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mapileonxputellas · 1 year

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Your Royal Highness (Mapi Leon x Reader)

Request can be found here x Not the biggest fan of how this turned out but here you go! Any Christmas requests still welcome! 2.5k words.

You didn’t like talking about your family. You were an open book about pretty much anything else but not that, everyone simply knew that you had two brothers who you had a strained relationship with and that your mother had died when you were only a baby.

In fact you never really had anyone special in your life until you met Mapi one fateful afternoon in Barcelona just under three years ago. You’d started off as just friends but the pandemic showed you how much she really meant to you and as soon as you could you made the move a year later.

Of course when Mapi had introduced you to everyone they were all suspicious, you had an amazing penthouse in the centre of Barcelona and always paid for any meals out having only just completed your medical degree. But you just assured them that you had the money for it and wanted to treat those you now considered your own friends.

When you found out your girlfriend as well as all your best friends had been selected for the Euro’s you decided to keep your attendance a surprise, simply sending them off with all your luck. Of course you had a plan in place, having booked your leave from work months in advance to have the chance to see them play live no matter where it was being held and the implications that could have for you.

Then Alexia’s injury happened and it took all your strength to keep this secret as Mapi cried over the phone to you. Something that you could count on your hands the number of times that had happened.

All of which concluded with you sat in a stadium in London, the first time you’d been back in the city for a very long time.

Just a few rows in front of you, you spotted the La Reina herself watching the teams warm up and you couldn’t help yourself in temporarily sitting down next to her.

“I’m so sorry Alexia.” You started off, her head quickly darting in your direction. “Mind if I keep you company?”

“I guess you’ll do.” Even the injury couldn’t stop one of your best friends teasing you. “I’m guessing this is a surprise.”

“Ding ding.”

“She’s going to be so happy to see you. She literally hasn’t stopped talking about you all week, going on to all the Madrid players about how her girlfriend is a doctor, plus how, in her words, ‘hot’ you are.”

“Well there’s no lies there….”

You could see the team were struggling having lost their captain, conceding in the first minute. But they were all warriors and the 4-1 victory was definitely what they deserved.

You always loved watching Maria play but seeing her on this stage almost made you emotional. She dedicated her whole life to football and no-one deserved this more than her in your eyes.

At the end of the game the players were slowly making their way around the pitch, speaking to the fans and you took your position next to the barrier.

The first to notice you was Claudia, who almost did a double take as she made her way over to you.

“Y/N?”

“Surprise.” You couldn’t help but pull the girl into a hug. “Congratulations on the win.”

“Thank you, Mapi didn’t mention you were here.”

“That’s because she doesn’t know yet.”

Slowly one by one the players came and greeted you, even sneaking in a cuddle with Irene’s son when they all gathered around you but the woman you most wanted to see was trailing at the back, trying to speak to all the fans she could possibly see.

As she got closer you could see she was in autopilot mode right now, the smile though it speared real you could tell was fake and the chat was muted. You kept quiet as she spoke to the family next to you but once she was finished and turned your way, the tears immediately sprung into both your eyes.

“You know I’ve flown all this way, can I not even get a hug for that?” You’d barely even finished asking the question before she gathered you in her arms. The barrier between you both long forgotten as she buried her head in your neck, arms tightly wrapped around your waist. “Well done today.”

What felt like hours was merely just a few minutes as you forgot about the world around you. “Why didn’t you tell me you were here?” She pulled away but kept her arms wrapped around you, connecting your lips before you could reply, a kiss filled with emotion and love.

“I wanted to surprise you. You really thought I was going to stay at home when I could be watching you here.”

“I thought you were working.” She admitted.

“I booked this off months ago, I knew you would be here.” You assured her. “How are you feeling?”

“Things are just so tense right now, I feel like everything is just falling apart around us.” You’d been here sounding board these past few years when it came to the national team, you knew how much she loved playing for the team but you also knew how hard the federation were being on the players. “Plus Alexia is heartbroken.”

“All you need to remember now is just to control your own game.” You assured her, grasping her chin so she wouldn’t break the eye contact. “You can’t fix the problems around you, just be your amazing self and you’ll know you gave it your all.”

“When can I see you again?” She asked noticing the stewards starting to clear the area as the players began to say goodbye to their families around you.

“I’m here as long as you are, I’ll be at the games and if you’ve got any spare time just let me know.”

“I love you so much.”

“I love you too.”

Irene sent you a message when you got home that night, thanking you for the surprise and that all the girls could see an improvement in Mapi’s mood from just seeing you. Just when you thought you’d somehow gone under the radar that evening you got a message.

W: Let me know when you’re free, I think we need to catch up little sister x

…..

It wasn’t until after the group stage had finished that you could see Mapi for more than five minutes after a match. Thankfully their wins against Denmark and Finland were enough to secure them second in the group but that meant facing England, the hosts, in the quarter final.

The last few days had also been pretty stressful for yourself, you knew that coming to England would be risky and stressful but you could never have envisioned the amount they would hound you. They had somehow managed to locate the hotel you were staying at and you could see from the day after the first match there was a high but discreet security presence around you. Of course that meant speaking to your family but you didn’t mention Mapi’s name wanting to tell her yourself. Which you knew would have to be done today.

“Can you speak any English?” Mapi asked as we sat in a boat going down the Thames, your treat for the date afternoon, her arm wrapped around my shoulder as we gently drifted down the river, just the two of us and the worker.

“I wouldn’t say I’m fluent but I know quite a lot.”

“Could you ever see yourself living abroad? Like away from Barca?”

“Barca’s my home and you’re there.” You said. “I guess I’ve actually got something to tell you.”

“I knew you were distracted these past few days.” She said, moving slightly so her body was angled towards me. “What’s wrong?”

“I’ve been keeping a secret from you, well from everyone, and I don’t know what’s going to happen now so I need to tell you.”

“What secret?”

“I always told you that I had no family and whilst that is true in some ways, it’s a whole lot more complicated than what I’ve been telling you and everyone else.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” She tried to reassure you, noticing the anxiety building up in your mannerisms, gently holding your hand to stop the fidgeting.

“I moved to Barcelona when I was just five months old, I was shipped out here to be brought up by a bunch of maids and butlers. My mother had died a week earlier. My father and brothers would visit occasionally but that stopped when I was around ten years old. Since then I could count the number of times I’ve seen them on one hand.”

“So are you Spanish?”

“I now have a Spanish passport and I would consider myself Spanish but I’m actually English.”

“Shit. Have you spoken to your family since you got here?”

“That’s the thing, they’ve located me.”

“Located you?” Now there is where it gets difficult for you to explain.

“This is probably going to come as a big shock to you but my father is the Prince of Wales, my brothers are Prince William and Harry. My mother was, is, Princess Diana.”

“That’s why you have all that money?”

“They send me an allowance of sorts but I put that towards my bills and treat you all but the majority of it goes to charity. I don’t need that and I don’t really like to think that my life is built around their money when they didn’t even want me.”

“Why did they send you away like that?”

“My mother always wanted me to have a private life and then I think in the grief of everything they couldn’t cope with a baby and they shipped me away.”

“How do you feel about it all now?” She asked, gently gripping my head to rest on her shoulder.

“It’s weird because when they reached out to me it didn’t feel like I was going to meet my family. I met with them yesterday and I just didn’t feel anything. I have my family in Barcelona, in my friends, in you. I’ll always be sad for the family I could have had but I’m more than happy with the life I’ve made.”

“What’s going to happen now?”

“When I spoke to them they were keen to make an effort now but I guess we’ll just see, I personally hope the news never gets out. That’s why I wanted to tell you though, I want you to find out from me and I’ll tell the rest of the team as well.”

“They were the ones that missed out. You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met and I’m so lucky to have you in my life.”

“Wow is this Maria getting soppy?”

“Shut up. You know I hate that name as well.”

“Not when it’s me.” You were the only person she would allow to call her Maria, first it started off as a joke but it developed into your own little thing.

“Just to confirm who will you be supporting at the match now I know you have connections with the enemy?”

“Spain Maria, always.”

…..

That night Mapi managed to sneak you back into the team meal to see the players before the game in a few days’ time. Thankfully they had split off into smaller groups and this was just the friends that you had in the Spanish team from Barca.

“Where did you two go today?” Claudia asked as we sat down. “I’ve literally not seen you all day.”

“Aww did you miss us.” You teased. “I actually took her on a boat cruise down the Thames, just us two.”

“You little romantic.” Patri teased. “Turning all British to see the sights.”

“Yeah about that….” It felt like now was the right time to tell all your closest friends. “I’ve actually got something to tell you all.”

“You’re pregnant?” Claudia shouted.

“Shut up Pina.”

“You’re getting married?” Aitana added.

“No this is actually about me.” You felt Mapi grab your hand underneath the table, softly tracing patterns on the back of your palm. “I want to be honest with you all and since we’re in England a lot of things have happened. Since Mapi introduced me to you all, you’ve all been so welcoming and took me into your little family and I couldn’t be more grateful for you all.”

You took a sip of water just to calm the nerves, receiving a reassuring smile from Mapi.

“I know you hate that I spend my money on you but you really don’t need to worry about that because… well because I’m part of the British royal family.”

“What?”

“Shit.” Patri almost began to choke on her food but composed herself. “You’re going to need to explain this one a bit more.”

“So basically I was taken away to Barcelona as a child, I’ve grew up there since I was a baby but my father is Prince Charles.”

“Do we have to call you Princess Y/N now?” Irene teased, noticing your tense posture and bringing the conversation back down.

“Yeah Mapi you’re actually dating a real-life Princess.” Claudia added. “We’re all going to have to bow to you now.”

You couldn’t be more thankful to the way they just brushed over the news. You knew there would be more questions in the future but now maybe wasn’t the right place to ask them. “No bowing and no titles. You’re my family and as much as I might share a blood with those people they have nothing over you lot. Even though you’re all crazy and you drive me insane sometimes you’ve all given me a family that I could only dream of.”

“We all love you too.” Irene said. “Just as long as you keep our Mapi happy.”

“Always.”

“Did Mapi know?”

“I told her today, a lot’s happened since I got here and I just want to be honest with you all.”

“Wait!” Aitana almost shouted. “Does this mean you’re going to be supporting the enemy? We can’t have a traitor among us.”

“Don’t worry I’ll still be team Spain.”

“Good.”

Even if they didn’t win that match against Spain, falling short after an injury time winner, they still all did you proud. You made sure to remind Mapi of that as you shared a hug after the match, another barrier between you and fans all around you, yet it felt like you were the only two people in the World.

“You know England may have won today but you’ve got something they’ll never have.” You whispered in her ear.

“Oh yeah?”

“My heart.”

“I love you so much and no matter what happens with your family and everything, you’ll always have me. I couldn’t care less if you only had a euro to your name, you’re everything I want.”

“Mapi…”

“Maybe this could give you a new nickname as well, I think Princesa is quite fitting.”

“Stop…”

#mapi leon x reader #mapi leon imagine #woso imagines #woso imagine #woso x reader #barcelona femeni #espwnt #espwnt x reader

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everygame · 1 year

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Battle City (NES)

Developed/Published by: Namco Released: 9/9/1985 Completed: 20/11/2022 Completion: Beat all 35 unique levels. Version Played: Switch Online Trophies / Achievements: n/a

[Apologies for interrupting, but before we get to the article I’d like to mention that you can pre-order a copy of exp. 2600, my brand new zine, right now and get more of–and help support–writing like what you’re about to read.]

There are iconic NES games–Super Mario Bros. and that. And then there are iconic NES pirate cart games. Battle City is the latter.

I have a funny history with NES piracy, actually. As most people know, the NES wasn’t really a thing in the UK for most people (I certainly didn’t know anyone with one as a child) and by the time I reached the age where my family were spending more time in Malaysia, I was already an avowed PC gamer. So even though I have so many memories of department stores with rows of pirate carts and knock off Famicoms… I wasn’t interested at all, and instead filled my boots with copied floppies (seeking out the stalls with the best reproductions of manuals and that sort of thing.)

In some respects, I regret this–so much of the video game culture of South East Asia in the 90s seems to be lost forever (see tweets) and now all I really have is snatches of memories–usually a gaggle of kids crowded round a pirate cart version of Street Fighter II in a Jaya Jusco–but I also know that games like Battle City squandered the chance to get me lugging a Malaysian famiclone home with a couple of 150-in-1 carts.

Let’s remember here I’m not yet a teenager and I’ve just discovered the glory of things like Wolfenstein 3D’s vibrant ultraviolence and Indiana Jones and the Fate of Atlantis’ cinematic narrative. And while in Malaysia I’m putting the exchange-rate equivalent of pennies into big fancy sit down/ride cabinets of the likes of Suzuka 8 Hours or Rad Mobile. So when an uncle digs out a faimclone and a pirate cart and you boot it up to find you can play 30 versions of the dustiest-ass tank game for babies you’d ever seen…

(And what was the deal with every single pirate cart massively over-inflating the number of games anyway? Was anyone fooled when they selected “Fancy Excitebike” in the list and just got Excitebike again??? I have one of those snatches of memory of standing in a wee store with my dad, him saying “you can get another game for the house!” and me, unable to tell which cart offered any value at all–after all, 80 of the games would probably be the same ones on the cart we already had–going home empty handed! Empty handed! When do kids ever do that???)

Anyway. When I think of pirate carts, I think of Battle City. Maybe it isn’t iconic to everyone, maybe it’s only iconic to me because it was on the cart I had for one summer at least… but it’s such a pirate cart game that it almost feels weird to play it in an “official” way.

And I suppose, this many years later, it’s kind of weird that I put a bunch of time into it?

I’ll say this. It’s not surprising that at the time I gave it short shrift. It’s got horrible sound (a constant buzzing of engines) and feels extremely simplistic and limiting as you awkwardly move your tank around sans diagonals. It was, after all, based on a game from 1980 with a bit of a graphical touch-up–contemporary with the timeless Pac-Man, sure, but this ain’t Pac-Man. I’ll admit the tank movement feels better than I remember it (smooth, and perfect speed) but the game sort of doesn’t really feel like anything.

Look at it this way. The game has you as a tank trying to defend one poorly walled-in base, always at the bottom center of the screen, from being shot by enemy tanks. There’s some terrain, but it’s mostly brick walls that can be shot through. Enemies spawn from the same three spawn points at the top of the level, and there’s some variation between them (some fast tanks, some tanks that take a bunch of hits). None of the enemies have any real AI–they don’t seek you, or really seek the base, either. Sometimes there are power-ups; you can improve your gun to destroy steel walls; there’s an occasional smart bomb or time-stop which are must-grabs. Shoot 20 tanks to get to the next level.

It’s, you know… fine. It’s an alright game design. But when you actually sit down and play it, the game very quickly devolves into getting your tank as far up the screen as you can manage where you are able to shoot clearly to both the left and right boundaries without being shot from a tank spawning above, and then just… firing constantly left or right based on which side tanks are traveling down from most urgently.

There are a few levels where this is not simple to do (a total bastard of a level mostly with tree coverage, making tanks near-impossible to see) and you can’t consider this tactic a total slam dunk because if a tank does slip past, they’ll often destroy your base before you can get to them, leading to an instant game over (no matter how many lives you have!) which can be infuriating. But it’s not like there’s better tactics; on a level by level basis you’ll do your best to shoot your enemies straight paths to your base, so you kind of just have to accept the variance.

In the cold light of 2022, Battle City is… a half-hour or so of near-mindless blasting that you wish had any sort of twist, or spark, or even particularly interesting level design, to make it a charming bit of classic arcade action worth score attacking.

In the early 90s it’s a dusty-ass tank game for babies that is indirectly responsible for the total lack of preservation of south-east Asian game culture history. Probably.

Will I ever play it again? Nope but I’ve got 1991’s Tank Force waiting to be played which is a baffling (and obscure) sequel that’s maybe brilliant. I mean who knows.

Final Thought: One of the most annoying things about Battle City of course is when you’re shot from the side by a tank that’s turned on a dime before you could notice, and I have to admit I’d be interested to play this exact game but with real, slow-ass tank turning. Would it be better? Would it actually be even more annoying? I’m kind of imagining these situations where you watch your tank turn, watching another tank turn, thinking “oh god, I hope I get this shot off” like you’re actually in the tank, feeling it slowly spin around… [“That’s why tanks have turrets though. So they can shoot in different directions more quickly”--Ed.] Shut up!

Support Every Game I’ve Finished on ko-fi, either via a one-off donation (pay what you like) or by joining as a supporter at just $1 a month. Supporters receive an automatic 35% discount off physical zines, like exp. 2600, which you can order now.

#video games #games #gaming #battle city #nes #famicom #pirate cart #switch online #text #txt #review #namco #namcot

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indexcard · 5 months

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1, 2, 14, 19

1: "why can't there be love" - dee edwards

this is such a deep cut that it only exists digitally on a compilation of american soul & funk rarities. the song is from 1971 and there are a number of things you need to know: dee edwards had the most extraordinary voice; this song is short but perfectly formed; you may experience an emotion. spotify tells me i listened to it only 32 times - this doesn't seem high enough. i rarely do this, but with this song, there were days i'd listen to it like three times in a row. definitely my find of the year and i knew it'd be #1 lol

2: "am i still your baby" - zella day

i'm back beating my "zella day is underrated" drum!!! is this her best song ever? no it's not even the best song on the album! however it was NEW to me (the album came out in 2022 without me realising) and thus i got a lot of mileage out of it

14: "you're no good" - linda rondstadt

the plot twist in the second verse!!!!! the KEY CHANGE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! listen to this song or i'll be in your walls. that is all

19: "soft boys make the grade" - marlon williams

another 2022 album that i only really got around to this year. also not my fav track off the album (that would be the transcendent "thinking of nina"), but the lyrics in this one are killer. i don't listen to songs for their lyrics usually!! but every time i hear "could've wrote it all down in a letter, but here i am in your DMs" i go insane for some reason

#my amazing taste in music

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my-chaos-radio · 11 months

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youtube

Release: December 16, 1996

Lyrics:

Candlelight and soul forever

A dream of you and me together

Say you believe it, say you believe it

Free your mind of doubt and danger

Be for real, don't be a stranger

We can achieve it, we can achieve it

Come a little bit closer baby

Get it on, get it on

'Cause tonight is the night when two become one

I need some love like I've never needed love before (wanna make love to ya', baby)

I had a little love, now I'm back for more (wanna make love to ya', baby)

Set your spirit free

It's the only way to be

Silly games that you were playing

Empty words we both were saying

Let's work it out boy, let's work it out boy

Any deal that we endeavor

Boys and girls feel good together

Take it or leave it, take it or leave it

Are you as good as I remember, baby?

Get it on, get it on

'Cause tonight is the night when two become one

I need some love like I've never needed love before (wanna make love to ya', baby)

I had a little love, now I'm back for more (wanna make love to ya', baby)

Set your spirit free

It's the only way to be

Be a little bit wiser baby

Put it on, put it on

'Cause tonight is the night when two become one

Songwriter:

I need some love like I've never needed love before (wanna make love to ya', baby)

I had a little love, now I'm back for more (wanna make love to ya', baby)

I need some love like I've never needed love before (wanna make love to ya', baby)

I had a little love, now I'm back for more (wanna make love to ya', baby)

Set your spirit free

It's the only way to be

Richard Frederick Stannard / Melanie Chisholm / Geri Halliwell / Matthew Paul Rowbottom / Emma Lee Bunton / Victoria Caroline Beckham / Melanie Janine Brown

Songfacts:

"2 Become 1" is a song by the British girl group the Spice Girls. Written by the group members, together with Matt Rowe and Richard Stannard during the group's first professional songwriting session, it was produced by Rowe and Stannard for the group's debut album, Spice (1996). "2 Become 1" is an R&B-influenced pop and adult contemporary ballad that features instrumentation from a guitar, an electronic keyboard and string instruments. The lyrics are inspired by Hegel's theory of dialectics. Its Big TV!-directed music video, which features the group performing against time-lapse footage of Times Square in New York City, was completely shot against a blue screen at a studio in London. The backdrop was later superimposed.

Released as the group's third single on 16 December 1996, it was generally well received by music critics and was a commercial success. It topped the UK Singles Chart for three weeks, becoming the group's third consecutive chart-topper, their second million-selling single, and their first Christmas number-one single in the United Kingdom. In July 1997, the song was released in the United States, peaking at number four on the Billboard Hot 100, and receiving a gold certification by the Recording Industry Association of America (RIAA). It performed similarly internationally, peaking inside the top ten on the majority of the charts that it entered. The song was named "Song of the Year" at the 1998 ASCAP London Music Awards.

In December 1994, the Spice Girls persuaded their former managers—father-and-son team Bob and Chris Herbert—to set up a showcase in front of industry writers, producers and A&R men at the Nomis Studios in Shepherd's Bush, London. Producer Richard Stannard was originally at the studio to meet pop star Jason Donovan, but he ended up in the showcase after hearing Melanie Brown, as she went charging across the corridor. Stannard recalls:

"More than anything, they just made me laugh. I couldn't believe I'd walked into this situation. You didn't care if they were in time with the dance steps or whether one was overweight or one wasn't as good as the others. It was something more. It just made you feel happy. Like great pop records."

Stannard stayed after everyone had left the showcase to talk to the group. He then reported back to his songwriter partner Matt Rowe that he had found the pop group of their dreams. In January 1995, Chris Herbert booked the group's first professional songwriting session with the producers at the Strongroom in Curtain Road, East London. Rowe remember feeling similarly to Stannard when he first met the group, "I love them. Immediately. […] They were like no one I'd met before, really." The session was productive as the duo seemed to get along with the group; together they discussed the songwriting process and what they wanted to do with the record.[6] In her autobiography, Brown recalled that the duo instinctively understood their point of view and knew how to incorporate "the spirit of five loud girls into great pop music".

