#and it happened in many occasions and that is why he is not innocent nor pure hearted and why it brought him unhappiness as well

[riddler-green]

Tea for three. Prologue

Summary: You have been a patient/prisoner of Arkham for several months since you were charged with a crime you did not commit. But what happens when you meet Batman's latest enemy? the man of the hour? In which you help Batman on his cases, you're Edward's new favorite person, and Jonathan is part of your past that you want so badly to return to.

Edward Nashton x reader, Bruce Wayne x reader, Jonathan Crane x reader.

A/n: Holaaa everyone! here I am posting another story that I thought of in a sleepless night, I think it's one of my most ambitious fics that I've been planning but that makes it cooler! I should clarify that this fanfic is mixed with the 2022 movie with the Nolan saga (but in such a minuscule way that it's barely imperceivable). I'm back from my vacation so I'll update my other work soon! ♡

I also want to clarify that English is not my first language, so an apologize for the spelling mistakes. ✧˖°. (My English is rusty :´p).

(Also this fanfic is published on AO3) ✿

Warning: Fluff and angst, Obsessive Behavior, Canon Compliant (the flood occurred, sorry) Movie spoiler (Batman 2022) if there is another warning I did not put, please let me know.

Words: 5,400

You stroll as two guards lead you to a room, you don't know where they are taking you but it's not like you could complain either. The guards behind you ignored you all the way chatting with each other as if they were not watching an Arkham patient, they let you into the individual visiting room. Still, you nicknamed it the interrogation room because you only come here when that person requests your presence.

You sit down without a problem in the stiff metal chair, the approving noise of the iron partition sounds throughout the place, and you hear one of the guards closing the door leaving you alone with him.

At first, it was tedious, even traumatic in a way to come to this room to talk to the person who captured you and brought you to Arkham without hesitation. You couldn't refuse to see him, not when the caped man is a colleague of an important commissioner. No matter how many times you told him, how many times you yelled at him that you were innocent, he either didn't believe you or just wouldn't listen. You got tired of telling everyone around you that it wasn't your fault, none of them listened to you.

The metal partition rises completely, and little by little you see the almost imperceptible figure of the knight of the night. He kept silent without sitting down, standing in front of you analyzing you as everyone does nowadays, but you no longer care what he thinks of you, you are practically a hopeless case for him.

"Hello?" your greeting sounded confusing, you were not expecting a visit from him, but you have an idea why he comes to you, on certain occasions he shows you cases of different indoles, also that he has found some clue of the…

"I'm looking for the Riddler" He doesn't greet you and moves closer to the glass that separates them, you can take a better look at him, he's still the same since the last time you saw him, his attire nor his face have changed at all, but you notice something different in his voice, is it tiredness you hear?

"The Riddler?" you look at him unclear as to what he means "Who is that?".

"A serial killer" he informs you, you often hear those terrible words from him, how often does Batman chase killers like that, it's like there's one every week, it's cruel but it's the truth, Gotham is the cradle of evil, hell on earth, some would say.

"And what have I got to do with him?" you ask hesitantly.

Batman leaves a gray folder in the crack that connects the two rooms as if it were a mailbox "I need to know your perspective".

For a moment you thought about rejecting whatever is in that folder, but your curiosity won you over, you slowly grabbed the folder somewhat heavy because of the many sheets stored, on the cover of the folder you can see a CLASSIFIED in capital letters, that fuels your interest even more and you open the folder.

It's a lot to take in at once, you open your eyes from the initial shock, you haven't seen so much blood since your clinical internship days, you close the folder for a few seconds to recover, and you look Batman in the eye with a frown, he didn't even warn you how grotesque the case could be. 

Batman looks back at you completely seriously, he looks immutable and silent. You open the folder again and are greeted by the same disturbing images "Wow, it's something " you comment uneasily.

You see the evidence, black and white photos of the murders stapled to the autopsy reports, it is amazing how this man can have such information. the more time you spend reading the events and the evidence the more disturbed you become. 

Mayor Don Mitchell Jr, mayor of Gotham for several years, you saw him once at a social event done by Gotham University, he was happy and smiling maybe because of the excess alcohol in his veins. but now you look at the crime scene, his face completely wrapped in duct tape.

"No more lies..." you whisper reading the message on the corpse of the mayor, then that was with an already established motive, to give a statement.

On the other hand, Commissioner Savage's body is barely recognizable, the cage on his head says it all.

This is no ordinary killer.

What have you gotten yourself into, batman?

"why are you showing me this?" you manage to ask him even with the murders fresh in your mind, you don't think you will sleep tonight.

The already-seated masked man repeats to you "I need to know your perspective".

"As a patient or as a psychologist?" technically you can no longer practice your career since they took away your degree, but he doesn't correct you, you peruse everything that was offered, the riddles, the pictures of all the letters he has left for Batman, descriptions of the crime scene, write-ups of the witnesses who found the bodies.

"Both" he declares.

The handcuffs on your wrists do not give you much freedom to move your arms but do not prevent you from handling the documents in the folder, if Batman thought this might interest you he was right, for better or worse you did not stop seeing file after file.

"How extravagant," you say your first impressions "Brusque with his victims, he really is angry" You turn the page to see the pictures of his riddles "But he is also ingenious, this is not prepared from one day to another, he has been planning this for a long time, I would say years".

"Angry at who?" the man in front of you asks but you don't answer him instantly, you take your time carefully reading all the research, it's a lot for only one killer and few victims, but it's nothing that can be used to find him.

"With the world" you turn the page to see Commissioner Savage's crime scene photo "The pattern is evident, the mayor...the commissioner...does not kill ordinary civilians." 

"Do you think it's political?".

You barely smile at the mere idea that this is just politics "No, this is too intimate for him, riddles are an essential part of his life that he knows how to use to his advantage...and I only come to one conclusion..." you shut up and rearrange the documents to close the folder. 

"What is it?" batman questions you with intrigue in his voice.

You see him again, he must be desperate somehow to find this Riddler who asks for the opinions of third parties, of "crazy" people like you, something he dislikes, he prefers to work alone, that's his emblem. Deep down it angers you to no end, he hasn't caught your living nightmare and he's already looking for another asshole.

"That" you passed him the folder through the crack in the partition between rooms, and he retrieves it in his hands "Is revenge, Batman, and a very wicked one."

"Give me a diagnosis" he speaks faster, and the anger starts to seep into his face and it satisfies you to sometimes see him like this, frustrated Batman...yeah that's a first.

you smile and relax in your stiff metal seat "You should ask Dr. Crane for that, he's more prepared than I am, don't you think?".

"He refused" You'd know he'd turn it down, he's not like Batman or you, he doesn't even like to play Clue.

"yeah, he doesn't have the hobby of playing detective" you shrug your shoulders "I can't give you a diagnosis because it's little, he has left only what he wants us to know, maybe he includes you in this because he admires you or because he wants to kill you, who knows" you blurt out everything you think without any shame, in your mind you are already putting together a criminal profile with only what he gave you, but you won't tell him that, he doesn't deserve your help.

The masked man's posture tenses and he begins to clench his fists, your smile grows. 

"all that, all those little clues he leaves you make me think this is all a big riddle on his part" You pointed to the folder held by one of his gloved hands.

"I don't think he's going to stop until he sees everyone on his list dead."

What you told him seemed to affect him, because he suddenly gets up and goes to the door without looking at you, and he found no news "I can't waste time" he whispers with disdain, he leaves the room and you stand watching the door where he left.

So it's a riddle against the clock, huh? you think.

The sky in Gotham looks like a landscape worthy to take a picture of, from here you can see the buildings of different heights, the traffic between highways, and the bridges, even if you force your sight you can see people walking.

"Do you like the view?".

You continue to look through the window reinforced with bars and tempered glass, the bars cover part of the landscape but you can still admire the beautiful gray sky full of clouds ready to rain.

"yes..." you say putting your hands between the bars without stopping to think how happy you would be just to be out of this abyss. you didn't appreciate the beauty of the freedom you had before you were here.

"What do you like most about the view?".

You take a few seconds to respond, the handcuffs on your wrists started to itch on your skin, that itch so normalized on your skin that you don't do much to get rid of that itch, you didn't look away from the window, this simple reinforced window brought you comfort for all these months.

"Everything."

"You hear the voice of your therapist repeat your answer and nod, will your cafeteria still be open? The Gotham Library will have finally added new books? the university will have already changed that horrible lamp in one of your favorite classrooms? 

Batman already caught the Riddler?

"What a good answer actually, but I need you to sit down for a further conversation, soon the session will be over" The doctor's professional tone makes you tense up, you feel like you are not talking to a human but to a fucking robot, that's how you have thought them since you were imposed to this therapist.

You listen to what you say and sit in the other chair where you are supposed to be for the whole session, however, Mr. M has let you have the sessions while you watch from the only window, you are grateful for that, even if you didn't like him at all.

"I have been informed about your good behavior this week, if you continue like this you can be given more access through the hospital" Mr.M speaks calmly looking through several documents held by a wooden board.

Fuck you, you thought but didn't tell him, you don't have the luxury of being rude to him. you'll never get the same freedom you got when you were still an average citizen of Gotham and it saddens you, it makes your blood boil to remember every moment of your existence that you're here unjustly.

"Thank you" You speak as little as possible because you know you would break down in tears just remembering that you are another day of your life wasted locked up among so many criminals.

"But" Mr.M stops looking at his documents to turn to look at you "I was also told that you refuse to take your medication, why is that?".

"Why don't I need them" you speak cuttingly again, the itch in your wrists grows and you scratch with your fingernails without realizing it.

"you have to take his medicine...it will make your recovery process more enjoyable" he grabs his tablet with documents and writes again, Mr.M does not scold you but you perceive it like this, you want to go back to your cell, you feel so ashamed that your skin gets hot, how did you come to this? How did you fall so low that you are the one they have to medicate? 

"Fine" you lie to him, you dislike the taste of the medicine they force you to take, you know perfectly well what they prescribe you, you studied for it after all.

But everyone seems to forget that.

Only Batman can recognize your abilities, but he does not help you at all in your case.

And well, you paranoidly believe that Jonathan is only talking to you out of unconscious guilt.

"Okey" Mr. M gives a soft smile "Just one last question before our time is up" he checks the time on his wrist watch "Have you made a new friend? Have you managed to get along with anyone?".

You avoid the gaze of your therapist "No" you denied, another issue you don't want to address, your notorious loneliness in this hospital. If it weren't for your unique best friend who works here, you would be all alone.

"Why?."

You don't answer him, you also question the same thing, you haven't had an interest to socialize with the other patients since you arrived, and there are still things that are not clear to you.

Mr. M sighs dropping his papers in a file cabinet near him "Well, I'll leave it as homework for you to start seeing new people, making a friend sounds excellent."

"I'll try" You don't lie to him.

"Perfect."

It's been a day since Batman visited you and you had your weekly session with Mr.M, you haven't been able to sleep due to the tremendous curiosity of the new assassin the bat is looking for.

Just when you thought nothing could surprise you in this city since your accident, along comes a man with a question mark and puts the whole city in check, that's the city to him, a colossal chessboard, the DPGC, the Gotham elite, the citizens, they are all pieces in the game, and Batman and he are the only players.

Batman said he didn't have time, Does that mean that he has to catch him these days? how curious, with the Joker, it took months to find him, you were only intercepted in a couple of hours, and the Scarecrow...

no, you don't want to think about him.

You get distracted thinking about the Riddler again, you do your daily service arranging books in the small library of Arkham, your safe place where few or no people stop around these parts, here it is not necessary to use your wrist and neck cuffs, but your uniform is still on, and the plastic bracelet with your information identify you as a patient.

You yawn as you place a couple of worn-out books on the shelf, you felt like a bookstore worker, sometimes you usually fantasize that you are one to take away your boredom, but others usually burst your dreamy bubble.

Today, one of the guards decided to turn on the old-fashioned TV set in one of the upper corners of the library, you stand near a bookcase to see what channel they put on this time, usually they only put on the sports channel to watch the game of the moment.

But on this occasion, the guard put on the news channel, and you immediately put down the books you have to accommodate to concentrate on what is shown on TV.

The guard is still standing and so are you, both watching a live breaking news broadcast. The news anchor reports a new Riddler attack.

He bombed a prosecutor at the mayor's funeral.

The guard's face looked more and more frightened, you watched the news with morbid curiosity. Batman's new opponent seems more sadistic than you thought, that detailed report confirmed it.

But seeing their repeated acts on TV was shocking, you even heard the guard who put on the news say in a low voice " We are doomed. "

You silently agree with him, for the first time you are relieved to be locked away from all the chaos going on right now.

You saw how the explosion managed to reach Batman, surprising you as the guard, the man takes off his distinctive security guard hat when he sees the video, on the other hand, you are still stunned, not believing it, somehow you forgot that this man dressed in black and wearing a cape is still a human of flesh and blood, he simply can't die like that, not when he has things to save, people to capture.

He hasn't found your living nightmare yet.

Before you pull your hair out in frustration the news anchor states that Batman is still alive, the guard satisfied by the information puts his cap back on and returns to his guard position which is the entrance to the library.

You are still looking at the report, and suddenly the image of the man who calls himself the Riddler appears. You hadn't seen him in such detail until this moment, the photos in the Batman report were extremely blurry images, but this time he is in HD, he is completely wrapped in green clothes, and the only thing you can see of him, is his eyes. 

His voice is altered but you can notice that venomous tone of his he asked prosecutor Gil Colson some riddles, but in the end, he couldn't answer what Riddler wanted.

You sigh while grab another couple of books and start arranging them one by one. If Batman is still alive it means this isn't over.

"I knew I would find you here".

"It's not like I can go many places" You smile slightly turning to look at the man who spoke to you. 

Jonathan Crane, the living legend of the hospital, with tailored suits, no wrinkles in his coat, and a well-made tie that matches the sweater he wears under his coat. There isn't a single time you haven't seen Jonathan without his perfect appearance but maybe it's just you idealizing as usual. 

Jonathan gives you a polite smile "Right" Just by hearing that you know he won't stay to chat for long, he tends to contradict you most of the time just to annoy you and agree with you when he's busy.

"Are you coming to get a book?" you ask him the first thing that comes to mind.

"No, I wanted to talk to you before I left," he says adjusting his glasses "I'm going away for a couple of weeks to blüdhaven University to give lectures, it will be a simple thing" Your smile doesn't falter, you are touched that he lets you know when he won't be able to see you, and how he manages to keep the conversation so casual. 

As if they were still colleagues.

"Is that so? What will you talk about?".

"Childhood traumas" he reveals looking at you without any shyness, he has a barely perceptible smile but you notice it. 

"why am I not surprised?" you resume your work in arranging books "Although you know how to pick interesting topics, I wish I could attend" You recognize that Jonathan has been too devoted to his work and student life, he is that kind of strict professor who gives his students nightmares from the assignments and exams he gives. His lectures are fascinating, to say the least, you attended many.

"I'll tell you about it when I get back, in the meantime" From inside his suit he pulls out a  flyer in half "It's something extremely summarized but it'll do" You take the piece of paper and stuff it in one of your pockets. It's not the first time Jonathan smuggles things to you, god, you can even be sure he gives you something every time you see each other. 

"Thank you" you thanked looking at his face, he also remains silent looking at you, the eye contact between you is not something out of another world either, on your part, it's a habit that started when you were still studying, you can't help but want to observe everyone around you, analyze them somehow, see their behavior.

Jonathan does the same, but more rigorous and practical, he is direct and not afraid to say it, you see his hair combed to his liking, his glasses clean without any smudge, his eyes examining you. 

You leave your admiring mode when you diverted your gaze a little to the old TV that is still on, the news keeps showing the latest events of the hours, repeating the most recent crime of Riddler.

Your smile dims as you recall the video of the explosion, the prosecutor begging for mercy and the bomb stuck in his chest.

"Did you see what happened at the mayor's funeral?" you whisper to him in a low voice trying not to let anyone hear them, you look with your eyes for the guard on duty but you can't find him, Jonathan must have asked him for some privacy time, at times you forget the influence that the man in front of you has generated with years and effort.

He turns his head for a few seconds watching the news on TV and turns to look at you again with a sensible and neutral face. 

"yes, I saw it, I was there when it happened".

"What?" you utter with surprise "You were there?" there was no sign of a lie on his face to make you think he wasn't telling you the truth.

"Some teachers from the university we went to give condolences when the show happened" Jonathan clarifies simply, you approach him to talk closer, he doesn't seem upset "So it's true? Riddler attacked that prosecutor?".

"He killed him."

You shut up for a moment because of his statement, it's true, Riddler killed him, and almost Batman too.

"And Batman? Did you see him in action?" at this point you sound like first-rate gossip, but still Jonathan answers your questions, but is no longer as pleased doing so, the moment you mention Batman. 

"He arrived when most of the people had already been evacuated."

"Wow" you blurt out surprised, if you didn't know him better you would have been uneasy with his calmness when talking about the experience, he says it without any fear because that's exactly what's so special about Jonathan in your eyes, he's not afraid of anything.   

"Batman looked you up, didn't he?" Jonathan changes the subject quickly and you nod your head, you move away from his side to reach for a cart full of books to be arranged "He wanted my opinion on the riddler, can you believe it?" you laugh "I told him to look you up better, but you turned him down."

"That's right" he assures leaning on one of the bookcases for comfort, he looks at you picking up a book and you place it among several other books on another bookcase "I don't lend myself to that sort of thing".

"I know, killjoy Crane" you scoff boldly.

"Whatever you say" he sighs "I have to go, there will be a meeting at the university" Before you could say goodbye properly, he approaches you to give you an extremely momentary hug, it was so fast that you couldn't return the hug because he had already separated from you. You swore you could smell some of his cologne.

"uh yeah, see ya" You are barely able to utter the words without getting over the small contact they made, he has said goodbye to you like this, but you are still not used to it.

Jonathan smiles at you picking up his briefcase that you didn't see in the first place, walks to one of the tables where the TV control is, picks it up, and turns off the TV "I don't like you watching that" he tells you already heading for the exit where the guard re-enters the library.

You wrinkle your forehead due to irritation. Sometimes you don't understand Jonathan.

You genuinely thought your head was going to explode from the pain. 

Being in Arkham meant being cut off from the outside, you had no idea of the chaos that erupted overnight, the perverse game of Batman and Riddler was so forceful, that Arkham unexpectedly came into the spotlight when the green-masked man was captured. An alert in your head went off when you heard from a very nervous guard. You thought it was almost impossible for Batman to catch Riddler, and that he's here being processed to this hospital gives a lot to suspect.

The report Batman showed you are not wrong, the madman of riddles is too elusive to be caught in such a short time.

Why? You ask yourself, why did he let himself be defeated?

The hospital was in chaos with the arrival of the new patient in the middle of the night, nurses running around, and security guards moving patients to different cells temporarily, you were taken out of your small cell to another one just as small and almost the same.

Even with suspicion in your being, you don't understand what all the fuss was about, not even when they paraded the Joker through the main hall in a straitjacket as if he were a villain from some movie did they get as upset as they are now with Riddler.  

You sat on your new bed just as hard as the one in your previous cell, not wanting to catch the social panic you try to meditate, Mr. M advised you to do so and since then you put it into practice.

Maintaining a state of relaxation is difficult but you have practiced it for months, you started the breathing exercises, and as you slowly inhale and exhale your thoughts begin to melt one after the other, calming you down, and making your anxiety about all the fuss disappear.

You exhale again and inhale hard again, you could be doing this all day, you have nothing to worry about, you're in your world, locked away from society, and must be recovering from whatever Riddler did as his closing snap.

You open your eyes and stop doing your breathing exercises, you hear a laugh. But not just any laughter, but a loud and annoying laughter, you instantly get up from your bed and run towards the door with a small glass window. The laughter was not your imagination, and you can recognize it now that you are closer to the door.

You don't see any guards guarding this section of cells, how strange. The laughter continues unabated. It must be some neighbor of your cell because of the proximity of the noise and you have an idea of who it might be but you ignore it for only a few minutes, you can't take it anymore and yell "Can you shut up for once?".

Your cell neighbor stops laughing and you can finally feel at peace, but instead starts a conversation.

"Scarecrow?" you close your eyes just hearing that horrible nickname he gave you at some point during his hospital stay. relatively the two have been in Arkham for a similar amount of time, both trapped by Batman and calling them the dark knight's worst enemies. 

But you could never compare yourself to someone like him Joker. 

You had a chance to get to know each other when you let him participate in common activities, you don't want to remember the first time you spoke to each other, it ended badly, period.

"Don't call me that, asshole" you insult him and he sounds pleased with your response.

"Ah! Are we sensitive today? It's a holiday! Let's celebrate!" 

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"our guest of honor has arrived, only his final trick is missing!" he continues to speak in that animated voice that irritates you.

When you talk to the Joker you get that feeling that he is speaking in another language, but he is not, you understand what you are saying but at the same time, you don't. You also realized that he knows too much to be just an Arkham patient. 

But everyone at the hospital can assure you that your neighbor is not an ordinary patient at all.

This time you managed to understand his words, Riddler still has an ace up his sleeve, how could the Joker find out about that?

"Did Batman interrogate you too?".

"Of course he did...I'm his favorite!" he replies in the same arrogant manner as always "but I don't forgive him for being so crude on our anniversary."

"So you saw it, huh? I don't think this is a coincidence" You suppose the Joker must have seen it too, of course, he may be reciprocally insupportable but he's not stupid.

The clown laughs, but you don't, you didn't say anything funny in your opinion.

"Poor little Riddler, he thinks he can be just like him."

You ponder what he says, returning to your bed as you sit up again, the sky begins to clear and you can see it through the tiny barred window.

What if this assassin wanted to imitate Batman in some way? 

"What a bizarre introjection you've made, Riddler" you whisper.

First, there was an explosion.

You felt the whole cell rumble, you woke up instantly and got up from your bed to run to the door even with your eyes swollen from sleep, naively you thought it was some kind of earthquake. You stuck your face to the glass of the door in search of a guard or nurse, whatever it is that will help you get out of this cell, you don't want to die here.

However, the section was still empty, there was no one in the guards' small surveillance cubicle, and you could only perceive the monitors on, showing the news. 

You heard a completely strident noise, there was no earthquake. You turned slowly to the window, the color was changing from gray to orange.

It can't be.

you rush to see what's going on, you grab a piece of your bed to climb on it and reach the high window of the cell, you level yourself by holding your hands on the rusty metal bars, and you catch a glimpse of what caused such a noise. 

You saw the light of an explosion, the combination of yellow and red colors coloring the sky, the smoke, the fire. The explosion happened far away from Arkham, but you can still see it in detail, then the noise became present, and you grimace at the impact on the walls, but it was not over yet.

Explosion after explosion went off all over the city, from bridges to seawalls, a scene so hard to believe if you weren't watching it right now.

The sight takes your breath away, you are so stunned that you almost fall to the floor witnessing such an act, this is what the Joker is referring to? the Riddler's final trick?

not even the scarecrow did so much damage to this city, you underestimated the man with the riddles.

You could not take your eyes off the explosions, there were too many and well-armed to generate so much destruction. The second thing was the water, the waves and drains getting out of control and flooding several streets.

You grip the metal bars tighter, not believing this is real, but it is. Not just bombs but a flood, was that what he had under his mask? Is Gotham drowning with innocent people? 

It makes sense now, his cooperation when caught, the guards' restless attitude, and Batman's uneasiness.

All.

Suddenly you focus on the bustle of what seems to be your cell neighbors, you didn't notice when they put the other patient in the cell next to yours. The noises came together to form a horrifying atmosphere. The laughter of the Joker, the excited laughter of your other neighbor, and the explosions that went on and on. Even with your breathing exercises, you could not relax in the face of this horrifying event.

Slowly you let go of the bars and stop looking in the window, slowly you understand one thing.

Someone beat Batman.

Thank you very much for reading! And sorry for the mistakes!*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧.

[talesofsonicasura]

Heartstone Healer

Another Trollhunters AU but with another big twist.

No one knew exactly how it happened but one day a once dead Heartstone had been found fully revived. A phenomenon that steadily began to grow as more regain their beautiful light and soul warming auras. Trolls call this strange occurrence 'The Great Miracle' for many lost homes had become lively once.

A lot of individuals began to look into what cause these Heartstone revivals, each with their own reason. Yet nobody have gotten a single step closer to the truth. Whether it been the work of an unknown individual or lost magic, an answer still hadn't been found.

Until one day Blinkous "Blinky" Galadrigal came across something odd in his library. A small fast figure that zoom about until eventually it hid itself inside a chest. Blinky thought it was a scared whelp at first, softly beckoning the supposed child out from their hiding spot.

What came out hadn't been a troll whelp nor anything the six eyed troll seen before. A peculiar stone creature who unknown to all, might be responsible for the Great Miracle. Or something even greater.

If you are wondering, yep, the strange creature is Jim. Figured why not mess around with a different form for him than just a troll, changeling or half troll/changeling. Species choice for me is a golem specifically the Knack style.

The design fits perfectly for this as Jim definitely looks like a troll yet his peculiar nature overshadows it. Even more so since he can change his size by creating relics, the parts of his body, to become a small kaiju. Jim's smallest or "child form" is around 2'1 but his maximum size is 42 ft! Bigger he is, the more he bears a resemblance to his canon half troll form with a little Beast Jim mixed in. Albeit there are some differences like a tail.

He's quite powerful however the golem has a major weakness. The golden chest orb contains Jim's soul. It taking damage can be fatal but he will die if the item is destroyed. An issue that shall become clear as things continue.

Now there are some major changes when it comes to this AU and Trollhunters canon. Gunmar nor his forces are stuck in the Darklands. They were forced to be an enigmatic tribe who soon take shelter in the US' Badlands where a restored Heartstone is at. Role of Trollhunter is more like a peacekeeping job since there are way more communities than just Arcadia Trollmarket.

