awkward elevator

A short list of things I Love about this Defenders promo: 

  • matt 
  • daredevil 
  • matthew michael murdock 
  • the??? stupid mask??? HOW DID THIS HAPPEN this looks like something he improvised which brings up more questions 
  • matt honey this is the stupidest disguise you’ve ever had and i will be crying forever 
  • luke and his bullet-torn jacket just kinda chillin in the corner 
  • jessica punching things i don’t know what i expected 
  • JESSICA MY SWEET SUMMER CHILD 
  • why is danny Fancy. why is he wearing a nice suit and everyone else looks like trash. why is my homeless son actually decent for once in his life and it’s presumably before he Throws Down 
  • DANNY STAND STILL I NEED TO SEE YOUR FACE 
  • all of them in one elevator 
  • that’s it that’s all awkward elevator scenes are my aesthetic

There’s this notion that I keep seeing that privileged people benefit from oppression of another class, and it’s an idea I never saw when I first started learning sociological theory.

Back in like 2012, tumblr was all about including men in feminism and talking about how feminism would benefit everybody because it would do away with homophobia/homoantagonism and toxic masculinity, etc.

Like… to say that privileged groups (if not individuals) actively benefit from oppression is to erase the performative aspect of privilege; entry to privilege is determined by the privileged (see: Straight determines Straight) and if you deviate Too Much from their expectations, they revoke your right to reap the benefits of membership.

For example, despite all the campaigns about how Real Men Cry or whatever, the prevailing cognitive understanding that society holds is that crying is not masculine, and men who cry are shameful. This is sets a very hard limit on the emotions that a man is capable of showing, which is absolutely a kind of marginalization (but not inherently oppression).

To put it another way, if a cis man wears a dress, would he not face tangible violence from society at large regardless of what he claims his gender is? Is it the same as systemic legal disenfranchisement? Of course not. But a cis man in a dress has less social power than a cis man following social norms. And that power difference is rooted in transphobia/transantagonism. Whether or not it necessarily is the same experience is debatable, but transphobia/transantagonism is inexorably linked to rigid gender roles and toxic masculinity and homophobia/misogyny and other systems that actively hurt both oppressed and privileged classes.

Orientation-wise, people have discussed how coercive heterocentricism can negatively impact people who have never thought about their own orientations before, regardless of if they would turn out straight in the end anyway.

Even aside from gender and orientation, does anyone really benefit from ableism? A student experiencing one-off anxiety will likely not receive any more accommodation than somebody with an anxiety disorder with no legal documentation of it. How often do able-bodied people feel awkward about using the elevator? And how many often do disabled folks feel similarly awkward about how soon it’ll be before somebody makes them justify their right to use accessibility features? Again, abled people are not systemically disenfranchised and stigmatized, but both classes would benefit from a world where nobody gatekeeps disability or bats an eye at accommodations.

The problem with the Us vs Them model of privilege and oppression is that it seeks to create new power structures alongside the existing ones, instead of dismantling the entire notion of power itself. If you let people do what they need to do (whether it’s using the elevator or wearing a dress) without trying to retroactively judge the validity of their experiences, then everybody gets an equal playing field to be themselves freely and openly. After all, the number of elevators (ie resources) that exist in a space should be determined by usage statistics, and not by some statistic of how many disabled people there are present.

Exclusive labels will always leave out a grey population or fringe groups of marginalization.  Everybody oppresses each other and that’s a fact of life and intersectionality. What needs to happen is an abolishment of the systems that keep everyone down; true revolution means aligning not through labels but through ideologies. Even Marx said that when the time comes to overthrow capitalism, some bourgeoisie will align themselves with the revolution. Disability and gender are social constructs that exist because people in power say they do, but those people in power would benefit more in the end from saying they don’t.

Imagine being scared of elevators. You always use the stairs, but there’s an emergency and you’re forced to use the elevator. Loki always found your avoidance of them strange, and now, seeing you freaked out, he finally realizes what’s going on and tries to comfort you in his own distant, awkward way. Warming up to him, you grab his hand in reassurance. After getting out, you apologize, and he tells you he didn’t mind. From then on you start riding the elevator more often, but only when he’s there with you to hold your hand.