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zargsnake · 1 year

Photo

Through a Blackened Mirror

Chapter 4: The Brier

Word Count: 9833 Links: Chapter 1, Table of Contents

* * *

“Soon a brier hedge began to grow all around the castle, and it grew higher each year. Eventually, it surrounded and covered the entire castle, so that it was no longer visible. Not even the flag on the roof could be seen. The princess became known by the name Beautiful Sleeping Brier Rose, and a tale about her began circulating throughout the country. From time to time princes came and tried to break through the hedge and get to the castle. However, this was impossible because the thorns clung together tightly as though they had hands, and the young men got stuck there. Indeed, they could not pry themselves loose and died miserable deaths.”

-- “Brier Rose,” translated by Jack Snipes

* * *

Obi-Wan’s wandering thoughts are interrupted when his master joins him for breakfast. The Padawan looks up at him winningly, then frowns. “You are troubled, Master.”

“I sense a most curious disturbance in the Force,” Qui-Gon tells him. Obi-Wan pours him caf from a container on the table. “Thank you, Obi-Wan. I feel as though a great power has fallen into the grasp of the Dark Side.”

“The Dark Side?” The words are strange in Obi-Wan’s mouth.

“Yes.”

“But Master, the Sith are gone.”

“Padawan, the Dark Side is bigger than the Sith. Just as the Light Side is bigger than the Jedi. The Dark Side lives on, even as the Sith do not.”

He drinks his caf.

“... Pirates?” Obi-Wan guesses.

“Yes, partially. It lives on in many places. Far more than the Jedi like to think about. In fact, there are traces of it in almost every living heart.”

Obi-Wan makes a face of disgust and bewilderment. “If you say so, Master.”

Qui-Gon is as charmed as ever by his student. “Maybe not in yours.”

Obi-Wan smiles vainly. “I should hope not. But what are we to do about this?”

“Patience. I shall think more on this. Open your mind to it, too -- see if you can help me.”

“Yes, Master.” He is not sure how to obey, but he will.

* * *

34 Years in the Past

A kniilwasp -- red, shiny, fast, barely a centimeter long but, for its stings, one of the nastiest bugs that lives on Coruscant -- flies through one of the high windows of the auditorium, buzzes idly for a moment, then flies a hundred yards in a rapid, straight line, down to the youngest of the younglings gathered, and stings Mace Windu right on the cheek. And though the little boy is barely two, he does not scream. He gasps a little, and glares at the bug. If looks could kill, the bug would evaporate. They can’t, but Mace can. In a flash he grabs the bug from the air and crushes it between his tiny fingers.

Sheev sits hundreds of rows behind him in the Temple Patrons section, but his powerful 11-year-old eyes can see what happened. He is startled and angry at the baby’s skill, but at least that is preferable to being bored. He looks over thousands of heads to glare at the little one. It wasn’t easy to locate that kniilwasp and compel it toward the Jedi. For all the effort it took, he expected he would be able to sting at least three of the little bastards. At least now his target has narrowed. He stretches out his feelings toward the wasps’ nest again.

Ashla Auditorium seats seven thousand people, and nearly every seat is occupied today. The first two thousand seats are Jedi, an incredible number: most of the residents of the Temple next door, and hundreds more from around the galaxy.

Younglings and their supervisors sit in the very front; everyone is amazed at their good behavior. The few fussy ones are escorted away with such discretion that they are nearly invisible. Behind them, the Council sits in large chairs on their own dais. There are more empty chairs on the Council dais than anywhere else in the room.

Behind them, knights sit with their Padawans and special guests. Sheev ponders the variety of these lucky few. Some are the type he would expect: a princess from Heela, a praetor from Dinto, at least eight Senators and eleven Representatives. They must have befriended the Jedi sent to protect them, or worked with them on some affair of the state. The other guests take Sheev by surprise. A farmboy, barely scrubbed clean minutes before he arrived. An unranked soldier wearing a bulky, humming backpack which powers the barbaric droid arm she uses in place of her own severed limb. A bounty hunter in disguise. Sheev wonders if her Jedi companion is unaware of her true nature, or if she is aware, and this is all some noble attempt to reform her. How did such people as these get better seats than he did -- he, Sheev Palpatine, whose father donated six million credits to the Temple last year and sponsored three Padawans? It just isn’t fair.

The second kniilwasp reaches that black toddler again, but Mace grabs it from the air before it can sting him. Sheev curses under his breath and looks around for an easier target.

He sees the middle row of tweenage Jedi younglings, sitting very still, three or four of them squirming a little. He ought to be among them. He still remembers the day the knight came to his house to whisk him away. He was not quite three, and they had -- of course -- detected his Force sensitivity. But Sheev fooled them. He hid his powers completely, and even his super-senses, strong as they were, were completely unknowable to the knight. He had shushed the Force -- he had censured it, controlled it, forbid it from giving away their secret bond.

At such a young age, most people will adapt to anything, and most Jedi at that age feel compelled beyond their control to follow the knight who collects them. But not Sheev. He did not trust them, and he was not passive. He has kept his powers secret ever since. He wonders if they have stricken his name from their records, or at least forgotten about him. He hopes so.

Three people walk onto the stage to a round of warm applause. Two tall and handsome Jedi -- a bearded, black-haired Master and his youthful Padawan -- and an elderly Twi’lek woman. Though she walks gracefully and proudly, Sheev can tell that she is a vagrant. There is just something in her air. The Jedi obviously dug her off the streets. The three of them sit on plain black chairs on the stage, and the inferior two defer to the knight.

Dooku could project his voice without the use of a microphone, but in order not to frighten or confuse the non-Jedi in the audience, he uses the technology provided.

“Jedi, honored guests. Welcome to class.”

The crowd laughs.

“When my Padawan and I discovered Pearl Yazabi and witnessed firsthand the miracle of a real Oracle, I began to devise in my head a plan to gather all our younglings around to see her. What classroom would be big enough? How could I make room in all their schedules? Little did I know, young Jinn had something far more ambitious in mind.”

The crowd laughs again.

“As so often is the case, the wisdom of the student excelled that of the Master. And so, each and every one of you owes your presence here today to Qui-Gon Jinn.”

Qui-Gon bows his head, smiling, as seven thousand people applaud him.

“Pearl, my lady. How are you?”

“I am fine.”

Sheev supposes that the easy, nonplussed attitude of the Jedi on either side of her is infectious. It is not likely that she is naturally this calm. Dooku gestures at a thin rod suspended horizontally in front of them on stage. Three silver balls are balanced on the rod.

“Which of these balls will fall first?”

Pearl looks at the three balls carefully, and all the Force-sensitive younglings sit up at once -- including, far removed from the others, Sheev. They can all detect a certain crackling, humming frequency in the Force centered around this woman. When she speaks, her voice is layered with an uncountable number of other voices, though altogether they are no louder than a normal voice.

“𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕓𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕠𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕝𝕖𝕗𝕥 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕗𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕤𝕥.”

“I do hope it falls during the course of the lesson.”

“𝕀𝕥 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝.” Pearl smiles at him, and when she next speaks, her voice is back to that of one warbling woman. “Don’t worry.”

“Padawan. Speak of how we came to meet Pearl, and how her gift saved both our lives.”

In a soft, peaceful, proud voice that will, from this day on, become greatly sought-after but never again make such a public appearance, Qui-Gon expertly tells the assembled crowd the tale of their latest thrilling adventure. He explains that, as they were rescuing fifty miners from a collapsed tunnel on Kessel, Pearl’s guiding words helped them know who to follow, which direction to turn, and how, in a pivotal moment of terrifying trust, she advised Dooku to destroy a load bearing column which caused a chain reaction that created a narrow path out -- when it could have just as easily spelled doom for them all.

Sheev finds his third kniilwasp far more successful. He stings five middle-grade Jedi and two upper-graders, and he dares to approach the Council dais.

Master Yoda glances at the bug. It seems to blip out of existence.

Sheev holds his hand over his mouth in shock. His father looks at him sideways.

When Qui-Gon finishes his story, Dooku continues, “Of course, like all things in our mortal understanding of the Force -- and here is where the lesson begins, so: younglings, pay attention; honored guests, bear with us; and Padawans, ignore everything I say and do the opposite.”

The Jedi laugh harder at the joke than the non-Jedi.

“Like all things in our mortal understanding of the Force, Oracles are fallible. If the Force created a being who could answer any question, and know any fact about the future, their powers would create such an imbalance that evil would rush in to fill the gaps.

“For example, say an Oracle appeared in the realm of a king, and their prophecies saved many lives. But all kings have rivals, and one of them would inevitably grow jealous and steal the Oracle away for himself, which would lead to a war.

“Or say an Oracle knew a terrible truth about the future, but they were frightened to be the bearer of bad news, and so they lied, which is one of the greatest evils, since it always spirals into something worse.

“And therefore, the Force made it so that Oracles are imperfect, and everyone understands them to be imperfect. This imperfection lessens their desirability to the powerful, and it lessens the burden on their shoulders to always appease. If an Oracle recognizes that there is a chance that even their clearest prophecy is false, then they should have no shame in confessing it, and no desire to lie, no matter how terrible the prediction. The burden of proof is not on the Oracle themself, but on their interpreters. The burden falls on us, the Jedi.”

The crowd applauds, which takes Dooku off-guard. He looks at Qui-Gon with an expression that asks, “Am I rambling?” and Qui-Gon’s face assures him that he is doing fine.

And yet, when Dooku opens his mouth to continue on about the virtues of caution, Qui-Gon interrupts him.

“Pearl, who will be the most important person in the next fifty years?”

The whole audience is hushed.

“What do you mean by ‘important,’ son?” Pearl asks after a moment.

Qui-Gon barely thinks about it. “Who will influence the greatest number of people?”

Pearl looks down at her hands. This is one of those “big questions” that people always throw at her. Such questions often awaken a spring of -- something in her mind, something that isn’t really herself. When she is on her own, she avoids thinking about such things. Not only is it exhausting, but it is a little scary, even after all this time, to feel like something else is sharing your own body and mind with you.

But she knew this was coming. This is why these nice young men took her away from her hovel and gave her things to eat and wear. So she is grateful for her power, for making her worth their while.

The Force-sensitive children lean forward in sync again, as the Force grows hot and sparking around her and within the whole room. This time, even the Masters on the Council cannot hide their fascination.

“𝕀 𝕤𝕖𝕖 𝕒 𝕗𝕒𝕔𝕖, 𝕒 𝕗𝕒𝕔𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕚𝕤 𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕪𝕨𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖, 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕙𝕠𝕝𝕖 𝕘𝕒𝕝𝕒𝕩𝕪. ℍ𝕖 𝕨𝕒��𝕜𝕤 𝕠𝕟 𝕞𝕠𝕣𝕖 𝕘𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕, 𝕙𝕖 𝕗𝕝𝕚𝕖𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕞𝕠𝕣𝕖 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕣𝕤, 𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕠𝕦𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕤 𝕞𝕠𝕣𝕖 𝕡𝕖𝕠𝕡𝕝𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕟 𝕒𝕟𝕪𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕙𝕒𝕤, 𝕠𝕣 𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝. 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕓𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕥𝕙 𝕠𝕗 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕚𝕟𝕗𝕝𝕦𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖...𝕚𝕤 𝕚𝕞𝕡𝕠𝕤𝕤𝕚𝕓𝕝𝕖. ℍ𝕖 𝕚𝕤 𝕚𝕟 𝕒 𝕞𝕚𝕝𝕝𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝕡𝕝𝕒𝕔𝕖𝕤 𝕒𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕒𝕞𝕖 𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖...𝕋𝕨𝕠 𝕞𝕚𝕝𝕝𝕚𝕠𝕟...𝕋𝕖𝕟 𝕞𝕚𝕝𝕝𝕚𝕠𝕟.”

“How can this be?” asks Dooku.

“𝕀𝕥 𝕚𝕤. 𝔸𝕟𝕕...𝕙𝕖 𝕚𝕤...𝕒 𝕜𝕚𝕝𝕝𝕖𝕣.”

The children gasp, as do many of the non-Jedi in the back, though the knights and Padawans remain calm.

“𝔸𝕟𝕕 𝕪𝕖𝕥...𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕟𝕠𝕥 𝕗𝕖𝕒𝕣 𝕙𝕚𝕞. 𝕄𝕠𝕤𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕟𝕠𝕥, 𝕒𝕟𝕪𝕨𝕒𝕪.”

“What sort of nature is he?”

“ℍ𝕖 𝕚𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕒 𝕘𝕠𝕠𝕕 𝕟𝕒𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕖.”

Qui-Gon smiles, quite satisfied, quite proud. His master looks at him carefully, and he could almost forget that there are seven thousand less important people in the room. He can practically see the cogs whirring in Qui-Gon’s head, riddling Pearl’s meaning, thinking of the best questions. He knows his prophecy-loving Padawan will probably never be this happy again. He lets Qui-Gon ask anything he wants. This day is for him.

“What planet does he hail from?”

Pearl looks down at her hands again. She feels that the moment of power is slipping away from her.

“ℍ𝕖 𝕙𝕒𝕚𝕝𝕤 𝕗𝕣𝕠𝕞...ℍ𝕖 𝕙𝕒𝕚𝕝𝕤 𝕗𝕣𝕠𝕞 𝕒 𝕡𝕝𝕒𝕟𝕖𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕕𝕠𝕖𝕤 𝕟𝕠𝕥 𝕖𝕩𝕚𝕤𝕥.”

Everyone says “Oooooooh,” and Qui-Gon raises his eyebrows. Dooku can barely hold in his laughter at how thoroughly enchanted his Padawan has become. If this woman told Qui-Gon to jump off the Temple’s highest tower, to abandon everything and live as a hermit, to join the Sith Order itself, the boy might very well obey her.

“Can you tell us his name?”

Pearl pauses, and when she speaks, many of the voices have faded away, though more than a dozen still remain, overwhelming her own soft, elderly speech.

“𝔹𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕠.”

“Bingo?!”

The audience bursts into laughter and applause. Dooku joins them. Qui-Gon gestures with his arms to shush everyone before her magic slips away completely. All the Force-sensitives in the audience can tell that she is growing physically weary of this vision, though her spirit remains excited to keep at it.

“Bingo what?”

Qui-Gon has not stopped smiling, even though the time is drawing to a close. His smile has just gotten sadder.

“𝔹𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕠...𝔽𝕠𝕠𝕥.”

“Bingo Foot.”

He starts to applaud, to graciously draw the prophecy to a close. Everyone joins in, including Dooku. Seven thousand people clap and cheer; one of the feistiest Padawans stands up in ovation, and her friends follow suit until the whole audience is on its feet. The thrill of the moment, the rapture of so many thousands, is enough to fill the hole in Qui-Gon’s heart that the end of the prophecy created.

“Incredible. Incredible.” Qui-Gon adjusts his mic and runs his hand through his hair, his heart beating madly, dizzyingly happy. He looks at Pearl and they lock eyes in a perfect moment of deep understanding. They are opposites in nearly every way, but their souls feel so close in the Force. They laugh again, easy, gentle. “I think, perhaps, your gift began to take its leave before you had quite finished.”

Pearl speaks with her own voice. “Oh yes. That always happens.”

“Bingo Foot. Well, I can only call the rest of the vision an absolute triumph. The Jedi shall ponder it with all our efforts. I hope we can figure it out before this mighty man appears.”

A group of mischievous eight-year-old Jedi start to sing, “Bingo Fooo-ot, Bingo Fooo-ot,” Their supervisor, a stern, young Jocasta Nu with long flowing hair and the prettiest robe in the Temple, shushes them with her librarian voice. Two entrepreneurial Muuns lean together, already plotting a new line of shoes called “Bingo Feet.” Astronomers on messaging devices bandy around the names of planets that could be defined as “not existing:” most likely, the prophecy refers to a planet that once existed but exists no longer, such as the recently evacuated Baorp, which will fall into a black hole within the next two years.

Sheev is flabbergasted.

What…absolute…shaakshit!

How can anyone take this seriously? Existing in ten million places at once? A killer who no one fears? A planet that doesn’t exist? Bingo Foot?! The ravings of an old madwoman!

If the Jedi had taken me in, would I be falling for it as they are? Would I be as stupid as they are?

Sheev examines Dooku, relieved to see a measure of sanity in this place. Despite his bland smile, Sheev can tell Dooku doesn’t believe a word of it.

“Do not be so hasty, my young Padawan. Yes, there is a certain thrill in ‘figuring it out’ before it comes to pass. But more often than not, that satisfaction is denied us. Instead, the fun comes from looking back on the past and seeing how the prophecies have already happened.”

“But, Master,” Qui-Gon asks, “what is point of that?”

Dooku chuckles. “What is the point of anything, Qui-Gon? Sometimes all we are here for is to delight in the gifts that the Force has given us. Joy is the way of the Light Side of the Force. Never forget that.”

There is somewhat unenthusiastic applause, but Qui-Gon looks happy with the answer, and that’s all that matters.

“You were wise to begin your questioning with a timeframe. In fifty years time, you and I shall look back on the decades together, and discover the meaning of these words, and feel very clever with ourselves.”

Qui-Gon’s high-strung heart melts at his master’s words. What a wonderful thing to imagine.

“I want nothing more, Master.”

Dooku feels the eyes of the Council on him, judging him for how fiercely he cares for his Padawan. Their judgment makes him angry. If they hadn’t wanted him to form attachments, they shouldn’t have given him such a wonderful pupil, so close to him in age and sentiment.

Pearl speaks up, “Speak for yourselves, whippersnappers!”

The crowd laughs.

“But we owe this all to you, my lady!” Qui-Gon assures her. “We are eternally grateful.”

The crowd cheers the chivalrous Padawan.

Dooku continues, “Now, as I understand it, some of our younglings won a contest for a chance to ask the very best questions to our Oracle. Can the contest winners please line up on stage?”

Everyone coos as three cute little Jedi in their robes and short haircuts walk into the stage lights. The first young Jedi asks Pearl if there will ever be peace in the galaxy.

Pearl’s voices layer up again. “𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕚𝕤 𝕡𝕖𝕒𝕔𝕖 𝕣𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕟𝕠𝕨.”

“No there isn’t,” the child says, to more laughter.

“𝕐𝕖𝕤, 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕚𝕤.”

“Thank you, little one,” Dooku interjects. “The Oracle’s lesson here is to appreciate the peace that we do have, in the here and now. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master.” The first little one hands the mic to the second.

“Oracle, wh–

Suddenly, the left ball on the rod loses balance and clatters to the ground, followed by the other two. Everyone cheers and applauds and there is a second standing ovation. Sheev wonders if someone pushed it. There are two thousand Force users here.

“Please continue, little one,” Dooku says encouragingly.

“Oracle, what is the best thing I can do with my life?”

Pearl’s voice is the half-layered one – not quite herself nor the other. “𝕀’𝕞 𝕒𝕗𝕣𝕒𝕚𝕕 𝕀 𝕕𝕠 𝕟𝕠𝕥 𝕜𝕟𝕠𝕨 𝕪𝕠𝕦, 𝕔𝕙𝕚𝕝𝕕.”

Dooku clarifies, “My lady, do you mean that prophecies work best if the Oracle is familiar with the subject?”

“𝕐𝕖𝕤, 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕞𝕒𝕜𝕖𝕤 𝕚𝕥 𝕖𝕒𝕤𝕚𝕖𝕣.”

“Do you think, with a short introduction, you could give our little one any prophetic advice, even if it is vague?”

“𝔾𝕚𝕧𝕖 𝕞𝕖 𝕒 𝕟𝕒𝕞𝕖 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕒 𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕥𝕝𝕖 𝕓𝕚𝕥 𝕞𝕠𝕣𝕖, 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕀 𝕒𝕞 𝕤𝕦𝕣𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕚𝕥.”

“What is your name, young one?” Dooku asks the child.

“Kitt Zertel.”

“And what are you most proud of, Zertel?”

Kitt pauses, then lifts up her weapon. “My lightsaber. I made it last week.”

The Jedi applaud and cheer wildly. The non-Jedi follow suit less enthusiastically.

Pearl looks at the lightsaber. “...𝕐𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕤 𝕗𝕣𝕠𝕞 𝕟𝕠𝕨, 𝕒 𝕡𝕚𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕖 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕒𝕝 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕨𝕖𝕒𝕡𝕠𝕟.”

The crowd gasps.

“𝕃𝕖𝕥 𝕙𝕚𝕞. 𝕀𝕗 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕘𝕠 𝕒𝕗𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕚𝕥, 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕕𝕚𝕖.”

Everyone says “Oooooh!”

“𝕄𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕤𝕖𝕝𝕗 𝕒 𝕟𝕖𝕨 𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕚𝕟𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕒𝕕.”

Kitt trembles. “Thank you, Oracle.”

“And always consult with your Master before rushing off,” Dooku adds.

“Yes, Master.”

“Thank you, Zertel. A very good question.”

Kitt bows shyly and hands the mic to the third Jedi.

“How are you feeling, my lady?” Qui-Gon asks Pearl.

“I am a little tired.”

“Would you be able to make one more prophecy?”

“Yes.”

“Please don’t make it too difficult, little one,” Dooku requests.

The last little Jedi’s contest-winning question was, “On what day will the First Lady’s baby be born?” Everyone on Coruscant is abuzz with the happy news of their glamorous young Prime Minister’s expectancy. But as she holds the mic and looks at the Oracle, she can’t bring herself to ask what she is supposed to ask. She has felt awful all day, and it’s only gotten worse since she’s been in this room. She hasn’t been able to join in any of the applause or laughter. And maybe this wise woman can tell her why.

“Oracle, I have a terrible feeling.”

There are grumbles of confusion in the audience at this sad 11-year-old girl.