Changelings also have their own market and are a more reclusive tribe due to prejudice. They pretend to be lost twins, unknown family members or orphans as a way to gain resources, survive and on rare occasions live amongst humans. Arcadia Trollmarket is neutral territory where no one is allowed to cause a scene unless they handle their issues in a competition. Don't abide by the rules is asking to be ostracized by every community.

Now Jim's behavior tends to reflect his size with small form being a curious little kid and largest as a playful young man. Like any child, you can expect him to get into all kinds of trouble especially when it comes to sneaking out. This is how Jim meets the cast while giving Blinky an aneurysm.

Barbara and Strickler are dating but the avocado hasn't told her about his Changeling nature(probably never will). Little Jim has other plans as guess who strolls up to them on a park date. Toby is the next person who already has Gnome Chompski but been keeping the guy a secret from everyone except Nana.

Claire already has NotEnrique too since he's one of the Changelings looking for a better life. Jim also pays a visit to the Badlands, may have scared Bular shitless and Gunmar might(definitely) wants adopt/kidnap the little guy. Angor Rot pops up too as children tend to find stuff they shouldn't than just stranger interaction. Innocent little kid gives troll assassin his soul back.

Not even Draal, Kanijar and Vendel are escaping a visit. The Old Goat is more curious than the others at what Jim is but already has a feeling he's behind the Great Miracle. Draal decides to be the big brother role model cause he senses the golem is gonna be a force to be reckoned with if trained right. Kanijar is the second person to have an aneurysm as he knows Jim must be a whelp and an unsupervised child scares him shitless.

The Arcane Order also want to spirit him away although Nari is more motherly in her reason. Jim been bringing magic back with each Heartstone revived and they believe he might be able to restore Primordial Heartstones with enough power. A young Titan and maybe even a new god to be.

Blinky is the obvious book dad who wants to teach his new ward everything about troll culture as a whole. Finding out Jim's origins is just a nice bonus. AAARRRGGHH is the chill dad that's most likely to have a certain golem on his back like a koala. He finds the little guy as nice company and likes to play games or just relax with Jim.

Morgana and Merlin are the only characters not trying to adopt Jim. The shadow sorceress isn't imprisoned in the Arcadia Heartstone but instead had most of her magic sealed away. She is steadily getting it back through her assassin, who been doing some dirty work. However Jim threw a wrench in that by giving Angor his soul back.

Merlin wants to stop her for good but the battle also cost him. Douxie been helping him recover until Jim's existence becomes known throughout the wizard community. Merlin believes his power can be what they need to stop Morgana once and for all. Although Douxie doesn't know if his master has no qualm whether Jim dies to perform the task.

In short, practically everyone wants the peculiar golem with most being adoption papers. A fluffy yet chaotic AU chaotic where Jim is as much of a chaos bringer like his canon self but on another level. Plus it be hilarious if this version met his canon counterpart.

Congrats Jimbo, you gotten a younger brother whose an alternate version of yourself! Have fun especially if its during the New Jersey exodus. I might also experiment more on the Heartstone revival concept. That's it for now! Until next time folks, I'll see you back in Arcadia!

[shieldkeeper]

Writing Prompt: Grave Word Count: 1178

A lone figure in darkest garb stood before two gravestones beneath the veil of twilight. That of a married couple who had but recently been laid to rest amongst a sea of gravestones, fresh bouquets of flowers adorning their markers and showing just how well they were beloved by Gridania’s residents.

Rumormongering would have it that they had met their demise at the hands of an underground criminal organization. A rarity that something so violent would ever happen in the peaceful communities that live about the Black Shrouds.

Where had they come from? Why did they come for so sweet a couple, devoted to their role? Had they actually ties with the underworld that they knew not of all this time? Were they actually after Ryme, the fledgling padjali who but recently spread their wings and was accepted by the elementals? There were signs that the criminals were originally from Thanalan and had already escaped back into the lifeless lands…

Whatever the reason for it, many still came by with gifts and grief in equal measure. Given their condolences to their now orphaned son who was not with his family at the time nor would he have been any privy by normal means.

Ryme had found himself surrounded by those who cared deeply for his parents—and for him. Those who warned him to be wary of this ill omen, bade him to have care in going nowhere alone nor without his guard. It was as imperative as ever that he depended upon the adventurer Garen to keep him safe during these trying times.

They grieved. They wept. They said their farewells and now what remained were lonesome graves that would be forgotten by the populace within a few days’ time. There would be an investigation into the matter of homicide no doubt, but their trails after the villains would go cold with no way of following the perpetrators back to Ul’dah. They had no jurisdiction there. The only thing they could truly do was bolster their borders and stay on guard for any particular outsiders.

The lone figure knelt before the husband’s grave, a single flower in hand as they rested it atop the rest of them. Bowing their heads and murmuring a quick prayer… as some few tear drops fell upon the stone gravings.

“Tis not fair… that you would die in my place. Nor your partner.” The small lalafellin figure raised their head, their hood just barely concealing their features. “Why…? Why did they go after you and not me?”

Their death was his fault. One too many schemes of his opened him up to troubles amongst the merchant ranks. One too many connections he had with the underworld, risking his life to a grizzly end the further along he delved into such a world. Threats were aplenty in his line of work. But never had he the thought that they would truly act on those threats. Not when he was so far, far removed from family. Never spoke with them. Never visited.

They had decided a long time ago to leave Ul’dah and make a new home beneath Gridania’s foresty canopies. Seeking out a new life for themselves that had nothing to do with Ul’dah’s cutthroat society, where the gap between poverty and the wealthy was so too far to bridge. Nor did they want for a merchant’s life anyways.

There they had Ryme… this cloaked figure’s sweet little nephew, who he had seen on a few occasions recently when in need of acquiring herbs and alchemical substances found only in the Shrouds. They had recently rekindled connections, but only between the two and not of his brother or sister in law.

He had been so welcomed. Despite using his nephew for nefarious means and never mentioning their true purpose. Young Ryme had always welcomed him with open arms. A cheery, innocent youth he worried he might one day corrupt for all his plotting. Maybe Ryme knew what he was actually up to though in the back of his mind. That these herbs were meant for more harmful needs than helpful. 

Nothing had ever been mentioned. But the way his guard glared at him at every visit made him wonder otherwise.

When the news broke of the boy’s parents perishing, a threatening note had made its way upon the lalafellin man’s desk. For his actions, there had been consequence. And well had those dues now been paid… and he would suffer further should he continue.

That is what made him rush to Gridania. That is what made him meet with Ryme to find out the truth of the matter. Where he truly learned all was of no one else’s fault but his own. They had been targeted because of familiar connections between the lot of them. Ryme would have been too, if he had still lived with them.

“I’m so sorry.” He remembered looking down upon a crestfallen Ryme, tears in his eyes as he merely shook his head.

“I do not fault you. I could never pass the blame on you.”

“But it is my fault.” The older man wrung his hands out, burying his face into them. “Because of our blood… because of my actions…”

“…How can it be, when you are present and clearly care? This tragedy is ours to share.”

He had been forgiven. Wanted even for a shoulder to cry on. The only relative this boy had left and it was a piece o’ shite like himself. Cutting ties was the wise thing to do, but Ryme begged for him not to stop coming. That he was always welcome.

…His guard however took him on the side when they were alone and Ryme had fallen asleep. He was not so welcoming as he bore his blade.

“Do not return.” Garen hissed as he threatened the man away. “I knew it all along. Your ill intent. Your scheming. How much you hid behind Ryme’s back. And always… always he would vouch for you. Knowing full well you did not come with pure intentions.”

“Should you come back, I will personally lop off your head myself. For your sake, you had best not try me… Pyshiro.”

Words that this Ul’dahn would take to heart and know well this was a promise the guard would keep should they lock eyes ever again.

It was only after that exchange that he now stood before their graves, his prayer having now come to an end. For what would come after… thoughts flooded Pyshiro’s mind.

How could he possibly ever make amends? Could he even make amends? Dare he try to contact Ryme when Garen was not around? Would things eventually settle down should he allow the threats to shake him from continuing? Would it be better to throw it all away and find it a place within the Shrouds to be closer to his nephew? Or… should he act unphased and strike back?

All considerations to be left for another day. For this was one to be grieved instead at the loss of his brother.

[basedkikuenjoyer]

Things I Think About, Vol. 9

This is part two from yesterday, because I still love y’all. This time, the goal is Kiku’s outlook...on the rest of the Kozuki Clan. But not the easy, surface ones. No no. In vino, veritas. We’re talking the real tea you’d only get out of a Kiku drunk, up past her bedtime, and in a crabby mood wanting to air some grievances. No...I’m not thinking of an upcoming moment in our Seafloor Sidestory at all... 

Kin’emon: "It should not cause such commotion that this one accidentally addresses you as father on occasion. It only happened like, three times...this week and you basically are anyways. I know it, you know it, this one saw the silly 4-koma Kanjuro made about it each of you thought was hilarious. Just admit it ya deadbeat.”

Denjiro: “It is preposterous to act as if one can own a hairstyle. The ponytail looks way better on me anyways. This one is not a copycat, nor does she care what you say either. The cheaper shirataki at the market does not taste the same. You don’t even eat it, how would you know?”  

Kanjuro: “There are plenty of other members of our clan you may ask to borrow makeup from, while we’re on the subject this one does not trust you around anything that goes near my hair. You know this one uses the same expensive lipstick Lady Toki prefers as well as how long it has been since Oden paid us anything for our service.”

Raizo: “I know you said I’m the last one of this group who should be giving you love advice...and the fact you thought that is the best example of your problem there I could ever give.”

Doji: “Your poetry is so good! Why won’t you share your precious gifts with the world? Did this one spend so many of my golden years teaching you to write only for you to squander such an innate talent!? ”

Inuarashi: “That this one could ever be described as having a stick up her ass in your presence is nothing short of blatant misogyny. The sheer double standard! And how can you call yourself a samurai without an epithet? Have you found a better suggestion than this one’s of Regal Beagle?”

Nekomamushi: See, this actually can’t happen if Neko’s with them. He just pulls out his pipe and heads off the impending hissyfit, which shortcuts us to our inevitable conclusion either way. And yes, he has on occasion deliberately been late solely to hear her tee off on Inu.

Kawamatsu: No one has ever had a grievance with Kawamatsu. The concept doesn’t compute. At the end of her tirade, Kiku falls asleep on him mumbling something about one of the good ones. He lets out a huge sigh and carries her off to bed. Then comes back halfway through a joint pilfered from Neko’s stash and tells the rest “Not a word tomorrow, at some point the rest of you are going to listen. We do this at home, of course she joins in, tries to keep up at a third of our weight, and it always ends like this. We go to the bar in Bakura...all you have to do is say we’re having a guy’s night and she skips off to go knit with Toki. This is why we don’t invite her or Tsuru either, right? Kiku was flattered enough when I did that last time she made breakfast when we got back! Breakfast, or pain? Why is this not an easy choice?” Then he goes and sulks in a pond for a while.

Not to say knitting with Toki doesn’t involve a bottle of wine, but she gets juuust the right pace to get Kiku to admit to 10-12 things Oden’s been hiding. Naturally Tsuru discovered this development and has taken to doing the same. Shino-chan? Parties way too hard. Kiku’s too innocent for that part of town. 

[angeli-marco-writes]

Harry Holland - Polaroids

A/N & WC - I do not know Harry or the other people mentioned in this fic, nor do I claim to; this is a work of fiction. 3.9k.

Warnings - Swearing, mention of food, smut: depictions of oral (m+f rec), penetrative sex, use of toys, bondage & bdsm, photos being taken in the act, mild exhibitionism and definite voyeurism (not Harry or reader) 18+.

Summary - You and Harry have an exciting intimate life to say the least, and he rather enjoys taking photos of the two of you in compromising positions. However, in his sex-addled mind, one vital fact is let slip when he allows Sam into his room unsupervised.

“BUD, WHERE ARE THOSE PHOTOS you took of my food the other day?” Sam asks.

The sizzling of pancakes overlaps the conversation, and you mussing up Harry’s hair distracts him, his attention drawn to more important matters than his brother. Harry barely swallows his giant mouthful of food before speaking.

“By my bed there’s a huge pile, they’ll be somewhere,” he answers flippantly.

Flippantly.

Usually so cautious and so organised Harry lets one thing slip his mind for five seconds, and his life is going to fall through the cracks. His reputation will be utterly destroyed. Just with his brother, but it still stands. Sam is… more innocent than Harry has ever been. And Sam will also tell the others, and likely their friends…

“Remembered something, baby?” you muse sardonically from beside him, your hand halting its movements as you cup his jaw, turning him to face you.

The second his green eyes meet yours, you watch the world crumble in his eyes. You’ve never seen him scramble up from his seat so quickly. His bare feet slap on the tiled floor violently, thudding sounds echoing through the house as he blunders around, swinging around the banister with the force and elegance of an elephant.

“Sam! FUCK— Wait!”

“Don’t look in that pile of photos,” you add in a feeble shout.

It’s not like what Sam’ll find there is any secret. You’ve been together a long time, you and Harry, and everyone knows full well that you’re shagging, but that doesn’t mean you necessarily want them to know exactly what happens in the bedroom, in your most intimate, secret moments together. That’s sacred, even if it seems like sacrilege to so many.

No matter how quickly you hear Harry legging it upstairs, his lean legs carrying him up the stairs perhaps three at a time, his curly hair even more unruly than before from the exertion, you know he won’t be fast enough, and that Sam is an insolent bastard when he wants to be. You’ve lived with them all long enough and have had more than your fair share of near misses: no chance will you not be found out, this time you’ll be caught. Better than the alternative and the other times, you suppose, as you cram one more syrup-drizzled and strawberry-covered pancake into your gob, reluctantly trudging your way upstairs to the hive of fun.

It’s chaos by the time you get there. Dozens of artfully-taken photos spilled out onto your duvet, Harry’s freckled face paler than you’ve ever seen it, his hands tugging at his pyjama shirt convulsively while Sam stands on the other side of the room, his dark eyes wide, his expression agog, his jaw unhinged, staring blankly and pointing at whatever the most incriminating thing is he sees next. You just hope he doesn’t go ferreting through your drawers, because then you’ll really be in trouble.

“What… the fuck.”

You come up to Harry’s side, and wrap an arm around his slim waist, lending a weak, “Surprise?”

It’s their fault if they haven’t guessed, frankly.

You can’t draw your eyes away from the pictures, so many of them, all displaying different aspects of your sex life at varying degrees of explicitness. You can even recount the minutes and hours of pleasure that led to the photos, each occasion etched into your mind. Sure, you and Harry go at it a lot, but you don’t always go the extra mile, hence why these commemorative photos of your special nights are so treasured. And private. Or, were.

The first one… oh boy, that takes you back to the most far-out, extreme experiment you tried—the most recent, as well: just this past weekend. You’re still covered in rope burn from it, though that could’ve been prevented if you hadn’t writhed or wriggled about so much while in those bonds. The amount of attempts it took, the sheer number of YouTube tutorials you had to watch, but it was definitely worth it. The intricate patterns the ropes formed all across your body, creating braids down your back, suspending you prone with little movement in your arms or legs. It was heaven to have Harry tugging on the ropes, contorting you into new and wonderful positions for his own delightful access to all of you. Perhaps it’s not something you’ll gravitate towards again, but it was fun while it lasted, and it’s another thing to tick off your list of fun, kinky bedroom experiments to try. To be fair, even though the swathes of soft, rose-coloured rope, intricately woven around you were a lot, you certainly wouldn’t be averse to trying something else with rope. Less shibari, perhaps just normal levels of bondage. You can feel the skin on your arms prickling with heat: Harry feels it too, winding his fingers into yours, holding on tight as he struggles to suppress a smirk.

The next set is interesting, and rather common. Harry’s freckled, ring-less hand is unmistakable in the dappled light as it grapples with the handle of a leather whip, or a paddle, even his belt, bringing them down harshly onto your ass cheeks, already reddened with hand prints, purple from bruises. In one of them, your skin is even glistening with his release, and another, your hands are suspended behind your back. Harry’s always been one for spanking, and the rest of them know it. Even before you were sleeping together he’d playfully smacked your bum, and he certainly hasn’t stopped even with the sexual connotations it now conveys between the two of you. As though he can read your mind, he snakes a hand down and pats you on the bum; his wink telling you it’s just for good measure. Cheeky shit.

One in the dead centre brings shivers throughout your body. Not because it wasn’t fun or pleasurable, but because of the way it made you feel afterwards. Yes, you’d talked through it in thorough details—as with everything the two of you do—how it made you feel going in, throughout, and you’d got a safe word sorted, but perhaps you hadn’t discussed all the long term risks of it. The pretty pink collar, the satin blindfold… The whole subservient thing is a big turn on for Harry, and you played into it, you always do and you naturally fall into a position of less power in your relationship because of the way you are, but being degraded in such a way isn’t for you. You can’t help but feel a sting of shame ricochet through your heart. Harry must feel it this considering how reactive he is: he leaps towards the bed and snatches it up, shredding it before your eyes, chucking it into the bin, and curling another protective arm around you.

“Look,” you whisper to Harry, turning his attention elsewhere as you point to the bottom few: your favourite photos of all.

Despite the disarray, they’re all together, and they remind you of an incredible night. Your anniversary, and what a special day it was. Butterflies swarm you at the sight of them again, but it feels strange for someone else to be looking at them. Not that you or Harry are exactly in a fit state to be proactive about preventative measures now Sam’s seen them all. His eyes bulge from his face, his mouth going dry as he swallows viciously, suddenly having to shift his already apparently tight shorts. Again.

“You’re so sexy in those, baby,” purrs Harry.

He’s damn right, you do look incredibly sexy. And though the first one in the chronological series is you mostly covered, you can remember how hard his dick was at the sight alone, salivating, clenching his fists to stop from ripping the lingerie from you piece by piece. You wanted to put on a show for him that day: who was he to deny you?

On top of your bra, panties and stockings was a nightgown, and above that, a dressing gown. Each image shows you in a further state of undress. It was a deep burgundy lace set of negligée with soft satin straps that pushed your boobs together, lifting them up, the lace hooked together with a single eyelet on your spine, whereas the panties, though half covering your cheeks with dustings of lace, hid nothing while they sat high on your hips, revealing your entire upper thigh where a matching satin garter sat with tiny lace bows. The entire thing cost a fortune. You forked out a damn arm and a leg for what you got, even with a discount included with a certain toy you bought.

First went the dressing gown, letting it fall from your shoulders, allowing it to pool around your feet as you showed off the skimpiness of the silk slip in a series of flourishing twirls, much to Harry’s delight. Next went the slip, and you honestly wish you’d taken a picture of his face utterly agog—as you stood there in stockings held up by garters, barely there panties and a push up bra. There’s one shot of his rough fingertips playing with the trim of the stockings delightedly, like a kid in a candy shop. Next went the feeble scrap of fabric that you dared to call a bra, barely covering your nipples, allowing your breasts free, spilling into Harry’s awaiting hand. You remember the next part vividly, because he was just about to peel the panties off when you laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“I’ve got a surprise for you, babe.” you cooed.

His twinkling eyes grew as wide as saucers, and you dared to card your fingers through his curls as you settled yourself over his lap, letting him keep his camera in one hand while leading the other down, down, a little further…

He’s never since made a sound quite like it, so visceral and animalistic, so ready to devour you, to come on sight. He’s never been as hard as he was in that instance.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he moaned, a deep groan released from him the second his fingers slipped through your folds to find dripping arousal all ready for him. “Just—wait a minute…”

You followed his every instruction for the next few moments, finding yourself standing up in a good lighting position, Harry strategically beneath you as he snapped a particularly incriminating (yet oh so sexy shot) of your bare pussy in crotchless panties. Harry’s never recovered. He’s already openly admitted that he uses those particular photos more than any others to get himself off whenever you’re away from him. However, the creases and folded corners of one particular photo can’t be blamed on him, since that’s the one you use when you're away, two of his fingers plunged knuckle-deep inside you in those exact panties, from that exact angle, desperately trying to replicate the irreplaceably pleasurable feeling of him within you. He took a good few more than had to be thrown away. Spillages are awfully unfortunate… He fucked you that night with the panties, stockings and garters still on. Twice. Then without the panties, then without the stockings, then nude at last at some ungodly hour of the morning when he took you at last as the sun rose. You didn’t sleep a wink.

There are more of you with lingerie on, nightgowns and matching sets, scraps of silk and strange one pieces that took you hours to get on, but they’re bound to make a sort of book, stowed away neatly (mercifully) beneath his bed.

Sam still hasn’t moved from his state of paralysed shock, and though you should probably clear the photos up from where they’re dumped, you feel a filthy swelling pride within your chest, a glean of risk as you watch Sam rove his eyes over some more, these all involving toys. If only he knew where you hid them. One his eyes focus on is you with a thick purple rubber dildo deep inside you, a rabbit vibrator stuck to your clit. Your body is but a blur, writhing around for Harry, your hands cuffed before you and not released no matter how much you moved. Harry wouldn’t let you stop coming for what felt like hours: it was the first time you squirted for him as a cry tore from your heaving chest, drenching the bed with your fifth orgasm of the night. Harry vowed he’d be the only one to make you squirt after that, no toys involved, and he’s stayed true to his word.

There’s a few more, and Sam seems to be furrowing his thick brows at the sight of the Polaroids. Glass wands, spreader bars, clit suctions (that admittedly look like they’d be used in a spa for a facial). Poor boy is being corrupted...

Good God, you need to get those toys out again.

With his twin's attention diverted, you snake your hand down the front of Baz’s shorts, wrapping your fingers around his already hard member through his boxers: he seems to be enjoying this as much as you are.

You point out one of your favourite pictures, a debauched mess that shouldn’t be viewed by anyone else, frankly. Harry was reluctant about hurting you or pushing you too far, but you begged to be gagged. You meant just by a tie, maybe his bandana—which features in many images in many different manners: as a bind for your hands, tying you to the bed, keeping your ankles together, even wrapped lightly around your neck, but never as a gag—but he went all out. When you got home, he was waiting in his room with a leather-bound ball gag.

“You begged, baby,” he said, and you couldn’t refute. You had begged, but this was above and beyond. You complied with his every wish that night, and though you’d do it again in a heartbeat, Harry wasn’t a fan of not being able to shove his fingers or cock down your throat at any given moment. He liked hearing your whines and moans and hushed curses, prayers of his name. He also liked hearing your bratty, belligerent rebuttals when he took on a dominant role. You enjoyed it more than a little, but only now can you see how much of a mess you were, messy hair and tears spouting from your eyes, drool down your chin...

Given the chance of the slightest spark of stimulation, you’ll be coming on the spot.

There’s a scattered pile of the two of you in just about every position under the sun, every shape in the karma sutra, fucking both inside and out, al fresco sex beneath the big oak in the garden, anyhow, anywhere and everywhere you could fuck safely and privately, you would, and you didn’t even realise Harry had snapped some of these shots after consenting to him taking them at any time. Your eyes squeezed shut as you peaked, Baz’s palm kneading your chest, your skirt hiked up around your stomach while your jaw was agape, your pussy exposed and glistening slick in the mirror, penetrated by Harry’s cock. That was a good day, mirror sex, and definitely something you’ll try again. This time with your own mirror... There are a few snapshots of oral, perfect Polaroids of Harry’s nose nuzzled into your pussy, his tongue deep in your core, his lips on your labia, all of them for your sake whenever he goes away.

“Gonna recreate that one tonight,” Harry husks, pointing towards one image in particular of you sucking him off.

His huge member down your throat, you’d trained yourself to breathe solely through your nose, but the neatly trimmed patch of hair there tickled your nostrils. Harry’s talent for photography reveals your doe eyes were red rimmed, saliva trickling from the corner of your mouth matching the mascara tracks down your cheeks. You’ve never looked so fucked out, and Harry couldn’t believe you remained in that innocent façade, rosy cheeks and a coy expression even with his dick rammed down your throat, making you gag.

However, the one you’d like to recreate is one he picks up on, surreptitiously moving a hand to your chest, his fingers hovering over your peaked nipple.

“Reckon we can go again the second Sam fucks off?”

“Yes,” he eagerly exhales.

You don’t blame him, especially not when both twins are staring at the same image of your tits, pushed together with Harry’s dick between them, fucking your chest despite the fact his come already painted your chest in hot white strips, a beautiful painting you’d always wish to frame. He certainly has an obsession with your boobs so there are a couple like that, his hands all over them, the tip of his member tapping them, but the debauched one is by far your favourite. Similarly, there’s one of you tied to the bed, completely spread eagle, his dick resting on your stomach while your belly is coated in his come once again.

It seems, however, that’s what snagged Sam’s attention and has his face a ghastly shade of grey because it's so pale, is the one photo Harry never wanted anyone to see. You leap and snatch it up in one fell swoop, and Harry draws you into a bear hug within his arms, kissing your temple affectionately in thanks as you stow it away for safekeeping. Though Harry naturally carries the more dominant title in your relationship, you always like to shake things up, hence why this photo (and a series of others he already has hidden) depict Harry as your submissive. You walked around as the picture perfect dominatrix in stilettos, carrying a whip while Harry lay there with his hands bound, a blindfold on in some photos (you took them so they’re not as great, but he still looks damn sexy) with a vibrating cock ring wrapped snugly around his girth. He’s never come so hard or so much after you finally removed it and cuffed his hands to the bedpost and began to ride him. You can still feel the warmth of him climaxing within you if you close your eyes and clench your thighs.

“I promise I’ll touch you later,” boy do you hope he sticks to that promise he whispers while nibbling on your earlobe, “but Sam’s coming out of his daze in 3... 2... 1...”

“OH MY GOD.”

“Okay, I didn’t see that coming,” he remarks breathily, hazel eyes wide as he pivots, met with two incredulous stares. Tom’s cry wakes Sam up right on cue.

“Harry! What the fuck?!” Sam demands, his voice a bellow, horror and disgust and... something unattainable just emanates from him. “Why do you have three porn mags worth of your girlfriend down here? That’s fucked, mate.”

“No it’s not. We just like to have photographic reminders of all our... sexcapades.”