Before anything else, this is not my first ‘last letter’ to you and I don’t know if this will be the last— I hope, though.

When I think of you, I think of all things beautiful and magical. Like how the world seems so quiet from above. Or how the city lights seems to dance at night. I think of the lovely yellow lamp post on the street. Or how I see the chaotic traffic from your window. When I think of you, I hear those sentences you said. It was almost like a movie line and the whole time was a movie scene. I can’t spot anything ugly about what we had, except the fact that I don’t know if we really had something.

When I think of you, I think of your face in the morning. I think of how tight you held my hand when you thought I was asleep. I think of how you let me lean on your shoulder when the world got too much to handle. I think of your eyes and your smile or the way you frown on me everytime you think I’m annoying. I think of those horror films we failed to finish because you’re just too scared but you were acting like you’re not. It was a short time with you, but it was enough to give me memories I will remember for the rest of my life.

When I think of you, I think of the night you assured me that everything will be fine. When the stars showed up to entertain us but ending up being ashame on how you shine brighter than them. I think of those awkward elevator kisses and how you remove my eye glasses everytime I will accidentally fall asleep. God knows how I grieved for those moments when you decided to exclude me in your life completely. Like we never happened at all.

But never once I hated you for breaking my heart. How could I? You gave me the best memories I can keep in a short period of time. And for that, thank you. In another universe, or lifetime, I hope if we meet, I’ll finally be enough for you. But if not, I hope you’ll find someone that will satisfy you.

When I think of you, I think of that nice brilliant man that have the courage and dedication. I will think of how I knew you’ll go far in life.

This is my last letter to you—
Or maybe just another letter again.

anonymous asked:

I'm reminded of those videos where someone doesn't even notice they or their clothing is on fire until someone else points it out. Imagine that but with father and his son's pants on Mustafar. That's how Luke's leg ends up getting burned.

Omg, ahaha. Vader like ??? !!!???? Meanwhile Luke is wondering why all these EMOTIONS in the Force and then “try not to set yourself ON FIRE, SKYWALKER.”

“oh shit”

“language young man”

Crazy In Love

Poe Dameron x Reader

Summary: Reader catches the eye of a curious Poe Dameron.

Warnings: NSFW, Oral smut, Unprotected Smut (please use protection though aghh), cursing

A/N: This is inspired by the 50 Shades of Grey version of Crazy in Love by Beyoncé. Yes, I know shame on me for these thoughts.

I do not own anything!!!

Originally posted by roguepodron

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The Signs As Cliches
  • Aries: The "Bar Fight" Cliche
  • Taurus: The "Strong Female is Always Underestimated" Cliche
  • Gemini: The "Bad Guy/Good Guy Comparison" Cliche
  • Cancer: The "Not Actually Dead But You Thought" Cliche
  • Leo: The "Kisses the Love Interest at the Last Second When There is Literally No Time for Kissing" Cliche
  • Virgo: The "Awkward Elevator Scene" Cliche
  • Libra: The "30 Second Makeover Scene and *gasp* She's Beautiful" Cliche
  • Scorpio: The "Disappear into the Fog" Cliche
  • Sagittarius: The "'Get A Hold Of Yourself!' *slaps*" Cliche
  • Capricorn: The "30 Second Bomb Takes 5 Minutes to Go Off" Cliche
  • Aquarius: The "Beaten the First Time but They Get Up and Beat the Enemy Even Though They're Weak" Cliche
  • Pisces: The "Popular Guy Falls for the Unpopular Girl or Vice Versa" Cliche

Leia stares, brown, shadow-ringed glare boring into Han’s back, and then she drops the tray on top of his head. The stew splatters everywhere, and a small cup of pudding goes flying.

“Oh no, I’m too weak to do anything, since I’m a princess.” With that, she turns on her heel and storms out. Luke’s stare is reproachful.

