well-written.

Allura and the Paladins by rebornlover Words: 3,096 Author’s Summary: The Paladins learn abit more about their commander and Hunk holds an Altean celebration My Comments: Really sweet fic with Hunk and Lance making an effort to understand Allura better, and then attempting to ease her and Coran’s grief for the loss of their civilization.

Advanced Maintenance by VelkynKarma Words: 1,392 (1/?) Author’s Summary: Maintaining an alien prosthetic limb can be difficult even with help from your friends. Fortunately, Shiro’s able to get a little extra assistance from a few unexpected places. My Comments: Poor Shiro, but I’m so glad the mice were there to help! Very cute and fluffy fic. And there will be more in the future! I’m looking forward to it.

Recoil/Release by Cheshyr Words:  20,696 Author’s Summary: When Keith is bitten by an alien creature with venom that causes your dominant emotions to be amplified, the team is ready for a day of dealing with an incredibly angry paladin.Which means they’re not ready at all for what actually happens. My Comments: Warning for implications of past child abuse. This is heartbreaking, but so well done. I loved the way everyone got a moment to interact with Keith while he was in a fear-driven state and try to help, even if it wasn’t quite successful in the end. They all just care so much.

Platonic VLD Week 2 - Double Drabble Collection by hufflepirate Words: 1400 Author’s Summary: 7 double drabbles from the second Platonic VLD Week.See chapter titles for basic details like which characters are in/the focus of each one.Prompts: Day 1: Restraint / Impulse Day 2: Traditions / New experiences Day 3: Tandem / Separation Day 4: Home / Exploration Day 5: Temporary / Constant Day 6: Fighting / Forgiveness Day 7: Free tropes day / Week 1 leftovers My Comments: Absolutely every single one of these is perfect in just 200 words. Hufflepirate writes very powerfully in a very small space. I think my favorite was the Coran one, but they’re all amazing.

Seventh Wheeling by Swump (Zelan) Words: 952 Author’s Summary:  So I see lots of fics where Lance refers to himself as a seventh wheel and I’m actually getting a bit tired of the phrase. So of course what better to do than write a prompt entirely centered around it. My Comments: Shiro does a really lovely job of reframing this issue for Lance and helping him see himself in a different light. Really sweet.

Accidents Happen by EdgarAllenPoet Words: 2,169 Author’s Summary: “ ‘He’s grown!’ Antok cheered, leaping to his feet as if his previously sore joints had been entirely renewed. He scooped Keith up effortly, one massive hand around his middle, and tossed him up into the air. Keith screamed. Antok laughed with glee. ” My Comments: Keith temporarily morphs to a Galra form, and Antok is DELIGHTED. It’s adorable.

Forgiveness by luoup (ravenic) Words: 1,698 Author’s Summary: Day 6 Prompt 2:  ForgivenessHow to be forgiven My Comments: Finding Matt isn’t as happy for Shiro as it should be, because he’s so worried about how Matt will react to what he did. Of course, Matt doesn’t see it that way.

Only Temporary by Revasnaslan Words: 1,241 Author’s Summary: Following Shiro’s disappearance, Allura finds it difficult to sleep… so she and the Black Lion have a chat. About as well as they can without having a bond.—Written for Shallura Week Day 6 (Black / White) My Comments: Lovely bonding moment. Allura deserves all the appreciation.

And The View Will Be Different Tomorrow by this_book_has_been_loved Words: 1,882 Author’s Summary: Pidge had an uncanny ability to find each and every nook and cranny and hiding place on the Castle. There were more secret rooms on this ship than even Allura and Coran probably knew of, and Lance was sure Pidge had discovered them all. - Pidge and Lance have a heart to heart and do some stargazing. My Comments: Absolutely precious. I love these two hanging out and bonding and sharing their grief about their families.

Dogs of Marmora by EdgarAllenPoet Words: 3,517 Author’s Summary: ’What is that thing and why is it in my castle?’ Allura asked. None of the paladins replied. Kolivan offered her a helpless shrug.‘It’s a dog.’ “ My Comments: The cutest, sweetest Dads of Marmora fic yet. The paladins explain to Kolivan why having a dog is a good thing, and then he gets to see it with his own eyes. Adorable.

A Space Birthday! by icycoldmoonprincess for gardenofmaris Words: 2,320 Author’s Summary: It’s just too good that one of my dearest friends and Lance share a birthday month….not to mention how much like Lance she is…..Happy Birthday, Mari! Hope you enjoy the fic :) (Since I gave you a birthday present super early, I just had to do something for today) My Comments: Super cute fic with everyone pitching in to give Lance a nice time. Very pleasant read.