Sam is, unsurprisingly, retching, now finally turning his head away from the pile without even bothering to pick up.

“This was cool until you called them sexcapades,” Tom chimes, smacking Harry upside the head as he swaggers over to the bed, fishing a few photos up before tossing them back down.

Sam's horrified attitude doesn’t seem to be spreading thankfully, but you and Harry are understandably rooted to the spot, stuck to the carpet, just biding your time until this is over. Then again, you can’t really tell, since no one is saying anything. You nor Harry want to be the ones to break the silence, though, and you can tell with the furtive and expressive stares you’re sharing that his anxiety is increasing the more people are seeing this.

Momentarily, you think someone may remark about your silent communication, your fixed glances and speechless conversation, but instead, Harrison comes up to you both, a sly smirk etched onto his pretty model face as he clasps a hand around one shoulder of yours and one of Harry’s.

“Harry Holland, you kinky fucker,” he praises.

You definitely feel a swell of pride at that. And the fact that Tom is trying desperately hard not to look at you while also trying to hide how flustered he is, somehow still abhorred by the sight. Harrison’s intrigue is palpable, gnawing on his lower lip as his lithe fingers trace you on the polaroid's, whereas Sam? He can’t decide whether to cry or scream. Harry huddles in closer and cuddles you, ensuring you feel every part of him, just how much he wants this lot to leave to finally have you at his mercy once more.

“So you two are shagging,” Tom observes.

You and Harry nod between kisses.

“Dangerously.”

You nod again, though this time a little reluctantly.

You expect Harry to nestle down with you again, but instead he detaches himself, unravelling his arms, and shoulders past Tom and Haz. He gives Sam a death glare as he piles up all the Polaroids and shoves them deep in a drawer for him to organise later, away from prying eyes and judgemental comments.

“Really, though?” Sam bursts out, flailing his arms before grasping Harry’s collar. “I thought you’d just handcuff her and give her a smack at most, very vanilla.”

As much as he tries to fight it, Harry’s face flushes bright red, leaving no visible distinction between his forehead and hairline. “I think those photos, erm, tell a different story.”

He rocks on the balls of his feet, tugging himself out of his brother's grasp, only to fall into another, saved by Harrison’s scowl at Tom.

“Can you lot bloody get out? Please? I’d like some alone time with my girlfriend after that sodding invasion.”

“If you’re having alone time, we’re leaving the house for a while,” Tom jokes, “how long?”

You smirk, striding over to meet Harry, eyes fixed on him as you press onto your tiptoes, wrapping your fingers around his shoulder before kissing his earlobe. He wilts into your touch.

“Two hours should be enough time. Scram.”

They do, gladly, and you slam the door shut as their scurrying footsteps down the stairs recede. Harry’s grip increases around your waist, a growl escaping him as he pushes you onto the bed. You gasp when your back hits the mattress, his lips instantly attacking your jaw.

“Which of those polaroid's do you wanna recreate first, baby?”

—

It’s hours later, and you're all around for your weekly dinner at the Holland house. You and Harry, having some ‘business’ to attend to before leaving the house, are the last to arrive, and Paddy, poor unfortunate Paddy, has the delightful job of letting you into the house.

“Sam asked me to give you this,” he says barely before you’ve entered the porch.

Harry’s face pales as he unravels the small piece of paper bundled into his hand by his younger brother, but you could swear all blood drains from him the second the words sink in.

‘You took them, you lost them, you collect them. What would mum and dad say, Harold?’

“Harry, what’s happening?”

“That utter wanker stole the polaroids as revenge for scarring him. He’s hidden them around the house. We have to find them before mum and dad go looking. You in for the ride?”

“Only if Haz can join us tonight,” you tease, and after calling a hello to Harry’s parents, you follow him around the house, detaching all the pinned photos.

Harry's learnt a solid lesson today: hide his damn Polaroids better from now on, away from the prying eyes of his bloody brothers. But, he thinks with a smirk, by no means will the two of you stop taking them.

[ckjbun]

Jouno - the epitome of nurture over nature?

Let’s talk about Jouno again. He’s such an intriguing character. Chapter 92.5 gives us an important insight not only into his past but also into the psychology of many BSD characters.

Asagiri sensei has again made it clear that there is no entirely good or evil characters. It might be a bold statement but in my humble opinion, what we witnessed in this chapter is that the environment might even have a greater influence on your behaviour and attitude than your nature.

Furthermore, Jouno's development makes me extremely optimistic in regards to Dazai's. But let me explain all my thoughts down below the cut.

First, chapter 92.5 surely had me surprised. Although I was thinking about the possibility that Jouno would temporarily work with Fukuchi and then turn against him, I would have never guessed his reason for doing so. 

Jouno was once an executive of a criminal organization. Six years ago, he was brought to the Hunting Dogs by Fukuchi. Though he is working for justice now, he still has a sadistic behaviour and likes to torture people psychologically. He says it himself in chapter 92 that he doesn’t care about whether the ADA is innocent or truly evil, he just wants to hear the voice of someone suffering. He wants to hurt people under the name of law, hear their sound when they break (according to @buraihatranslations ).

In chapter 92.5, we get a flashback of Jouno forcing a burglar to kill himself. But instead of stabbing himself, this happens: 

(translations by @buraihatranslations ​)

The burglar tries to stab Jouno instead. But the sword goes right through Jouno without leaving a single scratch (which is probably thanks to his ability). Jouno is clearly enjoying this scene in front of him and thanks the burglar for the “good sound”, which probably refers to the scream of despair, the sound when the burglar “broke”. 

You get what I'm trying to say. Jouno is highly immoral, one might say he is evil (depending on the definition of evilness). So when I said I could imagine Jouno betraying Fukuchi, I meant he would do it out of purely sadistic reasons, out of pleasure from toying with people. 

But no. I was wrong. 

Right before Jouno betrays Fukuchi, we get this scene:

(translations by @buraihatranslations​)

It seems that Jouno has genuinely felt appreciation coming from the words of this old lady. Her gratitude has surely made him feel a kind of responsibilty towards society.

Would he have betrayed Fukuchi if the latter asked him that six years ago? Probably not.

Jouno is someone who knows how to differentiate between good and bad, but he didn't care about it in the past. He committed crimes and likes to see people suffering. He is inherently bad. Fukuchi has addressed this in chapter 92.5:

(translations by @buraihatranslations ​)

"Your true nature is on that side."

What Fukuchi probably means is that Jouno's nature is not on justice's side. It's on the bad side.

But after joining the HD, within only six years, Jouno has developed a sense of justice. Even though it's not a very strong one, it's still there.

We have seen on multiple occasions that circumstances plays a major role in where you end up. The Beast novel is the best example. Under different circumstances, Atsushi would be on the "bad" side and Akutagawa on the "good" side. But the characters themselves are neither fully bad nor fully good.

What we haven't seen yet until this chapter, if I remember correctly, is that the environment can influence you to act "against" your nature.

Jouno was kind of "forced" to be around people that fight for justice. And because of that, even though his natural trait of being sadistic persists, he has learnt that protecting innocent people brings much more joy as he has stated in the most recent chapter 93.

It's hard to get rid of your negative character traits, probably even impossible. But to act on them is a decision you can resist (oftentimes). Admittedly, it's extremely difficult but the right environment can cause you to form, shape and reinforce an attitude contrary to what you would expect based on your natural traits.

That's why I'm very hopeful in regards to future developments of the BSD cast, especially Dazai's.

(Spoilers for Untold Origin LN:) Ranpo has found a purpose to live thanks to Fukuzawa, namely to help and protect the simple-minded, ordinary people.

Yosano has found a reason to live on thanks to Ranpo.

Kunikida has his ideals and guide to life.

Atsushi's justification for living is saving people.

Being in this environment, I'm sure the ADA members can influence and affect each other in a positive way. Dazai is very similar to Jouno in regards to background. He also started off on the "bad" side, though he isn't as sadistic as Jouno. He tortured people not out of fun but rather to reach his goals.

Similar to Jouno, he doesn't really care about good and bad. I believe Jouno still doesn't care but he has come to enjoy the good side. And that's what I'm hoping for Dazai too. I wish for him that he will find the "good" side, the side that saves people, more beautiful, more enjoyable and maybe even find his own purpose for living.

Well, that were my thoughts on this topic. Happy to hear your opinions!! I'm sorry I didn't incorporate much of the most recent chapter 93. Idk why I'm always almost done with an analysis when the new chapter drops.

Anyways, thank you for reading!!

[flowerwrites06]

break my mind’s eye IV — jjk

Plot: Jungkook thinks marriage is the only way to seal a deal.

Pairing(s): Druglord!Jungkook x Fashion Designer!OC (Name: Belle)

Rating: G | PG | M | R 18+

Type: Drabble | Oneshot | Two Parter | Series

Parts: Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X | Special 

Word Count: 7k+

Genre: Mafia | Angst/Smut/Fluff

Tags & Warnings (for entire series): drug dealing, marriage through trickery, explicit smut, drug use, dubious consent, prostitution, miscarriage, lots of manipulation, impregnation through manipulation

Three days passed since their reconciliation and it felt as if the layer of ice around them finally melted into a somewhat comforting warmth. Mornings rose with an innocent conversation on their jobs except Jungkook tried to keep things discreet while they were eating. Nights ended in peaceful slumber, on the few occasions where Belle would sleep on his chest or Jungkook hugged her from behind.

The heavy pit in her stomach elated soon after a couple of decent sleeps. Especially now that the designing process for the Spring Line was almost over. Madame Saitos’ dresses were incredibly rare because each piece of clothing was handmade save for a few trips on the sewing machine. Which is why the designing process comes with a time restraint to ensure that the most raw ideas spewed onto the paper. Of course tweaks here and there would always be required but that time limit created some of Saito’s most prestigious fashion museum worthy designs.

Since Belle designed around half of the finalized line, she would handmake her own designs and the news alone could keep her happy for the rest of the year. After losing an opportunity to see her designs on the runway a tear almost jerked in her eye getting that chance again.

Secretly though her favourite design she made this month was the satin white suit for her ever fashionably selective ‘boyfriend’. Belle saw the kind of suits in his wardrobe, burgundy velvet, black with golden vectors, silk deep blue and over half of them were Saitos’ original designs. She knew that this suit had to match the standard of his entire wardrobe.

This morning Belle stood in front of an ironing board, briefly smoothing out the textures of the newly designed trouser ensuring that minimal pressure was placed. Glasses slightly slipped down her nose with her hair in a loose bun. Her body draped in a fitted black long sleeve tucked into a khaki green midi skirt and a short scarf tied around her neck.

The woman had enough time out of her work schedule to showcase the suit himself. Especially since ‘Jeon Jungkook preferred private deliveries’ as Saito would say with a playful roll of her eyes.

From what she observed Jungkook came back to the mansion for a lunch time refresh and almost right on the minute, the sound of a car stopping rung in her ears. Something fluttered in her heart knowing whose footsteps grew louder as the corner of her lips curled up when the familiar male showed himself, a small smile directed towards her.

Jungkook muttered a few words about the car to one of the guards before walking towards her while the pants now laid out on the ironing board neatly. “You’re working at home?” Hands dug into his pockets, eyes flickered down to the soft white pants.

Belle smiled with a bright glint in her gaze before turning around and grabbing the open box. “I wanted to give it you properly but—” Partially bandaged fingers hovered over the fabric of the freshly ironed jacket folded with care inside the box. “Do you want to try it?”

Something jolted inside him seeing the woman look over at him that he couldn’t quite describe in any sentence. But he nodded nonetheless. Shrugging off his own blazer, Jungkook kept a close eye on the graceful way she brought the long back suit out displaying it in front of him first. The corners of his lips instantly curled seeing the familiar winged design on the back, similar color to the whole suit except it had a sheen like texture that glistened when brought into the light. A design that resembled one animal he admired the most next to dogs. “Phoenix wings?”

The girl nodding enthusiastically. “Yeah. It’s the first time I’m making a suit for you so–I wanted it to be personal.”

Her voice had turned so sweet in the past few days that Jungkook could melt by the sound at this point.

Belle walked closer and draped the blazer around him, letting his arms into the sleeves before it perfectly lay on his shoulders. As distracting as the measuring session was the woman managed to make the fitting as close as possible. “Is it comfortable?” When the male agreed, she felt a sense of accomplishment burst through her. Saito had her make and mend suits all the time when she was not named a ‘designer’ but somehow knowing this one was done well allowed for a tiny celebration in her belly.

Jungkook watched her beautiful eyes light up, that strange jolt sparking inside him again which he ignored for the time being. “I want to give you something too.” He glanced down at the magnificent blazer before looking up at her.

“What is it?” Belle watched him carefully shrug off the suit so the entire outfit could be placed neatly for the event it’s meant for.

Gentle hand wrapped around hers, Jungkook led her upstairs to their shared bedroom.

Once they reached the area Belle was made to wait on the bed while the male rushed into the walk-in wardrobe. The only thing she could make out properly were the sounds of rummaging through clothes and slight slamming of something wooden. Then his figure appeared again holding a small deep red velvet box in his hand. As soon as her eyes reached the object, her heart hammered before her mind could even catch up. It didn’t take an expert to assume what might lay inside the box as she had seen many like it for one particular occasion.

“I know it looks daunting.” Jungkook reassured as if sensing the thoughts rushing inside her mind. “A lot of deals tend to have paper contracts which we will get at some point.” He padded closer before kneeling down completely in front of her while she sat on the edge, his arms brushing against her knees. “But for now—I want to give you this. As a promise that I’ll never pull the rug from under you…ever. This agreement is as solid as the pillars of this mansion. Nothing will ever happen to it.”

Like a thin paper ripped out from her eyes Belle faced her true reality staring down at the now open box, showcasing a glimmering diamond ring. Growing up the woman had been one of those people who believed marriage was a sacred bond. A promise that two people would stay loyally and happily together till the end of their comforting days. Jungkook showed no sign of being disloyal nor did Belle feel any deep sense of unhappiness in these few days. Looking at the truth behind the veil seemed naïve in this situation knowing it would only make their ordeal miserable all over again. She couldn’t afford to be miserable now. Taehyung was getting better, taking his medicine and moving to become a better man and she had to stay strong to ensure that happened. He deserved to come out happier from all this just as much as she did.

So she smiled down at the male seeing a comforting shine in the ring now. Perhaps a sign of hope rather than some sensationalized sacred bond. “Which finger should I put it on?”

Jungkook chuckled, pulling the ring out and gently taking her left hand. In no manner of hesitation the ring was softly placed on her fourth finger fitted to near perfection. “I borrowed one of your rings to get the fit.”

“It’s beautiful.” She whispered. Her hand absentmindedly reached out to caress the skin under his white collar feeling a slight warmth. Leaning in, Belle pressed a tender kiss just on the corner of his lips before pulling away.

His breath choked in his damn throat feeling her soft lips; his hands almost wanting to caress every inch of her skin and forget about the rest of the days’ work. Though Jungkook respected that Belle understood they couldn’t. No matter how amazing the idea sounded. He merely let out a slightly shaky sigh before giving the beauty a smile. Unfortunately he had to look back at the watch knowing there was a meeting looming in the next half hour almost leaving an empty feeling in his gut. “I have to go back to work.”

Belle nodded, snapping herself back to reality. “I have to go too.”

Hesitantly unlocking their joined hands they both went to their separate locations for the rest of the work-day.

-

Another two days went by in a blissful rush as Jungkook and Belle grew friendlier towards each other to the point where they would even share laughter through jokes from work or childhood life. Belle found out that his mother worked at a magazine company in Beijing while his father ran the investment companies in the US. They were very hands-off parents when he was growing up so his aunt practically adopted and raised him which is why his personality differed greatly from his father. Though his tactics in this business were heavily influenced by him.

Jungkook discovered her parents had been more fond of a son than a daughter so she had to jump through a lot more hoops to be good in their eyes. Eventually it never worked, Taehyung took care of her most of her life so far. That is until her parents were killed in an accidental explosion at their place of work which led to her older brothers’ downfall. Belle’s uncle and aunt tried to take care of him from time to time while she worked at the boutique until at some point they grew tired of babysitting a drug addict.

The two never really had a person to truly share mixed feelings about their upbringing. Even if Belle had Taehyung, he would always somehow reel back and tell her that their parents loved them both equally. Which she knew fully well was not true no matter how much it felt comforting to believe it.

Though the deep conversations usually faded back into playful serenity again now more comfortable with each other’s presence than ever before.

In came the day of the garden party.

Belle dressed herself in a baby blue midi dress, the overlay adorned with the same colored flowers on a sheer material trailing down to touch her knees, crème colored hat to finish it off. The second event she was going to with Jungkook but this time no sense of dread passed through her nor any stress. In fact the woman wanted to see Jungkooks’ aunt wearing the gorgeous dress she chose for the occasion. And Jungkook wearing his own custom made suit.

A similar routine where she walked down the stairs while the white-suited male gave some instructions to the guards possibly about keeping an eye on the mansion while they were away. Then he turned to face her once she reached the center of the living room, a soft smile immediately tugging at the corner of her lips.

The extremely aware corner of her mind now buried itself under all the elation developed through the past few days. Some part already knew that this was a ruse. Jungkook was successfully gaining everything he asked for without barely lifting a finger and Belle truly had no valid choice to disagree. Though if that thought swirled around in her head for too long, it would start aching and this whole experience could fade into torture again.

Perhaps there was a comfort in pretending that his hand intertwined with hers radiated comfort rather than entrapment. The guards bowing to them and leading them into the car showed a sign of protection rather than no means of escape. Jungkook might think the woman a pawn but that did not mean she was one.

From where she sat in the car shoulder pressed to him and hands still linked, Belle imagined herself to sit at the far end of the chess board rather than the front as a mere pawn.

Once they reached the garden party the couple was welcomed with a vibrant burst of nature, people in colorful dress and bright suits floating through the bushes like pixies. Occasionally a photographer or two flashed their camera towards them but hardly anything intimidating like the previous event. Eyes almost immediately flickered over to them when they walked out of the car. Holding Jungkooks’ hand actually provided some kind of comfort knowing she was not alone and exposed to all these people.

Bushes shaped to represent different safari animals, crowds of pink, white and red roses all around coupled with fragrant jasmines and chrysanthemums. The garden looked almost endless from the sides. Belle noticed the large cherry and peach blossoms, little petals falling gracefully and a gorgeous mansion to pull the whole picture together. The building adorned a taupe sandstone with golden detailing similar to Jungkooks’ estate except aged a bit more.

“Darlings!” Boyoungs’ voice rung in her ears as the woman bounced towards the couple wearing a royal purple midi dress with some matching wrist gloves and a floral hat to top it off. Purple tinted lips stretched out in a bright smile, hugging the both of them with the same enthusiasm.

The older female led them to the main table where her husband sat with a few other family friends who welcomed her with an intrigued smile. Sitting under the shade of the laced line umbrella provided some cool away from the warm sun while they were served tea.

Boyoungs’ eyes immediately flickered towards the shining diamond around Belle’s finger and a small gasp caught in her throat. “Oh you proposed!” Her announcement ripped through the entire group and onto a few others outside of the umbrella as a rush of cheer passed on like a infection.

Belle merely smiled with her gaze fixed on the rose tea while Jungkook chuckled nervously. She hoped they would not ask for a romantic proposal story but they all seemed to just pat the young male on the back. Some of the ladies asked what kind of cut it was which the girl gave an answer from observation. It didn’t take long for her to realize that most of these people were probably arranged to marry. So the idea of any romantic story would be useless to them even though Belle and Jungkook were supposed to be a ‘love’ marriage.

Somehow the lack of her own froufrou story made it easier and harder to sit at the table. Belle politely listened to stories of awkward marriage arrangement along with an attempt to sound less hostile towards each other. For a minute she prided in being so good at pretending that her marriage was happy and full of light.

Though the pretense became exhausting really quickly. Her posture began to falter as her rose tea reached the end of its fill and the shade from the sun created cloud over her mind.

“Excuse me.” Belle spoke as gently as she could to the crowd. “I’m going to take a stroll.” She smiled getting up from the chair, chest feeling a little constricted.

Jungkook watched her in slight concern when she excused herself. Truthfully nothing about this conversation comforted him either. The whole idea of marriage, especially one that came from a business arrangement didn’t spark happy stories and it was a situation that some attendees at the table could relate to. The only thing he could do as a sign of comfort was touch her hand lightly which she squeezed in response before he watched her walk deeper into the gardens.

-

A couple of minutes passed and Jungkook grew tired of the conversations bubbling between his family friends so his eyes wandered to other attendees. Eventually his eyes set on one particular male, simple black suit with a silver necklace around his neck and blue lens glasses over his eyes.

Excusing himself from the table politely, he walked over to where the other male had been examining the jasmines. A few colorful pixies rolled in front of him and giggled when he gave them way until finally he was able to come close to a more reassuring face. Well second most reassuring to the one that just glazed through the gardens on her own.

“Didn’t know you were so fond of nature.” Jungkook smirked standing next to him.

“Well a lot of my supplies come from plants.” He shrugged, eyes merely scanning over the flowers and trees not really focusing on anything in particular.

“Technically they’re my supplies but sure.” He dug his hands into his jacket pockets, attention trailing and silently searching for a familiar blue dress. “Anything to report?” It was a regular, almost absentminded question at this point whenever he saw the male since he was responsible for most of the sells around this area.

Hoseok took a generous sip of tea before wincing as he stared at the decorative cup. “Rose tea tastes like piss.” He cleared his throat, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. “Everything’s fine so far. Clients are rolling in payments from all corners, some even paid in advance to ensure secrecy.” He placed the tea cup on one of the vacant tables before looking out in the gardens again. “Except a few regulars like Kim Taehyung still hasn’t paid.”

“I told he already paid all his previous payments.” Jungkook shook his head, brows furrowing.

“What about the one the five days ago?”

The younger male had to connect the dots for a few seconds as his forehead knitted. “Five days ago? He’s been in rehab for almost a fortnight.”

Hoseok shook his head. “Doesn’t look like it’s working. I remember all my sells.” He rolled his eyes a little. “Well I kinda just give it to Taehyung instead of sell.”

“You do know I could kill you for doing things like that, right?” Anger bubbled right up to his throat except not directed towards Hoseok.

“Hey you’re the one who told me to give younger clients a break.” He defended.

“I know.” Jungkook had the strong urge to tell him that Taehyung already paid the biggest price of all strolling around the cherry blossoms. “Don’t sell it to him anymore.” He ordered simply.

“What?”

“If he asks again, send him to me. Don’t give him anything.” He seethed the last word spotting Belle now as a bright suited man walked up to her. It didn’t take long for him to recognize the familiar face even from this distance.

Hoseok stared at the male quizzically. No client ever received this kind of special treatment even to send some kind of a message. Hell if he wanted to send a message, Taehyung would have been dead in a ditch somewhere for police to scrap him off. Yet Jungkook wanted to keep the man alive for some reason. “Why—”

“Just…” Jungkook sighed trying to push his frustrations even though he wanted to explode right there and then. “…Just do as I say.” Eyes flickered back over to Belle again who was now conversing and smiling with the man causing a small twinge in his chest. “I’m trusting you to do this for me, Hobi. Alright?”

The older male still looked utterly confused but nodded nonetheless. “Of course, man. You’re the boss.” He pressed his lips together. “Now can you tell where they put the whiskey?”

Jungkook glanced around the party before leaning into him. “Ask the server with the blue flower on his breast pocket. They usually bring in secret batches for more important guests. The password is periwinkle.”

“Is that some kind of fancy slang for penis?” Hoseok winced.

He stammered already imagining Belles’ reaction to that statement being far more dramatic than his. “It’s a shade of—just go.” Jungkook couldn’t help but roll his eyes a little as the male rushed to find his source of sanctuary.

-

Boyoung was definitely on par with the seasoning of fashion since a garden party was the absolute perfect way to create inspiration for spring design. Granted this years’ line finished in its designing process, there was no reason not to take in the sheer amount of beauty. How ethereal would those peach blossoms look on a silk kimono or chrysanthemum detailing on a wedding dress. So many colours and designs all around her Belle had the strong urge to twirl like a little child in pure happiness.

But to keep up a decent appearance she merely smiled watching the cherry blossoms fall gracefully down to the ground. Hand held out the woman managed to have one land on her palm. That was when a voice spoke from behind her.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

She turned around to see a man with a wisteria shaded suit and a charming plump lipped smile. His chocolate brown hair parted to the side with eyes that expressed both kindness mixed into a little intimidation. “It is.” Belle smiled at the male before glancing back at the scenery again.

He took a small step forward. “I’m Kim Seokjin.” He stated holding his hand out which the woman accepted kindly after a moments’ hesitation. “The owner of the Sangria House.”

Belle only heard a few rumors about the Sangria House much like a person who evaluated life in a brothel based on assumptions and fiction stories. From what she knew, it had the mixture of a teahouse and a brothel but that was pretty much everything. Either way she smiled knowingly trying to be polite even though the girl had no intention in admiring a neatly dressed pimp too much. “Kim Belle. Nice to meet you.”

“With the murmurs I’m hearing, it seems Kim will be turning to Jeon very soon.” Seokjin smirked, glancing over his shoulder towards the flowing pixies all over the garden.

The woman tried to maintain the smile despite her prior momentary peace in the garden now being diminished. “Maybe not that soon.” She mumbled.

“Why do you say that?”

Her heart leaped slightly, the sudden urge to just spew out her whole situation in hopes that Seokjin would never be in her line of sight again. But the woman knew better to keep quiet especially since these attendees would probably not be that helpful nor would they find her ordeal abnormal. “I have a lot of other responsibilities right now.”

“Ah yes the new and coming designer for Saito.” Seokjin nodded, gaze lowered to his feet for a moment before looking over at her again.

Belle smiled politely feeling a sense of pride towards her workplace. Saitos’ outfits were rare so it was hard hearing about them from just anyone. Except from the way this man held himself and the reputation of the Sangria House, she knew Seokjin was not just anyone.