“It’s the anniversary, Han,” he says before he disappears after Leia, and Han knows he deserved that. Teach him to open his big mouth.

***
Thumping the book against a thigh, Luke slumps further into his seat in the Falcon’s rec area. The dim lighting helps, and there’s barely any red irritation on his wrists from the mag cuffs left, now. Heavy footsteps come closer, then stops. Chewie stands silent above him before he sits down.

Luke’s silent for several minutes, before he slowly slids sideways, head meeting the thick fur covering Chewbacca’s upper arm.

“… Can you still count yourself ‘freeborn’ if you end up enslaved? Even if it was just for three days?” Luke’s voice is rough and barely a whisper; Chewie doesn’t respond, but wraps his arm around Luke and pulls him closer.

***
“You okay, miss?”

Ahsoka squints up into a triple-sun— no, that’s just two suns and the sun-lit blond head of a ten-year old boy, eyes blue and bright with concern. He looks familiar for some reason she can’t place, but maybe that’s just the crash addling her brain, who knows. The boy turns around and waves to someone she can’t see.

“Uncle Owen! Aunt Beru! The pilot’s alive!”

All she knows is that as soon as the Imperial ship that was chasing her lands, these people’s lives are going to change very, very quickly, and she’s sorry for that.

***
Luke closes his eyes, and tries to breathe.

In. Out. All he can smell is smoke, ashes, burning oil and electronics and the lingering trace of cooked flesh.

He feels like throwing up.

***
Darth Vader lands in front of him with rattling force and the suddenness of a striking krayt dragon. Luke stumbles back, patting for his lightsaber with one hand and pulling his blaster up with his other. Three seconds later his fingers are numb, the blaster is on the grating on the floor, his (his father’s) lightsaber is at Vader’s hip, and he…

“LET GO OF ME! How did you even— there was no one else in this part of the ship!” The armour digging into his stomach is very uncomfortable, and Vader seems unbothered by his struggles.

“I am not restricted to using shuttles or suits for a space walk, Skywalker.”

***
The liquid inside the tank is nearly milky, and Luke can feel his heartbeat behind his eyes as he stares at the even paler body held within.

There are no limbs. Not a single one. It would be so very easy

Yellow eyes snap open, and Luke feels like he can’t breathe.


Have some flash bits. Nothing in particular, just some tiny bites of writing.

You’re Invited(Stark!Reader x Peter Parker)

Word Count: 1964

Summary: The reader and Peter get invited to a high school party, and the only way to go is to sneak out.

Warnings: Underage drinking SORRY DON’T DO WHAT THEY DO

A/N: Some Reader x Peter because we all need it every once in awhile. I love Peter, omg. I hope you guys like this!! 


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Choose Your Mistakes #32

Part thirty-two of the interactive fanfiction, Choose Your Mistakes. Please check the FAQ and the Setting Info if you have questions, and be sure to make your choice below.

You chose to press the DOWN button. 

Originally posted by floatingonwater

You didn’t hesitate, slamming the down button with you and Mare both inside the elevator.
The doors shuddered closed, Dark noticing a moment too late, banging furiously on the closed metal. The elevator descended smoothly, leaving the roars and howls far above it.
You waited for something terrible to happen.
You stared at Mare. Mare stared at you.

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little red riding hood (1/2)

little red riding hood (½)
dom!hoseok x reader // M (smut) // 3233
You better not be wearing anything under that coat when you get here. Or you’re not coming tonight.

warnings: orgasm denial, mild dom and exhibitionist themes, name calling, dirty talk? i’m not sure what to warn about, oh! flashing too.

a/n: hello, this is my first ever smut piece and it’s written for my baby sister @kpopscenariostho​, who has turned me into hoseok trash in the span of four months. this is torn in two~ this is just part one so may the good lord hold you as you swim through this trashy thing. it’s also supposed to be a friends with benefits!au but now im not so sure if it is anymore?! BUT YES, i hope you enjoy and please be gentle with me, it’s my first time uwu

i would like to thank @beansuga, @justanemptydream, @mint-tape, and @apandasmind for listening to me screech about this over and over again. and @minyoongittaemune for going through the first actual draft and giving me notes. :* love y’all. you’re the best i can’t believe you deal with my weird ass all the time~

PS I wrote this to BTS’s Danger so may it also ruin your soul. Have a Danger Era Hoseok too.