“I sense an awful, dark presence in this very room. I sensed it arrive on Coruscant this morning, and now I sense it, here.”

The grumbles rise in volume and fear.

“I’ve never felt anything so frightening. Can...can you sense it? Can anyone else sense it?”

Dooku reaches out to her; she walks to him and takes his hand. “My dear girl, I am sorry you are so troubled. I can’t sense anything of the sort. Padawan?” Qui-Gon shakes his head. “Masters?” Everyone looks at the Council on their chairs, but the Masters shake their heads. All of the assembled two thousand look among themselves, but no one speaks up.

Far above them, Sheev feels lightheaded. He realizes he’s been holding his breath, so he forces himself to breathe. He feels like ice is running down his neck. He should not have come; he is endangering the entire Sith plan by being so close to these Jedi.

Damn this girl! She thinks she is frightened NOW?!

Dooku looks at her kindly. “Most likely, this unfortunate feeling is merely a ghost passing through you. You may be sensing something in your own future. After all, all those with Force sensitivity have some grasp of the future, even if our understanding is of a different nature than an Oracle’s.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Be brave. These terrors happen to all of us. But that is why we live together. We are like a family, in one home.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Oracle, is there something to fear in this room?” Dooku asks, his hand casually resting on his lightsaber’s hilt.

Despite the master’s wise words, the people are on the verge of panic. Pearl sees the truth in her head, but she doesn’t want to cause a riot.

So she lies. But no one can tell. She still speaks in her layered, prophetic voice -- after all, she is still the final master of what comes out of her mouth.

“ℕ𝕠. 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕚𝕤 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕠 𝕗𝕖𝕒𝕣 𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖.”

The little girl breathes a sigh of relief and hugs Dooku’s neck. He pats her back awkwardly, much to his Padawan’s amusement. The people say, “awwww," and many of the non-Jedi feel grateful that don’t get visited by whatever it was that scared the little girl. The privileges enjoyed by the Jedi are enviable, but their tortures are certainly not.

Sheev memorizes the girl’s face and plots his revenge.

* * *

The Present

Ugh -- ughhhh -- uaaaggghh, that dreadful old feeling again -- now that she has tasted life-likeness again, the sweetness of colors, the rawness of real touch -- augh, ughh, ughhh -- this half-life seems more busted than it ever did before -- oh frrreeeuuugghh -- fuck him, fuck that stupid, weak little boy, fuck him with his fucking ham fists, his fumbling grasp -- he’s even worse at awakening her than he is at fucking her -- oh gaaauuggghgg, this is torture -- it feels like he’s gotten worse -- oh -- the difference between the two -- it is like night and day -- ughhh --

The world whimpers into focus, and the first thing she sees is his beautiful, focused face -- for some reason, she finds she can smell much better now -- is Maul improving? Or did Sidious’ superior job knock her sinuses back into focus? She smells the iron of his blood -- she sees his blood dripping on her holo, a little messier even than normal -- Sidious got all his own blood neatly in the slot -- or did Sidious manage to wake her without even a drop of blood? -- she makes a mental note to ask him the next time he wakes her -- he told her that would be in a week -- she wonders how many sessions with Maul she will have to sit through during that week -- if only he would ignore her, then the week would pass in but a moment for her in her holocron.

Maul opens his eyes. They are so lovely. She wishes she could see that glowing yellow without this flickering blue haze.

“It’s my snakewoman!” he says.

Despite her discomfort, Dreela can’t not smile at him. “It’s my monster bitch!”

Looking her up and down in happy confusion, Maul says, “You look -- you look different!”

“I... How?”

“I can’t put my finger on it. You look good! You must be getting better at focusing.”

“Heh.” She looks down. “Thank you.”

The sadness in her voice snaps his attention away from her appearance. “Are you alright?”

“Yes...I’m really happy.”

“Well prepare to get fucking delighted. I got you a present!” He gestures extravagantly at something about 5 feet long under a blanket embroidered with, to Dreela, familiar symbols.

She raises her eyebrows. “How am I gonna hold onto something like that?”

“You’ll more than hold it.”

He lifts the blanket. A cloud of glowing green light dissipates into the air.

While her eyes are dazzled, she hears the familiar sound of belzbugs chirping. Between the bugs and the symbols, she realizes they must be on Iridonia, her favorite planet, Sunke’s planet. They are outside, in an unfamiliar petrified forest. It is the darkest hour of night, especially dark under the planet’s black clouds, even with its two moons of blood-red and deep yellow. A campfire crackles beside them, though she cannot feel its warmth.

As the green light swirls away, she sees the small body of a girl. It isn’t living nor dead; it was carved from the rainbow stone of the petrified trees, with priceless jewels for eyes, and horns for claws--

“You’ll live it. It’s a body I made for you. I’ve learned how to put you in it.”

Dreela’s horrified expression makes Maul a little nervous. He holds up his hands.

“Look.”

He turns and grabs some yowling thing from the ground. It is a large, spiny rodent, a rope tied from its neck to a tree. With his other claw, Maul picks up a branch which has been crudely shaped into a four-legged beast about twice the size of the rodent.

He sits and holds them both on his lap and chants words in a language she has never heard, not even when she lived at the seat of the Empire. Glowing green smoke pours from his eyeballs. The rodent yips and hisses in confusion, then becomes rigid. Simultaneously, the carved branch shivers, and Dreela hears it start to make sounds instead. Its yips sound like they are passing through several feet of water, but they become clearer and clearer, and its little feet start to wriggle –

Maul unties the rope from the neck of the rodent and ties it instead onto the branch, which squirms and howls, aping its former self, its true self. He tosses the still body of the rodent aside, smiles up at her and holds the wiggling wooden beast in both hands. Its plaintive cry sounds -- she must admit -- nearly like its former self -- nearly -- a little deeper, more gravelly.

“Look! I can do it!”

“Kill it!!! Kill it!!!”

“But -- just look!”

“Kill it, Maul!!”

There is nothing in her stomach, but she wants to throw up.

Maul frowns, cracks the creature in half and throws it to the side.

“It was only an animal, nothing to be scared of.”

“I’m not scared. I’m ... offended.”

“Offended?”

“This is witchcraft. This is heresy.”

“What!”

“Where did you learn this?”

“From books, from holos. It’s the stuff they do on Farilin, Nelvaania, Dathomir. I’ve even heard there are covens who do it on Aldera-- what is so -- why are you so upset?”

Dreela has flung her hands over her ears. “Stop it! This is not the Sith way! This is not the way of the Dark Side!”

“Why not?”

“These savages have never even heard of the Dark Side, or the Force, or anything. Ugh, get rid of that!”

She shields her eyes from the girl-body. Maul picks up the stone girl with a grunt and hides it behind a tree.

The bezlbugs’ tinny song fills the silence. He does not recognize their sounds, but she does.

Maul returns, glaring. “It’s still the fucking Force. I’m the one who’s done it. I know when I’m using the Force.”

“It’s false. It’s weak.”

“No. It’s different. And it can do a lot that the Sith can’t. They can be used together. They’re both fueled by our emotions.”

“You defile yourself.”

Maul points at her. “You need to get off your high horse and comprehend the reality of the situation.”

Dreela’s lizard-like eyes are very thin slits, in spite of the darkness. “I won’t sacrifice my pride in our ways, not for anything.”

Maul somersaults over to her and sits so close that their legs overlap. Such closeness would be impossible if she was corporeal. He uses the Force aligned with his hand to touch her hair, and she leans into his touch.

“You don’t have to sacrifice anything, Dreela, baby. It’s not tainted. It’s still the Force. You can still trust in it, just the same.” He uses the Force, unaligned with his hand, to braid her hair. “All it is, is a different point of view. The Sith look at the sameness in all things. We use the connection between us all to rearrange things and sense what’s far. These witches instead look at identities. Names. What makes a creature different from everything else. We blur those distinctions by underst–”

“‘We?’”

“Yeah, why not? I used their magic. That makes me one of them.”

Dreela scoffs and leans away from his hand.

“The Dark Side isn’t enough to bring you back, Dreela.”

“The Dark Side has already saved me!”

Maul grimaces. “You call this saving? I have to drain an arm every time I want to make you real. And then you can’t even touch things with your hands.”

Dreela invisibly smacks him with the Force. “Get that insolent scowl off your face. Don’t you dare insult my master.”

“I’m not insulting your master! I’m grateful to him. I’m just saying, he could’ve made this easier on both of us.”

Dreela throws him back, away from her. The braid he had been weaving starts to become undone. “Don’t speak of what you don’t understand.”

Maul sits up. “I don’t understand? I’m the one who’s done the extracurriculars.”

“Extracurriculars?! You mean blasphemy!”

“But it works!”

“Blasphemy, here, on Iridonia itself!”

She uses the Force to lift the blanket and points at the symbols upon it.

“That first symbol! ‘Unity!’ Unity in the Force! That second symbol! ‘Dominance!’ Dominance by one way of thinking, the Sith Empire! You can’t allow inferior peoples even an inch of their unnatural, corrupted rituals! ‘Allegiance!’ Allegiance to the Sith, to the Dark Side!”

“The Empire is dead! Your ancient ways were the weak ones. Why not reforge ourselves with an alloy of stronger metals?”

“Don’t fucking get literary with me, you ignorant slave!” She throws the blanket onto the fire.

“What did you do that for?”

“You corrupted it by touching it with your savage, foreign magic. Perhaps the fire can purify it.”

“‘Purify,’ sure, that’s one word for it.” He glares at the curling, blackening fabric. “That’s pretty rich to hear you pay such heed to Iridonia. One of us is a Zabrak, and it’s not you.”

Dreela says, after a cruel pause, “You may have the horns, but inside, you don’t have a drop of Zabrakian blood.”

Maul sets his jaw stiffly, and she continues.

“I see your heart. You don’t even care. Your own species means nothing to you. Calling you un-Zabrakian doesn’t even hurt you.”

“Why should it? Why do you care so much? I told you: the Force told me that I wasn’t even born here. Zabraks live all over the galaxy. Colonies, neighborhoods, families, individuals. We don’t all think the same. There are Zabraks in the Jedi Order.”

“No!”

“Yes! We’re people, not symbols.”

“Those Jedi Zabraks are a disgrace. They should be wiped out.”

“All the Jedi should be wiped out.”

Dreela is also staring at the burning blanket. “You said your ‘witch magic’ uses identities. How can you claim that? You have no identity as a Zabrak, nor as a Sith. And you have no name.”

“I have ‘Maul.’ I believe in that.”

“Yes. You do.”

An infinite number of voices layer on top of her own.

“𝕐𝕠𝕦 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕝𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕪𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘: 𝕟𝕠𝕥 𝕠𝕟𝕔𝕖, 𝕟𝕠𝕥 𝕥𝕨𝕚𝕔𝕖, 𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕖𝕖 𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖𝕤. 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕤𝕥 𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖 𝕓𝕪 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕖𝕟𝕖𝕞𝕪’𝕤 𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕕. 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕖𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖 𝕓𝕪 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪’𝕤 𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕕. 𝔸𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕣𝕕 𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖 𝕓𝕪 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕠𝕨𝕟 𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕕. 𝔹𝕦𝕥 𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕪 𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖, 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕜𝕖𝕖𝕡 ‘𝕄𝕒𝕦𝕝.’ 𝔸 𝕟𝕒𝕞𝕖 𝕡𝕦𝕥 𝕠𝕟 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕓𝕪 𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕨𝕙𝕠 𝕙𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕤 𝕪𝕠𝕦. 𝔼𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕪 𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖, ‘𝕄𝕒𝕦𝕝’ 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕓𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕠𝕟𝕝𝕪 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕥, 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕠𝕟𝕝𝕪 𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕙𝕠𝕝𝕕, 𝕒𝕤 𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕪𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕖𝕝𝕤𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕔𝕒𝕣𝕖 𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕗𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕤 𝕗𝕣𝕠𝕞 𝕪𝕠𝕦. 𝕐𝕠𝕦 𝕔𝕝𝕒𝕚𝕞 ‘𝕄𝕒𝕦𝕝.’ 𝔸𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕤𝕙𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕓𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕠𝕟𝕝𝕪 𝕥𝕣𝕚𝕦𝕞𝕡𝕙.”

Maul feels goosebumps down his arms and neck, acid sizzling in his stomach up his esophagus as if to make him vomit. He swallows it down. His voice is one of sorrow.

“Why do you curse me, Dreela?”

Zaster’s heart breaks. Her voice is immediately her own. “It’s not a curse. It’s a prophecy.”

“How do you know?”

Zaster can’t answer. They sit in silence for a long minute.

“He does hate me, doesn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“He hates my body. My earliest memory is of Sidious yanking a horn from within my skull. This one.” He pokes his back left horn. “It was growing slower than the others. It was barely a toothpick, even though I was already four years old. He compelled the rest of it out.”

“This is not the Sith Order I knew,” Zaster tells him, miserably.

“But he keeps it professional. I am what he has. I will inherit his empire, me. Even though he has a biological son and daughter. I am his true son in the Force.”

Tears fall from Zaster’s eyes. A deep growl escapes from Maul’s mouth, then a rushing fountain of words.

“‘Maul.’ ‘Maul’ is not a triumph! You took my words and twisted them. I believe in ‘Maul.’ But you were right the first time. I do have a true name like your Dreela. I have only forgotten it. And what you said in your curse is right too. ‘Maul’ did come from someone who hates me. I won’t... Augh, your curse is pure, pathetic shit. ‘Maul’ isn’t a triumph! It’s a -- it’s a tool. A tool I can use in witch magic. I will have such triumphs. I will be the Sith Emperor.”

“One of us is an Oracle, and it isn’t you.”

“What, do you really believe in that shit?”

“I didn’t before... But now... I think I do.”

“What happened?”

Zaster looks down at her blue fizzling holo-body and shrugs. “I can’t tell you.”

Why is she so fucking sad today? Maul thinks.

“Well, I don’t believe in it. Look, you know what it says on your holo? You know what I have to chant to wake you?” He picks it up and reads it. “‘Oracle, live, Oracle, rise, Oracle, give me your gift, prophesize once more –’” He laughs. “As if that is what mattered about you!”

“Prophecies are valuable.”

Maul pokes his chest with his thumb. “Not to little old lonesome me! I wanted you for two years! You! Not your curses!”

Zaster looks at him blankly. “I know why you have so much trouble waking me up. It’s because you don’t believe in those words. You don’t think I’m an Oracle. You don’t even think I’m Zaster. You think I’m just Dreela.”

“Pah! Of course I know you’re Zaster, the Sith of legend. I love that! And I know you’re an Oracle. I just don’t give a shit.”

“I’m more than just your good little friend. I’m very powerful.”

“I know that! I want to make you more powerful! You’re shackled. I want to free you!”

Her tearful, blank expression unnerves him. He stands and walks around the tree, picks up the stone girl-body and lugs it over to her. “Won’t you even look at it? I’ve spent our entire stay on Iridonia making it. Whenever I had a free moment. Over a month. Time I would normally spend with you, or trying to wake you -- sometimes failing -- instead I spent making this and learning how to put you in it.”

“You spent a whole month on this proud Sith planet ... the planet where your people evolved from fish ... and you could have been traveling your ancestral land, befriending your brothers and sisters, learning your own culture ... and instead you spent it…” She speaks in a furious whisper, “practicing witchcraft?!”

“Yes.”

“I hope when you die you pass straight into the Light Side of the Force.”

Maul winces. “Can you quit being a miserable, petty bitch for one second and just look at it? Just consider?”

Zaster looks at it.

“Don’t you like her?”

“You are a master of beauty. But she isn’t me.”

“She could be.”

“I want my body.”

“Dreela, that’s impossible. Your body exists, somewhere. It’s a puddle of goop and dust at best.”

“It is possible for a true Sith master.”

“It is?” He sits close in front of her again. “How?”

“Neither of us are knights. We are both merely pupils. Our knowledge is limited. Ask your master.”

“I shall think of some ... hypothetical ... scenario…”

“No. Just tell him about me. There is no point in keeping me a secret.”

“Dreela, that’s dangerous. He could destroy you. He is not a true Sith. You said so yourself. He is selfish and he abuses our traditions.”

“Ask his master, then.”

Maul laughs. “He doesn’t know I exist! He would destroy me.”

“You aren’t good enough to save me.” She crosses her arms. “Turn off the holo. Send me to sleep.”

“Dreela!”

“I don’t want to look at you.”

“There’s a human saying on Naboo: ‘Don’t go to bed angry.’ And you can’t even sleep it off. You’ll be just as angry the next time I wake you up.”

“But maybe you’ll be a little less insane.”

“I will find a way to ask him withou–”

Zaster stands and starts to walk away.

“Wait!” He picks up the holo. “Don’t walk too far from the projector! It could lose your information!”

“Then turn it off!” She keeps walking.

Maul turns off the holo projector and stares at where she was. He puts the girl-body tenderly in the tree hollow where he’s been hiding it. He stamps out the fire and goes home to the Temple.

* * *

11 Years in the Future

The Council had sent the pair of them on a mission to Iridonia to see if they could learn anything about the Zabrak who killed Qui-Gon six years ago. No one even knows the Zabrak’s name. Anakin had wondered what this “research-y” mission had to do with defending peace and order in the galaxy; Obi-Wan had known that the Council’s true object was to give the fifteen-year-old his first taste of the Sith.

They should have sent them to do this long ago, but they wanted to wait until Anakin was no longer a child, or at least, until most of childishness was gone. But Obi-Wan knows, even if the Council and Anakin himself do not, how young his Padawan really is, how deeply foolish, how essentially innocent. Despite years of strict diet, vigorous discipline, none of the separation between school and life that other children have, no distinction between teacher and caretaker -- despite the sometimes-brutality and the sometimes-joylessness of Jedi life, and despite his uniquely sudden plunge into it, from a life that was also harrowing -- in different ways, much more harrowing -- despite all these attacks on his immaturity, no force in this galaxy is strong enough to take childishness from a 15-year-old: the wonders and the terrors of being so little, and self-absorbed, and silly, and needy, and angry, and wrong.

Iridonia, nowadays, is a nice planet with a lovely culture, even if it can look a little scary to squeamish Coruscanti who don’t expect such loud music and vivid colors, such celebration of death and brawn. Jedi feel a particular whiplash against the look of everything, since their world is one of gray and brown and bright electric lights, hemmed in by a big, flashy, surly city. Iridonia uses fewer lights since Zabraks see better in the darkness than humans; the aliens can see fewer colors than human eyes, however, so their art and decoration bump up the saturation and contrast. But once Jedi get used to the eye-strain, they can relate to the deeper cultural stuff, like the Iridonian tendency toward aggression -- throwing oneself into a fight when provoked or even just for fun, confident that no matter how you are thrown around and knocked about, you will come out alright. Nice, lovely planet.

Iridonia used to be one of the strongholds of the Sith empire, and there are still traces of that history everywhere, even though it was so long ago and they are a loyal if somewhat unenthusiastic part of the Republic now. Obi-Wan and Anakin had found no leads in the cities -- they couldn’t even find any other red Zabraks -- so they turned to the wilds and the country, and their adventures and meditations brought them finally to the Sith Temple.

It wasn’t until they had crossed the threshold that Obi-Wan realized that the fear -- and the terrible sadness -- that he felt was not Anakin’s, but his own. And then he had wanted to rip an apology from the walls of the Temple for everything that the Sith had done to him, and for making him so frightened, six years later and in front of his Padawan. But Anakin had sensed nothing of Obi-Wan’s fear; he was just happy they had finally made some progress.

The Sith Temple had been just as scary and confusing and frustrating as Obi-Wan had expected. There were many weird rooms, devoted to sins and evil deeds and desires, and many impossible to open doors. Obi-Wan had only allowed them to stay inside for two hours at a maximum; often, just as Anakin thought he was on to something, Obi-Wan would drag him by his hood and insist they make themselves scarce for rest and snacks outside. Anakin had no perception of how deeply and insidiously the Dark Side dwelled in these rooms and tried to touch their noble hearts. Well, maybe some perception -- but not as much as he should have had.

It all culminated in a room far too far into the Temple, in which Obi-Wan had distinctly detected the shadow of the man who had killed Qui-Gon. Their lightsabers had illuminated the silhouette of a person -- they had been startled -- but it was only a statue, a very pretty one of a short but grown-up girl, with two little horns on her head, horns for claws, and jewels for eyes. Obi-Wan had opened his mouth to insist they leave, but Anakin had approached her, as if compelled, and touched her, like the stupid kid he is -- and of course this set off a trap, and sent a great slab of rock to fall on top of Anakin -- and though Obi-Wan got him out in time, the rock had broken Anakin’s right arm. Obi-Wan had immediately declared the mission over.

With his arm in a cast and a sling, Anakin’s training has slowed. He insists that he can learn to write and battle with his left hand, but Obi-Wan can’t make heads or tails of those scribbles or do anything for that backwards fighting technique. There is little to do but sit around. To make it a little more tolerable and fun, Obi-Wan lets them sit on the roof, which is against the rules.

Anakin climbs out of the uppermost window of the tallest tower of the Temple. His master is already sitting on the ledge above. He takes Anakin’s left hand and helps him squirm up to the ledge. Anakin sits beside him and leans against the antennae. It is impossible to be any higher.

“Are you scared of the view?” says Obi-Wan.

“I’m a pilot, Master.”

“Pilots wear seatbelts.”

Anakin smirks. “Sometimes.”

“Oh, Anakin.”

They look out at the city. Ships fly at their eye level. They ignore the drivers but compare the vehicles. A practical family supertug. Clean, dull commuteroids. An extravagant rented morgueboat. A fun speeder with silky-smooth acceleration. A bad speeder with clunky, nearly unusable toggleshifts.

“That Model E needs a paint job,” says Anakin.