“You know, I had been wanting to order a few new dresses from Madame Saito as a refreshed décor for my angels.” Seokjins’ request lingered in the light breezy garden. “Maybe I could personally order you as my designer.”

A chill rushed down her spine either from the breeze or the fact he said ‘my designer’. Still the woman sighed lightly and smiled. The opportunity to create a contact was a literal dream come true. But the man did not know her designs nor did he see how she worked. Which gave the unsettling assumption that Seokjin was asking on his mere personal interest just by looking at and talking to her.

“Darling!”

Belle heard a familiar voice call out as a flash of white strolled towards the two of them. Immediately a more genuine smile tugged at her lips when Jungkook stood, arm gently wrapped around her waist.

“Mr. Jeon.”

“Mr. Kim.” Jungkook’s fingers gripped at her dress for a second before smoothing it down. “I hope you don’t mind if I whisk away my lady for a minute.” It wasn’t really a question from the sound of his tone and when he was already pulling her away.

“Think about my offer, Ms. Kim.” Seokjin smirked.

Belle could only get the chance to nod before she felt herself being led off towards the mansion.

-

“Bit of a rushed interaction.” Belle remarked as they walked into the majestic building Jeon Boyoung called her home. Instead of crème, the mansion adorned a dark wooden interior with antique hand-painted portraits of what she assumed were ancestors of the Jeon family including a modern one of Jungkooks’ extended family. The large painting was the first thing people saw when they walked in, Jungkooks’ aunt and father sitting on chairs while their spouses and children stood on the far ends.

She could easily see the mixture between Jungkooks’ parents from his mothers’ soft round eyes and small pouty lips to his fathers’ sharp jaw and intimidating brows.

“You looked like you needed a bit of rescuing.” Jungkook replied simply with a shrug following her gaze up to the portrait.

“Oh yeah he was definitely ‘talking’ me to death.” Sarcasm seeped through her tone as she walked forward towards the wide entry hall having the strong urge to scream and see if there was an echo.

“Believe me that’s his superpower.” He tried to explain as well as keeping up with her slightly excited exploration. “Seokjin got his company to the highest ranks of the elite through his eloquence. Hell he even convinced me to invest.”

“So you invest in brothels.” Belle turned around to face him now, not really caring what he did in his work since it all could be listed down into a category of inappropriate. “Did you get good discounts?”

Jungkook chuckled. “Sangria House is not just a brothel.”

“Yes yes don’t think a girl working alone in the city hasn’t heard that before on the streets.” She raised a brow. “Let me guess…it’s a respected establishment with highly trained employees who get paid a fair wage. Did I forget to mention the highest bidder gets to take away a novices’ virginity? And the fair wage only exists if you’re a full-fledged angel. Oh and they get to wear pretty dresses.” Belle gave him an advertisement happy smile before walking carefully backwards.

“You’re telling me you’ve been recruited into Sangria House before?”

Belle shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m sure every person who looked unemployed enough has.”

Jungkook kept glancing behind her to check if it was safe enough to be walking like that. “Guess fate wanted you to come to this place one way or another.” He smiled.

“Ah so you did get a few investor gifts.” She turned back around walking towards the flight of stairs. “What were they like?”

His eyes trailed down her body when she bounced up the stairs feeling a quick tremble. “I’ve experienced better.” Jungkook quickly caught up to the woman and grabbed onto her hand to keep her close to him for a few more moments.

Belle smirked up at him trying to back away cheekily before her back hit the wall. “I think he had a good offer.” She muttered averting her gaze a little.

“Really?” He tilted his head placing his palm on the wall next to her head. “Do you have to wear a pretty dress to come with it?”

She playfully slapped his chest. “Not that kind of offer.”

Jungkook couldn’t help but admire her every little movement as if he would lose her if he missed a second.

“He wants me to design some dresses for his angels.”

“Are you going to agree?”

Belle shrugged soothing the place she slapped lightly. “He’s ordered from Saitos’ before so—should be a good contact.”

Jungkook only hummed in response.

“What?” The corners of her lips curled up already sensing what made the man look so uncomfortable at the prospect.

“Nothing…”

“Alright, I’ll just go back and talk to him again.”

Before Belle could prance down the stairs, Jungkook hooked his arm around her waist and pressed her back against the wall. One free arm leaned next to her head while he leaned down with a small smirk. “Everyone’s been talking to you today.” He brushed away the loose hair from her face before his arm wrapped around her again, making sure no space escaped between their bodies. “Maybe I just want you to myself for a minute.”

“I am an independent woman, Mr. Jeon.” She teased with a faint smirk. “You’re going to have to ask nicely.”

Jungkook smiled as she played with his sharp collars. “May I—please have you all to myself for a minute, Ms. Kim?”

Belle hummed, taking her hat off and wrapping her arms around his neck. “Just for a minute.” She acknowledged in a whisper.

All he needed was her say and his lips magnetized onto hers, tasting the brownie she nibbled on earlier. Palms rubbed over the soft fabric of her blue dress to her bare arms and the back of her neck, sliding down to where he could feel the curve of her plush peach. Almost a week had passed since they last touched each other in this manner but Jungkook burned up so much, he could surpass a furnace. Kisses trailed down to her jawline.

Pausing on a soft patch of skin on her neck he bit onto it humming in satisfaction when she gasped lightly. Jungkook could listen to those sounds on a record player if he ever wanted to find peace when she was away. He couldn’t help her squeeze her whole body a little to ensure that this wasn’t all a dream. But the heat radiating together told no lie.

Soon frustration seeped in as the clothing around her felt too restricting causing his hand to sneak under the skirt of her dress. A satisfied sigh brushed against her lips feeling how warm her bare skin felt against his own almost lulling to a transient relaxation. Like nothing could go wrong at this moment.

“We can’t do that under a minute.” Belle giggled, noses nudging against each other as they intoxicated themselves in each other’s breathy laughter.

“I just missed touching you.” Jungkook whispered feeling his mind far too blurry to care about putting up a wall and sounded more calm about this situation. He loved feeling her against his skin. So much so that he had rub his hand up her hips, torso and breast after sneaking out of her skirt. Every crevice drove him insane.

Her core pooled at the firm brush against her body, lightly touching her nipple before he gently grabbed her by the neck. Eyes closed unable to focus on anything else in the hallway even if she tried, her lips practically parting on its own for Jungkooks’ tongue to explore her mouth once again.

“Jungkook! Belle! Aunt Boyoungs’ calling!”

Jungkook groaned under his throat making Belle chuckle at how desperate he got from a few naughty touches in their momentary privacy.

Fixing her dress to make it look proper again, the couple walked out holding hands towards the party with a new air of joy around them.

-

Patience had always been one of this strong suits. A trait many men of his stature lacked so when he excelled at it, respect for him shot up through the roof. So why was it that he could not keep his hands to himself whenever Belle so much as stood next to him? Merely a day passed since the garden party and Jungkook had already kissed every part of her face whenever he got his chance in the morning.

It didn’t help that the woman had a talent in noticing when someone was literally trembling to feel more of her. She got ready wearing nothing but a thin, satin robe causing her slightly plump thighs to peek out of the clothing. The man had to physically turn his head away so he could focus on putting his tie on without looking like a toddler doing it for the first time. Even then he still pecked her temple and cheek when he stood behind her.

Even when she finally left for her work, her small goodbye kiss lingered on his lips for most of the afternoon which meant he had to space out for a few seconds during meetings before finally answering any questions or making any demands.

Then a call rung in his phone while he sat in a car on his way for a check-in at the warehouse.

Hoseoks’ name appeared on the screen.

Heart sinking down to an abyss, Jungkook answered the phone. “What is it?”

A sigh passed from the other side of the phone. “He came back again. I’ve sent him to you now. He’s on the way to the mansion.” Hoseok sounded just about as helpless as Jungkook felt when the two quickly ended the call not wanting to waste any more time.

-

Postponing the check-in, the driver took him straight back to the mansion a little quicker than he was legally allowed to but they reached before Jungkook could groan in frustration. He wanted to get the whole situation over and done with. Dealing with client was already frustration as it were on a normal day but now more than ever he wished he didn’t throw away his pack of cigarettes already.

Not that it was his fault anyway since Taehyung decided to ruin the entire deal in less than a month.

Once inside the mansion Jungkook saw the hooded man on his knees with four guards surrounding him in front of the dormant fireplace. Shrugging off his blazer he slammed it down onto the floor before stomping over to him. He spotted the mans’ blood shot eyes and chapped lips, skin glistening in sweat. When he finally stood before him, a deafening silence lingered in the air.

This was what would have happened. Taehyung on his knees ready to accept his bloody fate for taking advantage of his long trained patience. The man had the shaking urge to continue with that plan. It almost worked until he remembered the soft linger on his lips again. “How long have you been taking it?” He asked in a grim tone.

Taehyung hung his head, lips pursing together.

“I asked you a question.” Jungkook spoke through gritted teeth, feeling his final nerve being tugged at.

“Couple of days.”

“A week is not a ‘couple of days’” His fingers curled up into tight fists. “And you had the gall to ask for more? Did you even finish it all?”

“I—I didn’t ask for that much.” His voice was meek under his breath.

Jungkook scoffed turning around for a moment to catch his fiery heaving. “You didn’t ask for that much.” He repeated the statement in his own mind and felt the lava flooding past his control. When it reached the peak of the volcano, one of his fists swung across Taehyung’s face, a crunch sound touching his ears.

The male cowered on the floor, hands over his nose as blood trickled through his fingers and his eyes looked more bloodshot than before.

“This isn’t a buy and sell anymore, Taehyung!” His voice echoed throughout the walls of the mansion. “Do you even realize your little sister lives here now? Because of you!” Jungkook spat watching Taehyung struggle to get himself back up again. “You think she’s here just so you can continue scrapping drugs for free?!”

“You’re the one who made the deal in the first place!” He shrieked through his hands.

Jungkook grabbed at his hair, forcing him to look up at the male. Blood drenched him from his nose down his neck but it only angered the man further. “I only made the deal because I thought you’d do anything to make sure your sister was safe. Even if it meant facing the real world without anything numbing you out.”

“Jungkook…” He heard a familiar murmur from behind him almost making his stomach jump up to his throat. Before he could turn back to see, the floral dressed figure already padded closer to the scene, eyes flooding with tears.

Despite the ache in his heart, the male still let go of Taehyung roughly to limp back onto the floor. “Tell her.” A growl sneaked within his voice. “I want you to tell her what you did.” He gestured towards the woman.

Belle hesitantly walked and knelt down in front of her brother as he tried to get up again. Her hands held onto his shoulders just until he was on his knees as well. A sob caught in her throat seeing the blood smeared on her older brothers’ face. His blood drenched hands attempted to hold her somehow but only ended up staining her skin and some of the lighter flowers on her black background dress. “What happened?” She whispered.

Taehyung lowered his head, biting down his bottom lip to conceal a small sob.

“Tae—” A little annoyance flew straight to her head thinning her patience to near nothingness but to be the cool headed one in the volcanic pit made from the living room, she kept her voice calm. “Tae, please answer me.”

“I couldn’t—” He sniffled, gripping onto her arms. “I couldn’t do it.”

She pressed her lips together as the tears jerked out of her, streaming down her light berry colored cheeks. Immediately the woman shook her head before wiping them away. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay.” Jungkook argued. “He had a responsibility.”

“And you made a promise.” Belle met his gaze with a subtle tremble in her tone, getting off the floor. “Addiction isn’t just going to go away.” Her voice rung soft in his ears as she padded closer to Jungkook instantly melting away most of his fury. “You could’ve done the absolute worst to me, it was still going to take time.”

His eyes twitched a little feeling the ache on his knuckles a little too prominently, desperately wishing he took a small puff of a cigarette prior to this meeting. Jungkook glared back at Taehyung who already looked like he was going to pass out from the one punch before he looked at Belle. Everything felt so much better in these few days. He saw her smiling more often and playing around that now watching her face drenched in tears and her neck streaked with blood made his chest clench in immense pain. “He’s going to stay here from now on.” He declared struggling to keep his voice steady. “We’ll have nurses and guards looking after him until he gets better. There’s no chance of him sneaking out anywhere.”

Belle watched the male gesture towards his guards who grabbed Taehyung firmly and led him towards another room through the hall next to the bar. Silence plunged back into the room as the woman tried to meet Jungkooks’ gaze again. Even if she tried to form them, no words managed come out of her. She did not know whether to be thankful or just more exhausted about this whole ordeal; the ring around her finger now felt heavier than ever.

Jungkook walked towards the bar. With a loud sigh, the male practically threw a glass onto the table before roughly pouring some golden liquid to the brim and taking a generous swig.

In small hesitant steps she stood behind the counter. Grabbing a cloth and drenching it under a tap, Belle wiped off any residue of blood on her neck and arm.

“How’re you so calm about this?” Jungkook asked solemnly.

Who knew that simple question could cause a thick lump in her throat. “I’m not calm.” Fresh tears gathered at the brim of her eyes while she cleaned out the towel again. “I’m just tired.” She sniffled feeling an invisible but heavy weight on her shoulders that she couldn’t get rid of even if she wanted to. “Really tired.”

Jungkook watched her from over his shoulder trying to drink another sip to get rid of that ache in his chest again. A few maids walked out of Taehyungs’ new room with some old sheets and bloody cloth, bowing to the two of them quickly before excusing themselves. Once the room only consisted of them, he pulled out another empty glass.

“I don’t drink.” Belle muttered, standing next to the male in front of the counter.

He turned back towards the small fridge behind them and reached inside for a plastic bottle with some red liquid inside. “You like cranberry juice?”

She nodded after a moment’s hesitation. The right corner of her lip twitched a little as Jungkook filled her glass up halfway. “Thank you.” She whispered, gently holding the crystal before taking a shy sip.

Jungkook sighed leaning on his elbows against the table, eyes scanning the now empty living room. “I’m really tired too.” He murmured. “It’s not really 9 to 5 job like it looks, you have to—mold it with your personal life and let it run you until finally…” He held up his glass. “This kills you… Fun old life, isn’t it? Violence, alcohol and—”

“Sex.”

“Not really getting much of that lately.”

“Don’t expect it tonight either.” Belle took a more generous sip. “Maybe next time beat people up in a warehouse like all the normal crime lords.” She gestured towards the empty space in the living room. “That was the second time.”

He looked at the empty space again with an added annoyance before hanging his head, scoffing. “You couldn’t have told me that earlier?”

She had a tiny smirk curled up her lips before leaning to press a warm kiss on his cheek. “That’s what you get for punching my brother.” She whispered. “Too bad though.” Belle looked down at her outfit. “I really wanted to show you something.”

Jungkooks’ eyes immediately trailed down her form again, fingers twitching. “Showing me something isn’t technically sex.”

“Nice try.” Belle patted his back before leaving him in own heated mess to go upstairs. “Good night, Mr. Jeon.”

Once again he was left watching the beauty walk away from him and all he could do was take in every inch of her body and every strand of her hair until it drove him mad. If the alcohol didn’t kill him, she might just.

<< PREV CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER >>

[wizkiddx]

a father and daughter

I don't normally hop on the whole dad!tom thing, but this idea kinda popped up and wouldn't leave me alone. Hope everyone is having a lovely festive period and wish you all well in the new year x x x

Summary: Tom really struggles to get into the parenting thing, and finds it tricky balancing work and his relationship with baby daughter

Tom loved being a Dad. It had only been a couple of months, meaning your baby girl was still very much a baby - yet still he had no doubt, this was the best job one could ever ever do. To be honest he was quite regretting agree to the few work commitments he had started to ease back into too. It wasn’t like he couldn’t afford to go these months without work, which not many had the luxury of saying - but in this industry work agreements were lined up years before and he was never one to disappoint. 

Of course, as soon as you both had found out you were expecting, he’d withdrawn from the big filming project across the world but that didn’t mean he avoided the odd week of press, or a couple days flying abroad for fittings and meetings. By absolutely no means would you ever class him as a slightly ‘absent’ dad, you completely understood and when he was home did way more than his fair share with Amelie.

But Tom felt guilty and he felt like he was inferior to you in parenting ability. And you knew that was for one reason and one reason only. He did not have boobs. 

You were well aware that as much as you loved Amelie needing you so much and so often - sometimes being the only person able to soother her - was because all she wanted was to drain you of milk. She was clearly going to be a Daddy’s girl, and who could blame her when her Dad was Tom. But for right now, a mere 5 months old - she loved you because she loved your tit. 

The first time you had noticed Tom’s growing frustration was right after his first evening work commitment since her arrivel, he’d been on a UK chat show earlier in the evening and as encouraged by you, had taken the opportunity to have a few drinks after with his brothers and friends. By no means did he return late, barely midnight, but he did return just a little tipsy. You were still up choosing to have a little movie night to yourself, whilst Amelie slept in the Moses basket next to the couch. Just before Tom got back though, she had woken up and for no reason was the smiliest little girl. So when Tom let himself into the front door, he was greeted with the sound of Amelie’s little bubbles of laughter, while you spoke in baby language - pulling ridiculous faces and laughing with her. 

“Someones smiley” Tom laughed as he plopped down on the sofa next to you, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head and wrapping his arm round your shoulder as he smiled at Amelie. 

“Aren’t you Meelie? How was the show love?” You asked, as you held Amelie in a sitting position on your thighs so she was staring at you both. 

“Hmm it was nice, couldn’t make myself stay for too long though… just missed my girls.” His voice was a little rough, something that happens after talk show and then almost shouting over the obnoxiously loud music in the pub after. Amelie, laughed again at his words, almost taunting her Dad’s attachment to her, making both of you burst out laughing. She already had you both wrapped round her very little finger. 

Shaking your head, you passed her over to Tom muttering needing a wee and made a quick escape. Ever since you had her, you couldn’t bring yourself to leave her unattended - meaning you had almost made your kidneys explode holding in a wee waiting for Tom to get back. Yet as soon as you made it out the door, the bubbling innocent laughter turned into screams - but at that point you’d already made it out the doorframe - marking that as Tom’s issue to handle. Unfortunately the wails continued, very very loud and proud, and when you returned Tom was pacing slowly around the lounge with a grimace on his face as Amelie screamed into his shoulder. 

“I’ll stay up with her if you want.” You offered, knowing Tom without sleep and having to listen to her racket all night would have an impressively worse hangover tomorrow. 

“No I got it, think she needs a change.” Tom countered, even though you were pretty sure she wanted a feed, since it had been a good couple of hours from the last. He noticed your hesitance and shooed you out the room “I got it love, you’ve had her all evening.” 

“You know where I’ll be” You smiled lightly, leaving them downstairs as you got ready for bed.

It was after about 10 minutes of thrashing about guiltily in your otherwise empty bed, you gave in to the still continuous screaming. Amelie clearly was just hungry, even if Tom refused to admit it and bring her to you. So with a deep sigh you gave in, swinging your legs over the side of the bed and trudged downstairs. Tom was still stood up, taking gentle bouncing steps as Amelie apparently tried to deafen him. Once he saw you, with a defeated look, Tom offered her to you. Instantly, as if you just had the ability to turn the crying switch on her off- Amelie stopped crying and blinked away the tears in her eyes, whilst waiting patiently for you to offer her your nipple. While you were busy trying to get her to latch on, you just caught Tom muttering something as he trudged up to bed without so much as a good night. 

Then a couple months later a similar thing occurred. Tom had been away in New York for 5 days, a little press stint that he had under no circumstances been able to get off. At first all had been well but two days since he returned, Tom insisted you finally had an evening out with the girls - to be honest, after spending the best part of a week alone with Meelie you graciously took it. Oh, and also of importance for context, Amelie spoke her first word while he was away… Mama. 

You’d left that morning, your best friend taking you on a spa day before - so by the time Tom called you at 11 in the evening, he’d spent a good portion of the day with Amelie vehemently denying to do anything at all apart from yell- yelling “NO MAMA.” So fair to say he was pissed. You answered the phone with a soft smile, honestly finding spending this much time apart from Amelie really hard and guilt-inducing. 

“Hey Tom everything okay?”

“Um when do you think you’ll be back?” He spoke straight and to the point, clearly not in the mood for small talk. 

“I don’t think too long, is everything alright?” His tone made you so much more concerned,  now worrying that something had happened. 

“No no everything’s fine. Just… just been a long day.”

“Okay well I’ll be back soon I promise. I love you.”

“Yeh yeh um you too” He didn’t mean to be short. Nor to make you worried. He didn’t hate you - far the opposite, he hated how much Amelie loved you. 

If he was being honest, he just felt like a bit of a failure of a father. As a child himself, Tom had always been incredibly close to his mum and thought the typical rule was mummy’s boys and daddy’s girls stood. So why then, did his child appear to absolutely detest him with every look. Especially because, given the nature of his job, once Tom went back to actually shooting films again he’d be around much less - and that the relationship between him and Amelie would at least be geographically strained. Unrequited love is always the worst and ultimately most painful, especially when it involves your own child. 

This underlying and unspoken tension fizzled away for a decent amount of months and Tom went on his first job. At this point you were no longer breastfeeding, but still you knew that purely instinctively if Amelie was ever scared, upset or unhappy she would seek you first. It was bloody obvious to you that she did love Tom, she chuckled away like no tommorrow when he played with her and spun her round the room. And yet, you could still tell Tom wasn’t completely convinced and still seemed , just a bit aware and hesitant. 

In there ever needed to be any proof though, it must’ve been how stroppy Amelie got once Tom left. In short, for you, it was hell. You ended up constantly wearing Tom’s t-shirts, not for you but because the mild but lingering scent of him seemed to soothe Amelie when she was fussing. She would never giggle like she did when her silly Daddy was here to be her personal comedian. She had, however, finally learnt how to say Dada - which now she was shouting impressively at every point apart from when you tried to film it. She was a little devil, its like she knew exactly what to do to make you life as hard as possible - keeping you dealing with an unhappy Tom. You tried to tell him, when you were on FaceTime each evening - but no matter how many times you promised, it seemed that Tom had a hard time believing you. 

He was filming in Germany, which meant it wasn’t actually ‘that’ far from your London home and after two weeks he flew back for a weekend. You were incredibly excited- not just to seeing Tom, which of course you where; but also ,hopefully, for him to feel some sort of assurance in his ability as a parent. He needed to see her, Amelie needed her Daddy and you… you needed a rest. 

That evening, you had had her balanced on your hip as you rushed to make the house look somewhat presentable (because single parenting was not easy) but Amelie had thrown a fit so with a slightly immature passive aggressive comment to your 11 month old daughter you put her on her play mat and carried on. It was a bit of a risk if you were quite honest, she was more than just a crawler - she perfected the art of bum shuffling and was starting to on occasion try to stand up. But you were in the same room so surely little harm could come to her in the ‘over-the-top-ly’ baby proofed living room - Tom’s doing of course. 

So keeping one eye on Amelie and the other on the almost terrifyingly big stack of discarded toys you set about tidying up. It was all going swimmingly until your thoughts about how on earth you were going to hide all the crap were abruptly interrupted with a garbled screech of “DADA!”

You instantly whipped your head round to watch Amelie stumble and basically throw herself the couple of steps to the doorway where Tom stood. You had absolutely no clue how long he’d been standing there but that was all insignificant watching him sweep you little girl into his arms, before she could career to the floor (headfirst of course). His eyes were bugging out of his head, as she giggled and laughed in his strong grasp before astutely throwing her head into the crook of his neck, demanding to be cuddled by him. 

It was almost hilarious, how utterly shocked Tom looked at the real life proof that his baby girl had missed him. Once he met your eyes he used the hand supporting Amelies back to point at her in a questioning manner, making you roll your eyes at just how oblivious and stubborn he is. 

“She’s missed her Dad!” You smiled, as you walked toward him and pecked his lips. “You got this down here if I finally get some peace upstairs?” 

Because yes, you’d missed your husband and wanted to spend all night wrapped in his arms. But really? There was a more important way the evening should pass, finally Tom getting his moment with Amelie. So without so much as even a ‘how was your flight’ you left the two in the living room - you making a beeline to the bath, for just a moment to yourself. 

It was perhaps even a little shocking to yourself that you were so confident you could leave them alone for the evening. Because really, if Amelie started acting up suddenly again, this could be where Tom’s confidence as a dad goes from ‘ropey at best’ to ‘non-existent’. Except you were so certain in the fact that just wouldn’t happen. If she was hungry she’d take the bottle from Tom (which she never did from you without arguement ). 

And so you had possible the most relaxing time in the bath - actually alone for the first time in two weeks. 

It wasn’t until you quietly walked down the stairs two hours later that you got a bit suspicious of the silence downstairs. Cautiously you peered your head round the doorframe and you didn’t even try to stifle the beaming smile spread across your face. Because there was your husband, lying semi-reclined on the arm of the sofa, his arms wrapped protectively round Amelie who looked incredibly content snuggled up to her dad at last. They were both fast asleep and the sight was just so sweet it actually hurt your  heart, meaning only naturally you had sneak a picture of them both. It was infuriating how you knew you had to wake him up - it is a little irresponsible to leave her lying on top of him on the couch and you kinda wanted to cuddle up to Tom this evening too. 

So with a gentle touch rubbing and down his right arm it only took a moment or two till he suddenly blinked his eyes open, eyes looking quickly between your eyes and Amelie - his grasp on her had instinctively tightened a little.

“Hey” You whispered softly, watching him notice how calm Amelie looked on his chest.

“Mhmm hey.” His voice was slightly croaky, probably from the exhaustion of two weeks of hard work. 

“You guys friends then?” You whispered while combing your ginger nails though Amelies little curls at the base of her neck - she was most deifnetly a Holland. 

“She did really miss me?” Tom asked, still half not believing as he shuffled up on the sofa so he was sitting more upright. 

“To the point she had me wrapping the pillows in your unwashed t-shirts.” You giggled as his bottom lip pouted into a visible ‘awh’. 

“Come on lets get you both to bed.” 

Without much complaint, but keeping her in his arms, Tom nodded and followed you up to bed. But that night instead of getting your way and having Tom cuddling you, he pouted until you let him lie Amelie down in the middle of the bed between you two . 