Originally posted by notjhope

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Magical baby finder!

Say it with me now everybody;

THE FORCE

IS NOT

a magical baby-finder what can tell Anakin Skywalker who his children are.

/BANGS ONE MILLION POTS AND PANS

THE FORCE

DOES NOT

WORK THAT WAY

Darth Vader doesn’t know who Luke is until he’s told the name of the Force sensitive pilot who destroyed the Death Star. He couldn’t even sense Luke until Luke actually used the Force in the Death Star trench. Untrained Force sensitives do not go PING PING PING on your handy dandy Force Radar, even less the “magical relationship and baby-finder” extra app that doesn’t exist.

Darth Vader can’t tell that Leia is his daughter because she isn’t trained and thus doesn’t ping in the Force and they have no personal relationship and Vader… doesn’t know who she is to him.

Darth Vader can’t tell Luke is his son before he’s told his name. Their handy dandy telepathic connection? Does not come into existence until AFTER Luke has been told who Vader is and thus is as aware of Vader (and who/what he is) and there’s enough of something like a “relationship” for the Force to ping off on.

The Force, friends, droids, galactic citizens of the Republic and Empire and various sundry criminal elements and Hutts,

is not

a

magical baby-finder

Before anything else, this is not my first ‘last letter’ to you and I don’t know if this will be the last— I hope, though.

When I think of you, I think of all things beautiful and magical. Like how the world seems so quiet from above. Or how the city lights seems to dance at night. I think of the lovely yellow lamp post on the street. Or how I see the chaotic traffic on your window. When I think of you, I hear those sentences you said. It was almost like a movie line and the whole time was a movie scene. I can’t spot anything ugly about what we had, except the fact that I don’t know if we really had something.

When I think of you, I think of your face in the morning. I think of how tight you held my hand when you thought I was asleep. I think of how you let me lean on your shoulder when the world got too much to handle. I think of your eyes and your smile or the way you frown on me everytime you think I’m annoying. I think of those horror films we failed to finish because you’re just too scared but you were acting like you’re not. It was a short time with you, but it was enough to give me memories I will remember for the rest of my life.

When I think of you, I think of the night you assured me that everything will be fine. When the stars showed up to entertain us but ending up being ashame on how you shine brighter than them. I think of those awkward elevator kisses and how you remove my eye glasses everytime I will accidentally fall asleep. God knows how I grieved for those moments when you decided to exclude me in your life completely. Like we never happened at all.

But never once I hated you for breaking my heart. How could I? You gave me the best memories I can keep in a short period of time. And for that, thank you. In another universe, or lifetime, I hope if we meet, I’ll finally be enough for you. But if not, I hope you’ll find someone that will satisfy you.

When I think of you, I think of that nice brilliant man that have the courage and dedication. I will think of how I knew you’ll go far in life.

This is my last letter to you—
Or maybe just another letter again.

The Aquitaine Princess

Tribute and follow-up ficlet to sparklight’s chapter forty in her marvelous “In Which Our Intrepid Hero Doesn’t Escape” series. (Fiercely-protective Mommy Vader wasn’t something I understood I desperately needed until I encountered it! And I love genderbent “Luca” as well. ^_^)

If you’re wondering about the title, it’s a reference to a beautiful French poem known as El Deschidado, which references an “Aquitaine prince with a destroyed tower.” Technically Luca would be a princess (though I’m not certain how comfortable she’d be with the title), hence the change.

Trigger warning for a panic attack. I don’t feel Luca is any less badass than Luke, but you’ve got to keep in mind that the poor kid’s in a seriously traumatizing situation. (Let’s hope there are some Imperial therapists available in the ranks.)