“I was just thinking that.”

A bloated, converted gunner with all the weapons torn off. A lovely little blue fleetling. Anakin imagines driving it with the roof rolled down, and Padme as copilot, her hair blowing back as they fly. Obi-Wan imagines buying it for Anakin. Three minutes of happy silence passes, until Obi-Wan breaks it.

“I was looking over Qui-Gon’s notes on the prophecy he linked to you.”

“Oh.”

Anakin feels like a rock has formed in his stomach.

“All this Sith business reminded me of it.”

“Right.”

Obi-Wan digs a holonotebook out of his pocket.

“I was under the impression that it was all made by that ancient Oracle Garinquutor.” He turns the notebook on and shows Anakin a menu with pages and pages of folders and tabs. “But apparently, according to Qui-Gon, it’s one of those prophecies that is a combination of the words of many Oracles. Garinquutor wasn’t even the first, nor the most loquacious.”

“Who was?”

“A simple question with a tricky answer. As everything concerned seems to be. Qui-Gon believed that the very first references were made over a million years ago by an Oracle, from what is now Scarif, whose name has been lost. They said what can be translated to, ‘One shall hold the sun aloft and end the night forever.’ However, the word for ‘one’ could also mean ‘two.’ And the word for ‘end’ could also mean ‘burn.’ And the whole thing could be referring to something else entirely. It is only Qui-Gon’s interpretation that these words should be placed first in the timeline, based on their use of ‘sun’ and ‘night,’ which would become motifs.”

“Okay.”

Anakin feels like he’s eating very healthy, raw, painfully tasteless vegetables.

Obi-Wan continues, “Qui-Gon jotted down his own notes to explain some of these ambiguities. The trouble is, his handwriting wasn’t nearly so perfect as yours or even as generally legible as mine.”

He holds the notebook between them.

“What do you think he meant here, above the ‘one/two’ ambiguity?”

Both Jedi hunch over the notebook, rapt, trying with all their might to decipher the lost master’s word.

“...‘Nerfer?’” Anakin suggests.

“Oh, that could be an ‘R,’ couldn’t it...?”

“Nerfer... Nerfs are often born as twins... Twins? Two for one?”

Obi-Wan, smiling, raises an eyebrow at him. “You think you have a lost twin somewhere?”

Anakin smiles back. “Who knows?”

“Who knows indeed.”

They concentrate on the scribble again.

“I don’t think that’s an ‘F,’ though,” Obi-Wan says.

“‘Needle’ ... ‘Need...R’...’Theed’… um... Maybe it’s an ‘H’, ‘Heed’… ‘Hope’…”

“... ‘Helper.’”

“Oh, it is ‘Helper!’ ‘Helper’ and a question mark,” says Anakin.

“Yes. A Chosen One and a helper.”

“And a question mark.”

“Correct.”

“When was the most recent part of the prophecy made?”

“The most modern part was made 500 years ago, here on Coruscant, by Master Yoda.”

“Master Yoda?!”

Obi-Wan nods. “That surprised me too. But I suppose when you live that long, you can live as many things, including an Oracle. He certainly has the wisdom and the strength with the Force.”

“What did he say?”

“He said, ‘He is the silver student who will separate once, separate twice, and then disarm.’”

“‘He is…’” Anakin bursts into laughter and points at his cast. “‘Dis-arm.’”

Obi-Wan laughs. “It’s coming true!”

“How am I ‘silver?’”

“I don’t know. I feel like gems and metals always symbolize something unexpected in these sorts of things.”

“Yeah, I get that impression too.”

“Qui-Gon wrote ‘old,’ ‘rich,’ and ‘second-best’ above ‘silver.’”

“Hmmm, nope, nope, and nope.”

Anakin thinks, I have already separated once.

“I know. Qui-Gon included it because Yoda told him to.”

“Why did Yoda tell him that?”

“Because Yoda included it 500 years ago. He felt it was part of the greater whole.”

“He can’t tell us why? -- Or what it means?”

“If he ever knew, he wouldn’t remember now.”

“He wouldn’t remem... But he was there! It was his own words!”

“Anakin, do you remember a dream you had even three years ago?”

“But this is more than a dream!”

“Is it?”

Anakin is stunned into silence. He looks away from the holonotebook and blinks at the brightness of the city view.

“Do you believe, Master?”

Obi-Wan also looks away from the notebook, also taken aback by the lights gleaming off the ships.

“It is not useful for me to believe. It is a distraction… To me, Anakin, you are only an ordinary boy.”

“Can you put that prophecy away, then?”

“Yes.” He turns it off and puts it back in his pocket. “I keep it in my room, if you ever want to read it.”

Anakin looks down out of a habit of bashfulness -- but he looks back up quickly, since the view looking down is scary.

“Thank you, Master. I know I should.”

Obi-Wan knows, if Qui-Gon were here, he would start talking about “self-fulfilling prophecies” and “inevitability,” but those words feel sour and false in his own mouth. All he really wants is to give Anakin this measure of control over his own life and decisions. He wants him to listen to his own heart.

“If you do not want to, you do not have to.”

“Thank you.”

Those words feel strange, but wonderful, coming from his teacher.

* * *

The Present

Zaster feels the black water lapping her skin. She splashes her face, curls up and plunges her head underwater. She stretches out to a comfy position in this enormous bath carved from zakrite, a precious purple mineral. She reaches for her itching shoulder and scratches a fold in her old skin. It tears perfectly. She could cry with happiness.

She tears it across, then rolls it down; the old skin detaches from each scale, tugging it up a little as she goes. She moans in satisfaction. She sheds the whole skin off her arm and holds it up; it looks like a translucent, inside-out glove. She tosses it onto the surface of the hot bathwater, and the bubbling currents carry it away from the holoprojector’s photon beams. When it floats out of range, it disappears, and the holoprojector loses its data. The old skin blips out of existence. Good -- she has new skin -- better, brighter, raw, and all because of the man sitting there, in her master’s chair.

“This is it, exactly,” she says.

“I told you. Anything you want,” says Sidious.

“How can you do this?”

Sidious shrugs. “I do not have much of a frame of reference. I far exceed my master. But I do not know how great I am in comparison to other Sith.”

Zaster shakes her head in amazement. “The wisest Sith of my time doubted my master’s plan. You have fulfilled it to perfection. I feel exactly as if I were still alive... I don’t even have to strain with the Force, as I do when I play with Maul.”

“My dear, I am sure that strain reflects only on Maul. Your capacity with the Force is far greater than his. I sense ... that the success of your projection, when you are with me, cannot be attributed solely to myself, as much as I would like to claim the credit. It is the strength of the bond between us that manifests you so well.”

Zaster sits up, reaches for him, and touches his knee. Touching is so easy now. “Take off your clothes and join me.”

Sidious chortles. “I am sorry, my dear, but I do not have to do with aliens, on principle.”

Zaster runs her hand down his calf, blows bubbles into the water, splashes her face again and starts to peel the old skin off her other arm.

“But Maul told me you have a halfbreed bastard.”

“Ah, well, principles are for Jedi.”

“I’ll fuck anyone. I fucked Jedi. I fucked my master.”

“Now there must have been a rule against that.”

“Oh, everybody broke that rule! We were crazy for our masters.”

She tosses the shed skin from her other arm away. She peels the old skin off her face; it comes off in one satisfying piece. She throws it to him and he idly folds it up in an origami crane.

She continues, “I have one principle, in regards to sex: no halfbreeds. Nothing against your bastard specifically, Master.”

“Call me ‘my lord.’”

“My lord. Nothing against him; I’m sure he’s a lovely person. But like with like, you know? It’s criminal to dilute good species with bad ones.”

“Lucky, then, that my student’s sexual aberration has kept him off of your lovely self.”

Zaster stops dead.

“What?”

“Ohhh... dear, dear, dear... You’ve coupled with the beast?”

“But Maul is a Zabrak.”

“His father was a Zabrak. At least, mostly. The strongest in his village. His mother made all the men slaughter each other in a tournament for her. He won and became her plaything. She was a Dathomiran. A ‘Nightsisters.’ A witch.”

Zaster stares at him, agape. “But Maul looks a perfect specimen.”

“Do not trust your eyes, Dreela. Zabrakian genetics overwhelm the weaker Dathomiran ones, but only in appearance. You know his heart. He has already shown you, has he not, his barbarian ways? He doesn’t even know. It is just natural to him.”

Zaster visibly shudders. She feels goosebumps, sensitive on her new skin and itchy where her old skin still remains.

“Disgusting.”

“Come now, be fair, Dreela. It isn’t his fault.”

Zaster takes a huffy breath.

“You’re right.”

She sinks all the way into the water for a few moments, to clear her head and purify a little more. She tears the scales off her legs impatiently; she tears the scales off her middle, all up to her neck. Flakes of scales and skin float away from her and vanish into oblivion. She sits up in the water and looks at him.

“Can I get you anything else, Oracle?”

“I’m terrible at accepting gifts. Just -- come here. Come here.”

She waves him over. He rises from the chair and kneels in front of the bath. She holds the back of his head and kisses him tenderly, in thanks for what he has done for her. She draws a line across his cheek with her wet finger and sees the water clinging to his face. She did that, with her living finger. She kisses him deeply and passionately. She can feel him perfectly, his lips and teeth -- it took two thousand years, but here is a Sith, worthy enough -- she can feel it, the prophecy bubbling inside her -- no, not yet, she wants to make it really good, she wants as much information as she can, and she wants to make him wait for it -- she suppresses the prophecy like suppressing anger, so that he won’t detect the Force working around her.

“But ... if you can ... a real body ... no projection ... a real body of scale and blood, my body, as it should be.”

“I can. The next time I wake you, it will be yours.”

She smiles as he sits back in the chair, swatting the water out of his hair.

#THE LONG CHAPTER #my story #my art #through a blackened mirror #obi-wan kenobi #qui-gon jinn #mace windu #sheev palpatine #count dooku #pearl yazabi #darth maul #darth zaster #anakin skywalker #scifi #fairytale #cw abuse

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a-tale-of-legends · 2 years

Text

The Bonds We Share( A Pokemon SwSh Rewrite)

Chapter 2

Summary: The Galar trio go pick up Leon and Naomi's cousins! Nothing bad will happen, surely.

Word Count: 3468

Notes: 1. Procrastination is a bitch 2. Tumblr won't show the original post in the tags so we're reposting! Also here's the link to the ao3 one!

---

Wedgehurst was technically another Part of Postwick, with Wdgeurst being more populated than the row upon rows of fields in Postwick. Or would Postwick just be another part of Wedgehurst? Whatever, the point is that it wasn’t a long run for the three of them to get behind the large number of people crowding the entrance of the train station. Being next to Hop and Carol calmed Naomi’s nerves as she stood between the two, trying to peak over the people in front of her.

“ Ah, he’s back finally!” she hears a person excitedly whisper to their comrade.

“ Yeah, shame he couldn’t come back last year. His brother was so disappointed-”

“ Shh! He’s here! The Unbeatable Champion-”

“ LEON!” The crowd cheers as Leon steps out of the train station gateway, a giant grin on his face, arms stretched out, soaking in the cheers of the crowd. He then swiftly moves to do his famous Charizard Pose! Naomi can see a few people in the crowd following suit, and the cheers get louder. She winces at that, but the joy of seeing Leon again overshadows her nerves. For now, anyway.

"Hello, hello, Wedgehurst! Your Champion, Leon, is back! I promise I'll keep doing my best to deliver the greatest battles for you all to watch!" Leon beams, moving back into his standing position, the joyous grin still on his face.

“ Leon Leon, we’ve been training just like you said!”

“Yeah, but it’s nothing compared to your Charizard!” Once hearing his name, Leon’s Charizard, Sunbeam, gives out a mighty roar. Naomi genuinely couldn't believe that a crowd could get any louder, but they do. NOw would be a good time to cover her ears. Carol shoots her a worried glance, but she brushes it off with a thumbs up.

“I’m fine,” she whispers against her beating heart. Carol raises a skeptical brow, but shakes their head and leans in next to Naomi.

“He’s really dramatic is he?” he whispers to her, still eying the Champion entertaining the crowd. Naomi chuckles a bit. She remembers all the poems Leon would read to her and Hop when they were little, much to the detriment of Hop. All of them were said with such a dramatic flair that it was kinda funny. She misses that.

“ You can say that,” she says, smiling at the memories, “ He’s always been the one for some flare,” She looks up to Carol with a smile, but they’re not looking at her as she thought. Their eyes are focused on Leon, their face completely still. They almost look like they’re….analyzing him?

“ Carol?” They still don’t look at her. Naomi slowly brings her other hand down from her ear, her brows scrunching in confusion.

“Stiff..” Carol mumbles, assumingly to themselves, but loud enough for Naomi to hear. She’s not sure about Hop.

“ Stiff?”

“ LEE!” Hop yells, causing Naomi to jump. Hop quickly looks over to her with an apologetic grin.

“ Whoops, sorry Nomi,” he says quickly, turning his attention back to his older brother. Said brother has caused the crowd to part like water as he makes his way towards them. Naomi straightens herself a bit, hearing the whispers and the eyes of the crowd focus on all three of them. Her stomach turns. It really shouldn’t. She grew up here, even though Potswick is a walk away. She knows these people. Kinda. She shouldn’t feel so nervous when they are simply looking at her.

‘ Don’t be a baby,’ she chastises herself, forcing a smile up at Leon who beams at the three of them.

“Hop! Naomi! ” he cheers. She notices his muscles tenses up a bit, almost as if he was about to go forward, but stops before he could do anything, “ Aw, look at you two! Hop, I reckon you grew…an inch and a quarter last I saw you! And you Nomi-”

“ Haven’t grown an inch!” Hop snickers, earning a glare from Naomi.

“ I’ve grown plenty,” she huffs, and Carol puts an elbow on her shoulders, a smirk on their face.

“ Not enough,” Carol teases, and Naomi gives them a cold glare. They immediately take their elbow off her shoulder, raising their hands up in defense.

“Joking!”

“Hmph!”

Hop laughs at the two, and Naomi’s nerves calm a bit. Leon turns to Carol, who straightens under his gaze.

“ And you must be Carol! Hop and Naomi have told me plenty about you!” he gives Carol an apologetic smile, “ Sorry I couldn’t meet you properly last year,”. Carol shrugs at first, then smirks at Naomi and Hop.

“ You two have been talking about me, eh? Good to know I’ve been on your mind~” they wink at the two of them. Naomi rolls her eyes and Hop gives them a playful nudge,

“ Hush you,” he chuckles, and Carol sticks their tongue out at them.

“ Well then, if you didn’t already know-” Leon puffs out his chest, pointing his thumb to himself with a confident smile, "I'm the Galar region's greatest-ever Pokémon Champion—and a massive Charizard fan, too. People call me the unbeatable Leon!"

Carol raises a brow, smirking at Leon, “ Heh, yeah, Hoppy here made sure I’d remember that!”. That earned another playful nudge from Hop. Naomi tries not to giggle, “ Pleasure to meet ya!”

Leon gives Carol a stern nod, then turns back to the crowd ( ‘they’re still there?!’).

"Well, everyone! I bid you farewell for today! But don't you fret... I'll always be around to make sure everyone in Galar can have a champion time!" He does his signature Charizard pose, and the crowd cheers one last time before going back to…..whatever they were doing.

“Welp!” Hop gains the trio’s attention, “ We got Lee, so now we just have to wait for -”

“HEYO! Hope you guys aren’t forgetting some people!” A voice yells, teasing in nature. Their accent doesn’t seem Galar…

“Why does that- wait.” Naomi turns around quickly, only to not be greeted by the figure of her cousin who keeps evading her memory but some sort of fog, making her cousin blurry. The instant pain in her head doesn’t help either.

“Argg,” Naomi hisses, clutching the side of her head. She can feel her world spinning, nausea taking over as she crouches down.

“Naomi-” Hop’s voice cuts out, only muzzled voices entering her ears.

‘What’s happening?!’ Naomi panics, her heart pounding. She tries to look around, see anything, hear anything. All she sees is fog and can only hear muffled voices( howling?). The dizziness is soon replaced by numbness, the beating of her chest growing slowly. Her mind panics.

‘ Am I going to die?’

“ Naomi, can you hear me?” a new voice- no not new. That’s Hop, “ I need you to breathe, okay? You got this,” His voice is clear and steady. Anything else after countries to be muffled. Naomi nods, or at least she thinks she’s nodding. Her senses are all wack.

‘ Breathe…breathe….in and out…’ Naomi closes her eyes, following Hop’s instructions. ‘ In and out…..follow the rhythm…’. She listens closely to the beat of her heart, growing steady with each breath. A steady rhythm.

A few more breaths and Naomi’s numbness goes away. The sharpness of her in her head is gone too. She slowly opens her eyes, coming face to face with a worried Hop. His face lights up a bit, giving her a lopsided smile, eyes filled with worry.

“ See? Told you can do it!” he cheers. Naomi blinks.

“H-hop?” Hop nods. Naomi furrows her brows a bit in confusion, glancing down at the ground- why is she on the ground? Clementine baas softly, nudging her with her cheek with her snout. Naomi blinks at the nudge.

“W-what? She looks down to see Hop holding her hands, and looks back up to him, “ What happened?”

“You gave us a scare, that’s what happened!” Naomi almost jumps at the sound of Carol’s voice, and looking up she sees a similar worried, albeit more panicked look on their face, “ Are you okay?!” they exclaim.

“ Can you tell us what you remember?” Hop asks, giving Naomi’s hand a squeeze. Naomi can feel herself making a face.

“Remember? Um, well….” she ponders a bit, “ W-well, we- you, me, and Carol - went to the train station to….”

“To..?” Hop presses gently. Naomi frowns a bit, still in thought.

“ To…get Leon!” she looks up again, to her left, and sees Leon smiling down at her. “ A-and…and….” Naomi once again digs to the depth of her mind.

It’s a small memory. One that she often tried and failed to get a clearer picture off. But this time it’s different. It’s still blurry, but two things stand out. Two people, both young, dressed in black. One, a boy, gaze cast downward. The other, a girl, stares straight ahead. Both with undeniable sadness in their eyes. She feels sad too, oddly enough. Then they both shift, looking at each other, then look at her. At her. They both smile. She feels like crying. She thinks they do too. They are-

“ My cousins!” Naomi yells and looks up to her right, there they are. The girl, much older than she remembered, gave her an apologetic grin. Her black hair, now in braids, is kept in a ponytail. Each braid, at the tip, is dyed a vibrant, bold red. She’s very punk in nature- her ears are pierced, and she wears a black leather jacket, and a band tee (Koffing and the Toxics?). Her bottom half is with baggy ripped jeans with visible fishnet leggings. Her left leg….is that a prosthetic? Wait-

“ Are you alright?” another new voice different from her other cousin, assuming her other cousin, asked. Naomi’s eyes turn to him, gripping onto his sister’s arm with his left hand. His right arm isn’t visible, hiding behind his and his sister's figure, but his left-hand wears a black glove. Not even fingerless. He’s not as punk as his sister, it seems, dawning a simple oversized hoodie and what seems to be a white dress? Or is it a black shirt and a white skirt, since she can see a bit of black near the chest of the hoodie- oh wait she’s staring.

“U-uh, y-yes!” Naomi stutters, bashfully smiling, “ Yes, I’m alright,”. Neither sibling looks convinced. The brother's grip on his sister's arm seems to tighten.

“ But are you sure,” he presses, his brown, clearly tired eyes filled with worry. Naomi tenses a bit, opening her mouth to reply until she looks around her. They were still in Wedgehurst. Meaning there are still people. Meaning they're still watching. Why wouldn’t they?! She almost collapsed, and now they see how much of a fool she made herself to be. Naomi immediately looks down at the realization, hunched over, trying to make herself small. Invisible, It doesn’t stop her heart from pounding in her chest, the familiar feeling of sinking weighing in her stomach. She can hear the whispers now. About her. About how silly she looked. About how bad she made Hop and Lee looked. Silly, stupid little girl. Her eyes begin to prick with water.

“ Naomi?” Carol beckons, but her gaze remains on the floor.

“ I want to go home, please,” she whimpered.

“ Right, of course,” Leon began, offering her a hand, “ Let’s go home,”. He brings Naomi up, opening his cape to her. A place to hide. Naomi stays by his side as they walk, her eyes focused on the ground, the whispers still reaching her ears, even then Wedgehurst is long gone.

--------

“ Okay, but are you sure,” Alexis asks again, and Naomi once again gives a small nod.

“I’m alright, I promise,” she takes another sip of water, avoiding the worried gaze of her now remembered cousin. The Ramirez household, while still not her home, was still home. The numerous times she had sleepovers she had with Hop here is testament to that. The sun was still out and the breeze was nice and cool, helping to calm her nerves. That, and the fact that Hop and Carol never left her side.

“ Alexis, you're gonna scare her off,” Elliot, her other twin cousin chuckles, leaning down on his back, a cheeky grin spreads on her face as her twin grunts in annoyance.

“I’m not your arms rest,”

“ Then don’t be short,” Elliot snickers. The trio of kids all stifled a giggle, causing Elliot’s eyes to light up. The tenseness in her shoulders relaxed, giving the three a lopsided smile.

“ There’s a smile!” she cheers, leaning harder on Alexis' back, causing him to hunch over even more. Her expression becomes a bit more somber, “ Uh…sorry for yelling earlier. I didn’t mean for you to faint like that,”

Naomi's eyes widened, shaking her head vigorously, waving her head side to side.

“ Oh! No, no, no! It’s fine! You didn’t do anything wrong! I-I’m just terrible with crowds!” she looks between Hop and Carol, “ Right guys?!” she squeaks. Carol was mid-sip when she gestured to them.