But seeing the way he grinned at her in the dark, almost fighting to stay awake as he looked at her, the prospect seemed a lot more attractive. 

And that was more than fine by you.  

[coolrobotsupremacist]

Victurnien expends $19.96 on Morality

Fantine had survived on her wage, working at the Splash of the Sea. Now, with the modest annuity her OnlyFans account brought her, she felt able to breath again. She could never bring herself to enjoy cleaning up changing rooms or fishing the bloated corpses of discarded plasters out of the outside pool but she could bear it happily knowing that she would be able to pay for Cosette's medicine without going hungry herself. As for her second job, or side hustle as she might have called it had she any intimate to confide in, she did not concern herself with what people might think of her if they found out. Why should she? It was for Cosette; that was enough.

Moreover, Fantine had always had an talent for composition and though she had never before turned these talents on herself, she surprised herself by enjoying the process and refused to feel any shame. She was sure that Thomolys had felt no shame when he had exploited her trust in him to gain access to her body likewise she would feel no shame in profiting from her own exploitation of the same. His shadow faded from her life, in bitter increments then all at once. The need to take every shift she could manage had lessened slightly. There was time enough for the little luxuries again and Fantine's beauty regained the polish of care. This little happiness caused even greater envy on the part of her colleagues.

It is to be acknowledge that in this modern age we are oversaturated with gossip, yet our thirst for secrets hasn't waned with the rise of the internet and the startling ease with which we found ourselves able to communicate. That terrible instinct to bring low is inflamed by our engagement in social media. The urge to gossip and then make judgement both amplified and rendered impersonal by the strange double illusion the internet brings; that sensation of simultaneous immediacy and disconnect. This goes some way to explain the avidity with which Fantine was watched. Fantine was known to them but distant, seemingly cold, she was a real to them as a celebrity, that is, something for them to consume first and empathise with as an afterthought.

It was observed that she had a daughter or at least that her lockscreen was a child that bore remarkable resemblance to her, which, to them, was the same thing. Fantine did not consciously decided to keep Cosette a secret nor did it occur to her that anyone might feel the right to know. They assumed her silence meant secrecy. She was constantly messaging some mysterious recipient on her breaks, but her phone rarely rang in answer. On some occasions she became frantic, hunched over her phone typing message after messages till it buzzed with a reply. It was, they whispered, odd. Suspicious.

Fantine, beautiful, could have been accepted but she refused to lean coquettishly into a selfie, claimed to “not believe” in social media and refused even to join their whatsapp group. Her colleagues were happy to believe her arrogant. Hence they became suspicious of this outsider and they longed for their suspicions to be vindicated.

In this matter their patience was eventually rewarded.

By coincidence one day the man who restocked the vending machines in the lobby came in just as Fantine was walking out to start her shift; he started upon seeing her and turned his back, red faced.  What could this mean?  They were watched for signs of an affair. The suspected paramour remained embarrassed, Fantine oblivious. Even more suspect was that this man, mild old Mr. Porter, would normally drop secrets like his machines dropped cola, clammed up when questioned, when teased. They were not content for it to be something as innocent as infatuation.

The freedom this mystery brought to their speculation satisfied almost everyone. There was but one Employee whose curiosity extended to wanting the, preferably damming, truth. Almost elderly, hunched over the reception desk and watching everyone with quick, accusing eyes was a woman named Victurnien. She had been married once, proving that not all unhappy wives are merry widows. Living for so long under her husbands rule had normalised cruelty; had made injustice seem commonplace. Worse: his brutality had left her pious. There was no pity in her heart for suffering as suffering had become the great glory of her life. She had never faltered in the face of hardship so there was no judgement she felt ill-equipped to make. Why should others stray from righteousness when she had not?

As a younger women she might have been received less favourably but it happened that age had rendered her vicious gossip at worst a irritating quirk, a foible of the elderly. At best it was a tool; her gossip, with its stamp of sexagenarian authority, held universal appeal. At worst – well! How could a little gossip hurt anyone?

Now began her investigation. Aided by her iPhone she took to Facebook, it was the work of a moment to send friend requests out to Porter and then to all of his Facebook friends. It was the work of almost three months for this tactic to bear fruit. Victurnien had managed to become something of a confidant, not to Porter which would have been truly ideal but to his sister. Victurnien was a stalwart Christian ear to many concerns; her dwindling authority at her book club, the terrible self-service machines at the supermarket and Victurnien wouldn't believe the disgusting little App she had discovered on her brothers Phone...

There are very few people who matched the levels of feverish anticipation Victurnien felt as she made her OnlyFans account. Then she began to scroll. After five hours, three false positives and $14.97 in subscriptions, Victurnien was rewarded. It might have been a bitter condolence for Fantine to learn that it took 5 months for Victurnien to realise she had to cancel her subscriptions but Fantine would never find out how her secret had been uncovered.

Victurnien made her report the very next day.

It was agreed to be shocking, shocking! The scandal thrilled through the establishment, shaking everyone except Fantine who was ostracised and Madeline, whose venerated feet trod so high up in the heavens that no one would dare disturb them with such earthly tremors. Snooty, Holier than thou Fantine was a - they all knew what she was. We must admire such insight: for them to know Fantine absolutely without exchanging more than a handful of words with her.

The Splash of the Sea was a family friendly establishment. Little thought was given to how relevant these facts were to each other. Think, they said, of the children. The children, well known consumers of online pornography, were duly thought of.  Fantine was by no means irreplaceable and it was not longer... appropriate, for her to work at the Splash of the Sea. They couldn't fire her for having a second job but Fantine was on a zero hour contract so that unpleasantness could be avoided.

Fantine found that her shifts slowly began to go missing. This was their idea of charity; to give Fantine a chance to find more suitable employment. This mercy forced Fantine to take out another loan. Jobs were scarce. Weeks passed in this manner with no change but an increasing desperation on Fantine's part. The supercilious attitude of her colleagues and the fruitless search for employment had taken its toll; when Fantine managed to secure an interview she mumbled and avoided their eyes. At work she pretended calm and looked down her nose at the Gossips. This did not encourage her shift manager give her more hours.

A dismissal would have been a relief; a relief Fantine was denied. She dared not ask for a reference lest they reduced already meagre shifts even further.

She had been given Mr Madeline's number at the start of her employment, along with numbers for all the senior staff, but she didn't dare contact him. What, after all, could she say? He was not obliged to give her work; her suspicions entitled her to nothing. Fantine returned to her bedsit, downhearted, both her rent and her payment for Cosette were due that week; she would not be able to make both.

[the-goddess-of-mischief-writing]

New York High Rise {1}

Chapter summary; During all your years as the most successful mob boss of New York, no-one have ever dared to seriously battle for the crown with you. Up until now. Steven Grant Rogers, son of the infamous mob boss Joseph Rogers, has suddenly chosen you as his rival. Who will be winning in the end?

Pairing: Steve x reader  

Rating: Mature

CHAPTER NO/ONESHOT: Chapter 1/5

Word; 5.9k

Warnings; swearing is standard in my works, mentions of canon-type violence 

Author; @the-goddess-of-mischief-writing

A/N: I actually started this series on a whim and all of a sudden ended up having four chapters. I really love it for some reason, maybe because it such a powerplay and I’m a hoe for that trope, especially when it’s a enemies to lovers story. Anyhow, enough of my rambling, I hope you guys enjoy this little mid week update! PSA: If you want to be tagged in the series, jus send me an ask!

SERIES MASTERLIST

Golden chains and champagne. Fancy watches and whiskey on the rocks. Whatever related to the word expensive you were associated with. Although, unlike many others in your business, you hadn't grown up in this world of luxury, nor had you inherited the empire you now were the boss of, enabling you to live the extravagance life you did. No, you were one of the few who'd worked their ass off to earn every last thing you owned.

By most, your efforts looked like a great business mind and some luck. How else could you've become a multi-millionaire on investing in stocks? But to others, those knowing the flipside of the coin, they knew your success in capitals was nothing but a cover for your stealthy work in the shadows. It was a dance, one with feline grace, that you'd performed to reach your position. A status meaning you were one of the most famous mob bosses in New York City.

When hearing mafia, most would think of the old Italian image of people smoking cigars in fedoras, with some moustache that looked similar to pencil lines on their upper lip. Those who owned cities and the whole country knew of it but could do nothing about it.

Perhaps some of these stereotypes suited the older godfathers of New York, who sat proudly on their pedestals and watched the world pass by. But you were different from them. You didn't just watch the world continue and progress by itself. You moved along with it.

You were the new generation.

Compared to the godfathers, who every last person in New York and the bordering states knew off, you had two faces. One you showed the public and one you ruled the underworld with. To society, you were spotless, a name associated with nothing but a sharp mind and benevolence to the public. But you were at the top in the underworld syndicate, the biggest of the biggest. Yet, you didn't rule with fear, simply that of uttermost respect and earned trust. In other words, your reputation or connections weren't bought. They were deserved.

Thus, compared to the older generations, your face could be recognised by a civilian or someone from the underworld, none thinking about calling the police or betraying your trust. You owned the city without it even knowing it.

It was from the way you'd reached this top in stunning silence, together with the grace you played everyone with, that you and your empire earned the alias felines. Like a tiger cub who grew into an adult, your empire was once the smallest but now the biggest. Like a lion, you evoke respect and awe no matter where you went. Like a cat no one cared about, you could cross the streets without an issue in public.

Some of the elders, at least those who were your allies, had expressed their concern of your brassiness. 'Why play cat and mouse with fate?' they often said. But you always answered the same 'I am the cat'. And it was true. Despite some of those opposed to your methods, or just you in general, took the chances they could at picking you off the map. No one ever succeeded. Solely for one reason.

Now, you deemed agreeing to one of your first ever business deals the best choice you ever made. Although it meant you financed some of the worlds leading underground tech corporation with quite some substantial coin, the panthers were nowadays always watching over you. They lingered in the shadows, disarming every try at putting a bullet through your skull.

Albeit not as famous as yourself or the organisation you ran, the Black Panther Operation the sibling pair T'Challa and Shuri operated was, in no shape or form, not impressive. They'd established themselves as the leading organisation, even if not known by half of the people in New York, in the tech area. Not only were they invaluable to the numerous politicians wanting them to work under the radar to get the upper hand on sovereign states, but they also were to you.

They hadn't only supplied you with their physical protection of their elite bodyguards, the Dora Milaje or in common-tongue known as the shadow panthers, but their tech as well. Although, compared to anyone who would've been in your position and chosen the weapons or impenetrable bodysuit that Shuri, ever the genius she was, had invented, you'd chosen one of the other assets. The cloud, the internet.

Hackers were the way forwards compared to warriors. They were the weapon of keeping you one step ahead of anyone by supplying you with the information needed to be able to hold someone's life in your hands.

It was only to look back at the countless occasions anyone tried to persuade you into a business deal you would do nothing but lose at. Thanks to Shuri having dug out the facts that could bring any of your rivals down in the dumps, you'd walked victorious away anyways.

You were certain any of the other godfathers would've killed someone for even thinking, no less trying, to propose a disreputable arrangement with them in the first place. Yet, you knew how much one ever could make a death look like a self-caused accident, that in the end, people would start to wonder why it happened to people of the same background, connected to one and the same empire. However, the former generations didn't really care about bad publicity anyway, so why would they care about lining the street with dead bodies? But the difference was you weren't them.

By all means, some would say your ways was far more torturous than a bullet between the eyes. You wouldn't agree or disagree, only say it was just. Involving a legal and judicial battle was the new way of handling conflicts, after all. It was more efficient than having to wash the blood of your name all the time, according to you. Not only that, you gained a lot more than just a dead body.

You were in somewhat of partnership with most bosses around the city. Those you weren't, rather those you'd only settled a deal with that said "as long as you kept to each of your own territory nothing would happen", did try to bend the rules and use the terror tacit. Either they targeted you personally or something equally as important in your part of the city. It could be anything that would get to you, really. But, no matter what they did, they tried to not do it themselves. Instead, hire a hitman or someone equally as bad. The problem with this was that these people's records were far from innocent, something you used to your advantage.

If you tasked Shuri to find anything and everything these people had done, it was easy to find a person they'd wronged and who sought revenge or justification. The only thing you did was play your hand well, usually meaning you pulled some strings and supply the money. While T'Challa, as the expert he was on it, handed out the information his sister had gathered to reliable sources. Your collaboration made the person you hunted sit opposite someone from their past in a courtroom. Most of the times, they also lost the case.

Choosing to do this rather than go rampage and fire your gun aimlessly meant you settled as a second, or sometimes even third or four-hand source to what went down. So not only did your name remain clear despite answering a rivals offence, your involvement was nearly impossible to track as well. Thus, you could take down five of a rivals' men while they only took one of yours.

Despite one could call you out on hypocrisy, saying that the shadow panthers protecting you didn't own the same benevolence and were quick and silent in their killing, there was one reason you didn't care about the fact. Currently, they may be under a shared command, but their never-ending allegiance was always towards the founders of the Black Panther Operation. If either Shuri or T'Challa said stand back or decided to cut their deal with you, the shadow panther's protection would disappear. The same went if you chose to rip the contract.

However, it was a slim chance that either of the siblings or you would terminate your arrangement. Seeing how now, years later, you still were the sole person working a continuous agreement with them. That was why nowadays, your and theirs organisations were nearly associated as the same by most in the underworld.

Your style of ruling New York and living such different lives in the light and dark made others in your profession joke you were the sole one with an ordinary life. That you were no traditional mafia, simply a highly functioning business-orientated company that invested in stocks. However, both you and everyone around you knew that wasn't true. The reason? You weren't afraid to use every last of your assets to remain in control of your empire. Whatever it took.

And that was a promise someone the last months had put up to the test.

You don't know what set it off, perhaps the old saying of cats and dogs never working well together. Or that because you were at the top drew enough confidence out of someone to try and knock you down. For whatever reason, someone decided to start a ruckus with you.

It had begun small enough you had no idea that someone was behind it. Connections or deals with companies connected to your empire backing out of contracts in the last seconds, saying they got a better offer. The word secrecy, frequently used for ones own safety in the world you lived in, was a term you'd heard enough times by now to grow tired of. It was no significant agreements, seeing how you were well enough to not care about money, but it was plenty bothersome for your pride.

The next step in the escalation had been dealings slightly more important than a question of money, which was your territory and thereby also safety. You still had some meetings with a few godfathers, had fore some time actually. It was mostly those who once had opposed you in the days you weren't a threat or those who just tried to live secludedly enough that they died by natural causes rather than in a cell or from rivalry.

Each of those conferences had been about securing your grip on Manhattan. Primarily to obtain some neighbourhoods closest to Harlem Park and the northern part of the Inwood neighbourhood. Both of which currently was in some sort of grey zone. Meaning neither owned by them nor you. Although those areas were still not written as yours, concerning how those old bosses abruptly didn't seem to want to seal any deals that they weeks ago had agreed on.

Then you'd entered the third stage. The one that made you understand all these cancellations wasn't merely coincidence, but somebody working against you. People from both your closest crew and the Black Panther section had been disappearing. It wasn't uncommon. Your business was nothing but personal feelings and wants most of the times. However, concerning how few men and women you'd lost under your watch, this sudden increase was off-putting.

Closer to the truth was something like this had never happened to this extent before. You hadn't had people close to you or anyone associated with you abducted. However, the worst thing was that the bodies of those disappearing were never not found bloody or in a morgue.

Money or failing to persuade old godfathers wasn't something you took personal, but when people started dropping like flies around you, that you took personally. Hence, you, Shuri and T'Challa worked endlessly on finding who was behind it.

Almost every time, you found the culprit of the act, but not the big boss behind it all. Disabling you from taking more than one person out of play. That your jaw hadn't broken for how much you'd clenched it in frustration, or your teeth shattered from the amount you gritted them was a mystery. You hunted the person ordering these things, yet with no success.

Although one day, when one of the subordinates in your very own team had been missing for a week returned, barely clinging to their consciousness, you'd gotten to know who this new rival of yours was.

Steven Grant Rogers.

The canines, an alias for the Rogers family, were equally known as any of the old US President in the underworld in New York. If one hadn't heard of them in your profession, it was more likely that you already were dead or not in it all because they were notorious.

They'd ruled Brooklyn with an iron fist and was probably the crown specimen of the reputation that accompanied the word mafia. There was a grace in their affairs and killing. But compared to your work, which was performed in shadows and silence, they flaunted it, not scared of running from the police because they already knew they never would be caught.

From what you knew, they'd fallen off somewhat after Joseph Rogers, the head of the Canine Empire, died in one of the rivalries between mobs. His death had been years before you were even born, close to an age it was as high of a chance he could've passed from natural causes. Still, the commotion and continuous dispute following his disappearance and the unclear leadership had served as a fall for the Canine Empire. There was no doubt your rise to the same amount of power as the former union possessed would've been as easy if you'd had them as your opponents.

However, now, it seemed like the past would haunt you down in the form of Joseph Rogers son.

Albeit you never met the new boss of the Canines, there was no doubt you considered, for the first time, to personally put a bullet through someone's head. Steven Grant Rogers was as ruthless as stories told his father had been. He'd even been labelled the golden boy of Brooklyn, rumoured to restore the brutal power of the Canine Empire. Yet, the spot he was reaching for with old alliances regrouping to boost him to the top was a position you currently occupied.

This is where the difference between if you'd had a regular business organisation and the domain you now did, settled in. You went on total offense.

You contacted T'Challa and Shuri, calling them in for a meeting. Even though the pair knew of what had happened so far, they were your partners and thus, you would discuss the actions you would take with them, even if your deal said nothing of that sort. But you knew, compared to your rival, it seemed, how important it was to hold onto your closest allies with other methods than fear and the threat of death. And thus, you also received the help of a friend rather than a business partner.

It must've been the bloodiest month in the last decade from the rivalry that blossomed up between the Felines and Canines the second you started to answer the new top dog's advances. You got reports that the shadow panthers watching your back had cleared more people putting you up as a target than in a long time. As well, did more of the people under your name end up red in back allies.

Then it shifted. As soon as you started getting trails of more people than just the executioners, you were suddenly able to take out divisions of his minions. And while the killing went on, you started winning the big battles. In other words, while Steven continued to play it hard, you started to play smart.

You cut off deals he could do in Brooklyn, much harsher and unforgiving than his initials ones on your side of the East River. It was everything from supplies, to money, to the extra set of eyes. Everything to limit him to sources you knew he wouldn't be happy with having to resort to. While handling this, with the help from Shuri, you also broadened your search to find every little dirty-worker under the mob boss's command. Thanks to those now operating for you on the Brooklyn side, you helped people who'd had a past with Steven's men tip police of and capture them.

Pawn by pawn, you lessened the number of ways the Canine boss could run in taking down your empire. You had him cornered, already several moves ahead of him whatever he chose to do. Only, it was one step you thought he never would do that, in the end, made everything come to a skidding halt.

He'd requested a parley.

"Y'know I don't really like the idea of you meeting him", you didn't look up from the papers you currently were reading to look at Shuri where she lounged on your office's couch.

Though it felt like you should examine the folder that rested in your handbag     -the one containing the event plans for the charity event you would host for the many high society individuals and governors, or anyone with money really, in two weeks- those documents weren't the ones you were looking through now.

It was five days ago since Steven had asked for the parlay. Ever since then, you'd worked on the deal you would offer him. You had no desire to sign whatever he would hand to you. And you knew he would propose something. The Canine boss was the challenger, after all. Even more so, the one requesting a meeting from the start. Thus, he, for one, would offer something to cease your continuous confrontations and two, he would try to drag you down while elevating himself. That you couldn't have.

"I know", you finally responded when having read the side you were on in the contract you had put together for your rival. "Still, I want to hear what the man has to say so I can stop losing resources, time and people", you turned to the next page as you said this.

There came no response immediately despite that you felt Shuri was looking at you. You'd gotten good at noticing this, someone observing you. Hence, even though the best of the panthers always were safeguarding you somewhere in the crowds, it never hurt to not solely depend on others for your own safety. Because that was what your constantly high attentiveness was for anyways. To always be keen on your surroundings and try to detect someone's move before they did it.

"It's almost interesting to see someone challenge you for the position of being the big boss, Lekati", it wasn't only at the reserved nickname Shuri used that caught your attention. The rest of what she'd said also made you pause mid-turn of the last page, eyes automatically shifting to her.

Now, instead of sprawling across the piece of furniture the women occupied, she sat upright with a smile ghosting her lips. Your eyes narrowed as you noted this.

"Oh, stop imagining using your sharp claws on me".

"I wasn't".

"You're a bad liar when you want to be", the tech mogul pointed out with a finger directed towards you. Your features stayed indifferent despite the fact that her remark had been correct.

"When will your brother be back?" The dark-haired women cocked a brow at your sudden change of topic.

"Any minute, I suppose, why?"

"He's more pleasant to have around while I try to work, less chatty", an incredulous snort left Shuri as she crossed her arms, leaning back against the couch's backside. Her reaction made your stoic facade drop somewhat, causing the side of your mouth to tug upwards. It was an act she caught and couldn't help but shake her head at.

"I never get tired of not knowing whether you're about to send half of the city after me or simply are in a playing mood", your repressed smile bloomed into a fully-fledged one, amused by Shuri's comment.

"Opt for the latter for as long as those couple of hundred thousand dollars are rolling into your account". Averting your eyes from the women you were speaking to, you once again inspected the bunch of papers before you. 

Having worked on them for days and ever since this morning re-reading the contract, you knew it was worded to perfection. There were no loopholes nor any unnecessary losses for either part. So, for as long as Steven didn't belong to the old saying of 'it’s hard to learn an old dog to sit', you knew his signature would decorate the last page. 

"However, you should worry about the day when the money is missing", you hummed while stacking the papers orderly, putting them back into the same folder they'd been stored since you'd gotten the paper copies of the transcript.

"Would that be my sign to start running?" You looked up again, instantly meeting Shuri's humoured look.

"It would probably be too late", you shrugged nonchalantly, placing the folder you would have to the meeting in your handbag in a swift motion while swivelling your chair to face her, rather than your desk as you'd done previously. As a chuckle was heard from the dark-haired woman, you crossed one leg over the other and leaned back in your seat.

"It's good that I'm your ally and not your foe".

"Good to hear you view yourself as a friend. Was fearing you would switch sides to my challenger's", you mused, arms coming to prop up against your armrest to support your head when you tilted it.

"I never would, even if I knew he had a chance to win", even though feeling somewhat relieved - because this world and one's alliances could change fast, no matter current contracts or friendships- when Shuri said this, you wouldn't show it. Therefore, instead of smiling at her belief that Steven had no chance of beating you at a game you had been the best player at for years, you simply kept observing the woman as she stood from the couch.

The young tech mogul started to make her way closer to you, a slight sheerness in her step that impersonated the glint in her eye. And you understood why for when she opened her mouth to speak.

"But you can't deny it's interesting someone is seriously trying to take you down", you rolled your eyes while you let your hand fall to tap against your thigh.

"Seems like you're more excited about it than me", you started, spinning your chair slowly to follow Shuri as she settled partly on the empty edge of your desk. She looked expectantly at you, waiting for an answer despite your deflection of it initially. For once, purely because of the topic, you complied. "But no, I definitely do not find it interesting", you sighed out.

"Oh, come on, Lekati...".

"Stop with the nickname", you cut her off with a roll of your eyes. However, instead of earning the quick nod of confirmation to follow your exasperated order, the dark-haired women grinned. Perhaps if it was anyone else than Shuri, you would've been irritated and sent them out of your office, but concerning you viewed her more as a friend than a simple job partner, you did neither when her teasing continued.

"Has the dog really gotten that much under your skin?" She chuckled. "Must be the first one... ever. Or correct me if I'm wrong?" You simply dropped your head and shook it. The young women were right and she knew she was. Steven was the sole one able to make you nearly lose your footing ever since claiming the crown of the underworld.

"Why couldn't he just stay put?" You mumbled under your breath, thumb smoothing out the wrinkles having settled between your brows. "We'd never heard of him before. Why decide to make himself known now all of a sudden? After years of silence?"

"Some men seek the satisfaction of bringing entities down, especially if they ruled it before and now it's overtaken by a woman", you looked up at Shuri. But instead of meeting her gaze, your eyes fell to the piece of paper she held up. Evidently, she'd plucked your Cartier pen and a sticky note from the stack always resting on your desk and written three letters on the piece of paper while you spoke. You, it stood on it.

"Thank you for the flattery", you replied, reaching forward to snatch the note from her. "But I would've prefered if Rogers hadn't, would spare me the task of crushing his ego", the brown-eyed women chuckled at that.

"Maybe he needs to take yours down a step or two too", you stood from your chair as she said this, dropping the slightly crumpled note you'd taken from her into the bin under your desk, then starting to head towards the mirror you had in your office.

"I don't have an ego. I simply know my self-worth".

"Sounds a lot like you're bordering on narcissism", she said in a sing-song voice. "Maybe you and his pride can go on a date. I bet they would rule New York happily ever after", you couldn't suppress a chuckle at Shuri's words, whether you wanted to show how absolutely hilariously unbelievable it was or not.

"Can't your brother come and save me from your antics?" You muttered, spotting the smile the genius behind you sported in the mirror. It was meant for her to hear, so you weren't shocked when she responded to the banter.

"I actually prefer his absence. The two of you together nearly drown me in the seriousness", Shuri complained dramatically. You amusedly rolled your eyes before settling to look at your chosen attire.

Compared to how far away you stood from tradition in the godfather's senses, it was one custom you fulfilled like the rest of them. You believed that the clothes made the man. And, for a meeting like the one you soon would go to, you didn't hesitate to strive for that effect.

You knew Steven was old fashioned. Everything he did cried it. So, of course, you would try to throw him off at every point you could. The skirt and dress were switched out for a suit, midnight black. It was a loose fit and probably matched the high-end fashion more than traditional meeting standards, but you didn't genuinely worry. You were here to show you are the new generation and wouldn't budge because you were the sole women in New York running a syndicate. Doing the best job at it as well.