L & V are being a bit more emotional than normal, mainly because I think genderbent Luke and Vader might be a little more in-tune with their emotions (albeit Vader a smidgen more so.)

Thanks again to the very-excellent sparklight, whom is an angel, saint, and a bag of chips!

I am the Dark One, – the Widower, – the Unconsoled
The Aquitaine Prince whose Tower is destroyed:
My only star is dead,- and my constellated lute
Bears the black Sun of Melancholia.

In the night of the Tomb, You who comforted me,
Give me back Mount Posillipo and the Italian sea,
The flower that my afflicted heart liked so much
And the treillised vineyard where the grapevine unites with the rose.

—Excerpt from El Deschidado

-O-

“… what do you want?” Luca asked, quiet and shamefully soft, even as her back was almost painfully stiff. The hand around her wrist tightened, making the metal of the cuff dig in a little, and the other gloved hand finally rose up, not quite touching her cheek.

Foreboding gathered in her gut as she watched those starkly yellow eyes wash out into bright blue again, watched the harsh twist to Vader’s mouth soften a shade.

“My daughter.”

-O-

Luca had flinched at that. Partially because her stomach had rolled sickeningly and she had to take deep, shuddering breaths to keep the remaining contents of her stomach from heaving their way up. She braced a glistening palm against the wall, nearly slipping.

The hand poised over her face slowly fell. She wondered wordlessly why Vader bothered if she couldn’t actually bring herself to touch her affectionately, but the hand had hesitantly reached for Luca, as if of its own accord.

Dimly, Luca felt the writhing flare—something like a supernova—of Vader’s wintry force presence hardening, crackling as it rapidly frosted over into a pernicious arctic armor. And suddenly it seemed to be much farther away, as if Luca were looking at it through the wrong end of binoculars, though Vader’s hand still clutched her wrist so tightly she was rapidly losing feeling in it.

Luca immediately felt a hot rush of shame as she gazed up at over-bright eyes, starkly-blue embers hovering in the dark, unblinkingly watching her. Did Vader sense her revulsion?

Her next thought stepped on her question mark: Why should she care if she hurt Vader’s feelings? Insanity, it seemed was catching.

Or genetic.

Her free hand drew itself into a shaking fist, nails sinking in her palm. Uncle Owen had lied about her mother, and while she could maybe, albeit begrudgingly, understand why he had, she couldn’t help resenting him even if the feeling came with a maelstrom of guilt.

And when he and Beru had been murdered, the only person whom saved her from being crippled with grief was Ben, whom gave her what she’d wanted her whole life: The knowledge that she was meant to do something special—albeit more so than she ever could’ve guessed—and that her mother had been, too. She bit the inside of her mouth hard, and something metallic and hot flooded her mouth. Vader snapped something she heard, but didn’t understand.

Anakin Skywalker was a Jedi knight, a paradigm of strength and goodness, whom also had her life cut short by Vader. If Luca hadn’t already wanted vengeance for Beru and Owen, now it became a purpose, which had been the only thing sustaining her all this time, her friends aside. A lump rose from her chest and lodged itself in her throat.

Her grief for her mother had vapidly skyrocketed, something she hadn’t even thought possible. But Vader wasn’t anything she anticipated, the demon she’d needed him to be, and she felt pity for him—her—before Luca remembered and her contempt washed it away.

But Vader was her mother, there was no use in not accepting it, the force had no feelings and resonated the affirmation over and over again—

“Young one.”

Vader was urgently saying something else, her hand still bracing Luca’s back. Luca stared blankly at Vader’s rapidly-yellowing eyes.

Ben had to have known Darth Vader was her mother and he’d lied, just like everyone else in the galaxy so desperate to turn her into a pawn, he’d lied when Luca had no one and nothing left, not even a home. Ben wanted her to kill her mother—she shrank back from the thought as if burned, it felt traitorous. But it was true.