“ U-uh, yeah!” Hop shakily agrees, nudging Carol.

“Yeah, she’s the worst when it comes to that,” Caol says cooly, “ I guess today was pretty bad, hm?” Carol’s words are a bit sharper than usual, giving a pointed look to Naomi. Naomi gulps, nodding.

" Baaa!" Clemetine chimes in as well, trying to contribute to the lie.

“ Yep! So it's not your fault and you don’t have to worry!” Naomi gives the twins a wide tense smile. The twins look at each other for a short second, a secretary conversation among themselves, then look back at Naomi.

“ O….kay?’ Elliot says skeptically, slowly getting her brother back. Alexis stretches as soon as she’s off, but doesn’t say anything. He only gives a quick glance at Naomi before turning away, eyebrows furrowing. Naomi lets go of the sigh she’s been holding. Hop seems to relax too, slumping down on his chair as he gives a playful nudge to Naomi, accompanied by a small tired smile. She smiles back before eyeing Carol. They went back to drinking their water, the neutral expression never leaving their face, distant eyes looking past the twins and at the wooloo fields ahead. Naomi bites her lower lip, clenching her hands into the other.

“ U-um, Carol-”

“NAOMI!” Naomi jumps in her seat at the sound of her mother. She tries to stand up to see her mum, but immediately gets lightheaded, bringing her hand to her head. Everyone jumps to her aid.

“ Whoa there! You have to be careful Nomi,” Carol says gently, a contrast to how they were before. Hop nods in agreement, gently helping Naomi down to her seat.

“ Naomi!” Her mother cries again, moving past the twins and kneeling down to face her daughter. Her overalls, boots, and gloves are all dirty- she must have rushed from the garden. Her eyes are filled with worry as she looks Naomi up and down, taking off her gloves to cup her daughter's face.

“ Are you alright? Are you hurt?” she questions frantically, turning Naomi’s head side to side.

“ I-I’m fine, mum, really-”

“Naomi, you almost fainted,” her mum fretted, taking the back of her hand to Naomi’s forehead, and then down to the lower side of her chin, “ No fever…” she mutters. She once again takes cups Naomi’s face in her hands.

“ Should we go see the doctor again-” Naomi’s eyes widen, fear clear in them. She silently begged her mum to stop, eyeing her best friends and her cousins behind her mum. Naomi’s mum seems to get the memo, sighing to herself.

“ We’ll talk later, okay?” Naomi nods, and her mum gets up from her kneeling position and dusts herself off. She looks between the kids, then gasps. She turns around to look at Alexis and Elliot. Naomi can’t see her face, but she can tell her mum is grinning ear to ear.

“Ah!” she yelps, opening her arms for a hug, “ You’re here! Oh, my babies-”. She squeezes her niece and nephew tight, earning a laugh from Elliot.

“ Oooh, I hope this flight wasn’t incredibly tedious!” she moves back from the hug, looking at the twins with pride, “ Oh, look at you two! You’ve grown so much!”

“ I’ve grown so much, Alexis’ kinda stopped-”

“ HEY!” Elliot laughs at her twin's expense, and Naomi’s mum chuckles too.

“ Oh you two haven’t changed a bit!” she reminisced. Naomi wonders if her mum noticed the leg yet.

“ You know, I didn’t know you two would be coming!” Leon’s voice enters the fray as he leans on the short stone wall. Was he always there? He sure was quiet….

“ Oh you know us,” Elliot shrugs, “ Always full of surprises! Kinda a package deal,” she winks with a smirk.

“ Oh really? I guess I have to keep an eye out for them,” Leon chuckles, walking around the stonewall. His eyes and smile become softer looking at the twins.

“ It’s really good to see you again. Truly,”

“ D’awww, it’s good to see you too, Lee! Also, holy shit, you fucking grew! Look at you!” she gestures to all of Leon, earning a bashful, yet proud smile from him.

“ Haha, yeah. That’s what being a champion does to you!”

“ Oh really? Then maybe-”

“ You know this reunion is very sweet and all” Hop yells, gaining the adult's attention. Naomi holds back a giggle knowing full well what Hop’s after.

“ But…” He eyes Leon, a glint in his eye, “ You promised us gifts!” Carol perks up at the word ‘gifts’, and a sly smile spread across their face.

“Ooooh, gifts? Now you’ve got my attention!”

The two look at Leon expectantly, eyes shining in excitement at curiosity. Naomi shrugs at Leon, though she can’t hide her own smile, excitement bubbling through her as she wonders what gifts Leon brings home this time.

“ Alright, alright! Everyone stand back!” The twins and Naomi’s mom all stand back, moving next to the sitting trio. Leon smirks at them, moving his hands behind his back.

“ Right then! The greatest gift from the greatest Champion!” he takes his hands from his back, showing off three poke balls. The trio gasps.

“ It’s showtime everyone!” He throws the Pokeball into the air. Naomi watches them fly up, then fall down. Halfway down each Pokeball bursts into a ball of light, releasing three small pokemon.

“No way-” Hop gaps.

“ They’re starters!” Carol finishes, looking at the three pokemon in awe. Naomi feels tears forming in her eyes, her heart beating fast in her chest.

“ That one!” Hop points to the small rabbit that lands first, happily running around leaving small embers in his wake, “ That one is the fire starter Scorbunny!”

“ And that one,” Carol enthusiastically continues, pointing to the small green chimp landing after Scorbunny, immediately climbing up a tree near the mini pond. Once he reaches the top, he takes the stick from his hair and bangs on a tree branch, “ Is the grass starter Grookey!”

Naomi looks between the two energetic pokemon, then looks at the small blue lizard, shyly making his way to the mini pond. Once he gets there, he almost vanished. Naomi blinks and the little lizard appears again, relaxing in the cool waters.

“ What about that one?” Naomi questions, pointing to the relaxing pokemon. She sniffs a little, holding the tears at bay.

“That's the water starter, Sobble!” Hop says before Carol can get a word in, earning a soft glare and pout from them, “ Oh, uh, Nomi you’re-”

“ Happy tears,” Naomi whimpers, finally shedding her tears, “ Very happy tears!” Her friends laugh, as does Leon.

“ Aw, look at you two! I didn’t even have to say a thing!” Leon beams and Sunbeam grunts in approval. Naomi looks back to the starters: Grookey is still banging on the tree branch, causing a sitrus berry to fall off, starling the relaxing Sobble. The Sobble jumps out of the pond, shaking, and begins to cry. Noticing their friend, the Scrobunny runs up to him, running in place causing small embers to fly. Grookey follows suit, tapping his stick on the ground in a small melody. Both of these actions cause Sobble to stop crying, giving a small smile to his friends.

“ All right you three!’ Leon calls to the starters, immediately gaining their attention, “ Time to line up!”

The three pokemon cry happily, all running and lining up in front of Leon and Sunbeam. Leon laughs, pointing to the other trio behind him.

“ No, no, not me this time. Them,” he says softly, and the three pokemon turn around to Naomi, Hop, and Carol. Naomi straightens a bit as the Scorbunny and Grookey joyfully turn around and come their way. The Sobble, on the other hand, cautiously makes his way to his friends, shyly getting in line with them.

“ Now then…” Leon smirks at Naomi, Hop, and Carol, hands on his hips, golden eyes shining.

“ Which one will you choose?”

#pokemon sword and shield #pokemon swsh #swsh #pokemon fanfic #pokemon oc #r writes #legendverse #oc: naomi einar #oc: carol fitzroy #oc: elliot jones #oc: alexis jones

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realhankmccoy · 1 year

Text

Conservatives have high levels of fear which leads to an almost childish inability to trust.

Constantly, they preach to me that I've got a lot to learn...

Basically the message being 'blacks and the government and everyone will eat you alive if you don't shape up and stop giving it all away so freely...'

Oh? and everything should be quid pro quo because conservatives are cynical, paranoid, and very naughty (shred you behind your back) pieces of shit?

It's truly not my problem that they're cowards and racists, and that thus their mind revolves around conservative, racist mantras that would never once circle my head (which is not a conservative toilet bowl, having flushed that water out of mine before I even hit my teenage years, I believe) like 'trust freely given will just get you in trouble'.

It is kind of funny to me how jumpy conservatism has made dad, Bruce and Boi. it's like some idiot who's angling for a crown losing his shit if he thinks for one moment that the person he's interacting with is half as fundamentally shitty and untrustworthy and two-faced as

himself

That's the real issue. You act half as bad as they do and they will LOSE their shit due to fear and the decision that you cannot be trusted and you are bad. They have nothing but an endless row of excuses for why themselves are bad. Namely, I WAS ABUSED whether by women or their parents or by Gen X or by a Mexican or a black and a bunch of crap like that.

It's a fundamentally royalist, parentally-spoiled and selfish mode.

remember kids, your abuse doesn't give you the right to abuse others. there will be some people who are sympathetic to Baby You tho who will enable it, just as people enable all sorts of abusers for various reasons. HE HAD IT HARD JUST LET HIM ABUSE.

I prefer to give em a number of chances until they make me the bad man in their head. There's a few advantages of that.

1.) I never have to put up with their crap as 'friends' anymore

2.) To seek revenge on me, they usually learn to be nicer to the people in their lives just to prove me 'wrong'.

so, it's win-win the way i see it... I don't have to put up with their assaults on me and I get them to act nicer to others.

ultimately, looking out for what socially makes sense and the greater picture.

the one thing i can't stop is these cowards do knuckle down on a lot of toxic conservativisms to sort of puff themselves up and make themselves feel more secure.

but the way i see it, they were already headed in that direction due to how most standard-issue Americans grow more conservative with age, and most of them sort of wooden themselves up into pufferfish territory where they may be monsters but they'll at least stay out of trouble. like Jordan Peterson isn't gonna go on a shooting spree, you know?

these people damage the sociopolitical fabric but I guess there's also the funny aspect of them wriggling their angry and 'toxic has value because' t-rex arms in ways that clearly show they are nothing life me.

i guess that's why I still (but much less so these last three months) look for whatever I could inject these people with to make me actually want to be around them / make them less egotistical pompous and bloated sort of rabid zombies operating as subsidiaries of the powerful forces that cucked em -- I don't even read ANY of Boi's boring long stories anymore because I know all I'm going to find in there is him being a cuck who finds himself to be very talented (Bruce also blatantly found himself to be an immensely more talented artist than me -- so does my dad, who also thinks even my brother is more talented because of the artistry of killing deer) and maybe his buried pain like some dumb treasure hunt of what Trump did to him vs. what's left -- but ultimately hey, in a free country -- which is what they want more than anything, typical and comfortable with a rat rat / dog pile as they are due to their own sense of being better than others -- well, freedom to be a cuck is also part of the equation and that's what they chose.

Anyhow, do i want to be in a room with them given their lack of maturity, lack of adult responsibility (they are *never* to blame or responsible in their Trumpian way)... only marginally human way they are? Let me type it in a language they can understand: FUCK. NO.

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sr2-cheats-zf · 2 years

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sr2 cheats free XAWS?

💾 ►►► DOWNLOAD FILE 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥 Add Police Notoriety - 4. Full Health - 1. Infinite Ammo - Saints Row 2 cheats ; #1 gives you full health - maxes out your health ; #2 is Car Mass Hole - your car can smash through others ; #3 is Milk Bones. The best place to get cheats, codes, cheat codes, walkthrough, guide, FAQ, unlockables, achievements, and secrets for Saints Row 2 for Xbox This page contains a list of cheats, codes, Easter eggs, tips, and other secrets for Saints Row 2 for Xbox If you've discovered Saints Row 2 cheats that you'd like to add to the page, or have a correction, please click EDIT and add it. Insert the cheats below into your in-game cell phone. Once the number is accepted, head to the in-game cheats menu and activate the unlocked cheat. Keep in mind that using cheats will disable your ability to fulfill achievement requirements. Put a pound sign [ ] before any number you insert. To unlock the following vehicles, insert the cheats below into your in-game cell phone. To unlock the following world-altering affects, insert the cheats below into your in-game cell phone. To unlock the following weather conditions, insert the cheats below into your in-game cell phone. To unlock the following weapons , insert the cheats below into your in-game cell phone. To unlock the following retailer promotion vehicles, insert the cheats below into your in-game cell phone. To unlock the infinite ammunition cheats listed below, fulfill the corresponding requirement listed. To unlock the special weapons listed below, fulfill the corresponding requirement listed. Insert the numbers listed below into your in-game cell phone to contact the corresponding company. Follow the arrow that appears on the island until you get to the 4th island. As you land on the island, it will disappear and you see a giant Easter Bunny come up out of the water. Do the same thing as above but, when you get to the first island, turn around and go south. You'll find another secret island. Climb up on the rock with the opening before the island and look to the west in the water and you'll see a baby Loch Ness Monster briefly. Change Status. General Saints Row 2 Cheats advertisement. Was this guide helpful? Leave feedback. In This Wiki Guide. Saints Row 2 G5 Entertainment. Oct 1, ESRB: Mature. It's been 29 years since someone lit the Black Flame Candle and resurrected the 17th-century sisters, and they are looking for revenge. Now, it's up to three high school students to stop the trio of witches from wreaking a new kind of havoc on Salem before dawn on All Hallow's Eve. IGN Spotlight - Pfc. Lauren Gajeton.

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munn62savage · 2 years

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hermes crocodile birkin 3

Hermes 'black Matte Crocodile Birkin 30' Bag This one-off luxurious merchandise was put for sale last yr at Christie’s public sale preview in Hong Kong. wikipedia hermes crocodile birkin If you've this item, you not have to wear a bracelet to your events. Crafted to resemble crocodile leather, this stunningly small and splendid bag made out of strong rose gold was designed in collaboration by Hermes and jeweler Pierce Hardy. This purse, which comes dotted with 1,a hundred and sixty diamonds, took two years to create and solely 12 with three variants have been ever created. Think twice if you’re planning to retailer gadgets on this bag, as it’s solely large enough to retailer a couple of dollars and bank cards. If you wish to buy a Birkin as an investment, try to purchase one ‘off-peak’. While everyone is looking for the smallest Birkin possible to jump on the ‘mini’ bag trend, you may find that the larger Birkin sizes may be cheaper due to lower demand. 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#hermes crocodile birkin #himalayan birkin #hermes himalayan birkin #crocodile hermes bags #himalayan hermes #himalaya birkin bag #crocodile birkin #himalayan crocodile #replica hermes crocodile birkin

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sinswithpleasure · 3 years

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The Playgirl (ft. LOONA's Yves) [Part 1] [Female Reader]

---------------

This was supposed to be a lengthy oneshot, but I wanna have it out as I write, so... here's Part 1! Just so you know, it's futa!Yves, but I won't really mention it until at least Part 3.

Also, this is entirely female reader!

Can be found on AFF and AO3!

---------------

Everyone knows of Ha Sooyoung.

Most know her by her preferred name Yves, but it is the same either way—the people still have her deeply imprinted in the recesses of their minds. After all, who doesn't know of the campus fuckgirl that only goes for girls?

You are no exception to having knowledge of Sooyoung. After all, she is your seatmate for every class you had, and while she is regularly absent, she is a regular hindrance when present. During lectures, she likes to fling paper balls at unsuspecting classmates, flirt with any female classmate or TA, or play games on her mobile phone loudly. The fact that she is your seatmate only makes it worse, considering she has her feet on the table most of the time.

Now you have to tutor her. The bane of your existence. Ha Sooyoung. Yves. Tutor. Tutor her.

Your look of disbelief meeting your professor's determined gaze melts into a sigh of resignation. You know that no amount of whining or pouting would result in a win for you—Yves had the poorest performance, barely scraping through any of her tests, whereas you aced every test given during your course of study. It would only be natural for you to be tutoring her.

Yves flashes a smirk and wink from the front row of the lecture theatre, giving you a two-fingered salute as the professor leaves.

"Hey, babygirl. Guess you're my new tutor."

"Hi." You cannot help but let bitterness seep into your tone, but you bite down on the bullets you wish to fire.

"You don't seem that happy."

"No, but it's fine. Let's get down to business."

"Uh-uh, not today. I've got a party to get to. How about this, give me your phone."

You hesitantly pass her your phone, and she enters her number in.

"Call me." She flashes another smirk and a wink, pushing her hair back. The phone in your hand displays 'yves 💘'.

-----

When you call Yves, you hear more of the chatter in the background than her voice. However, she is still audible, and that is all you need.

"Hello?"

"Sooyoung. I'll tutor you beginning tomorrow."

"Oh, it's you, babygirl. Sure, see you after class?"

Huh. That was easy.

"Good, please bring along the Calculus textbook—"

Indistinct chatter rings across the line, and you vaguely hear the crowd chanting "Drink! Drink! Drink!" before Yves's voice cuts through the line again.

"Sorry, babygirl, I've got to jet. I ain't gonna win this game of beer pong talkin' to you. See you tomorrow."

Before you can even say anything, the call is cut. You take a deep breath, deciding to let it go. Maybe this would be the only time. After all, innocent until proven guilty, right?

With a long exhale, you throw yourself back into whatever work you were doing.

---------------

When Yves appears after class, she staggers into the classroom, clutching her head.

"Fuck, I shouldn't have drank that much last night."

She crashes on the chair next to you, immediately folding her arms on the table, resting her head on it. Her eyes open blearily when you request for her to take her Calculus textbook out.

"I didn't bring it."

You halt, frustration beginning to build.

"I thought I told you to bring it."

"Well, babygirl, I forgot. Looks like we can't do this today then." Yves rises, staggering towards the door. Repeated calls of her name fall on her deaf ears as she rounds the corner and disappears.

You take a deep breath. Tomorrow.

-----

[You sent a message:]

Yves

Tomorrow, after class.

[yves💘 sent a message:]

Hey babygirl

I've got a party tomorrow.

[You sent a message:]

You're ditching your grades for a party?

A party in the afternoon?

[yves💘 sent a message:]

Come on, live a little, it's fun to cut loose!

Yeah, I need to go set it up.

Wanna come?

[You sent a message:]

I'd rather spend my time productively, thank you. I expect to see you after class. The same place.

-----

Yves is absent again from class. Naturally, she is absent from the tutoring session. Every call you make to her goes unanswered throughout the afternoon.

You hate this. It wasn't as if tutoring her was a choice you made—the professor shunted the task to you, even after all your protests and reasoning for why you shouldn't take the job. The impression that she gives off already isn't anything good, and the fact that she actively is wasting your time only pisses you off even more.

The fact that Yves is your seatmate only adds to the frustration. Her shoes are all up in your face, the sounds of her games in your ears, her paper balls all over your table. Everything she did just pissed you off.

When you reach home, you immediately drop a call to Yves. Three rings of the phone is all it takes before she picks up the phone.

"Hey babygirl."

"Don't babygirl me. Where were you this afternoon?"

"I told you, I had a party."

"So you choose to waste my time?"

"Sorry, babe." The lack of sincerity is evident in her voice. "This is clearly more fun."

"You prioritize fun over your grades? Are you trying to fail?"

"Yo, yo, chill, chill! Cut me some slack! Take it easy. I've got time!"

"The final exams are less than half a year away."

"Precisely." Yves's smirk can be heard through the phone. "I have time."

"I don't. Stop wasting my time. Come tomorrow."

"Oh, fiery. Just my type." Yves chuckles, before she pisses you off even further. "I'll see you, just not tomorrow."

"Why not?"

"I'll be busy nursing my hangover. Ciao." The call is cut.

You growl in frustration, squeezing the pen in your hand tightly. How easily she dismisses you only serves to fuel your anger. How could someone give no shits about their future?

Yves was basically the opposite of what you stood for. To you, school was an obligation—something necessary in order to move forward and succeed. This meant that people had to possess the responsibility to keep to this commitment so they could succeed in life. The future is uncertain, so you should make every effort to ensure that you can forge a path that is as certain as it can be.

Yves, however, treated school like a waste of time. To be out having fun mattered more—life and the future is uncertain, so if she could afford the time to live in the moment, then she would take the time to. Why pressure oneself to engineer perfection when imperfection is how the world runs?

This was a constant argument between the both of you when Yves was present in school. On the days she came, you had to fight to pay attention to your professor since the both of you would argue. You hated having to defend your point of view against her, since she was deeply set in her contrasting view. You hate how carefree she is. How is it that someone can live without worrying that much?

When you let your vision focus, you take a deep breath and go back to your work.

---------------

You are ten minutes early for class. Chatter fills the classroom as per usual. When you reach your seat, your ears perk up at a familiar name.

"... you hear Yves took her home last night?"

"... sex … fucked her the whole night … best time of her life …"

You scowl. Even when she wasn't present, you had to hear about her, and even worse, her womanizing and hedonistic lifestyle. Who cares about her?

"Good morning, babygirl."

The bane of your existence appears before your very eyes, leaning over your desk with her signature smirk. You give her a glare, but not before you fail to resist checking her out.

Yes, she is admittedly hot. But insufferable. But hot. Facts are facts.

Her hair slicked back, check. Leather jacket, check. Fishnets and crop top fitting her… appealing chest, check. Tight pants that fit her figure, check. Fuck, she looks so good.

"My eyes are up here." Yves pushes your head up to meet her gaze with a finger. The smug smirk on her face makes you want to slap it off her. "If you want me, all you have to do is ask."

"Why're you here?"

"Someone who places such importance in school doesn't want her seatmate present? I'm hurt, babe."

"Fuck off. Don't touch me." You shift away from her touch, and Yves grins.

"I came to see you, my favourite tutor. You're interesting."

"Put that interest in your studies."

"No, I don't think I will, not when you're this pretty."

You try to fight the blush that appears on your face, but it seems that you fail—Yves's cocky grin only gets bigger when she reclines in her chair, resting her feet on the table.