However, if the man you would meet would frown upon women in a suit, the lace bodysuit, black as well, you wore instead of a dress shirt would probably give him a heart attack. It covered enough but were in no way domesticated and left the upper part of your chest bare. It was a great way to show off the two thin chains of gold decorating your neck.

For some reason, your eyes lingered on the golden metal shining from the light trickling into your office. You started to fiddle with the necklace then, concentrating on how they weren't cold but rather heated up from your body temperature.

You became lost in your own world, fingers splaying over the hollow in your throat to absentmindedly play with the chains there while you thought about the meeting that was rapidly coming closer.

The action, together with the far-away look you stared at your movement in the mirror, was something that caught Shuri's attention.

"Relax", instantly your eyes flickered up to watch her in the mirror's reflective surface as if snapped from a daze. She'd shifted, so she now sat on the front of your desk, head turned in your direction. "It'll go good".

"Wasn't it you who said that you didn't want me to meet him in the first place?" You began to challenge her words of reassurance, hand falling from your skin to instead hang by your side. Not until you'd turned and cocked your brow at her did you continue. "That must insinuate you don't think it will go good", she simply shrugged when you said this.

"I did say I don't like his sudden call for a conference and that you accepted it in the first place", she began, crossing her feet at the ankle and looking down at the movement momentarily before her gaze found yours once more. "But that doesn't mean I don't think it will go good. I know it will. You're good at your job", you smiled at that. You already knew that you worked great under pressure, or else you wouldn't be standing on top of the empire you ruled. Although, it was always comforting to hear it from someone else.

Fittingly, in the next second, a knock on your door echoed in the room, effectively putting an end to your previous conversation with the women perched on your desk.

"Enter", you called without hesitating, as soon as both your and Shuri's attention also turned to the entrance. The guard stationed outside of your room didn't need to inform you of who'd wanted to enter. You already knew it was T'Challa. And as the guard opened the heavy door to your office and held it open for whoever had requested it, indeed it was Shuri's brother stepping through the doorway.

You didn't more than slightly tip your head to acknowledge the guard's nod of respect your way before he closed the door. Primarily because you spotted the slate grey folder the older of the children of T'Chaka held. It was the call about the seemingly insignificant object being completed that had interrupted the earlier discussion you, Shuri and T'Challa had. Your assemblage hadn't been much more than some minor last discussions and to wait for the folder the man now walking through the room held. Thus the portfolio contained a report, the ultimate attempt of finding anything that could aid you in the meeting with Steven.

"Anything good?" You skipped the unnecessary greetings as you gestured to the portfolio in T'Challa's hand while walking closer to your desk, which also was where he was heading.

"Look for yourself", when he said this, the brown-eyed mad held out the folder for you to take. You did but didn't open it until you'd rounded the counter and sat down in your chair again.

You didn't know what you'd expected to meet you, but a photo and a single sheet of paper weren't it.

For a moment, you stared at the picture resting on top of the report underneath it. Presumably, it should've been a photo of Steven sitting in some club. Although it was blurry and had no great exposure, which made it impossible to tell much about his appearance. Still, you knew it was him or else the picture wouldn't be here. However, it did nothing to help you paint a picture of the man which name so far seemed to be faceless.

Putting the picture to the side, you quickly started to eye the document. You scanned it, finding it contained random facts citing what properties the Canine boss had invested in, even owned. Apparently, Steven managed several clubs, which would explain why his first suggestion of a meeting place had been just that. Other than that, he owned some other businesses that wasn't much to cheer for. All infected by alcohol and drugs by the looks and names. Classical.

"This all?" You finally questioned after turning the sheet over, finding the backside blank. When glancing up, you saw T'Challa nodding. You clenched your jaw and looked back down at the paper.

Ever since Steven had asked for an official meeting, between your eyes only, as his message had been clear to state, you'd requested for the siblings to find out whatever they could about him. You wanted the advantage you knew he couldn't get over you. Thus, what was publicly known of you wasn't anything to hide. And frankly, he was more than welcome to read the articles that had written things about you. Yet, every secret of yours, or anything you'd deemed unfitting for anyone to know, had been wiped. No one could ever find something about you that you didn't want on the internet. Though, it seemed you weren't the only one sitting on resources like that.

Albeit the "new mob boss" was discussed in several articles, Steven's name had no face in any of them. In general, there was no picture of him or much information to track him down by either. So, despite your best efforts, now it seemed you didn't have much more than your hunch to go on during the meeting.

"I do not think it's wise to meet him", T'Challa said, much like his sister had earlier. With a sigh, you leaned back in your chair, fingers releasing the paper you'd gripped to pinch the bridge of your nose instead.

"Neither of you wants me to meet him, do you?" At first, silence met you, which made you look up the sibling pair. They shared a glance before Shuri turned slightly to look at you and her brother crossed his arms.

"No", they said simultaneously, which made you huff.

"I may like it as little as you two, but it put a temporary pause to the conflict. And if he comes to accept my terms, maybe that will remain".

"And what if he doesn't?" T'Challa inquired, receiving a frown from his sister, while you simply tilted your head down to look at your watch. "What if he refuses to tuck tail?" He continued to push.

"He won't", you stated, rising up from your chair, handbag now in your grip. It was three minutes until your driver would be here, so you needed to start heading down to the spot he would pick you up in. Yet, you were stopped in your tracks by a hand gripping your upper arm lightly.

"But what if?"

"T'Challa!" Shuri hissed at the unrespectful way her brother insisted on having his questions answered. She'd shot up from where she up until now had remained seated but before she could drag the man staring down at you with insistent eyes away, your raised the hand of your free arm. It stopped the younger women's movement, merely making her watch you and T'Challa.

There was a reason the siblings were able to run their tech operation as smoothly as they did. They complemented each other. What one lacked, the other possessed. For example, Shuri may own the belief everything was possible, then naturally, her brother would be more cautious. As in this instance. Hence, you didn't take any great offence to the dark-haired man's action, despite that your aloof tone could imply such a thing.

"What if he doesn't accept my deal after having me listen to whatever godawful settlement he offers me? Then I've kept my promise on meeting him for the parley he requested and one, which in the end, unfortunately, didn't establish an accord. Henceforth, our war will continue", you said, instantly feeling how T'Challa's hand fell from holding you back. Yet, you didn't pursue your track to the pick up you already was late for. Not until you assured him of one last thing. 

"Let me remind you that he was the one that asked me for a meeting, not the other way around. He asked me for a temporary truce and a chance to negotiate. In the end, that shows who's the most desperate to settle an agreement, no matter the terms".

Translation:

Lekati = Kitten

[gabriel4sam]

Not love at first sight (But love at the sixty-third life defying idiocy), a CodyWan story

Written for @swbigbang, with the help of @kitcatkim in the role of the patient beta and @outernorth for artist (art just there)

Because all the other members of their small outpost were not in shape (read, hungover), Cody and Obi-Wan go on a small, simple, totally not possibilities of explosions supply run.

Cody comes back with a headache the size of Coruscant, a new hate of insectoids life. And a brand new significant other, in the shape of his exasperating General

 It’s not a hangover, it’s a hecatomb. Whatever Boil had put in his new still was a terrible, terrible idea. The entire Separatist Council could do pointes in tutus on the flight deck and the vode would neither see it, nor care about it.

Cody and Obi-Wan were the only ones not drinking the day before, them and the communication officers on duty. The communication officers because they were working, and Cody and Obi-Wan, well, because they like the occasion for the men to feel free, and they can’t with their superior officers in their company.

That doesn’t mean the men are supposed to feel free enough to incapacitate the whole bunch of idiots they are apparently in charge off.

“Latrine duties, the first time we do planet fall. The whole of them.” Cody grumbles, assessing the damage with a cold, clinical eye.

“How does that even work? Does every man have latrine duties for his own latrines? Do you make them install as many latrines as they are? ” Obi-Wan remarks. He’s the usual calm and composed Jedi Master Cody knows on the outside, but the Commander is pretty sure he’s laughing on the inside. Cody had met Quinlan Vos, ok? And he poured enough hard liquor in the man to obtain confidences. Confidences which horrified him, Obi-Wan had even less survival instincts than Cody thought, but confidences he can’t un-hear. He will know forever!

Or at least, he will know until a luckier droid kills him. Cody is not an optimist about clones living long, happy, fulfilling lives. He has eyes after all and a functioning brain.

Cody glares at Obi-Wan, just in case. He has learnt, in the two years since he took his position with his General, that Jedi react pretty well to glaring. Not that it stops them from doing stupid stuff, but at least, they feel guilty about it.

If they like the glaring party only. Commander Ponds had a lot of things to narrate about Mace Windu and the horrible, horrible conglomerate mogul.

Obi-Wan takes his most innocent air, something Cody stopped believing two days in their acquaintance, when his newly minted General had destroyed a whole block of warehouses on an unnamed moon and made a grown Hutt call for its parent. It had been a bad month for Obi-Wan. No need to judge. When innocents are in danger, the cost of the repairs is less a problem and more a number for the politicians to handle. And yes, Obi-Wan knows the money used could certainly be used in other useful ways, but no amount of credits could ever buy a life, in the eyes of a Jedi. But that day, when Cody, after a few, very stressful hours of radio-silence, had finally gotten back his General, slightly charred, the hostages, hungry and thirsty and exhausted but all of them in one piece, and a terrified Hutt, in the middle of a devastated battleground, he had understood better the warning of Alpha-17. There, Cody had sworn in petto to never underestimate his Jedi, despite the irreproachable manners, the swishing hair and the smile of a holo-star.

Together, they take the time to check every soldier, to make sure nobody was busy drowning in their own fluid because they were too hangover/still drunk, to roll over. Everybody is alive, and the communication officers are getting ready to do a double shift, and ready to nib their vode about it later.

“It’s a good thing we’re on down time,” Obi-Wan remarks, “I must confess, despite the talents of your brothers, I’m not quite sure we could withstand an attack from Grievous and his various cronies right now.”

“We would get our asses handed to us, you mean.”

“Exactly.”

Obi-Wan cautiously touches  one of the abandoned drink containers, with more care than he gives to explosives.

“What did he put in this thing?” he asks, fascinated.

“You’re not testing it!” Cody immediately retorts, because he knows his Jedi, “not in the name of science, curiosity or whatever.”

Obi-Wan touches the container a second time.

Cody could swear the thing moves in return, like it wants to be pet. Obi-Wan hums, his face interested and he leans a little more in the direction of the container. If the thing starts growing whatever strange means of locomotion is on its mind, Cody is using his blaster, no matter the General’s opinion. That’s how bad holo-dramas start, with an unknown thing unleashed on an unsuspecting ship/outpost/space station. He refuses to star in one of those plot-lacking dramas his brother Wolffe pretends he doesn’t love.

The thing doesn’t move anymore and Obi-Wan loses interest and goes back to helping troopers into their quarters and their bunks.

Cody helps, but that doesn’t mean he’s not plotting terrible retributions. He knows the last few weeks have been pretty hard, the hardest in a long time, that’s one of the reasons Obi-Wan and himself made themselves scarce last night. 

Now, they have a week just waiting for the Negotiator to come pick them up. One week for the men to rest and to heal and perhaps to train lightly…but that’s no reason for the sort of screw-up Cody is seeing right now. Boil and his still should be transferred from the 501th and put into whatever part of the army that handles studies about biological warfare. Biological warfare that the Republic officially doesn’t indulge in, studying it only as a way to protect its worlds against it. But Cody isn’t convinced. He has a lot of questions he will never ask about parts of the army which are not led by Jedi, and that the Jedi are trying, with no success, to have access too. Obi-Wan has promoted him so much that the Commander now has access to documents he’s pretty sure nobody thought a clone ever would. He’s staying silent for now. If the Jedi need help with that, if they fail, the vode will try, but Cody is keeping this ammunition in reserve. He can only fire it once, because when natural-borns who aren’t Jedi realize exactly how much power Obi-Wan and the Jedi council has given him and some of the other commanders, they will try to strip them of it, he just knows it.

At the end, everybody is moaning in their bunks, or manning communication, and Cody and Obi-Wan raid the nice rations, the ones with the green seals, no less food of unkown origins than the rest of it, but certainly the tastiest. They sit down at the entry of the outpost, sharing a canteen of water between them. They don’t talk, most of the time they don’t need to.

Cody isn’t really hungry but it’s easier to trick Obi-Wan into eating something when those who surround him do too. The warmth of the sun, the sounds of nature, the nice, and so rare, oh so rare, knowledge that they have a little free time instead of having to run to put out another fire. All of this is making Obi-Wan soften, like a carving of stone suddenly becoming pliable.

“Commander?” Cody’s holocom disturbs them, and Cody startles, suddenly realizing he was lost in the light playing into the copper of Obi-Wan’s hair.

“It’s nothing, really nothing probably,” the shiny in charge of this particular console explains to them, “ one of the new models of probes  should have been back twenty minutes ago. I tried to raise it per the procedure, but it isn’t answering.”

“We’re supposed to be alone on this world,” Obi-Wan remarks, a line forming between his brows.

“They are still working the kicks out of this model,” the shiny admits, “that’s why we used them specifically on this planet where they are in no danger. We’re supposed to go back with all of them, for study, to hammer out the last problems.”

The line between the General’s brows is growing deeper.

“I will make a report to the Council about the danger it could pose to you, to send any vode on the field with materials not totally ready, and the Jedi Order will issue a formal protest.” His shoulders are tense. No matter the number of tries, the Jedi are blocked at every corner in the Senate in their efforts to better the life of the clones, even in the small things and it’s a terrible possibility that this time will be the same.

“You know what? We should go check ourselves,” Cody decides, because he wants to erase that line, that tension. “Since Boil poisoned the men, we could do it. A little trek in fresh air before breathing the recycled air in the Negotiator again.”

“Oh Cody, I can do it myself,” Obi-Wan offers immediately, “you don’t have a lot of free time-“

“Funny, I would have sworn you didn’t know the concept…”

“I am perfectly capable of knowing when my body needs down time.”

“That’s not what Master Erin said.”

And that’s how they leave the base.

It’s almost noon, birds or other small things Cody can’t honestly identify are chirping, the air is crisp and fresh, and the sky is only slightly purple, with no risk of rain. No matter how many worlds he sees, Cody is still out of countenance on worlds where the combination of gases in the atmospheres and stars emitting other waves than the Kamino sun combine to give entire landscapes strange colours. Most of the time, he’s wearing his helmet which filters the strangeness of it, and it’s only at the end of the battle, when he takes it off, that he realizes everything is weirdly green-tainted.

Also, he’s pretty sure Arc Trooper Fives was lying when he told him once he visited a world on a body guarding mission with his own Jedi were everything was glittering. He’s not putting any money on it, because Skywalker and his men were guarding the Naboo Senator. From what Cody observes, when Naboo people enter the scene, glitter just happens. He also thinks Fives is much better being Rex’s problem than his own.

Most of their supplies have already been packed for retrieval, so Cody and Obi-Wan only took one hover bike out, and for now Obi-Wan is piloting, Cody behind, and the Commander is beginning to think he made a tactical error. The plastoid of his armour is supposed to stop him from feeling Obi-Wan’s warmth, but Cody could swear he can still feel it. For all that the Jedi can seem aloof and strange, nothing makes him remember his General is flesh and blood than encircling a linen-warped waist with his arms.

 The world passes around them, the colours of the trees, the playful course of the clouds in the sky, the peaceful scenery of a wild world, with its inherent qualities and defaults. Cody likes those worlds better, untouched by sentient life. Growing up in the sterility of Kamino, there is something intoxicating in nature running its course, forests giving way to meadows, biotopes decided by climates and geology, and not by a careful hand arranging them for the maximal profits in their exploitation.

Cody understands about the need for fresh territory, with the growth of population, but certainly, certainly the most carefully hidden part of him insists quite vehemently, there must be another solution than the desolation of grey and pollution that is Coruscant. Something else than seeing the poorest people of the Republic living in deplorable conditions, never seeing the fresh green of a new leaf, as the richest ones can sample the delights of nature in carefully constructed reserves?

More and more, Cody is curious about the Agricorps, and their works to restore degraded biotopes, but he had the vague impression, when he asked questions about it to his General, that it’s a difficult subject for him.

Probably, Obi-Wan wanted to go into the Agricorps and they didn’t want him to, for whatever reasons. Cody thinks it’s more glorious to restore nature and to help feed a community than to go to war, like Obi-Wan is doing right now, or to negotiate treaties, which he vaguely thinks is Obi-Wan’s job in time of peace.

Cody’s thoughts drift gently as the journey continues, going from nature’s beauty to the exact shade of Obi-Wan’s hair when he has been under a natural sun for more than a few hours. The way the copper of it becomes richer and richer…. After a little less than two hours, they switch pilots, and Cody does his best to keep his thoughts on track. It would be stupid to crash just because he’s distracted by a flight of birds taking off with the noise of the bikes, no matter how graceful they are. He concentrates on piloting, and not on the presence of Obi-Wan behind him, his arms around Cody, and not in the colours of the forest around them, and the bucolic impression of their little expedition.

The last known position of their wayward probe put it next to a small lake, four hours away on hover bike, at the base of the mountainous regions. If this part of the world was in winter season, the most logical reason for their missing probe would be a mudslide.  Cody told in his reports time and time again that the probes should fly higher, that the field itself is much less friendlier than believed in the labs, but apparently nobody listens to him.

It’s the end of spring on this part of the planet, the probe was probably eaten by a giant fish, or something equally undignified.

They unseat on a single beach, the last known location. No more probe there than dignity and decency in the Senate. Nothing. No blackened hull of the thing if it had exploded under mysterious circumstances, best known as shoddy work in the conception. Not even a trace they could track back.

Cody turns on himself, surveying the landscape. Vegetation, mountains, peaceful lapping of water on the beach, more mountains with their snowy capes, a lot of weird looking trees. For a vacation, it would be peaceful. For missing military equipment, it’s sadly lacking.

“By incredible luck, you wouldn’t sense our missing flying friend in the Force?” Cody asks, because that would simplify things. That would simplify things, so of course the answer is no. As Obi-Wan struggles with putting together the scanner, Cody gathers pieces of driftwood, intending to start a fire. If they have to circle on foot, on uneven ground, to find the probes, nothing says they can’t do it after another meal next to a warm fire. In the harsh reality of war, Cody has learnt to wisely enjoy the few moments of peace, and he would very much like to teach that skill to his General. Obi-Wan is supposed to have decades of experience in him, but apparently he’s not aware that every sentient has their limits.

Cody is less than twenty meters from the Jedi and the hoverbike, facing Obi-Wan, his arms already full of a nice load when he sees Obi-Wan let go of the scanner, which tumbles on the stones, and turns to him, a hand already at his waist, reaching for his lightsaber.

“Cod-“ Obi-Wan yells, but the sound doesn’t reach Cody, as the stones give way under him, shifting in a dip of grey sand and Cody is gulped down like Master Yoda gobbles a small fish.

For a second, he can’t breathe, there is sand everywhere around him, on his skin, in his mouth, infiltrating his armour by the neck, and the wood in his arms squeeze against his ribs. He feels he’s gonna get crushed alive and he struggles with all his strength. Death has always been the end but he wanted to leave in combat. He can feel unconsciousness threatening and just before it would take him, he’s spit up violently and he rolls over with the momentum, the driftwood, the sand, and a few bits of the armour which didn’t survive the experience.

He can see someone lean over him, no more than a silhouette, because it’s so dark, he can feel the sand under his head, and also the head wound and the blood seeping out of it, and he takes a long breath, and it burns, all the way to his lungs, and then he knows no more.

For a long time, Cody floats. He dreams. Or he hallucinates.

He’s on Kamino again and he learns the world is without mercy for him and his brothers.

He’s training and he can feel Alpha-17’s eyes on him, pensive.

He’s very young and he doesn’t understand where the last of his batche went.

He’s older and he’s meeting his first Jedi, General Tii, and she always has a nice word for every clone, but her eyes are terribly sad every step she takes on Kamino.

He’s meeting Rex and their friendship soars instantly.

He’s seeing brothers dying and he’s seeing rescues and the world is a never ending war, but Cody refuses to let that be the only thing his brothers will know. He watches and he checks and he learns and he places his brothers the best he can, and he’s evaluating Jedi and people, and planets and his mind never stops.

Cody wakes up. General Plo Koon is leaning over him and Cody lets relief seize him, until he realizes something is wrong. No eye covers, no breathing masks, and as much as Cody can see in the very low light, the thick leathery hide acting as skin is much lighter than Plo Koon’s. A Kel Dor, but not the Jedi Master that the Wolffe’s pack would follow to the end of the galaxy and beyond.

After a few seconds of his brain going round in circles, it finally stops at a very important point: Kel Dor and humans don’t breathe the same atmosphere, and this Kel Dor is without breathing apparels. Cody goes to put a hand on his mouth in instinctual movement, like he could stop himself from suffocating, but the other lays a hand on Cody’s forearm, his entire body language non-threatening, and says something he can’t understand. That’s when Cody realizes something translucent is surrounding his head, like a bubble inflating and deflating with every breath he takes. He pokes it, very carefully. It’s flexible, slightly sticky and it smells earthy, a little like those mushrooms his General insisted he try once, when he took him to his friend Dex dinner.

Cody takes a careful breath. He doesn’t die in terrible suffering, so he takes another one. The air entering his lungs still seems appropriate for his species. He tries to sit up, moving very slowly to make the stranger understand he’s not attacking, and the Kel Dor helps him.

Seated, he can better observe the place around him. He has been placed on a pallet of light fur, in some sort of carved place, the walls decorated, not in paint, but in carving, and his armour is against one of the walls, carefully stacked. Cody wants to touch his head, where he was hurt, but once again the Kel Dor stops him before he touches the bubble. The only light comes from a small clay bowl full of sizzling oil, where a wick has been adapted. It doesn’t give enough light to help Cody see more than the small room and a crude overture in the stone, leading to more darkness. He can’t even study perfectly the features of the Kel Dor, more than to be sure it’s definitely not Master Koon.

The Kel Dor says something again and Cody makes a frustrated noise.

“I’m sorry, I don’t speak your language.” The other doesn’t seem to understand that, so Cody tries Mando’a, with the same result. 

He tries the Galactic Sign Language, no results. 

He knows a few signs of the Alderaan Sign Language, the one from their Southern Hemisphere. Queen Organa taught him a few lessons once during a lockdown in the Royal Palace when he was guarding her, between grumbling about clones’s rights and what her husband better do about it in the Senate, and Cody learns fast. The Kel Dor still doesn’t react in any useful way.

“A common language would be pretty useful to know if I’m your guest or your prisoner,” Cody jokes. Sarcasm now. He’s spending too much time with his General.

He shifts, trying to see if he will be stopped from standing, but the other only helps him, carefully arranging on Cody’s torso the ending of the bubble. Now that Cody studies it more attentively, he’s sure the stuff is organic. It’s like they forced his head and the superior part of his torso into some sort of ring of weird looking mushrooms, the mycelium of one of them extended around his head. If this is producing oxygen for him, he really doesn’t want to disturb it.

The world tilts when he stands up but the Kel Dor pushes a shoulder under Cody’s arm and they go out. When Cody passes his armour, he fetches his blaster, and the other doesn’t stop him. Either he doesn’t understand it’s a weapon, or he doesn’t think Cody will attack him. Her? Them? Are Kel Dol gendered beings?

Exiting the small room, Cody can’t see. Everything is dark around them. He can hear movements and the air around him has the quality of an enormous space. A cave, he would think, but the little lamp his new friend has in his claws is not enough.

“Of course,” Cody remarks, “your eyes are much much better. You don’t need a bank of lamps.” He almost jumps when someone joins them and if his head wasn’t still ringing, he probably would have attacked, but it’s only another Kel Dor, smaller, with a skin more brown. They ask something to the first one, but again, there is no sense for Cody.

He’s guided to a stone bench and the little lamp is pushed into his hands. Kel Dor are going in and out of the little circle and Cody tries to evaluate how many of them there are, but he’s, to his great shame, not good enough to distinguish between the Kel Dor easily. He can isolate one or two who have more evident features for a human, like one missing an arm, but the rest of them, all dressed in a very similar way with some furs identical to those Cody woke up on, and the alien features. Cody feels anger against himself. He judges natural borns for not making an effort to distinguish between the vode, despite their efforts to gain their own identity by tattoos or dyes, and he shouldn’t be victim of the same bias.

Finally, someone sits next to him. Cody studies their face, trying to commit them to memory.

 People don’t seem unfriendly. He’s pretty sure the one he woke up with is some sort of local healer, and that it is this one who came back to him several times. Children even come to him, chattering in their language in a way which makes him think of the younger ones on Kamino, before some of their batches started to disappear and they started to understand what their fate in the world would be. A particularly daring little one climbs onto his lap and Cody looks around, ready to see the parent arrive and take its offspring from the strange being. But this community seems so peaceful nobody sees a problem with the child on the stranger's lap.

The little one shows him his treasure, a cube deeply carved with symbols Cody can’t decipher. Of course. In a world without sun, carving must be a medium and painting, or writing, must be inexistent.

“It’s a very nice cube,” he says to the little one, whose gender he can’t decipher. If Kel Dor have gender. He’s pretty sure he heard once that the biggest number of genders registered for a sentient species was eight, and the smaller zero, but he has no idea for this species.

The child seems pretty happy with the answer, even if they can’t understand it any more than Cody can understand their own opinion, expressed in an uninterrupted flow.

Around him, he can vaguely perceive people going about their day. How calm. How reposing. Nevertheless, peaceful or not, Cody can’t breathe the same atmosphere as them, and the strange organic concoction they put on his head to help will soon find its limits. He’s getting thirsty, for once, and he can’t drink without taking the thing off, which he can't. And that’s not even thinking about his General, who must be trying to reach him by any means the Force gives him.

If he knows Cody is alive.

No, no, he must know.