Now she could never trust even Ben’s memory ever again. The only person she could understand innately wasn’t lying was her mother. Her mother was alive, the sweetest and most secret hope Luca had ever cherished, but it’d devolved into a nightmare. Vader was a genocidal and vicious maniac. Nothing short of evil.

Luca probably imagined the faint tremor in Vader’s hand still clutching her wrist. Vader, whom for all Luca’s training, for all her giving everything and then some, had stolen her away as easily like a cat would a kitten, regardless of her struggles.

She let out a noise that came out both a strangled laugh and a sob. Vader was the only person whom she could innately understand wasn’t lying, and yet she in all likelihood wanted to use Luca too, her own child. Both Obi-Won and Anakin Skywalker died second deaths in that moment.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Exhale, exhale, exhale—

Her lungs plunged rapidly for air, seeming to end only at the base of her neck, not drawing nearly enough oxygen, regardless of how much she gulped for it.

Her mother’s hands grasped her shoulders as Luca’s vision blurred orange, bled red. Her mind churned in a near-indecipherable blur of terror and hysteria. Her ears rang and someone must’ve been screaming while her throat burned as if it were filling up with blood. She thrashed hopelessly in Vader’s hold, too panicked to care that there was no escape on the ship, that her wrist at this point had become a distant, stinging star of pain as the manacle dug into her skin. Why not, why not, what did it matter she didn’t care nothing mattered anymore—

“ENOUGH!”

Vader’s ear-splitting roar sliced through the air and the force; Luca’s eyes widened, freezing as Vader seized her in a too-tight hold, pinning both her arms to her sides. Still Luca struggled, and in Vader’s now-palpable concern, her icy barriers thawed and Vader’s force presence rushed to meet hers. Luca fell limp at that, and if Vader hadn’t been clutching her upright she would’ve certainly tumbled to the floor.

At first it was worse, because Vader’s mercurial force presence loomed like an enormous, blackish-red tidal wave over Luca’s, reaching for her like so many hands. Barriers flew up in Luca’s mind as she frantically retreated deeper into herself, but Vader had been using the force longer than Luca had been alive, and when she pursued the blockades were carelessly knocked aside.

A second later Vader’s mind immobilized her own in a perfectly-implacable grip, rippling with furious dark energy—the first icy jolt upon being badly burned. Luca would’ve cried out if she could’ve, bracing herself for a certain mental assault and the agony certain to go with it.  

Something tentatively—tentatively?—and gently brushed against Luca’s petrified subconscious, the lightest of touches. Stunned, Luca tried to speak, but a cool energy glided over her feverish and distressed thoughts, plunging them into white background noise.

Shaking like mad, her head tilted and fell against Vader’s armor-clad shoulder.

There was a quiet hum coming from the gentle energy flowing into her. It did not quite make her calm, her heart was beating too quickly for that—but it hushed the frantic, blind energy that would’ve sent her battering herself against the ship walls. Luca’s eyes slipped shut. It wasn’t quite unlike the time she’d been slipped inside a bacta tank.  

Another light caress, albeit still uncertainly so, as if Vader were frightened of her, which was absurd to the point of being hilarious. Vader’s force presence was infinitely larger than Luca’s, could’ve crushed hers into dust. But while the idea was baffling, it felt like Vader’s mind was actually cradling hers.

More likely, Luca had somehow sustained head trauma when she’d been electrocuted earlier.

Her breathing was still shuddery, but slower and deeper. Awareness returning, Luca sharply inhaled as she sensed a ring surrounding her, comprised of a black, thrashing maw of blazing toxic energy.

Alarmed, wishing desperately for hers—Vader’s—saber, Luca was shocked by the sheer fury and hatred these flames emitted, something she could dimly understand had been kindled by raw despair.

This force energy jabbed violently out, like so many knives and so much broken glass and while Luca had once scoffed at the word bloodcurdling, she could not do so now. Approaching them would be suicidal. She redoubled her efforts to be free, and Vader had only tightened her mental grip the way she had Luca’s wrist.