This is your second year with Yves as a seatmate. The girl next to you somehow managed to scrape past first year, and now here she is, staring at you with an amused smirk, annoying you just as she had since Day 1.

"Y'know, I mean it when I say you're pretty."

"Thank you." You grit your teeth, though how red your face remains betrays your hidden feelings. After all, girls don't really compliment you that often, let alone a hot one like Yves is.

"Mm, you're welcome." Yves smiles, resting her head on her chair. "I'll depend on your tutoring, babygirl. Goodnight."

"You're going to sleep?"

"Yep. I'll just listen attentively to you later, cutie."

"I would prefer it if you paid attention now."

"What, and stare at the prof's ugly mug? Why would I do that when I can take the time to stare at your beautiful face instead?"

"Fuck off."

"Ooh, you kiss your mother with that mouth?" Yves's grin shows how little offense she takes at your rebuttal. "I like you, baby."

You decide to ignore Yves. Ignore how she easily infuriates you. Ignore how hot she is. Ignore the compliments that make heat rise from your cheeks and neck.

Insufferable.

-----

Yves takes a long time to rise from her slumber. You try to shake her, but Yves remains steadfastly asleep on her chair.

"Yves. Wake up."

"Mmnnngggh."

"Wake up, wake up."

"Five more minutes."

"No." You heave a sigh. "Wake. Up."

"Fine, fine, babygirl. You're such a killjoy."

"Do not 'babygirl' me. Let's start."

You pull out your Calculus textbook. Yves halfheartedly pulls hers out as well, and you flip both books to a summary exercise.

"Do these. I need to know your current ability."

"Only because you're pretty, babygirl." Yves picks up her pen, beginning to work on the questions.

-----

"How are you getting all these wrong?"

Your tutee shrugs, leaning back on her chair. "Who cares?"

"I do! You're going to fail."

"Aw babygirl, you do care about me."

"Shut the fuck up. There's so much work I need to do with you."

"Meh, whatever." Yves stretches in her chair, leaning back to close her eyes. "Do your magic, tutor. Teach me."

"Fine. Let's begin."

-----

Both you and Yves part ways at the gate of the campus. After a tense session involving multiple arguments when Yves used more of her phone than to attempt learning anything you were teaching, or when she started to look up girls on Tinder, you gave up and halted the session.

"See you soon, babygirl."

"Fuck you."

"Anytime, babe. You just have to ask."

"Fuck off."

"Calm down. It's not like we don't have time."

"We don't."

"Not with that attitude."

"Fuck your attitude."

Yves only grins when she hears your reply.

---------------

Another tutoring session, another Yves absence. This time, when you call her, you're met with the obscene sounds of Yves engaging in sexual intercourse.

"Hey babygirl."

"Yves. Where are—huh?"

Wet smacks echo loudly through the speaker on your phone. Someone moans on the other side. Regular thumps ring through your speakers.

"I'm a little busy now, baby."

"Wha—what the fuck?"

"As you can hear, I'm busy fucking someone. Bye."

The dial tone that enters your ears almost makes you smash your phone on the table to pieces. You instead settle on smashing your fist against the table instead.

This is the last straw.

-----

The next time you see Yves, you pin her against the wall. Taken by surprise, Yves finds herself in a position she usually puts others into. Smirking, she relents.

"Didn't take you to be so forward."

"This is the last fucking time I'm taking your shit. I've had it with your constant excuses about parties, or whatever. Now, you choose to go fuck some bitch even when you know you have stuff to do. I'm fucking done. I quit."

"Come on, don't be like that, baby." Yves's cocky grin widens. "Maybe I need some more motivation."

"If having your life planned out isn't motivating enough, nothing will work."

"Oh, but I had this wonderful idea…"

You resist taking the bait, but having Yves pinned against the wall fucks with your judgement.

"What?"

Today, Yves is clad in all black leather. Whatever she's wearing doesn't catch your eye—the fact that your face is so close to Yves's flusters you. The same slicked back hair, scarlet lipstick across her kissable lips, a cocky glint in her eye, catching your gaze before traveling down to your lips, then below…

"I've seen the way you look at me, babygirl. You say you hate me, but all I see in your eyes is lust right now. You want me so bad, don't you?"

"Sh-shut the fuck up." You curse at the slight stutter.

"So how about this? I'll be the best student you'll ever have, and if I ace the exams at the end of the year… hmm."

Yves lets her voice trail off, knowing she has your full attention.

"What the fuck do you want?'

"If I ace the exams, I get to fuck you."

You cannot believe your ears.

"What?"

"I said what I said. I'll be the best student you'll have. I'll ace the exams. And when I do, you'll sleep with me."

"Why the fuck would I say yes to that?"

In an instant, Yves flips you around. Your back is now against the wall, your arms held against your will, held down by Yves's grip. Yves leans in.

"Because you think I'm hot."

You subconsciously lean in when you feel her hot breath on your lips, and Yves leans in as well. Something soft presses against your lips. Instantly, she is off you, smirking.

"See you around babygirl. Don't think about me too much."

So you agree.

#kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #loona yves #ha sooyoung #loona fanfiction

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hmslusitania · 3 years

Note

4 and 57 for buck and eds

4. Coffee Shop AU + 57. Forgotten First Meeting

Okay this one’s gonna get a little goofy (because I just wrote two very ungoofy ones in a row) also this does not take place in the canon timeline

Because it’s not one (1) forgotten first meeting. No, it’s like. five.

While he’s searching for himself after he flees Pennsylvania, Buck ends up working as a barista in addition to a bartender

He’s in Virginia Beach, staffing a local coffee shop when the hands down hottest guy Buck has ever seen in person comes in

And he’s hot but frazzled -- visiting his wife’s (Buck groans, internally only) aunt and the in-laws are not a walk in the park

you know that one post that goes around?

the guy who came into a Dunkin’ and ordered one small black coffee with a shot of blueberry syrup?

the order of a perfectly normal man with something wrong inside of him?

Eddie is That Guy

(but it’s not blueberry syrup because that’s an abomination)

(...the real reason Eddie fears the Hildy coffee maker (well, the additional reason) is because of his absolutely bananas preferred way to drink coffee and he doesn’t want Her to know)

Anyway, so, Buck makes this absolutely gorgeous, specimen of a -- married, wife is pregnant -- man his deeply fucked up black coffee with a shot of mango syrup and they go their separate ways

Until like. two years later

When Buck is working in a coffee shop in, idk, Ocean Shores, OR

and the hottest guy he’s ever seen in his entire life walks in

(Buck’s dudebro “totally straight haha no homo” coworker has an entire crisis of sexuality about it)

(Buck ends up dating the coworker for like two months; the coworker comes out of it very, very gay; Buck...leaves the state)

ANYWAY, the hottest guy Buck has ever seen, with messy hair and just the right amount of stubble, but he’s older than the last time Buck saw him so he doesn’t recognise him right off the bat.

Turns out, having a tiny baby between the ages of zero and two will age you -- from the exhaustion alone, if nothing else

And then Eddie orders that coffee.

Buck makes it for him, but he doesn’t feel good about it because dear god man why and then Eddie leaves back to whatever work trip/family vacation/thing he’s on

Buck tries very hard not to think too hard about it

Until, y’know, a year later. When he’s working at a coffee shop/bar attached to a bookstore in Boseman, MT

The cowboy season ended (...there are seasons for those right?) and he didn’t want to leave the state yet because he likes the big sky over the continental divide, so he fell back into his traditional bar/coffee thing

This time, the hottest guy he’s ever seen is accompanied by the most adorable three year old Buck has ever seen, and they’re there at the bookstore to get Christopher some new picture books for their trip, and some hot chocolate while they’re at it

and coffee, abominable, black coffee with mango syrup in it, for dad

This time, Buck finally gets the guy’s name, because there’s a queue and it’s gonna take him a minute to get to Eddie and Christopher’s drinks.

The fourth time, Buck is in El Paso, TX.

it’s Eddie by himself and he is even more frazzled than he was in Virginia Beach when he was a newlywed hot off a shotgun wedding with a baby on the way and his wife’s annoying aunt in tow.

Buck bites back the impulse to razz him about his coffee order (because my dude, what the fuck are you drinking?) because it’s clear Eddie has bigger shit to deal with

if the way he keeps worrying at his wedding ring until the skin around it on his finger is inflamed and sore-looking is any indication, anyway

It’s another two years before Buck runs into him again and this time they’re in LA

This time, Buck clocks him on his way in the door and checks his finger

that worrisome wedding ring is gone

there’s not even a tan line anymore

Buck has Eddie’s coffee ready to hand over the second Eddie reaches the till.

Eddie, understandably, is like “uh...?”

And Buck, unable to help it, “Here you go, Eddie. Enjoy!”

His phone number is scrawled on the side of the cup, because, like, honestly? He just Really wants to know what the fuck is up with his coffee order

and Eddie calls him because he wants to know why Buck knows his name and his coffee order despite this having been Eddie’s first time to the café

It takes Buck at least three dates to convince Eddie that the coffee shop does not have an AI scanner in the doorway that tells the baristas the customers’ names and orders before they reach the counter

There are Other mashups

#the ghost ship scribbles #9-1-1 #buddie #buddie fic #9-1-1 fic #my apologies to Eddie Diaz who I am sure drinks a perfectly normal coffee order

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dizzydancingdreamer · 3 years

Text

Men who I think would be soft for their baby for no other reasons than because I want them to be, in no particular order but still numbered ten to one because I like countdowns...

———————————————————

I really do be out here exposing myself for a few of these men but I don’t care I don’t need “proof” or “common sense” or “just plain survival instincts” I just need men who are uncharacteristically soft for their babies

———————————————————

Don’t come at me this is for FUN

———————————————————

Part two

———————————————————

10. Gally

Did some bad things, some were his fault and some weren’t, who is rough around the edges, has superiority issues, and needs a therapist more than a girl

STILL SOFT FOR HIS BABY

Higher up in a revolutionary movement and still goes to bed early to cuddle his baby

She sits on his lap during meals and he fights everyone who says anything

Fights anyone who even looks at her wrong

Tells her he loves her at least three times before he leaves on missions without her

When she goes with him he’s literally next to her the entire time

Does not let her go for hours when they finally get back to base

So fucking soft for her and only her

——————————————————————————

9. Finnick Odair

Good guy who feels like he has to be bad in order to stay alive but falls a little bit in love with it for a little too long

Begged her to move in with him after his games

Let her decorate the entire house however she wanted

Writes her love notes before every time he goes to the capital

Cries to her when he comes home every single time

When she has to go into the games he volunteers immediately even though he technically isn’t allowed and pulls strings with President Snow to be able to fight

So he literally kills for her

And makes sure she never has to fight

Marries her and tells Coin he won’t fight, stays alive for his baby

10/10 soft as fuck

——————————————————————————

8. Stephen Strange

Narcissistic doctor Avenger who uses the phone while driving

This is the one I have the least proof for but I’m 110% sure when he isn’t wearing the cape he has his baby wrapped around him like a backpack

Crumbles for his baby, I’m talking to his knees, overwhelmed by how pretty and beautiful and wonderful she is, hugging her around the waist

Loves the feeling of her fingers through his hair

Brings her to every Avengers Gala and practically begs her to leave early so they can go cuddle and eat pizza

Gets so scared whenever he has to do something dangerous

Drops what he’s doing when she calls him, has told off Steve and Tony (don’t start with me) and everyone else

Peter called him a simp once and after he googled it he looked him dead in the eyes and agreed and then packaged one of the donuts Bucky brought in for his baby and then took it and left

Man is SOFT

——————————————————————————

7. Vincent Griffith

Reformed witch who frequently gets addicted to dark sacrificial magic and makes choices that are just this side of morally corrupt

Has skipped so many meetings as regent that he probably shouldn’t even be regent anymore

The king of date night, dancing, fine dining, jazz music, picnics, midnight rituals

Plans every little detail and gets Josh and Davina to help him

Uses magic to close down entire restaurants for the perfect night

Always holds her hand and sits her in the front row of his coven meetings and pauses the meetings accidentally when he glances over to her and she gives him a thumbs up and he has to literally stop and smile

Holds her purse without her having to ask, will go to seven different restaurants when she changes her mind on where to eat, hexes people who harm her

Big softie

——————————————————————————

6. Indiana Jones

Literally a womanizing grave robber with very few morals

Has filled museums with all the things he has STOLEN

Would still protect his baby from booby traps though

Dresses her up and takes her out everywhere

Cancels class whenever she asks and more often than not when she doesn’t

Would be closer to the snakes so that she won’t have to be

Wouldn’t even think about yelling even when in mortal danger, even when it’s her fault for putting them in that situation

Answers every question even though she’s asked the same question a thousand times

Can’t sleep without her at all

I’m not sorry, he’s soft

——————————————————————————

5. Will Turner

Most feared and ruthless pirate on the sea

Torched a town once because his baby was treated a little too cold by a few too many people

Literally would and has fought a life altering curse for her and won

Kills so many people and still goes to bed early to cuddle in the captain’s quarters

Lets her walk all over the ship in his shirt and watches from behind the wheel, has thrown a man or two overboard when they stare too long

She didn’t even notice

Plays with her on the beach whenever she wants even if it hinders the plans of the crew

Softie alert

——————————————————————————

4. Elijah Mikaelson

A one thousand year old+ elitist vampire with slight anger issues who has zero reason to fall in love with a plain mortal woman

But there is no way that is going to stop me

Would rip literal hearts out for his baby until he is soaked with blood

Oh, she stubbed her toe at the bar?

The bar is now torched to the ground along with everyone inside

It’s for his baby

Rebuilds the bar for her, puts it in her name, now it’s her bar and she’s making a shit ton of money

Buys her so many things, even when she says no, especially when she says no

All she has to do is pout and it’s game over

Has left so many business meetings for her that it is insane

Once bought her a chair seat at Disney because she said she liked Tangled one time and now she makes important decisions she is not qualified to make

He’s soft, soft, soft

——————————————————————————

3. Eric Coulter

A leader of a terrorist radical government who has outright anger issues and hates people who are different from him

BUUUUUT wouldn’t yell at his baby who is probably from Amity and probably got tricked into being in Dauntless

Lets her sleep in his room because fuck the training quarters that’s sus as hell (even though he’s the one who arranged the training quarters)

Lets her skip all the fighting and does not give a fuck when he gets called out for it, will literally abuse all special privileges

Would probably do the training simulation for her and tell her how to beat it

Trails behind her wherever she goes, holds her hand in the cafeteria, has her on his lap when he gets tattoos

Lets her visit home whenever she wants and threatens anyone who says other wise

HE’S SOFT I JUST KNOW IT OKAY

——————————————————————————

2. Kylo Ren

Kinda evil Supreme leader of the galaxy who has killed many people, including his dad, some who deserved it and some who did not

But wouldn’t even yell at his baby-- would cry if she cried

She sleeps in his bed and when Hux calls him out on it he breaks a desk and then almost kills him

She walks around the ship and he follows her like a puppy and chokes people out when he hears them call him a puppy in their heads

Gives her everything she wants and more, surprises her all the time

Surprise trips to beach planets and fancy events

Once he gave her a whole ass planet

Always hugging her no matter who is around and what is going on,

The softest supreme leader in the galaxy

——————————————————————————

1. Thomas Shelby

A literal deadly mob boss who shoots first and asks questions never

Would 110% kill for his lady (and has killed for his lady)

Sexy as fuck, looks good covered head to toe in blood

Yes, that deserved a point

Soft as fuck for his baby, would shoot a gun and then turn around and listen to her talk about what she wants to knit for their baby

Has paused important mob meetings because his baby wanted to gossip about what Dolly said to her at church four Sundays ago that she forgot to tell him

Keeps her as far removed from the lifestyle as possible even when that means he has to remove himself from it at points to be with her

Has skipped so many poker games without being asked purely because he wants to go home and hug his wife

He is the MOST SOFT

——————————————————————————

#thomas shelby #elijah mikaelson #kylo ren #stephen strange #indiana jones #gally tmr #gally #eric coulter #will turner #vincent griffith #finnick odair #The Hunger Games #the vampire diaries #the originals #star wars #the avengers #divergent #the maze runner #the pirates of the caribbean

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deniigi · 3 years

Text

So @petrichordiam and I are menaces and giggled over our ideal dinluke flower shop AU for like 4 hrs and then I wrote this.

Title: murderer next door

Summary: Din works as a florist and Luke works as a bookseller and they’re both assassins trying to keep the other off their turf.

-------------

Two times now, Luke had crashed past that flower shop, and two times now, the fucker inside had taken out his mark. Now all Luke had to say about the whole thing was that it was too bad that he was going to have to kill the guy.

Han told him not to turn back. The mark was dead; the mark was gone. They weren’t fast enough this time, but there would be others.

Luke just couldn’t let it go, though. He had rent to pay, and McFloristApron over there was smashing through all his targets and making that nigh impossible—regardless of how many marks there were in the area.

Luke waited until Han had closed up shop for the night and remained there in the dark with his arm slung over the back of the chair in the backroom, surrounded by books. He rolled his shot of whiskey in its tumbler. The sound against the old wood table offered no comfort.

He stood up and left the glass to get his laptop.

He wasn’t losing to some florist, Han, sorry. Only one family could take innocuous cover on this street, and it was them.

---

McFlorist’s name wasn’t listed on the florist’s staff page, but then again, none of the people on that page had names. In fact, the website’s whole vibe was all wedding-chic until you clicked on the ‘staff and contacts’ tab. Then, it may as well have been a line of mugshots.

Luke squinted along the row of increasingly involved headgear until he got to someone with a reasonably-sized neck with no tats. The ladies on either side of him appeared to have sapped all the ink out of McFloristApron. He wore a mask over the lower half of his face and gave a stoic thumbs up to the camera.

Under his picture was the number fifteen.

Damn.

Luke was only making eight per pop. Who the hell was this guy eating up all the feeder fish, huh? Them lower division folks had to eat too, you know.

Well.

‘Lower division’ in a sense of the word. Being two times undercover wasn’t super glamorous, Luke had to say. But when your dad fucked it up for the first family, sometimes you had to take what you could get.

Luke pointed at Fifteen on the screen.

“You and me, pal,” he said. “You and me.”

Step one was to get paid first.

Luke chased down three marks on the other side of town to pay the rent and the medical bills for now. His hand’s new sleeve felt like a dream. It didn’t overheat like the nylon black one did, and the hand was far less shiny now as a bonus. That had certainly reduced the number of people catching something move out of the corner of their eye.

Was it worth fifty grand?

No.

Was it worth the last nine that Luke had left to pay on it?

Yeah. It was definitely worth the nine.

------

Step two was to go make it clear to Fifteen McFlorist that he and his folks needed to back down in the face of the established guard.

Luke put on his biggest sweater and the thickest glasses he could find. He stole Chewie’s messenger bag with all the pins on it. He slung it over his shoulder and rolled the hems of his jeans up just a smidge too much, then scurried over to the florist’s across the way.

Fifteen was off to the side of the register, fucking around with something in the refrigerator. Luke busily and noisily looked through the wall of foliage on the side of the shop nearest the window. He hummed. He hawed. He made anxious nerd-sounds until a voice asked, “Hi, can I help you?”

Luke glanced out of the corner of his eye and found that Fifteen was standing facing his way now. His mask was gray this time. His apron was orange. His boots were too heavy-looking for florist work.

“I’d love that,” Luke gushed breathlessly. “See, my mom just got engaged and I’m on the way to her house.”

Fifteen lifted his chin slightly.

“What’re her favorites?” he asked tonelessly.

Terrible customer service skills, dude.

“Roses,” Luke said.

“Ours are shit today,” Fifteen said. “How about dahlias?”

Luke didn’t know what those were but sure.

“That sounds great,” he said. “You have any in pink?”

--------

He watched Fifteen brutalize some pink, orange, and white flowers into a bouquet wrapped with a silver bow and was sure to smile every time the guy looked up.

“That’ll be $37.59.”

Sir, these are dead flowers. There is no need for that price.

“Can I put it on card?” Luke asked. “How long have you worked here, if you don’t mind me asking? I work just across the way is all.”

Fifteen’s dark gaze flicked up. His hair was covered by a gray beanie two shades darker than the mask.

“At the club?” he asked.

“The bookshop,” Luke corrected him with a shy, but widening smile.

Please be gay. Please be gay. Please be gay. Leia wasn’t going to want to cooperate. She thought it was beneath her to establish boundaries like this.

“Blue paint,” Fifteen said. “Yeah, that place. How long have you been there?”

“My brother-in-law’s place, actually,” Luke said. “I started there last year after I finished college.”

Or, you know, maybe even eight years ago when he’d finished college. No one had to know. Baby faces don’t kiss and tell after all.

“Huh. You must like it there,” Fifteen said.

“It’s fine,” Luke hummed. “You like it here?”

“The kid does.”

“Oh, you’re a father?” Luke asked. “How old?”

“He’s three,” Fifteen said. “Godson. His folks were in an accident; didn’t make it.”

“That’s terrible, I’m so sorry to hear that,” Luke said. “He’s lucky to have you.”

Fifteen handed him his card back. Luke’s hand didn’t close in time to catch it and it fell onto to the wooden counter.

“Sorry about that,” Luke said, reaching for it with the other hand. His knuckles bumped into Fifteen’s when he went for the card at the same time. They both paused and went for the card again with the same result. Luke laughed.

“Slippery, am I right?” he asked, flattening his fingers on top of the piece of plastic and snatching it away.

“Very,” Fifteen said. “I hope your mom likes them.”

“Me too,” Luke smiled. “I’ll see you around—What was your name?”

“You can call me Armando,” Fifteen said.

“Armando,” Luke sounded out. “It suits you.”

It was a falsie.