The Peace of Order by Katerie Words: 1,402 Author’s Summary: Lance starts to see why Zarkon’s been allowed to rule for over 10,000 years. My Comments: Lance has an argument with an alien and realizes that some moral quandaries cannot be resolved. Really interesting to read.

Heroism Gets You Killed by teacupfulofbrains Words: 15,428 Author’s Summary: Five times Lance McClain recklessly risked his life to prove his worth to his teammates, and one time they showed him he had nothing to prove. My Comments: Maybe just a little over the top, but man, I really enjoyed this fic. Lance’s team loves him. A lot. It’s his own head that’s preventing him from seeing that. Klance is included, but the focus is on the team.

Accidents Happen by Swump (Zelan) Words: 3,198 Author’s Summary: don’t go on tumblr too much or you’ll write i&i fic for a show you’ve never seen Real Summary: Keith gets something in his eye and then he gets something worse in his eye. Whump ensues. My Comments: Poor Keith, but it was great to see everyone leap into action to help him.

Tasting Science by Anonymous for Longpig Words: 1,470 Author’s Summary: Coran discovers something while preparing a dinner for his new family. My Comments: Really cute fic with Coran enjoying a treat from Earth, then sharing it with everyone else.

trust fall by prophecy Words: 1,574 Author’s Summary: The story of how Allura got her earrings. My Comments: Love litte Allura being stubborn and nosy. Her relationship with Alfor was so lovely, too.

Treat by Eastofthemoon Words: 1,690 Author’s Summary: Keith takes Shiro grocery shopping. My Comments: This is from a really cute AU where pre-teen Keith ends up on the run through the universe with Shiro and the red lion. This installment is adorable, as usual. It’s sad that Keith has had to focus so hard on survival at such a young age, but it’s lovely to see Shiro spoil him.

It’s About You (it always has been) by Yellowtaffeta Words: 11,562 Author’s Summary: For thousands of turns the Prides have defended ARUS from the baleful eye of the dark star. It is now the ninth pass and the lion men have dwindled. Only Pride Garrison is left to face the coming sweep of the rouge planet. Not that anyone thinks the dark star more than a legend after such a long interval. But the Galra are coming. It is up to four newly impressed rookies and a Paladin with the wrong lion to face the coming disaster. Lions must fly when there’s Galra in the sky! My Comments: I’ve never read the series this AU is based on, but now I want to. The author does a good job of giving enough worldbuilding for the story to make sense, even while just throwing us straight into the middle of an extremely crazy and chaotic sceen. All of the paladins and their lions are very intriguing, and their interactions are well done. This feels like the start of a very epic adventure, and I would happily read more. The fic could definitely use a beta, though.

Quit Playing Games by BossToaster (ChaoticReactions) Words: 3,116 Author’s Summary: Lance makes a deck of Uno cards. It goes as well as expected. For Platonic Week 2.0 My Comments: This is one of the funniest fics I’ve read in the long time. The chaos and petty revenge of a Uno game is out in full force. It’s great to see the kids just having a good time together, for a certain value of good.

The Field of Blood by Genesister (papirini) Words: 4,607 (1/?) Author’s Summary: Takashi Shirogane is about to go on a journey to find himself. A journey where, supported by his friends, he learns a secret so shocking that it could potentially decide the fate of the universe - and, along the way, he comes to understand what it means to be a leader. What it means to be himself. Well. Provided the experience doesn’t kill him first. Or worse. The final part of the Helvicta Blues. My Comments: I’ve already recced the other stories in this series, but I would be remiss not to inform you of this one, too. The start is already so INTENSE, with all of the paladins captured by the Galra, under threat of death and torture, and then that first cliffhangar, hoo boy. I do recommend reading the other stories first, but this is so so good.

Bonding with the Princess by TheForeverGirl Words: 6,201 (3/?) Author’s Summary: Allura feels that she doesn’t know the Paladins as well as she should. Her solution? She bonds with each of the paladins My Comments: This fic could use a beta, but it’s really cute to see Allura deliberately taking the time to get to know her paladins one-on-one. Great characterization and lovely chats for each so far.

Previously Recced Fics That Updated:

Light on the Dark Side of Me (20546 words) The Machinations of Perception (30182 words) mostly void, partially stars (17349 words) Dislocation (19250 words)  -  now complete familiar (74649 words) As Color Fades Away (69760 words) The Ones Who Were Left Behind (22902 words) Lost Boys (9051 words) Truce (139049 words) Down Time (Don't Let Me Down) (11142 words) When You Reach Me (30133 words) Someplace Like Home (369075 words)  -  now complete cough syrup (7992 words) The Times They Remembered Pidge Was a Girl (11908 words) earth shaker (3263 words) Ten Days (16478 words)