While unharmed by the barrier, Luca desperately wanted to shy away; the flames were comprised from malevolence, lashing out and seeking so many targets; possibly the whole galaxy. And yet, oddly enough, not at the girl they surrounded.

But the force defense was more than pure anger; there was a staggering amount of possession and protection radiating off them in waves, something near-feral in intensity and if Vader meant to harm her all along (though Luca didn’t think so) why couldn’t she get it over with?

Young one.

Vader’s voice within the force struck a rich, deep alto. No rasping, no staccato breathing, no intermittent noises from her support. Luca’s eyes flew open, startled.

You are safe.

The voice began hissing the beautiful words over and over again, and the comforting cool energy coming from Vader increased, lulling. Eyes flickering once again, Luca sagged in the gloved hold, fighting to stay conscious.

Her brow furrowed, bewildered as to why this seemed dimly familiar.  

-O-

Sometimes when Luca slept she remembered something, or at least upon waking she dimly remembered recalling something, from a very, very long time ago. Before she’d been born.

In a night without stars, she was a nebulous being whom didn’t think in words. Her nascent mind wandered, eventually approaching a much larger presence than her own self.

Innately she understood without understanding how whom it was, and brushed against it curiously. At first it started in blinding-white-shock, iron-defenses shooting up before they crumbled into an intense tenderness, something tremulous. It recognized her.

The awestricken luminosity softly pressed back, with something akin to playfulness. It’d wrapped around her so tenderly and tightly she’d been happy, a profound sense of contentment and rightfulness stealing over her in their burgeoning force connection. The other used it to send peaceful waves passing over her, both of them basking in mutual adoration.

That had been the first time Luca’s consciousness encountered Anakin Skywalker’s, but it hadn’t been the last.

-O-

When Luca came back to herself, there were tears streaming silently down her face. Vader held her in a not-quite an embrace, pinning her arms, which was it was confining as much as it was comforting.

At last by unspoken agreement Luca tugged back and Vader slowly released her. The former turned to look determinedly at the wall while rubbing her face.

And she prayed that Vader couldn’t understand that her earlier revulsion was not least because a little girl from trillions and trillions of light-years miles away (but not far enough) had looked up at the dark lord’s words, was scrubbing her dirty face and scrambling to her feet, staring expectantly at the sky.

The silence between them was every part as uncomfortable as the shouting. Luca’s face burned and she couldn’t quite bring herself to look back.

However dire the situation, it was the most profoundly awkward one Luca had ever encountered. Vader seemed to feel the same, considering just how quiet she was, save for the intermittent breathing on the oxygenator.

It was childish, but Luca couldn’t help but reach out with the force towards Vader again, and for her credit was firmly pushed away. The latter’s force presence was rapidly resealing itself in its fortress.  

“Will you be still now?” Vader said at last, sounding as weary as Luca felt. “Can I trust you not to harm yourself?”

Luca just nodded wearily, still wiping her eyes. Thankfully Vader didn’t see, or pretended not to. The two remained chained together, though both were looking in opposite directions of the dilapidated old ship, lost in her own thoughts.

Anakin Skywalker was still alive. Anakin Skywalker was still alive.

She mopped her face once again, took a few deep breaths.

“Where are you taking me?” She asked, not quite trusting her voice.

“My ship.” said Vader shortly, after only a moment’s hesitation. The woman’s eyes remained fixated on the windows ahead, reflecting her ruined face stricken of any color, so badly burnt that hair refused to grow. “You’ll be interned in quarters there.”

Luca felt a sharp spike of irritation. Exactly how well had Vader thought this plan through before kidnapping her? “And what, you’re going to lock me up forever, is that it?”

“Don’t tempt me,” snarled Vader, pulling at their chain. “As it stands, the idea of having you handcuffed to my person at all times has its merits.”

Luca went very hot and then very cold at that, because Vader wasn’t someone whose bluff you wanted to call.