“And yours?”

“James.”

“It suits you.”

It didn’t.

“Bye now,” Luke said. “Thanks for your help.”

He let the door fall closed behind him with the tinkle of the bell.

--------

He informed Han that “Armando” had a toddler and received only a warning look and a scolding for all his effort. Han told him not to get jealous. If there was a kid in the balance, then Fifteen, for better or worse, was going to have to see each day after the next until there was no longer a kid in the balance.

Luke offered to call CPS and report “Armando” as an assassin.

“You do that and those folks across the street are gonna call the VA and tell them I’m an assassin,” Han said. “Lay low, Luke. Lay low.”

Never.

“Christ. At least until that thing’s yours then.”

Luke glared at his right hand.

“Gimme a double,” he told Han without looking away from it.

------------

It was never easy to hunt in the daylight, but Luke wasn’t here to do easy things. He needed to get Mark No. 1 alone. The man took the train once a week to a gentleman’s club on his lunch break. Luke needed a change of clothes.

He had a rainbow windbreaker, white boots, and fishnets all ready to go.

He got on the same train as the mark and dropped his phone nearby. It clattered loudly and the case came off. Luke swore and squatted to drop it at the same time that two girls next to him decided to become good Samaritans. They crouched with him and one of them caught the phone first. They handed it back with a smile.

“I like your jacket,” she said.

Luke let his face struggle to find a smile at her kindness to him, a sweet little twink trying to find the pride parade that happened two weeks ago.

“Thanks,” he said. “I like your bracelet.”

He stood up. The girls were pleased with themselves. Luke glanced back to find Mark No. 1 turn his head abruptly away.

Come here, Markie.

Do you like what you see?

Mark No. 1 didn’t make it out of his hotel room. A pity. Luke took the elevator down and huffed and puffed about a cheap date when he passed the front desk. He stopped abruptly and went back to ask the receptionist what the cross street was. She judged his go-go boots.

He told her she wasn’t his type. Her manager gave him the cross street.

Mark No. 2 had different parameters.

----------

Mark No. 2’s parameters involved chasing him through a maze of boiler rooms and dumpsters. He was chump change towards a hand that Luke hadn’t wanted in the first place, but alas. The anger still roared.

Luke cornered him, still in go-go boots—no need to sacrifice style for speed—and watched those pale eyes look every which way as Mark No. 2 realized that there was no getting out of this.

“You got options, friend,” Luke said. “I can bring you in hot or I can bring you in—”

“—cold.”

His head snapped up and he lurched out of the way just as the crack of a bullet exploded in the alley. A car backfired around the corner in a sympathetic cough. Luke stared at the body then twisted around just in time for a thick glove to latch onto the back of his neck.

“Well, look who it is,” Fifteen drawled.

Luke glared out of the corner of his eye.

“Hands off, Armando,” he warned.

“I like your boots.”

“You’re gonna love ‘em when they’re on your dick,” Luke warned.

“Back off, Nayberry.”

Fucking hell, Han. This is why they should have set up boundaries weeks ago.

“I prefer ‘James,’” Luke said sweetly.

The glock levelled at his face didn’t care.

“You took my mark,” Fifteen said.

“Aw, poor baby,” Luke pouted. “Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you took mine.”

Fifteen’s orange apron was gone. He’d swapped it for an old leather jacket—something he could more easily wipe clean. He should’ve gone for patent leather. The brown really wasn’t working with his grey mask-beanie situation.

“Stay in your lane,” Fifteen warned.

“Only if you stay in yours,” Luke beamed.

Fifteen huffed.

“Bookstore,” he scoffed. “Who’d you give the flowers to?”

Luke tsked.

“Myself, jackass,” he said.

“Do you even have a mom?”

“What the fuck business is that of yours? You even got a kid?”

Fifteen’s stare was deadly—the cooling body before them notwithstanding.

“Take one step near him and we won’t be talkin’ so friendly, yeah?”

Mm. Yeah.

“You owe me four grand,” Luke informed Fifteen as the glock went down and Fifteen left him to go take a pulse.

The man’s back stiffened.

“Four?” he asked. “You took this job for four?”

Luke rolled his eyes.

“I got bills, Armando,” he drawled.

“How do you keep that shed open? Have you sold even one book?”

Rude. Luke was a great sales associate. If he actually cared to put his mind to it, he’d be worthy of a promotion to manager.

He pulled the rising legs of his shorts down and adjusted the weapon in his windbreaker. He couldn’t leave the alley the way he’d gone into it. Someone might have seen. He was going to have to take a side street. Hmmm, which one? Choices, choices.

“I’ll give you a Dad’s discount. Gimme two grand, and you can have him,” Luke negotiated as he thought.

“Two.”

Hey, no need for that tone. This was a great deal.

“What’re you gonna do with two?” Fifteen asked, already knelling down to heft the body over his shoulder as proof for payment.

“Buy some more tights,” Luke deadpanned. “Two, final offer.”

Fifteen stood up all the way and gave him a weird look. A long look. His beanie was pulled down low, but Luke got the impression that he was frowning at him.

“Take the four,” he said out of nowhere. “I’ll bring it tomorrow.”

Luke recoiled a step at first, then recoiled another when the reality of the situation hit him full in the chest.

“Forget it,” he snapped.

He spun around and started to leave.

“Wh—hey. HEY. Where are you goin’?”

“I don’t need your fuckin’ pity,” Luke called ahead of him as he set to climbing the chainlink fence separating him from the adjacent dead-end alley.

“You what?”

“You heard me,” Luke said.

He jumped down. His left hand found his right wrist and squeezed as he walked.

-------

The phantom pains kept him up all night, and it was definitely that and not the humiliation that made him call in sick. Han told him to answer his therapist’s emails. Luke told him to go do something useful and hung up. He rolled onto his back on his bed and focused on letting his body relax, his jaw unclench, his joints go limp.

There was sunlight finally streaming through his apartment windows again. It had been months.

Spring was almost here. He just had to hold out a little longer.

--------

He came in to work the next day and found an envelope on his chair in the backroom. It was thick.

“McFlorist dropped it off,” he said between aggravated sounds at his spreadsheets.

“Is it tax season already?” Luke asked him as he tried to burn a whole in the center of the envelope with his mind.

“Sure fuckin’ is.”

He stepped forward and snatched up the envelope, then deposited it squarely in Han’s lap. He made an unattractive noise of confusion and alarm.

“For the taxes,” Luke called as he went out to grab his lanyard and name tag. “Gotta keep this place open for another six months at least.”

------------

There were new books in. A new shipment to shelve. Two kids’ displays to set up. And Luke was actually good at this stuff, thanks; he started stacking.

He got peace until he nearly got to the end of the second display, and then what he had was a heart attack. Two liquid brown eyes surrounded by an ocean of ringlets stared up at him from between his knees. The child curled a hand in and out in hello.

Luke jerked himself up to locate the thing’s parents immediately, and promptly found himself in deadly eye-contact with Fifteen.

Armando.

“You were gone yesterday,” Fifteen said flatly.

Luke looked between him and the kid. He was pinned between two enemy parties. How to escape, how to escape.

“Are you sick?”

How to escape. How to escape. How to escape.

“Are you hurt?”

H—what?

“I’m fine, stalker,” Luke snapped with more heat than this present cover allowed. He caught himself and pulled it back. “I’m fine,” he repeated. “Thank you for asking. Is this…?”

Fifteen blinked once. The child blinked once as well. It was creepy.

“He’s mine,” Fifteen said. “And apparently the only thing that will get us through the next two hours is a book.”

Dude.

“Kids are kids,” Fifteen said. “You got any books?”

Luke stared at him, then checked the shelves to make sure he hadn’t teleported into another dimension.

You always had to check.

“We’re in a bookstore,” he said.

“He can’t read,” Fifteen said, pointing.

The kid grinned. His teeth were gapped in that toddler sort of way. He was kind of cute.

“You can’t read?” Luke asked him.

“Hi,” Baby said.

Oh no.

Luke loved him.

“How much?” he asked Fifteen.

“Touch him and you’ll be permanently comatose,” Fifteen said.

“Not if I died out of spite,” Luke said.

There was a long pause. Then Fifteen started laughing? Kind of hard?

“Oh my god, that was so unprofessional. I am so sorry,” Luke blurted out.

Fifteen collected himself and shook his head. His little one giggled and reached for Luke’s fingers.

“Boo,” he said.

Luke couldn’t feel the hand, but he could feel all the heart.

“Book?” he asked, crouching down. “Do you want a story?”

“Mmmm.”

“I have the perfect one,” Luke told him. “It’s about a caterpillar. Do you know what a caterpillar is?”

He got a slow, exaggerated head shake back and forth, back and forth. He stood up straight.

“I’m conducting a temporary kidnapping,” he informed Fifteen. “Do I have consent?”

Fifteen looked from him towards the front entrance and mulled over the merits of leaving his kid with his rival assassin. Then he shrugged.

“Consent granted,” he said. “Luke.”

Luke’s heart stopped.

“James,” he said.

“Your name tag says ‘Luke.’”

Well, fuck.

“Luke Nayberry. It suits you.”

Hhhhhhh. This was karma, wasn’t it.

“Thanks,” he gritted out. “And yourself, Armando?”

“Din.”

Woah, look out. Mr. One-Syllable-Cool-Man had entered the building.

“Din, what?” Luke asked as his arm registered tension. Din’s kid had latched onto his fingers and started pulling incessantly with a chubby hand gesturing in the direction of the wall of children’s books.

“Don’t you worry about it,” Din said.

“Fine, go trip then,” Luke said.

He swore that there was a smile under that mask.

----------

#dinluke #luke skywalker #ficlet #fic #I can't take any trope seriously it turns out #perhaps I am simply too old now to appreciate them #the mandalorian

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hottpinkpenguin · 2 years

Text

The One She Lost - Chapter II

Part of the Druig x Elena AU (see full AU list here)

Characters: Healer!OC (Galen) x Fem!OC (Elena), Druig

Summary: Galen is working as a nurse in Sokovia where he crosses path with Druig.

Warnings: Mature themes of death, loss, grief

Read Chapter I here

AU is a joint project w/ @bellejeanx - #1 fan and idea-generator extraordinaire

Sokovia Three Weeks Later

GALEN SINGH 1986 - 2015 BELOVED SON, BROTHER, AND FRIEND “DO NOT GRIEVE. ANYTHING YOU LOSE COMES ROUND IN ANOTHER FORM” ~ Rumi

Elena’s fingers stroked the cold edges of the granite where Galen’s name was etched into the headstone. There was a bitter rain falling on the ground, soaking the knees of Elena’s jeans where she knelt in front of Galen’s grave. Row upon row of headstones had been erected in the last few days as more of the casualties from Sokovia were identified. It had taken Elena almost half an hour to walk from the entrance of the cemetery to where Galen was buried, and there were countless more rows of headstones stretching further into the distance.

Elena had expected to cry when she finally saw Galen’s headstone. Instead, she felt an overwhelming numbness, like static snow on a screen. The reality of his final resting place was so at odds with who Galen had been alive. He was anything but cold and hard like his headstone. He was warm, gentle, and full of life, unwaveringly loyal and a true healer. As Elena’s fingers continued to trace his name on the granite, she thought back to the last time they had spoken…

“Galen, what time is it?” Elena’s voice had been groggy as she surfaced out of sleep, awoken by the sound of her phone ringing. Squinting through her barely open eyes, she looked at the clock on her bedside table. She reached out to clumsily push the vase of irises aside to look at the neon green numbers on her alarm: 5:36 am. She groaned; Galen had gotten her up almost an hour before her alarm.

“Ellie, I know what we’re going to name her.” Galen ignored Elena’s continued protests, his voice full of excitement.

“What are you talking about?” Elena asked thickly, sitting up grumpily and turning on her bedside lamp. She rubbed the remnants of sleep from her eyes.

“The baby! I know what we’re going to name her,” he repeated. Elena could see it was already daylight in Sokovia; Galen was busying himself around his kitchen before heading to the hospital for his shift. She could see the light blue collar of his scrubs, contrasting handsomely with his dark complexion and hair.

“Galen, we just found out about the baby last night,” Elena chided, unable to keep a delighted smile from her face at the sight of his giddy joy. “Besides, why are you so sure it’s a girl?”

“Just a feeling,” he replied matter-of-factly, an angelic smile lighting up his handsome face. Elena laughed, thinking about how often Galen attributed things to “just a feeling”. That was the line he had used on Elena to announce to her that they were soulmates before she returned to university for her final semester. It was how he had explained his choice of a bouquet of irises for their three year anniversary last week, without knowing they were her favorite flowers. And it was the line he had used to tell Elena that he was leaving his career in finance and going back to nursing school. Elena had to admit, most of Galen’s “just feelings” turned out to be spot on. With that knowledge, she decided to indulge him.

“Alright then, out with it. What are we naming her?” she asked, laying a hand on her still-flat stomach. She wasn’t sure if it was just imagination, but Elena swore she could feel the smallest promise of life in her belly.

“Lyla.” Elena’s heart skipped a beat when Galen said it. The name was beautiful, and the way he said it made it sound like a prayer. Elena was surprised to feel tears pooling on her lash line.

After a few moments of silence, Galen asked: “What do you think?”

Elena smiled, happiness and contentment overflowing along with the tears in her eyes. “It’s beautiful, G,” she replied, her voice soft. It was perfect, Elena knew. It was just a feeling.

Galen smiled back at her, taking a sip from his thermos. “I knew you’d like it. It means nighttime, you know,” Galen informed her. Galen’s family had always believed in the power of names. The first night Elena had realized she’d fallen in love with Galen, he’d told her that her name meant ‘light’. His name, Elena would later go on to learn from his mother, meant ‘healer’. Elena remembered feeling a shiver run up her spine when she’d learned that; it had been only a week after Galen had told Elena he was going back to nursing school, and there was something disconcerting about the coincidence. Elena heard the unmistakable jingle of keys as Galen closed the door to his apartment, locking it behind him.

Elena scrunched up her face at that. “Why night? That doesn’t sound very promising,” she asked. Galen shook his head indulgently, the way a parent does at a child’s silly question.

“Ellie, if you’re the sunshine of my life, then this little girl is the moon.”

Elena loved Galen’s imaginative and romantic mind. Although Elena wasn’t sure if she really bought into his explanation, she couldn’t deny that her mind was already projecting forward their future together - the three of them, Galen, her and baby Lyla. The name did feel right, Galen was correct on that much.

“Besides, if we’re being literal, she was made at nighttime.” Galen shot Elena a knowing wink as he let this last statement sink into Elena’s still foggy, sleep-ridden mind.

Elena returned the jest with an expression of mock embarrassment. “You, sir, have gone too far,” she laughed. Galen laughed too as he exited his apartment building onto the street. Elena could hear the whine of an ambulance whizzing by.

“Well, I also already told my parents that we picked Lyla,” Galen continued somewhat sheepishly. Elena rolled her eyes, still too caught up in happiness to let Galen’s rushed declaration irritate her too much.

“Lyla it is, then,” she agreed, earning one of those heart-stopping smiles Elena loved.

“I gotta go, Ellie, but I love you and I love baby Lyla,” he told her, his signal starting to get spotty as he descended the dimly lit stairs into the subway station. Elena nodded.

“I love you too,” she replied, soaking in the feeling of bliss settling in her chest. He waved happily before the connection ended, his hospital key card and coffee thermos in his hand…

It had been later that day that Sokovia had been ripped up at the roots. Elena had been told by the citizen-volunteers who had fished Galen’s body out of the rubble that he’d been crushed outside the hospital when a nearby apartment building collapsed. No one knew anything else about his final moments. Elena knew she was lucky to have that many answers; unlike the majority of the dead who were still nameless, Galen’s body had been identified by the hospital key card attached to the front pocket of his scrubs.

The weeks since the Sokovia disaster had left Elena in a directionless stupor. No matter where she was, she wanted to be somewhere - anywhere - else. By herself, she felt loneliness slice through her chest like a scalpel, but in the presence of others, she was desperate for solitude. She wandered through the days in a haze of exhaustion, a tiredness that seeped out of her bones, but when she laid down at night her mind raced in futile circles and never found sleep. She cried at the most inopportune times - riding the subway, ordering coffee, trying to work on her thesis - but had felt nothing at being asked to identify his mangled body, at the funeral, or when his mother had embraced her. She was hungry constantly, but the sight or smell of food made her sick. The world had turned into an unending house of horrors.

The only reprieve was the two syllable mantra that echoed off the inside of her mind day in and day out: Lyla. The rest of the world seemed to be speaking in a language she didn’t understand; Lyla was the only sound that she recognized, the only thing that made sense. She forced herself to say the name aloud when sobs ripped through her chest, threatening to split her in half from the inside out.

More than once, Elena was struck by the thought that the pregnancy had been a gift to her from Galen, as if he’d known what was about to happen, and had left Elena with a purpose, a way forward. Elena couldn’t explain why she felt that way. It was just a feeling…

#druig x elena au #druig x elena oc #druig x oc

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jeontaehui · 3 years

Text

TAEHEE WITH OTHER IDOLS

twice’s chaeyoung

her bestie !!!!! chaeyoung’s like her mark but like outside the group.

they support each other whenever the other wins an award, always giving wide smiles that are too hard to hide.

their hangouts are referred to as ‘dates’ by the fans, considering how romantic their dinners are and how chaeyoung captions her instagram posts after going on said ‘date’.

chaeyoung is very clingy when she sees her. she clings onto taehee like a koala :(

in award shows, taehee would tend to walk slower than the rest of the neos just to talk to chaeyoung.

chaeyoung was once caught playfully flirting with taehee during an award show, causing the latter to laugh as the camera pans to another group.

iconic moment (seoul music awards 2019) taehee took mirror selfies as she waited for chaeyoung to finish up in the bathroom. when chaeyoung found out, she later posted these on instagram with the caption, “the one who i love 😍❤️”.

stray kid’s han

her other bestie since predebut !!!!!!!!

both are so powerful in the rap industry already, stayzens are just waiting for a collab.

they met in a convenience store. jisung wanted her to go to jyp with him, only to find out she’s been training in sm already (cue pouting from the both of them).

both are in Love with each other’s music, with jisung having some of nct’s songs in his playlist and taehee knowing the lyrics and the choreo to skz’s songs.

their reactions to each other’s performances are adorable !!!!!! and even funny at times. attending the same award shows means very cute interactions fans’ lenses would capture <3

(seoul music awards 2019) before the two groups walked by each other, taehee slowed down her pace and let herself stay behind the group to greet the main rapper of stray kids. once jisung was within arm’s reach from her, she raised her hand for a high-five, to which jisung pulled her into a bro-hug instead. he whispered something to her first and ruffled her hair, making the older girl hit his shoulder softly, laughing as he left.

jisung introduced taehee to chan and felix and she now has two new aussie buddies that remind her of home too !!!!!

iconic moment (isac 2019) stayzens went batshit crazy when skz had to pass by nct during the sports competition. seeing this as a chance to be playful with his best friend, jisung jumped over the first row of seats and proceeded to whisper something to taehee (who was seated very near to where the other members of skz were by the way), before jumping over to the third row. jisung must have said something really funny to taehee since it made the female idol to turn away laughing as she covered her mouth. later on, we see the two talk, inviting a very excited chan and a shy mark lee to the conversation.

red velvet’s yeri, april’s naeun, and weki meki’s doyeon

yeri and taehee were already close since trainee days (she’s close with the rest of red velvet too). taehee knew yeri was friends with naeun and she was Dying to meet her so yeri introduced them to each other, and since doyeon is friends with naeun, the latter later introduced all three of them to each other.

yeri and taehee always sat beside each other whenever nct is asked to share a table with red velvet. yeri would laugh a lot since taehee’s always so energetic when she dances to the other groups’ songs. she always hung out with red velvet during isac but would end up having yeri to herself anyways ,,, they teased each other a lot too.

taehee Loves naeun, literally. she’s always flirting with her and telling her how pretty and cute she is. naeun was flustered at first but now she’s used to it lol. taehee would literally just stare at naeun with a loving smile during pre-performance interviews in inkigayo ,, naeun does the same whenever it’s time for taehee to say her lines ^ ^ and whenever they would accidentally make eye contact, they crack up and try to hide their giggles.

taehee was kinda intimidated of doyeon at first ,,, but she thought she was a chill type of person. turns out doyeon had a lot of cute charms in her and taehee always finds herself calling her cute when she does so. they are literally a power duo. whenever the two are mentioned together, fans would gush about how good they would look in a photoshoot together.

iconic moment (yeri bang ep. 11-1) “doyeon’s and taehee’s styles are similar. right?” yeri asks as she picks out beads for the bracelet she’s putting together for taehee. “taehee would want something that goes well with her outfit. she mostly wears monotone or beige colors,” naeun points out.

“ahh naeun, you know me so well,” taehee cooes, and clearly, her eyes were in the shape of hearts. seeing as the she got ignored, yeri drops her mouth open feigning offense. “why didn’t you give me a reaction like that?” she whines, “i knew you before naeun!!!”

“she’s just really interested in naeun,” doyeon hums casually, making the other girls laugh as taehee stood up from her seat. “HEY!!! that’s making me sound like a bad friend and i’m not.”