And even if the Force, whose exact limitations Cody is quite unsure of, even if the Force can’t tell Obi-Wan Cody is alive, Obi-Wan is not exactly a man to just go back to the outpost and declare him dead. He will search and search and search, and bring Cody back alive to his vode, or his body for his brothers to honour.

Cody knows: it had been a terrible row between the Jedi on one part and the Kaminoan and the Senate on another, this refusal to abandon dead clones bodies to the elements.

And, to the surprise of the Senate who was in the habits to bully the Jedi for centuries, the Jedi hadn’t budged. But Cody had seen what it had cost them: the Senate had made them pay, in late important reports who the Jedi needed for the war efforts, on refusal of important supplies, suddenly labelled unessential…

So, Obi-Wan is searching for him at the moment, and Cody needs to go to him. The ringing in his head, present since he woke up, has slightly diminished, and he has walked with more grievous wounds.

The question is now: how to mime exit to the Kel Dor, how to ask for a guide? Because if he has to feel around the cave until he finds an exit, he will, but that would be so much easier.

“Hoping there is an exit into your cave, little one,” he says to the child, who is falling asleep on his lap, “because if I have to drill through the roof to the exterior of the planet, it’s gonna cause breathing problems for your city.”

An adult approaches them, a long plaid in their hands, and they mime Cody putting it around his shoulders. Instead, Cody wraps the little one in it and puts the resulting bundle into the adult’s arms.

“I don’t suppose you could send me to the nearest exit?” He asks, and of course, the Kel Dor doesn’t have an answer.

He takes the little lamp and leaves to explore. He can’t see well more than two meters from the circle of light, and even with it, his eyes are struggling.

Soon, he’s stopped by a wall, which he follows until he finds a low door, with only a curtain. He risks an eye, feeling quite voyeuristic, but he only sees something resembling a storage space, big amphoras against a wall.

He continues to follow the wall, finds another one, loses himself in what is a succession of low houses. Above him, the roof of the cavern is still invisible and he can’t see the walls. He finds another little place with stone benches.

Or is it the same?

No, even underground, Cody is sure of his sense of direction. It’s another one place, and the city is bigger than he thought possible. He’s also walking way too slowly, because of the problem of light and his still ringing head.

“Kriff,” he whispers, sitting down on one of the benches.

“Obi-Wan, please find me,” he whispers before scolding himself. He’s no melodrama maiden, he is perfectly capable of finding the surface again by himself.

A burly Kel Dor approaches him, mushrooms in his claws and says something.

“I’m sorry, I can’t understand what you’re saying,” Cody tries to explain. The other sits next to him and gesticulates to the mushrooms helping, he thinks, him to breath, and when Cody doesn’t do anything, he starts placing the ones he brought against the first ones. They seem to merge in a frankly disgusting scene which is probably mushrooms porn.

“Does that mean you need to change them regularly for me to breathe?” Cody asks, despite knowing he won’t receive an answer he can understand.

 To add another problem to the long list Cody is already shouldering on, the cave floor starts to tremble and people start yelling.

People are yelling, and despite the language barrier, Cody can understand the panic with no problems.

The soil beneath his feet grumbles again. There is a sound like a rockslide, and more yells, and terror is the taste at the back of Cody’s throat, because he still can’t kriffin see.

Finally, the trembling is so terrible he’s thrown on his knees and the sound reaches a crescendo as a great light emerges from the rock soil, three hundred meters from where Cody is kneeling. It’s some sort of giant worm, with a maw higher than Cody. It roars and glows even brighter, the bioluminescence of its chitin almost dazzling for Cody himself.

 All around Cody, Kel Dor are yelling and struggling on their feet with great difficulties, as the rock soil is still trembling. The beast roars again and it sounds like a thousand ships taking off at the same time in the confined environment. As Cody is helping a Kel Dor to their feet, the pandemonium reaches an even higher spike as another worm emerges, further than the first, and the quake of the rock sends them flat on their bellies.

Cody really regrets letting Boil distribute his production yesterday, what he wouldn’t give for ten men and a rotary canon right now! Even for Hardcase, who he’s really happy is most of the time Rex’s problem, and his tastes for explosives.

He hoists himself more or less vertical, swearing all he can at the same time. He helps the Kel Dor to their feet again and then assesses the situation.

The lights of the worms let him have a good gaze for the first time at the enormous cavern they are in and the low buildings in it. Behind them he can even see big overtures, probably an entire network of caverns. An entire city in the dark, deep in the soil, protected from the outside world and its atmosphere which the Kel Dor can’t breathe, and from the Republic scanners which never knew they were there.

Protected from the sun, too.

And now that the light has come to them in the form of predators, they are defenceless. Cody can see people trying to flee, with a hand on their eyes, and with no success. By the time Cody has succeeded in approaching the scene of the disaster, at least three Kel Dor have been swallowed.

One of the worms, the closest, roars again and Cody doesn’t lose time: the maw, unprotected by the chitin covering the body, seems like a perfect target.

He raises his blaster and fires.

Another roar, even more deafening, as blood splatters all around in a gorish scene. A good part of the mandible has exploded, but the beast isn’t dead. It strikes, trying to gobble Cody like it did the poor Kel Dor. The difference is that the Commander can see in the light, on the contrary of the first victims. He evades just in time to escape certain death.

He rolls over and raises his blaster a second time, but the angle is worse than the first time, and the shot dampens itself on the chitin with no more effect than darkening it, and enraging the worm even more. 

Again, it tries to kill Cody and the man dances out of range, blessing the hours of training the Jedi gave all of them. It had been the first thing the Jedi had done, because they thought the training the vode had received on Kamino didn’t focus enough on the art of dodging.

Cody never told them it was because the trainers and the Kaminoans thought the vode easily expandable and more useful for a suicide strike. He suspects the Jedi knew, if the way they act around the Kaminoans is proof.

Dodging, advancing, retreating, taking a shot every time he sees an overture, Cody fights, more a reflex than anything, to protect the Kel Dor. He wouldn’t refuse a little help; with spears even if they don’t have other weapons, but the cavern inhabitants are useless. They are not even running away from the worms, full of the terror of death, and the light, which have come in their city.

Nevertheless, the issue of the fight was never a real question. Even hurt and far away from his usual fighting grounds, Cody was bred a warrior and he had honed the skills given to him by his genetic donor all his life. The worm, a female, is in the habit of only fighting other female worms during the mating season for access to the best breeding ponds and to gobble Kel Dor and every animal it could. It never had to fight a sentient being, especially one with a blaster.

The blaster’ shots finally damage the roof of its mouth enough and one of them burns its path to the brain. The beast dies immediately, but the nervous system needs time to receive that message. For a moment, Cody fears the convulsions of the enormous body will cause the entire caves system to collapse on their heads.

When the movements finally stop, he vaults himself over a rock slide, caused by the events, and approaches carefully. The worm is still partially obscured by the rock he emerges from, but Cody can see a good twenty meters of it. He’s bringing back a chitin part to the GAR, because he wants ships protected like that!

A sudden movement to his left makes him turn, but too late. His zoological fascination has caused Cody to make a horrible, rookie mistake, the sort of mistake which makes a rookie never have an occasion to become something other than a rookie.

For a moment, he had forgotten there was a second worm.

He brandishes his weapon, but it’s too late. Only his reflexes save him from being cut in two, but a razor sharp incisor scraps against his armour, parting it like butter and only missing the skin by half a centimetre. The worm has no interest in the Kel Dor, no matter how easy prey they are. It just wants to kill the stubborn little creature who just killed its mother. His blaster clatters on the rock, too kriffin far away. Cody rolls on himself, tries for it, but he already knows it’s too late, when the sound of a lightsaber being ignited announces the arrival of the cavalry, just in time.

Obi-Wan Kenobi arrives on the scene like an armed deux ex machina. He’s wearing Cody’s helmet in order to breath in the cavern and death is burning light-blue in his hand. Rare are the materials which can resist the power of a lightsaber, and Obi-Wan doesn’t take chances with Cody’s life, no matter how he is repelled by the taking of a life, even an animal one. The head of the worm falls on the other side of the body as Obi-Wan is still airborne from one of those improbable jumps Force Sensitive do. The second his feet touch the rock; he’s rushing to Cody, trying to assess his health.

Across the galaxy, Anakin suddenly sits down in the marital bed, sending Padmé, who was asleep across his torso, tumbling into the sheets by the violence of his movements. The vision of a chitinous torso opening, full of meaty juice, dances before his eyes.

“Ani?” The young Senator asks, once he has succeeded in making her put down the blaster she retrieved from even the Force doesn’t know where. Padmé doesn’t do peaceful when she’s woken up abruptly, something he learned quickly in their marriage. Convincing the handmaiden that every noise inside their bedroom wasn’t a murder attempt and that they shouldn’t rush in, weapons drawn, was another interesting adjustment to the married life.

“I just.….I’m not sure…” He tries to grip what woke him up, but it already has disappeared. “I think I’m hungry,” he admits, “sorry to have interrupted your sleep.”

“The droids can make you something,” she suggests, burrowing into the nest of pillows, less prone to sudden shifting.

“Do you think we have insects?” He asks.

****************************

“Cody! Cody, are you alright?”

“Obi-Wan, General, are you hurt?” Cody and Obi-Wan ask at the same time, hands searching, patting the other bodies in gestures less destined to triage of wounds and more to the simple animal need for contact.

“The air of the cavern isn’t breathable for us,” Obi-Wan says, after a few seconds and Cody nods: “I deduced that, but the thing on my head….it’s helping.”

“How did you deduce such a- Oh, um, hello.”

Around them, the Kel Dor have begun to assemble, all of them an arm on their face, trying to protect their eyes.

“Your lightsaber, turn it off,” Cody says and, making something purr in the Commander’s chest, Obi-Wan immediately obeys, no question, no hesitation.

The Kel Dors guide them away from the scene of the carnage. Cody sees a few of them with stone machetes and axes, already working on taking apart the pale flesh of the worms, working from the wounds Cody and Obi-Wan made, as the chitin is too hard on other places of the big bodies.

Cody watches for a few seconds. One of a Kel Dor yanks open the cranial cavity. Cody turns to the other side very quickly, because butchering enormous worms is apparently more than his battle-hardened stomach can take. Nothing should make the noise an axe makes against flesh.

Cody finds his little lamp again. It’s not even extinguished, the events haven’t probably lasted more than ten minutes. The universe is a hard place, thinks Cody, where he could get eaten by any abomination with too much teeth in less time than an oil lamp runs its course.

They sit next to each other on the closest bench and in the halo of the lamp, Cody inspects his General better. He’s covered in stone dust and whatever else disgusting stuff is on his tunic: he probably crawled his way there.

The adrenaline is still burning through Cody, and joy too, as he turns to his General. On the whole, he misses the days life was simpler on Kamino, with no worms for example, but on Kamino, he never heard the sound of a lightsaber and knew, with a certainty so burning it could have well resonated in the Force, that he was saved. There is comfort, in the hard world he’s living in, in the certainty that his General will tear apart entire solar systems to rescue any clones. That all Jedi would. For a clone, raised to be interchangeable, this strong-willed refusal to leave even one of them behind is a balm to the soul.

“You found me,” he says, and he tries to infuse that with professionalism, and fails miserably.

“I will always find you,” Obi-Wan promises. It’s strange to talk to him like that, with Cody’s helmet on his head. Cody hadn’t realized he relied so much on the Jedi’s face to understand him.

“Yes, sir, but for a moment, I confess I thought you would more, avenge me or something.”

Obi-Wan touches his shoulder.

“I’m sorry to have been so long,” he says, “the system of caves proved itself tricky, and the Force insisted I couldn’t just blow up my way inside.”

“That would let the atmosphere on the outside enter,” Cody theorized, “and I think, our hosts….”

Like they have been summoned, two Kel Dor approach them. They are dressed as simply as all the others Cody has seen, but on the bust of the smaller one, there is some sort of ceremonial pectoral and it has a very big difference with everything Cody has seen since stepping into the cave. It’s in metal.

“Obi-Wan”, Cody whispers, “look at that.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t speak the language more than Cody. He can recognize it’s not the actual principal language of Kel Dor, which he has heard before, but no more than that. Nevertheless, it’s less a problem for a Jedi. He can feel in the Force other’s intentions, enough to understand easily that the people here don’t want to harm them, which Cody had deduced himself hours ago, and that they want to bring them to see something.

Cody is very happy to leave the dead bodies of the worms behind them.

And to  General Skywalker eats insects! Bless the Force that Skywalker is Rex’s Jedi.

One cave. Another. Another one.

“How many are there? How big are these caves?'' Cody asks. He’s tired, hungry, thirsty, and more or less ready to go back to camp, thank you very much.

They find a ship, or more, the skeleton of a ship, in the last part of the caves system, the deepest one. It’s less a cave, and more the memory of a crash. The ship has been cannibalized, years after years, of everything useful, to the latest scrap of metal, except for the framework.

“It was probably made with a metal too dense for the meagre set of tools they have,” Obi-Wan theorizes.

“I can’t recognize the type of  ship that is, the form itself is so strange,” Cody remarks, watching it with the eye of a man trained to recognize enemy and ally ships in a nano second in the middle of battle. Obi-Wan is touching the metal with his bare skin, with great reverence.

He always loved old things, his Jedi.

The happiest Cody had seen him was for a protection mission in a dusty archive, on a faraway world. General Skywalker was with them, and the young Ahsoka too, and the intel had been faulty. There had been no attack, Obi-Wan had had his Padawan and GrandPadawan close and safe, and spent his days making amorous noises at poetry treaties centuries old.

“It’s incredibly old. Probably before the foundation of the Republic."

"But that’s….that’s old as kriff."

"During the first time of space travel, ships weren’t as reliable. They probably are the descendants of a crew of explorers. After the crash, staying inside the caves was the only long-term possibility for them, if they hadn’t the means to produce enough respiratory apparatuses. It was the only way to survive for them.  Nevertheless, it stopped anyone from finding them. And little by little, they regressed technically and lost the way to contact the outside."

"Do you really think they would have travelled from their world without a way to breath on other planets?"

"Perhaps it was stocked in a part of the ship lost during the crash. Perhaps it was so long ago, it was long before the Kel Dor knew very few worlds have an atmosphere breathable for them…Every species has the tendency to think the world at large tailored for them.”

They don’t leave immediately. Obi-Wan is of the opinion that Cody is too tired to use the path he himself used to find him. And he’s probably right. Cody’s head is throbbing where he hurt it during his fall, but he doesn’t see how he could get better here, where he can’t eat or drink.

What follows is a game of mime between Obi-Wan and the Kel Dors which Cody won’t forget, ever, no matter how much Obi-Wan asks, and he regrets he doesn’t have a holocamera.

After a time, and an unforgettable time it was, Obi-Wan and he find themselves stashed in a little room, so low they can’t stand. It’s more a bed stuffed inside some sort of structure made in the same weird-looking, weird-smelling mushrooms. Cody takes off the bubble around his head and Obi-Wan takes off Cody’s helmet.

The red head has the worst case of helmet’s hair Cody has seen, ever and Cody can’t stop an unprofessional laugh around his first mouthful of fresh water.

“I don't Not a head made for helmets, do I?” the Jedi smiles, as he tore in two a strange looking loaf of bread.

They fall on the food, famished, and tease each other at the same time. There is water and what Cody thinks is some root vegetables, and flatbread, and some meat he isn’t touching with a ten foot pool, just in case it's giant worm.  

“If you swear to wear armour instead of linen in battle, I swear to the Force I will never mock your hair,” Cody smiles in return, and Obi-Wan makes a face, like he did already wear good, solid protection instead of tunic and leggings and whatever he calls the multiple layers of his Jedi’s clothes.

“I thought….for a moment, I thought…” Obi-Wan stops. It’s rare to see him lost for words, he of the Silver tongue, the Negotiator.

“I’m not dead,” Cody reiterates, because there is no need to beat around the bush. Even risking their lives every day the Force makes, nobody likes the kick of adrenaline when one of your men is missing. It never becomes normal. It never should.

“And yet, for a second I thought you were. When I saw the earth opening under your feet and gobbling you. And when I arrived during your battle, the Force trumpeting in my heart about the mortal danger you were running to.”

“The Kel Dor were pretty useless against those things. Couldn’t let them get eaten like that. Not when they rescued me and helped me.”

“I know. I know. And I would have done exactly the same thing.”

Obi-Wan sits on the bed, less gracefully than he usually does. From where he’s leaning against the mushroom wall, Cody stares. He can see the lines around his mouth, and after his late-night conversation with Master Quinlan Vos, he knows they aren’t from laughing. He can see the lines at the edges of the eyes, discreet for now, a little more present every day. He can see the first traces of grey on the temples, simply a trace of silver in the red mane…. He’s, almost, sure there was no grey at the beginning of the war, he has seen the holos of Obi-Wan against Prime, against Jango, all those years ago, on Kamino.

Obi-Wan is burning too bright, burning himself.

And Obi-Wan isn’t the only one not getting younger. The accelerated aging isn’t exactly good for Cody’s health, starting with his knees.

One day, he won’t be quick enough for the next giant, bioluminescent man-gobbling worm. Or Obi-Wan will be too tired against Grievous. Since they met, an assignment Commander- General decided by Alpha-17 himself, their life has been full of Separatist assassins, murderous fauna, Sith assassins, murderous geology, Separatist assassins pretending to be Sith assassins, and Sith assassins pretending to be Separatists assassins, brain-washed murderous Senators, murderous flora, murderous black holes, and one time a murderous sentient ship.

The whole galaxy is conspiring to kill clones and Jedi, for what Cody can see.

If his math is right, he survived today the sixty-third attempt on his life from Fate since he left Kamino. Obi-Wan was there for most of them, and Cody was around for the latest attempts on Obi-Wan’s life.

And one day, it will stop.

Cody opens his mouth before he can talk himself out of it. Life is short and he’s a soldier slave, he doesn’t have the luxury to wait for another time.

“I think I’m falling in love with you,” he says, and Obi-Wan looks like he has been whacked on the skull with a heavy object. It’s not exactly his best face, mouth round in surprise, and Cody only feels affection. Then Obi-Wan’s lips curve into a smile like a sun, blinding, warm, and the Jedi touches the side of Cody’s face.

The Jedi touches the side of Cody’s face.

He doesn’t speak. Not yet. His head against Cody, his breath sharing Cody’s own air, they close their eyes, and Cody experiences the strange idea that he’s detaching himself from his brothers.

For the first time, there is something in his hands, or well, in his heart, that he doesn’t want to share with Wolffe or Boil, or even Rex, who has become his closest brother.

He doesn’t want to hide Obi-Wan from them, but he wants….

He hasn’t the words. Not yet.

But, with Obi-Wan at his side, he hopes he will learn them.

And he hopes his brothers too can find something, or someone, so precious they need to share the joy of knowing it, but also to keep it to themselves, like he wants to keep to himself the smile of Obi-Wan when Cody tells “I love you”, or the small freckles at the side of his mouth, visible only so, so, so close.

The first “I love you” Cody hears from Obi-Wan is whispered against his lips.

The first kiss tastes of the bread offered by the Kel Dor, of the cave’s dust and it’s perfect.

They’re still in the same situation, two exhausted men, in a cave full of toxic gases, only protected from them by some unknown mushrooms exuding oxygen, and Cody feels like he could take over the entire Republic. He sleeps curved around Obi-Wan, like two parts of the same whole, touching as much as they can, and if the headache from his head wound brings Cody to the surface a few times during their nap, he feels rejuvenated after it.

After, the Kel Dor help them find the surface and Cody and Obi-Wan leave their new friends, hand in hand, quite happy to find back the sun and the sky, the fresh air of a late morning…and almost all their men crawling around their area, trying desperately to find them.

Obi-Wan keeps Cody’s hand in his and a few brothers less intimidated than others by Cody’s glare, embarrassed and proud at the same time, even bumped their big brother’s shoulders as a sign of congratulation. Obi-Wan immediately goes red, like he’s a teen on his first crush, and not a seasoned Jedi Master whose touch can bring life or death. 

Cody finds it adorable. 

*******************

It’s the middle of the night shift on the Negotiator, but Cody is still working on a different time zone, so he lets Obi-Wan sleep peacefully in their shared bunk. Their shared bunk! A notion that still makes him giddy like a shiny at their first kiss, even a month after getting together. They are taking things pretty slow, or in the wrong order, Cody isn’t sure, they sleep in the same bunk every night, but haven’t got very far in term of sex, and this perfect, because this is them, and not some sort of artificial list of relationship’s milestone. And Cody already knows, deep in his soul, that he will never love a man like he loves this one, even if Obi-Wan is killed tomorrow, and he’s sure it’s the same for Obi-Wan. 

The Negotiator is in route to join with the Steadfast, so General Koth is on board after a conjoined mission where Obi-Wan and him gave Cody new grey hairs. He finds him easily in the mess, demolishing a healthy serving. The stamps outside the rations are a different colour than the ones Cody and his brothers eat.

“Can I join you?” Cody asks.

“Of course,” Eeth Koth immediately answers and the chair on the other side of the table moves on its own, offering itself for the Commander. Cody arches a brow.

“Don’t tell Obi-Wan,” the General jokes, “or I will endure a lesson for frivolous use of the Force.”

Cody sits and they stay silent for a moment, the General apparently happy to let him come to his questions in peace, continuing to eat his meal. Despite being tailored for a different species’ nutritional needs, it looks exactly as unappetizing as most rations Cody is used too. 

“General Ke-“

“You can call him Obi-Wan in front of me,” Eeth Koth interrupts. “There is no need to be ashamed of what binds you.” He grimaces. “Force knows we will all need all the comfort we can get before everything is set and done in this war.”

“Obi-Wan and I, we had a bit of an adventure, last month.”

“From what I heard, you have a lot of them.”

“Yes but….it was…it was the first time I was around civilians. Normal people, I mean.”

“Not Jedi and not clones, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“Putting apart the fact that you are normal people, and that we are too, that it is a slippery slope to consider us different, because then the rights…”

“I know you’re fighting for us in the Senate. I know. That isn’t the question…I just mean. They were civilians. Even more civilian than usual. I have only met natural borns who are Jedi and Senators and politicians or some sort of official. This was different. And I realized how little we know about the world outside the GAR. And how little we know about societies, and species who aren’t us. They raised us for war only…” Cody was almost trembling with it. Eeth Koth put a comforting hand on his wrist and Cody continued:

“Obi-Wan, I don’t want Obi-Wan to become my teacher. It’s not his role. But if we want to have a chance outside the war, us, the vode, we need to learn about the outside world. I wanted to ask you if there was something…a way…”

Eeth Koth had totally abandoned his meal and Cody could feel the weight of his gaze, the same gaze as Obi-Wan, transcending their species.

“Let me call a few people,” the Jedi said.

**********

Years later, Cody thinks a lot about that moment. Eeth Koth joined the Force during the war and Cody has to remember this moment for the two of them, this simple moment around a table, this moment which became one of the tipping point of his life. Not the too numerous almost-death, not the many battles, not even his first kiss with his dear Obi-Wan. This moment, in Cody’s mind, is the one which changed his fate. 

Eeth Koth died not even two months after that, one among a lot of Jedi who gave their life, alongside the vode, for a chance for the galaxy and its people. Not that people are particularly thankful about it: the discovery of the Sith engineering the two sides of the conflict rocked the easy confidence of the Republic in the solidity of its system.

Democracy is never forever, if people don’t work for it.

No, democracy is only saved for now, and never will it be saved forever and ever. But that shock to the system is treated by the most intelligent of the bunch like a chance to seize. All across the reunited Republic people are working hard, entering politics, creating organizations to teach the population, to hold those in power accountable…. 

It’s a sad thing so many vode, jedi and civilians had to die and suffer for that. It’s even sadder to think it didn’t almost happen. The Republic almost burned, the Sith almost won, the beloved former Padawan of Obi-Wan Kenobi almost helped murder Mace Windu, Master of the Order...Mace Windu isn’t exactly the type to hold a grunge, but Obi-Wan still needed months after that to stay in his presence, the guilt that should have eaten Anakin transfered. 

Honestly, if Obi-Wan forgave Anakin much too quickly, and Windu too, the vod needed a much longer time. Skywalker had almost helped the man who had engineered them as slave soldiers, the man who would have wiped out their free will, the poor part of it they still had. The vod had needed a long time to forgive, and would never forget, but Cody still has the desagreable impression Rex’s anger is a most important consequence in Skywalker’s mind that the almost death of the democratic system and the almost rise of a dictatorship. 

Sometimes, late in the night, Obi-Wan stays awake, something lost in his eyes than mediation never totally makes disappear, and Cody is sure that day figures in a good part in his dark thoughts. 

Obi-Wan, and Cody too, think about what could have been. If Cody hadn’t been there that day, in the Temple, who would have been in charge of keeping an eye on Skywalker in the Council Room? No one, that who. Because Skywalker was a Council member, if a very fresh one, and there wasn’t on hand a Jedi Master with enough years to take a look at a Council Member and decide he needed baby-sitting. All those Masters were deployed, or in beds in the halls of healing. But Cody, Cody was there, and since he and his General had become an item, he had taken sometimes to act, despite what his logical brain told him, not like a soldier Anakin could order around, but like an exasperated step-father. Exasperated and concerned, as the war advanced and Anakin seemed less and less attached to his morals. 

 Who would have followed him to the Senate when Skywalker had refused to wait anymore, and tackled him at the last minute? Who would have stopped Anakin Skywalker from doing something as tremendously stupid as to save a Sith pitted against Mace Windu?

And all of that had been possible because Jocasta Nu had taken the first excuse she could to keep Cody on Coruscant that month. A well-known linguist was visiting for a series of talks, and she thought he could be a good professor for Cody, and more importantly that well-know linguist had enough political power to obtain permission for a clone following his courses.

And the Republic had lived, because Cody loved linguistics, or more because he had loved the little he understood of it at the time.

But Cody refuses to let the horrors of those years of war, and his terrible first years on Kamino, define him. He prefers to think, again and again, to that moment with Eeth Koth.