“Please,” she tried again, her voice again reaching that painfully soft and embarrassing register. “You can’t just—“

Vader spun on her heel to face her, bluing eyes flashing.

“I can. You are safe with me, not at the beck and call of a ragtag, hypocritical army of anarchists whom will step on your throat the moment you become a liability.”

“The Alliance would never—“

“Yes, because they clearly had ‘Miss Vader’s kid’s,’ best interests at heart,” Vader scoffed, and Luca nearly had the heart knocked out of her.

It would’ve been one thing if Vader kept shouting lies in her ears—annoying, but bearable because she knew otherwise. But the moment Luca discovered her parentage the soldiers had closed in on her—

They wouldn’t have hurt me. I didn’t know. I didn’t know.

“No, you did not. But your innocence would not save you; you were culpable in being born my child.”

It sounded so awful spoken aloud, given shape. Luca had to count to ten to avoid screaming.

“I can’t turn. I can’t be like you. You have to let me go.”

“I have to do no such thing. What I must do is my obligation, which is to keep you from harm.”

Surprise flitted on Luca’s face and her breath caught. Vader pointedly looked away, her force presence growing positively polar, an icy warning to keep a safe distance.

It was a very strange dance. When Luca stepped forward, Vader stepped back, and however much Luca had tried denying her parentage, Darth Vader had only told her the truth over and over again.

Too exhausted to argue anymore, and knowing it was useless in any case, Luca sank to a sitting position again and closed her eyes, so emotionally drained she could scarcely move.

Vader had stolen yet another thing from her. She couldn’t imagine harming her now.

-O-

Sometimes when Luca was small, she woke up crying in the middle of the night. Aunt Beru would come in and rub her back, assuring her that her nightmares were only ever just nightmares.

And she did have dreams of black, white-eyed creatures dragging her away and eating her (she couldn’t scream, because they’d eat that too), but sometimes she didn’t dream at all, but only woke up crying from a fissure so horribly hollow and hurting it made her worry she might never stop.

-O-

When Luca came to, she awoke wrapped in a black cape, as whomever was carrying her marched across a white bridge. A docking chamber.

Suddenly remembering and returning to hell, she warily turned to gaze up at Vader—whom by now had her unholy black mask restored, eyes shrouded in black. What color were they now, and what was she thinking?

Luca wearily shoved at Vader’s front so as to least have some decency in walking, but she might as well as pushed a wall for all the reaction Vader gave.

Luca pressed a hand against her eyes and was annoyed when it came back wet; she’d been crying from the old place again, the one with bits of her that had never grown up, not really.  She hid her face upon wondering what the imperial soldiers must’ve thought, to have seen the dark lord carrying a girl draped in her cloak and crying as if her heart were on the verge of stopping.

Vader had turned grief into murderous, destructive power. Luca could only let it turn into pain and something tenderer, infinitely more vulnerable. Maybe that was why Vader turned—sheer fear of being torn apart by this raw emotion.  

She sulked, hating the fact that she couldn’t hate Vader, despite the enormity of her actions. The woman had razed entire civilizations and now Luca needed her and that thought was so disturbing so she feebly tried pushing against Vader again, wriggling in her hold and knowing the futility.

“I can’t stay here.”

“You can and must. At my side, you will be a princess.”

Luca’s mind wiped itself blank, faintly hearing Biggs laughing. “I’m not a princess. I have it on good authority I am the opposite of a princess. A princess told me that.”

“You were one before you were born, child. It is your birthright.”

“Please. My friends will come for me in any case.”

This was something Luca did and desperately did not want, for Han, Leia, Threepio, Artoo and Chewie to appear. They’d be in mortal danger, and yet Luca was already missing them.

“I will kill Palpatine for what he did,” said Vader coldly as they stepped into yet another long white hallway. “He told me you had died, and so I’ll burn him from existence. Here is another lesson, child. I’ll destroy anyone whom tries taking you from me.”

Luca’s jaw dropped, and despite the cloak draped around her went cold.

…..oh. Um.

Escaping was going to be an ordeal.