“are you really?” yeri continues to tease her, causing the said girl to whine and hug her in embarrassment.

blackpink

they’ve met and exchanged numbers in a music show early in their debuts.

she’s the closest with rosé and lisa since their age gap is quite smaller compared to jennie and jisoo.

there have been fancams of taehee watching blackpink perform and once jisoo was on the monitor, we’d see taehee mutter, “ahh she’s really pretty.”

taehee visits blackpink’s table once every award show, and jennie would be so attentive and welcoming of her — fixing her hair, being genuinely interested in what she’s saying, and laughing at her jokes. she was seen clinging onto taehee’s waist at some point, jennie adores taehee :(

taehee’s og aussie buddy is rosé !!!! they talk and eat together a lot, mostly about australia. taehee mentioned her in a radio show talking about the time they both cried in a public restaurant, “we were talking about home and then rosé unnie just started talking about her parents and suddenly i’m tearing up and then she’s tearing up and so we ended up crying while we ate pasta,” she laughed.

lisa thinks of taehee as her little brother. she’s just as energetic as her and taehee’s jokes are what lisa finds so funny. she would join in on a few of rosé and taehee’s hangouts and take lots and lots of pictures of them (and jokingly get mad if one of the girls don’t give her credit when they post on instagram).

iconic moment (200718 rosé instagram live) “you are so hot, rosé,” taehee reads from the comments, making it a sound a little sexy for the effect, the latter widening her eyes at the implication. “how ‘bout me? how ‘bout me?” lisa cuts in, “guys. how ‘bout me?”

“i’m the hottest okay? i’m the hottest,” she presses, rosé repeating what she said in breathy laughter. meanwhile, taehee was looking at lisa with the most sincere eyes she could muster just to tease her, “you are,” she emphasized, “the hottest.”

rosé laughs for the nth time that day as she clutches her stomach before questioning the youngest’s words, “ya, are you a two-timer?”

“no, i just have the prettiest girls beside me.”

ateez’s wooyoung and txt’s yeonjun

more of taehee’s ‘99 liner friends !!!!

taehee met wooyoung when she bumped into ateez in a convenience store near music bank. the leader of ateez greeted her first and a few of the members who were with him became acquainted with taehee, but wooyoung became the closest to her !!!!

(ateez boatta cover dance) “HEY JEON TAEHEE LOOK!!!!” wooyoung shouted before dancing ‘kick it’.

taehee covered ‘say my name’ and ‘answer’ in two of her dance vlives.

then wooyoung introduced yeonjun to taehee when the latter guested as an mc for inkigayo.

(191115 vlive) “oh i really like this song (run away by txt), i listen to this before going to bed sometimes. i’m actually friends with one of the members, yeonjun. ateez’s wooyoung introduced us while i mc’d as a special guest for inkigayo and we exchanged numbers. i really like their songs, especially the vibe.”

taehee is known to be very open with her friendships with other idols, so fans were quite okay with seeing her hang out with the two, her manager trailing a few feet behind them.

iconic moment (191115 vlive) taehee’s laugh trails off once she saw a notification pop-up on her phone. unlocking her phone, she snorts once she checked the message. she proceeds to show the meme to the camera while covering the top part of her phone, “ateez’s wooyoung sent this to our gc with txt’s yeonjun.”

“aha!! d’you guys know? when i send stuff to the gc, sometimes they leave me on read or reply ‘....’ just to tease me,” she rolls her eyes playfully, “but i’m glad we’re comfortable enough to tease each other.”

itzy’s yuna

taehee wanted to make friends to go out of her shell more, and she thought asking her manager to get yuna’s number was the first step.

taehee’s like Really fond of yuna ,,, and she’s glad they got along well real quick so she took her out to eat.

earlier in the year, when superm was touring, yuna sang a snippet of taehee’s solo song and tried to dance all the points of the choreo she could remember.

the fans have yet to see more interactions (or crumbs) from these two — noticing how their age gap is just a year longer than taehee’s and jisung’s, midzyzens would LOVE to see taehee baby yuna :(

iconic moment (200922 yuna instagram live) “nct’s taehee video called me awhile ago. we’re good friends,” yuna shyly giggles in front of the camera. “it’s been a long time since we last talked to each other so she called me, and then told me how much she loved our new album. she told me she really likes ‘not shy’, but she loves ‘be in love’ the most,” she explains further, adding how the nct member loved it because of her ‘killing me, killing me’ verse.

“taehee unnie is very good to me,” she cutely smiles. “she’s very genuine with her words and she’s really supportive. i hope for us to eat again and become closer in the future.”

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starrybethany · 3 years

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I’m Sure - Adam Boqvist Imagine Part 5

Word count: 4.0K

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Adam: You followed me

I stare at the three words, blinking with tired eyes. All I want to do is sleep, especially after the day I’ve had with Holden, but the baby decided kicking me was more important. So here I am at four o’clock in the morning checking my social media when I should be getting another three hours of sleep.

I rub my eyes, unsure of how to even respond to the message.

It’s just a statement. I feel flabbergasted by it- really, we haven’t talked in years- well, technically months, but the last time we saw each other we just fucked, and our child went to see him without my knowledge or consent. How the fuck am I supposed to respond to those three words?

Y/N: I think we need to talk.

I sigh, setting my phone down. Might as well get straight to the point. The sooner I tell him about the second baby and ask why he would see Holden without at least running it past me the better. I roll over, pulling the blanket tighter around me. Hopefully I can sleep at least a little bit longer. I’m going to need it to deal with the moody adolescent I’ll be seeing in the morning.

“I made some toast and bacon. Just let me just finish cutting up these strawberries and then breakfast will be ready,” I inform Holden as he hops down the stairs.

He picks up the filled plate waiting for him on the table, throwing the food into the trashcan and setting the plate on the counter, giving me an expectant look.

I stare blankly back at him. I know he’s waiting for a reaction. He wants me to blow up so then he feels okay yelling at me instead of starting the confrontation himself. Instead, I just say, “That’s wasteful.”

He rolls his eyes, grabbing his backpack from its usual spot by the door and making his way outside, letting it slam shut behind him. I release the breath that I’ve been holding in, popping a strawberry into my mouth.

I open my Instagram app to catch up on the posts that I’ve missed, freezing when I see that I’ve received a DM. I forgot that I sent a message to Adam last night. Well, technically this morning. After I sent the message, I passed out hard, and I thought the whole thing was a fever dream.

Adam: What about?

Adam: Here’s my number

My fingers tap the screen quietly as I add his phone number into my contacts, saving it and staring at it blankly.

Well. No time like the present.

Before I can even realize what I’m doing, before I can even think things through and decide what to say or whether this is a good idea or not, or hell, even what time it is in Chicago right now, I click on the phone icon.

I curse to myself, raising the phone to my ear. Absentmindedly, my hand raises to my mouth so I can chew on my fingernail. Nail-biting is a nervous habit that I gave up years ago, but I guess old habits die hard.

“Hello?” His groggy voice comes through the phone.

I can’t breathe.

The oxygen gets stuck in my lungs. All I can think about are his hands on my body, sliding down to grip my hips. The twinkle in his eyes as I would pull my shirt over my head.

And not to mention the last time I saw him. His hair is longer than he used to keep it, but it suits him. It looks good on him. And he bulked up since the last time I saw him, too- his abs definitely looked and felt like it, anyways.

“Hello?” He repeats, sounding more awake and borderline annoyed now.

“Adam,” I respond softly, suddenly feeling shy. Come on, where did my confidence go? I’ll need it to get through this conversation.

“Y/N,” he says, all sounds of annoyance out of his voice. “You actually called, I didn’t think that you would-“”Sorry for waking you up,” I blurt out, glancing at the clock and seeing that it’s seven in the morning here. Chicago is an hour behind Philadelphia- it’s what kept me from calling the boys on the team late at night for several years.

“Oh, no, no, don’t you ever worry about that,” he reassures me. It’s quiet. I know he’s waiting for me to speak, to let him know what I want to talk to him about, but I just can’t get the words out. I feel them stuck in my throat, clawing to escape. “So, how’s Holden?”

And there it is.

That question is what spurs me to speak, to dig into the man who hid a huge secret like that from me. But I guess I’m doing the same thing to him now.

“I don’t know, how is he, Adam?” I spit out.

He sighs. He sighs. I want to punch his perfect fucking face.

“If I had realized that you had such a problem with it-“”Such a problem with it?” I repeat, not believing my own ears. Suddenly I’m reminded of why I decided not to tell Adam about this baby and why he wasn’t ready to be in Holden’s life for thirteen years. Hell, it sounds like he’s still not ready.

“My son lied to me about his intentions of going to Chicago, traveled halfway across the country by himself, and saw someone who he’s never met before. Yes, I have a fucking problem with it,” I growl.

“Our son.”

“What?”

“He’s our son. You said my son.”

All I want to do right now is to reach through this tiny screen and hit him upside the head. Really, after I lay out all of my concerns, this is all he has to say to me?

“Whatever. When are you coming to Philadelphia next?” I question. I don’t want to air all of grievances and talk about the new baby over the phone. I’ve had enough communication classes to know that you need to see someone’s nonverbal behaviors instead just hearing what they have to say.

“Why? You want to see me?” Suggestion laces his tone.

No, asshole, you already got me pregnant again.

“Yes. We need to talk about Holden… and some other things,” my voice trails off at the end, not sure how to warn him about such big news.

“Some other things, eh? Well, I’ll be looking forward to that,” he responds, clearly thinking that it’s something regarding us and our relationship, well, our dislike or lust for one another or something, instead of picking up what I’m trying to hint at.

“Cool. So, can you take a trip to Philly sometime soon or are you going to wait until hockey season?” I inquire.

“I can take a trip there, just for you. And Holden, of course.”

I can’t help but let a small smile slip onto my face. That sentence shows me that he’d be a good dad if he just put in the effort. It infuriates me that he’s kept that from Holden for years just because he hasn’t felt like working towards a relationship with his son.

“Good. Let me know when you’re in town so we can meet up.”

“What? You’re not going to invite me to stay with you?”

“Goodbye, Adam.” I hang up before he can respond. All I can imagine the rest of the day is his reaction after that phone call. He would have that small, knowing smile on his face, pulling his phone out of his pocket every five minutes to check and see if he got a new text from me or to send the fifth one in a row to me- one that I still would not respond to.

And my heart skips a beat at the thought of that.

It’s been a week since the phone call and since Adam sent me a screenshot of his booked ticket to Philadelphia two weeks from then. For some reason, maybe it’s the stupid, hopeless romantic part in me, I had hoped that he would book his plane ticket and hotel room for that night or even the next day. But he told me he had some ‘lose ends’ to tie up in Chicago before leaving.

And it’s also been a week since Holden has said a word to me. I’ve tried talking to him. I’ve asked him about his day, his friends, cooked him his favorite meals all week, I even offered to take him to Target to get a new video game.

None of that has worked. And it hurts. It hurts knowing that after everything I’ve done for him and everything I’ve sacrificed for him, and how Adam has done none of that, he looks at Adam like a God and me like the scum on the bottom of his shoe.

I know it’s what I’m supposed to do as a mother, care for my son and make sure he’s happy, but it’s just- it’s just- ugh.

I start to feel my blood boil as my mom’s voice echoes in the back of my head. Life’s not fair.

It’s then that I realize that I’ve given him enough space and time to figure out his feelings and how he wants to proceed. I don’t want to give him too much space that he begins to resent me and feel like I don’t care about him.

I know that feeling all too well.

I knock on his bedroom door softly, waiting for him to open it before I just walk in. It creeks open slightly, and just as I expected, eyes matching my mom’s peek out to glare at me.

“Can I talk to you, Holden?”

He doesn’t respond, just stares at me.

“Please, you don’t even have to talk, just listen,” I beg.

Fortunately, he opens the door the rest of the way, watching as I walk into his room and sit gently on the edge of the bed. He sits down on his worn computer chair, laptop open to some video game I don’t recognize on his desk.

“I want to start by apologizing for yelling at you last week,” I begin, taking a deep breath. Apologizing isn’t something that comes easy to me- I grew up in a family where the words ‘I’m sorry’ were unheard of. My parents were always right, and I was always wrong.

“I realize it probably wasn’t easy for you to go to Chicago by yourself to meet your dad. Holden, I just want you to realize that I would do anything to protect you, and I love you with my whole heart so realizing that you were in such an emotionally taxing situation without talking to me about it first-“I pause to sniffle, starting to feel tears well up in my eyes. “I felt helpless. And I couldn’t stop wondering why you didn’t feel like you could share that with me and then I realized that it’s because I don’t share stuff with you either.”

He watches as I lift my sleeve, wiping the tears from under my eyes. His face is still blank, but his eyes look like they’ve softened. He’s understanding my words so far.

“So, yes, this baby is also Adam’s baby. And he did ask about you when I saw him back in February, but I let my pride get the best of me and I told him that he didn’t deserve to see you. I’m sorry for robbing you of meeting your father earlier,” I genuinely apologize, maintaining eye contact with my son.

He shifts in his seat, his hard exterior softening with every word. “Well, I’m sorry for calling you a shitty mother. And saying all of that other stuff. And, if it makes you feel better, I did go to the computer programming camp. I just saw Adam when we had a night off.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

He nods.

“What did he tell you? About not being involved in your life?” I ask carefully, curious as to what Adam told Holden to turn him against me like that.

“He just told me that he was working through some stuff,” he shrugs, acting like he doesn’t care but I know my son well enough to tell that he does. “And he wasn’t ready until recently to meet me.”

I bite my tongue to keep it from releasing an insult towards Adam. “And how does that make you feel?”

“Honestly?” I nod, probing him to go on. “Pretty awful. I don’t think I want a relationship with him, mom.”

A mix of emotions run through my body at his word. I feel anxious, because now I have to tell him that Adam’s coming next week and will want to see him, sadness, because my son now recognizes how his father did not want be involved in his life, and anger toward Adam for making him feel like this in the first place.

“Well,” I cough awkwardly. “He’s coming to Philadelphia next week. I’m going to meet him to tell him about the baby. If you don’t want to see him, you don’t have to. It’s all up to you, bud.”

I stand up slowly, rubbing my belly as the baby begins to kick. He always seems to do that whenever I move even just a little bit- he’s an active little guy.

“Oh,” I turn back around just as I’m about to close the door. “How did you even find out who your father is?”

“Please mom, I’m not stupid,” he grins slyly at me, sliding his headphones onto his neck. “You lived in Chicago when you got pregnant with me and worked for the Blackhawks. I figured, since you said you worked a lot, the only guys you really had a chance to be with were on the team. And when I asked you about my dad for that project for school you said he was Swedish, so I just went to the Blackhawks roster in 2020 and found the Swedish players, messaging them some really uncomfortable and intrusive messages on Instagram.”

I chuckle at that, shaking my head. It will never not blow my mind how clever and smart he is. As I close the door to his bedroom, I hear him say, “On the plus side, Alex Nylander is a really nice guy.”

The day is finally here. Being eighteen weeks pregnant makes it really hard to hide my baby bump, but I somehow manage to find a baggy sweatshirt that I’ve stolen from one of my ex-boyfriends to cover it up. I don’t want to walk into the restaurant we’re meeting at and have him immediately know.

Somehow my jeans still fit on my legs, but I have a feeling by the end of this lunch they’ll be unbuttoned. It’s just the way it goes sometimes.

I get to the restaurant before Adam, just like how I planned it. I wanted time to scope out my exits in case I need to bail halfway through this meal- knowing Adam, it’s a possibility. I haven’t thought through what I was going to say too much.

I know I need to talk to him about why he would keep Holden going to Chicago to see him a secret from me, and we need to talk about the baby.

But mostly I just want to hear him grovel. The secret, sadistic part of me wants to hear him beg for forgiveness for making me raise my child by myself for the past thirteen years. I want to hear him admit that he fucked up- I’ve never heard Adam Boqvist admit that he fucked up before.

He shows up two minutes late.

I know because my phone is sitting face up on the table and I click on it every five seconds to see what time it is. I tell myself that if it gets ten minutes past noon and he’s still not here, I’m going home and giving up on dealing with Adam ever again.

But then he’s standing in front of me, familiar toothy grin on his face, black beanie on his shaggy hair, and a bouquet of red roses in his hand.

“You’re late,” I state sternly, not letting any sign of emotion onto my face. I need to let him know I mean business. I need to let him know that I’m never getting into bed with him ever again.

“Yeah, sorry, there was a line at the grocery store,” his grin begins to slip, but as he holds the bouquet out towards me, it takes over his face once again. “I got you these.”

“Thanks.”

I don’t make any movement towards them. His smile falls once again and I begin to feel guilty- he did buy these flowers for me, but he also impregnated me and left me twice.

He slides into the chair across the table from me, setting the flowers on the table and coughing awkwardly. “So, have you ordered yet?”

“Just water,” I respond shortly.

“Do you want to split a bottle of wine?”

“I’m not really a day drinker,” I eye him over the top of my menu, then go back to skimming through the items. It’s a charade, though. I already know what I want.

“Are you two ready to order?” The peppy waitress appears at our side, notepad open in her hand.

“I’ll have the chicken alfredo,” I announce, folding my menu.

“I’ll take that too. And a bottle of your sweetest wine, please,” the blonde orders, passing his menu to the waitress. When she leaves, he turns back to me. “I know you like the sweet stuff.”

I take a deep breath, deciding to cut to the chase. I’d rather get through this meal as soon as possible. The sooner we get done talking about this stuff, the sooner I can get out of here.

“Adam, I’m pregnant.”

He chokes on the sip of water he’s just taken from his glass, water dripping down his chin and landing on the table in front of him. I can’t help but watch with a content smile as he coughs, trying to catch his breath.

“Excuse me?” He utters through coughs, wiping his chin with a napkin.

“I’m pregnant,” I repeat. “I’m due in November.”

“Well, uh, congratulations,” he says unsurely.

I roll my eyes, muttering, “You clearly haven’t gotten smarter since last time.”

He seems to catch on to the hidden meaning behind my comment, his eyes widening. “Oh is it- since we-“”It’s your baby,” I conclude bluntly.

A smirk begins to spread across his face. I can’t believe it. He’s smirking just after I told him that he got me pregnant accidentally for the second time.

“Why do you have that look?” I snap.

“My little swimmers work pretty well, don’t they?” He inquires confidently, sipping from his water and succeeding this time.

I lean across the table, turning it on him. “I don’t know, do they? Are there any half-siblings that I need to worry about?”

The smirk is replaced by a look of genuineness now. It startles me, the sudden change of emotions. “No, it’s you, Y/N. It’s always been you.”

I lean back in my seat, the sudden seriousness too much for me to bear. I fiddle with the napkin sitting next to my glass, avoiding eye contact with him. “Yeah, so it’s a boy.”

“Another boy,” he echoes my very thoughts the moment I found out the sex.

I grin at the thought of my second child. When he’s been kicking me at night and keeping me awake, I think about what he’s going to be like. Is he going to cry a lot or is he going to be a quiet baby like Holden was? Will I have to keep an eye on him every minute or will I be able to get some breaks?

And what about when he’s older. Will he like hockey like his dad? Would he like the Flyers because we live in Philadelphia, or would he like the Blackhawks because his dad plays for them?

“Speaking of boys, how is Holden doing? He hasn’t been responding to my texts lately.” Adam means for the question to sound casual, but I can hear the undertone of worry in his voice. Maybe he isn’t as much of a shitty father as I think he is.

“He doesn’t want to talk to you,” I confess.

He doesn’t bother to hide the hurt on his face. I don’t expect him to. I know how it feels to feel unwanted and unloved by your child- I felt it when Holden told me that I’m a shitty mother. And although Adam deserves the consequences to his actions, I can’t help but feel a small amount of pity for him.

“I deserve that,” he sighs.

“You do,” I agree, knowing that I’m shoving the knife deeper into his heart. “But just give him time to decide what he wants to do. It’s all so fresh to him.”

He gives me a small, vulnerable smile.

“Why didn’t you tell me that he was going to see you while he was in Chicago, Adam?” I ask him the question I’ve been dying to ask ever since I found out about the situation.

He shrugs, not saying a word.

“Yes, you do know,” I persist. “So just fucking tell me. Enough of the bullshit, we’re in our thirties now. It’s time to focus on the children, not your fucking pride.”

He looks baffled by my sudden outburst, but it inspires him to answer. “I was afraid that if you found out, you would stop him. Then I’d never get to meet my son.”

“I would have stopped him,” I agreed, causing him to open his mouth to begin arguing with me. I start to speak again before he can begin. “And reschedule the trip to a time that works better with my work schedule so that I could go with him. Yes, you’re his father, but you’ve never been in his life. You’re essentially a stranger to him.”

He narrows his eyes at me like my words are a challenge. “Not anymore.”

I narrow my eyes at him now. “Really? What’s his middle name? When is his birthday? What’s his favorite color?”

He doesn’t respond and I scoff, taking a sip of my water again. “That’s what I thought.”

We’re quiet as the waitress returns with our meals. I cut my noodles, taking a bite of my food.

“I don’t want it to be that way with this baby,” he says, quickly adding, “And Holden anymore. I want to be there for this baby from the start. Or from now, I guess. And I want to be there for Holden, if he ever wants me.”

Mixed feelings begin to flush through my body. This is what I wanted for my kids from the beginning, an active father figure. And Adam’s offering it now, but why am I still feeling so hesitant?

After years of expecting him to step up as a parent and him never doing it, I have reasonable doubts when it comes to Adam’s parenting ability.

“Well, you know it’s up to Holden. You can’t force him to like you,” I begin slowly, trying to phrase my words in the best way possible. “But with this second baby… we can try it. I have a doctor’s appointment in two days. I’ll text you the address and time.”

“But my flight leaves tomorrow,” he whines. “Can’t you just reschedule for today?”

“You have so much to learn, Adam,” I shake my head. “I just hope you realize that being a parent means that you’re selfless more than selfish. Tell you what, go back to Chicago if you want to. But if you go back to Chicago, the only time you’ll communicate with the boys is when they want to talk to you.”

#Adam Boqvist imagine #NHL imagines #hockey imagines #Adam boqvist #Adam Boqvist x reader #bimsure

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