Cody didn’t know exactly what he wanted. His accelerated childhood, raised for war and war only, hadn’t given him the words for it. He just knew that for his brothers and he to have a chance after the war, they needed more. Or even more terrible horrors would certainly befall them. Soldiers without wars aren’t useful anymore, and tools with no use are only fated to be dismantled for parts.

Following Eeth Koth’s call, Jocasta Nu and her assistants had descended on the GAR with determination, great efficiency and anger that they hadn’t thought about that themselves. By dint of foraging the Jedi Archives, and every friendly archives of the galaxy, for legal precedent to help the Vode, they had forgotten all answers weren’t found between the terabytes of a datapad.

Master Nu is seated right next to Obi-Wan in the public and trying very hard to pretend her eyes aren’t misty, as Cody receives his diploma, earning himself the title of Doctor in linguistics, for his work with the forgotten Kel Dor city, right next to the first Kel Dor of said city to have made the jump to Coruscant.

Cody isn’t the first clone to finish his thesis. Not surprising:  he left the GAR years later than some of them, refusing to leave before his lover, who had been pressed into service as long as the Senate could justify it, and even longer. With Anakin leaving the Jedi Order, Obi-Wan was certainly the most famous member of it for the public, and it was as if the Senate tried to make him pay the Jedi’s refusal to abandon the vode. But Cody was the first clone Jocasta Nu talked with, when she arrived to try to help the vode not in pleading that they shouldn’t be slave soldiers, but in demonstrating they were so much more.

Cody wasn’t the first clone to leave the GAR officially, that honour went to Rex who followed Ashoka to Orto Plutonia, the first clone to be officially accepted as a member of the Jedi Corps. For what Cody understands, his life consists of almost losing his toes ten times a month, hunting with the Taz and flirting desperately with every passing skirts, as Ahsoka flirts desperately with her own Senator and supervises Republic-Taz contacts. Obi-Wan and Cody went once during permission, and Cody swore to himself that the next time Rex and Ahsoka wanted to see them, it could be on a tropical atoll.

Cody wasn’t the first clone to find a job outside of the Jedi orbit. That honour went to Fives and Tup, who left together and chose the most pacifist world they could. “We were almost separated once, never again. I’m not touching a weapon again in my life” Fives had said to Cody that day, watching Tup, busy hugging Rex, with something ferociously possessive in his eyes. Now, they have a nursery of succulent plants on a small island, in the south hemisphere of Alderaan, and Cody still isn’t sure if they are the best friends in the world, or one of those pairs who took brothers in a quite different sense, and frankly, he doesn’t care. There is a small potted thing they sent as a gift on Cody’s desk, with red undertones and white flowers once a year, but the former Commander has a black thumb, and only Obi-Wan’s careful nursing in the Force saved the poor thing already thrice.

Cody wasn’t the first clone to enter academia, that honour went to Waxer, who now teaches mathematics on Mandalore and is busy reintroducing Fett’s genes into the population with a long string of ex-partners, who still like him very much and with who he raises an army of children, at least three of them bearing a name honouring Waxer.

Cody wasn’t the first clone to marry, that honour went to Jesse and Cody isn’t touching that choice of spouse with a ten-foot pool.

Cody wasn’t the first in a lot of things. But it’s ok. He doesn’t have to lead his brothers anymore. He doesn’t have to bear responsibilities for death and help who didn’t come, and for the horrors that were their life.

The vode are free and Cody can only be a brother like any other.

He can be only Obi-Wan’s husband, even if Obi-Wan jokes that now, it’s more him that will be only the husband of Doctor Cody Kenobi, his arm candy in gatherings.

[yongtxt]

hundred [johnny]

word count: 4.5k words

characters: boxer!johnny x doctor!reader

genre: fluff

warnings: blood/wound/stitches mentions, johnny hates hospitals but he likes the pretty doctor, [im not a doctor nor a boxer pls dont say that i have info wrong because I Know]

author’s note: i know this isnt long to some of u but to me it is and i havent written this much for so long im so proud of myself for finishing this:( it isnt that good but this is the first long fic ive written in a while and shhsdjk also i needed to get this out of my system ive thought about this au since that jcc came out where johnny and hyuck was doing muay thai plssss (i couldnt find a better gif tho) ok this is getting too long / feedback is appreciated tysm

Johnny Suh hated hospitals with a burning passion.

It wasn't from a past trauma nor was he afraid of it, it wasn't that serious. He wasn't exactly sure what the cause of it really was. If he had to make a guess, it was probably from the accumulation of the little things, the insignificant factors people would usually dismiss but bothered him enough that it contributed to the big hatred he built for hospitals.

Maybe it was the distinct smell of hospitals, it reeked of death and old people. Maybe it was the atmosphere of the fluorescent-lit hallways, always gloomy and heavy. Maybe it was also the fact that the fees were so expensive and yet the food they provide tasted horrible, even the coffee was a hit or miss. The only upside he could think of was people get better in hospitals, but even that wasn't assured.

Despite how much Johnny despised hospitals, he always finds himself coming back. If he wanted to get better, he had no choice but to go. He would endure the gruesome process over and over again whether it be to treat his wounds or to stitch his cuts.

With his jaw littered with small bruises and his lips busted at the corner, he sat impatiently on the hospital bed as he waited for his doctor. He was fiddling with his fingers, knuckles bruised the same way his face was. He looked beaten up, he always did.

The clothes he wore contradicted the state he was in, they were fresh and laid back. He looked like a college student from the way he dressed. A delinquent more like, if one considered his cuts and bruises. Before heading to the hospital, he always makes it a point to shower and make himself appear presentable to the public. Although no one really bothers to take notice of his effort, only him.

The sliding door opened and Johnny's attention shot up from his phone, his gaze meeting with yours. Your head popped in, peaking through the small crack you made. Your eyes lit up in recognition as it always did whenever you see him.

"Youngho-ssi?" You spoke almost as if it was a question, voice barely above a whisper to make sure you were in the correct room, about to tend the correct patient.

Johnny didn't understand why you always did that, call out his name as if this was the first time you were seeing him. At that point, you've been already acquainted with him enough due to his numerous trips to the hospital. Either way, he nods every time.

You gave him a small smile, widening the door enough so you could enter. You wore a white lab coat, a name tag pinned to your chest and a stethoscope hung around your neck. You were small, although anyone compared to him was bound to be comparatively smaller – that wasn't the point, you looked young and that never fails to astound him every time you go through the door.

You had a clipboard in your hands, scanning through what he assumed to be his condition that a nurse had written earlier after a quick checkup and disinfection of his open wound. Your lips were formed on a tight line, eyebrows furrowed. He continued to stare at you with such amusement.

"You don't have to answer my question, Youngho-ssi, but why are you always here?" You finally broke the silence, startling him in the slightest. You never bothered to ask before, always just offering smiles and small talks while you did your work; maybe his sudden regularity of coming to the hospital recently made your curiosity peaked.

He couldn't blame you. Anybody would be curious why a 24-year-old man keeps coming back to the hospital with no clear explanation.

He cleared his suddenly dry throat, he never liked saying his job. He said, "I box for a living."

"Ah, that makes sense!" Your eyes visibly glimmered, absentmindedly jotting down notes on his medical records. "My coworkers and I thought you were in a gang or something."

"I don't think I would be allowed to be here if I was." He chuckled, making you giggle as well.

"Seo Youngho, 24, minor lip laceration in need of immediate suture." You read of his data from the clipboard, almost comically. It was medical terms he was unfortunately already too familiar with, to him, it basically meant that he had a busted lip that needs to be sewed shut.

"You can just call me Johnny. Youngho sounds too formal to me." He said nonchalantly. You nodded your head to his simple request; it probably was best if you got to know him better since he frequented the hospital so much.

"Alright, Johnny. We'll start the process now, okay?"

With keen eyes, he watched you slip on a pair of surgical gloves. You grabbed a tissue from the metal tray that sat beside him and began folding it into squares. He felt his heartbeat quicken, he hated getting stitches or any form of medical treatments for that matter, but as morbid as it was, he thought of it as punishment for his recklessness in the ring.

"Isn't boxing just, I don't know, senseless violence?" You asked, tone dripping with pure innocence and unadulterated interest as you gently dabbed away the remaining dried blood the nurse failed to clean earlier.

"It's a sport, it's how I bring money to the table." He pursed his lips, ignoring the twinge of pain that surged through his nerves. He visibly relaxed when you placed a hand onto his shoulder to reassure him.

Ever since the first time you got assigned to him, the first thing he took note of was the softness of your hands. You handled him as if he was fragile glass, despite how he easily towered over you. He felt pathetic as a 24-year-old but your gentle touches would greatly help put him at ease.

"I guess. I didn't mean to be rude." You were hesitant, Johnny could tell but he was glad you didn't push on any further. He couldn't handle explaining his occupation when you were about to pierce his skin. "Okay, Johnny, now that your lip is clean and the anesthesia had seeped in, we'll start. I think you know how it goes by now."

"Make it quick, please." He nodded, squinting his eyes shut at the mere contact of a surgical pen grazing over his gaped lips. You were relieved that his cut wasn't too big, you couldn't stomach the idea of putting him in too much pain for longer.

As you picked up the tweezers and string of nylon, you couldn't help but laugh at the six-foot boxer in front of you who was clearly petrified of getting stitches, "This will be done as soon as you know it. You won't really feel it because of the anesthesia, remember? Now count to a hundred backward for me."

Once the numb feeling of nylon dragged through his lips, he swore he saw white spots flicker in his vision. His eyes immediately watered and he tried his best not to squirm under your hold, beginning to count to a hundred backward like you had instructed him to. You admitted it to him the first time you stitched him that it was a trick that you learned from your pediatrician friend. Despite it being for children, it helped to get him distracted while you focused on your job.

Minutes felt like hours, Johnny had been fighting the urge to punch something, anything, to release tension and nerves. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he took a peak and tried to take his attention away from what was currently happening on his lip. His gaze landed on your pretty eyes, how it was narrowed in focus and how your lashes perfectly framed it.

This wasn't the first time he'd observe you up close, there had been many occasions in the past that you had been too close for comfort in order to tend his wounds. It had been too many that it was almost as if he was close to memorizing your features. You were not only beautiful but you were also a smart and capable doctor.

Eventually, you finished and started to rub ointment on his sore lip — the finishing line.

"Try not to eat anything spicy or hard. You know the drill." You grinned at his suddenly pale features, ripping off your gloves as his eyes adjusted to the bright lights of the room. "You're good to go. Be careful next time."

He let out a shaky breath, clearly still winded up from the procedure, "I'll try. Thanks again, doc."

-

The punching bag felt great against Johnny's fists. There wasn't a feeling in the world that could compare to the impact of leather slamming against his skin. He could last hours mindlessly pummeling the bag if his stamina just allowed him to.

Hyunsik, Johnny's manager and personal trainer, drew away from the punching bag he held in between his arms. He let out a breath and held out a hand to motion that Johnny has done enough.

Johnny was hurting, Hyunsik could see that much. The bandages he had wrapped for the boxer's fingers were turning into a shade of red that they were all too familiar with.

Hyunsik clicked his tongue, "You should've used your gloves."

"How can I grow stronger if I keep relying on them?" Johnny rolled his eyes. His muscles needed a boost and this seemed to be the only logical way to strengthen them — a little blood never hurt anybody.

"Someday you're gonna fracture your hand and you'll be forced out of the ring. Remember that." Hyunsik huffed, his voice stern. "Take them off, I'll clean the blood off."

Johnny reluctantly did as told, unfurling the bandages wrapped around his fingers. The pain was excruciating when the fabric grazed along his tender skin, he winced at the unsightly view of his reopened wounds.

Hyunsik led him back outside of the ring to the benches where the first aid kit was. He made the boxer sit down so he could start cleaning off his wounds. It looked horrific, more so than it usually did and he had no choice but to break the news to Johnny.

"It looks really bad. You need to go get that checked in the hospital and have it sewed back." Hyunsik said, taking a wet towel and carefully dabbing it across Johnny's bloodied knuckles.

He didn't want to go to the hospital. Going to the hospital to have his wounds treated meant that Johnny would be medically required to take days off work to let his hand heal. Johnny frowned, "Don't you have an ointment or something that could help? I can't afford to lose a day of practice."

"Don't you think I know that?" Hyunsik rolled his eyes. "As your manager, I want you to be in top shape for your match next week, even if it means sacrificing a day or two for you to heal."

Johnny could only nod. He sat through Hyunsik's lecture on the changes he should make to his dietary plan and the exercises he should do during his temporary break. It infuriated him that he couldn't do anything about it but nod along.

The incoming match that was set next week would make or break his career as an underground boxer. He didn't have the option of missing it because of some measly reopened wounds. If he had to rest to get better, he had no choice but to suck it up. This was his fault anyway for pushing himself too much.

Johnny showered in the locker rooms and changed into nicer clothes that didn't reek of blood and sweat. His hands were stinging but he shook it off.

He ignored the concerned looks other boxers were giving him and begrudgingly made his way to the hospital to get himself checked in. You wouldn't be happy to see him all bloodied again, he thought.

-

Much to Johnny's surprise, it wasn't you who was assigned to him. It was a much older doctor with graying hair and a nose stuck too far up in the air. She was rude and condescending, her lack of politeness to her patients was quite appalling. If Johnny wasn't in such a bad mood, he might've complained already.

God, this day couldn't get any worse.

With a meek voice, Johnny asked where you were and at the mention of your name, his doctor gave him a narrowed look. She sneered, "She's handling much more important cases. Does she know you?"

"I think so." Johnny gulped, unsure of the answer himself.

The doctor's grip was tight and she was hasty. It was as if she was trying to speed through the process to just get it over with. Johnny wanted to cry because he was starting to get traumatized by this doctor's procedure, he didn't want to hate the hospital more than he already did.

He internally screamed for your name as he watched the doctor pull on the gloves. The sliding door harshly whipped open and there you were in all your glory, like an angel sent from above to save him from the devil incarnate who was about to pierce his skin.

You were panting and the sheen on your forehead made it obvious that you ran your way to his room. Johnny's heart leaped with glee.

"Unnie, I'll handle him." You said, unable to catch your breath as you made your way inside. "I think the ER needs you more than me."

The doctor seemed hesitant at first but you tried to convince her otherwise. She eventually agreed and left you with Johnny who had a cheesy smile on his face the entire time since you've arrived.

"So Johnny, what happened this time?" You asked, picking up the clipboard that sat next to him on the bed.

"I overdid the punching during training and it reopened some old wounds on my knuckles. It hurts like a bitch."

You pulled a face, "That's a bit intense."

He chuckled, "It's normal."

"Can I please see it?" You opened your palm so he could place his hand on yours. You observed his cuts and the scabs that were beginning to form around it, it was too deep to let it heal on its own so you made the verdict that he needed to get it sewed back together ⁠— as unfortunate as it was since he was a boxer and he needed his hands to box.

You tugged on a new pair of gloves and began the painful procedure, Johnny started counting down even without you instructing him to. You quickly got to work and stitched back his wounds with your lip in between your teeth

Johnny felt squeamish, he could never get used to the feeling of stitches. His eyes were glued shut and he mumbled numbers like it was mantra.

Once you were done, you smiled fondly at your work. You managed to get by with fewer stitches and you felt pride swell up in your chest. Johnny noticed and, as lightheaded as he was, couldn't help but smile as well.

"You're pretty good."

"At stitching?"

Johnny nodded with his cheeks flushed, he made a mental reminder to smack himself in the head later for such a crude comment. You probably thought he was an idiot now.

"I sure hope so." You chuckled, making him blush even deeper if that was even possible. "It's part of my job."

Johnny shook his head in embarrassment, his dark hair bouncing from how vigorously he did it. He mumbled, "That sounded really lame and not smooth, I'm sorry. Please forget I opened my mouth."

You could only chuckle as you apply the ointment around his knuckles. He wanted the ground to open up and just swallow him whole.

"Please let this heal completely, Johnny. Don't apply any strain on your injuries for a couple of days and refrain yourself from carrying anything heavy so that the stitches won't rip." You said, carefully placing down his hand back on his knee. You were gentle as ever, Johnny swooned. "Absolutely no punching for a while."

"I have an important match at the end of next week. Is there any way to speed up the healing process?" Johnny asked, his eyes were almost pleading at you and you blinked at him in surprise.

"Apart from what I just said, there's really nothing else you could do." You pursed your lips, watching his expression visibly deflate. "If you want to have even a sliver of a chance at winning your match, I suggest you do as I say. Your stitches won't take too long to heal, I promise."

If Hyunsik was there with him, he would've probably already scolded him but the point would be the same. He had always prioritized Johnny's health above winning.

"Okay, doc. I'll do my best." Johnny said, defeated.

"You know, I always see the aftermath of your matches and your training. I want to see you in the ring next time when you're not bloody and beaten up yet." You smiled at him and you swore that all the color that was previously drained from Johnny's face came rushing back. "If it's okay."

"Are you serious?" Johnny asked, almost dumbfounded. Did the pretty doctor he'd been crushing on for months really just asked if she could watch his match?

You nodded with the same hue of red now tainting your cheeks.

"O-Of course! It's on Saturday next week! Please come and cheer me on!" Like a little kid, he excitedly rambled on about the details about the upcoming match and you nodded with the same enthusiast as you wrapped bandages around his hands.

You weren't from his world so everything he said sounded foreign to you. The terms he said, the infamy of his opponents, the prominence of it all — you were eager to learn it if it meant seeing him this happy.

You've always known that he hated hospitals. It was clear from the way he acted during your first meeting. He was stiff and tense, the body language he exuded just screamed that he wanted nothing more than to get the hell out of there. As he visited the hospital more and more, you noticed the hatred never faltered. He only became better at hiding it from you.

To see him so relaxed and carefree within the four walls he hated with all his being, it was a breath of fresh air and the feeling you had in your chest grew stronger.

"You're good to go. I promise to see you in your match." You were jotting some last-minute details on the clipboard and you missed the way Johnny kept grinning like an idiot. "As much as I love seeing you here, I hate that you keep getting yourself injured. Keep out of trouble for me, Johnny."

You left the room without letting Johnny say another word.

Fuck, Johnny realized he hadn't asked for your number.

-

Johnny's match started in ten minutes. His heart was pounding in his ears, he almost couldn't hear what Hyunsik was shouting to him.

The underground stadium was filled to the brim with people, he felt more nervous than he did during his first boxing match. A lot was at stake for this win, he needed the belt. He was desperate for it.

"Johnny, are you listening to me?" Hyunsik raised his voice, aggressively slapping Johnny's cheeks together in his hands so he could focus on him. The boxer's mind was fleeting and it was his job to pull him back to reality now.

He hadn't seen you since last week and as much as he wanted to go back to the hospital to see you, he refused to badly hurt himself in the days that led up to the match. Johnny scanned the crowd for your face but he couldn't see it. You weren't there.

At the lack of your turnout, he failed to mask his disappointment. Hyunsik let out an aggravated groan and pulled the boxer on his feet to berate him further.

"Johnny, please for the love of all things holy, look me in the eye."

"I'm sorry. I'm okay now. I'm listening."

"Good because your match is starting soon and I need you to win this. All your hardships and sacrifices boils down to this match, you hear me?" Hyunsik bellowed, trying his best to keep his voice louder than the cries and chants of the audience. "Show them what Johnny Suh is capable of!"

Johnny nodded fervently, forcing himself into a state of serenity of peacefulness. He let out heavy breaths to even out his breathing as his team surrounded him, prepping him for what was about to come.

Hyunsik raised his hand at Johnny. He had five minutes left until his match started and he wasn't calming down.

"Can I please have some water?" Johnny asked and his medic stumbled on his feet to fetch him a bottle from the nearby cooler. He couldn't help but let out a shaky chuckle, his team seemed tenser than he was.

He downed the bottle as soon as it reached his hand. His hand was shaky. Goddammit, why was he so nervous?

At the corner of his eye, he saw Hyunsik making his way over to the barricade that separated his corner to the rest of the stadium. He arched his neck in a way that would let him take a peek what was so important that Hyunsik had to leave his side when the match was starting in a few minutes.

It seemed like Hyunsik was trying to stop a girl who was forcing her way in through the barricade. His stomach lurched at the sight of her familiar face.

As if he was acting purely on instinct, Johnny shot up from his seat and ran towards you. Hyunsik held up his arm to stop him from going any closer to you. You could've been a deranged fan, for all Hyunsik knows.

"Johnny-"

"I know her."

Hyunsik was startled at his response and started to profusely apologize to you. You looked nothing but smug and Johnny let out a breathy laugh that helped unravel the knots in his stomach. The boxer quietly motioned for him to take his leave and Hyunsik hesitantly did as told only after tapping his wrist as a sign that time was ticking.

You bowed at him apologetically, "I'm so sorry I'm late! There was this damn patient-"

"It's okay. You're here now." He cut you off, a cheesy smile on his face. You easily reciprocated it back.

"I just came down here to wish you good luck." You said with the usual confidence in your tone gone and now replaced with a sudden timidness and bashfulness. "Not like you need it or anything."

"Where are you sitting?" Johnny asked, noticing that you were struggling to keep your attention on his eyes. He peered down and realized that he didn't have a shirt on, he chuckled.

You pointed near the walls of the stadium and he strained his vision to see so far away. He pursed his lips and let out a noise of discontent. You said that it was the only seats available because you were so late.

"Why don't you sit here with them? They wouldn't mind." Johnny said, jutting his thumb over to his team who was furtively watching his interaction.

"Oh no, it's okay."

"I insist. I want you to see me win up close."

You blushed a deep shade of scarlet and Johnny grinned at his successful attempt at a flirt. Was it even a flirt or was it an ego stroke? Either way, it didn't matter because you were smiling at him. You were easing his nerves and you didn't even know.

"I got out of my shift early so I wouldn't be in the hospital later to stitch you up." You teased, softly prodding his shoulder blade.

Johnny playfully puffed out his chest, "I don't plan on getting too injured today, I wanna look cool in front of you."

"Whatever you say, Johnny."

"But I'm nervous. I'm actually really nervous today." Johnny mumbled as if he didn't want anyone else in on your conversation, gone all traces of his cockiness as his heart thudded erratically against his chest when he heard Hyunsik's call of the last minute until he has to go inside the ring.

You gingerly reached for his taped hands and gave it a gentle squeeze, "Just count back from a hundred like I always tell you to. You'll do fine."

"Wait for me after the match, okay?" And so you did.

Counting down the numbers, Johnny clambered inside the ring and the bell rang to signal the start of the match. Being in the medical field meant that you were against all forms of violence so you couldn't really watch the entirety of the match without feeling sick to your stomach. Johnny didn't care, he was just happy that you kept your promise and was cheering him on.

It was hectic and everything was happening all at once. It was loud and everybody was screaming. This wasn't your world, it was Johnny's and your heart fluttered at the thought that he was willing to let you in it.

Eventually, the match ended in Johnny's favor and the next thing you knew, you were being hoisted up in the air. You had the biggest smile on your face, similar to Johnny's who now had a shiny belt slung over his shoulder. All his hard work and all his trips to the hospital paid off.

"Congrats on your win!" You exclaimed, placing your palms on his chest to steady yourself.

"I wanted you to see me get the belt." He admittedly sheepishly, reaching out to hold your wrists in his bruised hands.

"Aren't you hurt in any way? We can drop by the hospital if you want." You asked, checking to see if he had any major injuries but true to his word, Johnny was inflicted little to no injuries during the match, exclude the few bruises on his jaw and a busted lip

"Actually, I'd rather we get some coffee instead." Johnny said, the small smile on his lips making you chuckle.

"I'm sorry, I don't date my patients." You smirked at Johnny's crestfallen expression, softly shoving his side to make it known that you were only joking.

Johnny pulled a face, releasing a breath he didn't realize he was holding once he realized your joke. He played along, "I think you can make me an exception, I don't usually invite people to my matches."

"So this is about getting even, huh?" You were teasing him and now your faces were merely inches apart but before Johnny could even think of leaning in, you spun around and grabbed his hand once more. "C'mon then, my treat!"

Johnny let out a laugh. A boxer and a doctor, who would've thought?

[geekynichelle]

So, I saw this tweet, and it started a conversation about the appeal of Harley Quinn, and I wrote this because I was possessed. It’s long so I put it below the cut. All opinions are my own.

Is Harleen Quinzel overrated? Honestly, I don’t know. Nor do I really care. Plenty of people love characters that others find overdone, and that shouldn’t have any bearing on whether or not they are liked on a personal level. You could equally say that Loki or Deadpool are overrated, and while I do believe race plays a role in why all three of these chaos agents are popular, gender is obviously why more people are vocal about finding Harley played out. 

Getting that out of the way, let’s dive into the nitty gritty. What the hell is appealing about this clown to a Black, queer and neurodivergent woman? To start I want to bring into play the idea that what Black women do and don’t enjoy is often put in a narrow box. Growing up I knew my mother liked action movies (even more so than my step-dad- huzzah for breaking gender stereotypes), and in her own words the reason for that is that she likes to see “people who deserve it get their ass kicked”. In our real life, society rarely dishes out justice for Black people the way we deserve, and while the action genre is made up of mostly white dudes, who is good and who is bad are clear cut, and we can always root for someone who punches out racists and misogynists. As a result I should have been less surprised that my mother would like Deadpool, but it still amuses me to this day. 

Deadpool, in his sequel film, has a moment when he with no hesitation shoots a man who he knows to be a child abuser, because unlike a traditional heroic figure there’s no question in his mind that that was the right thing to do. Whether this would be good in the real world or not is irrelevant because the catharsis comes from the fact that to Deadpool the child harmed mattered way more than anything other factors in that scenario. 

This is the appeal of those types of characters in general. Translating this to Harley Quinn in that way is easy. Evil deeds aside, her initial/general backstory is that she was a doctor (of psychology) that fresh out of grad school was sent to talk to the Joker, who in turn manipulated her compassion and convinced her to free him/join him. In the 90s animated series, which is where she first appears, the episode Mad Love shows us that not only was Harley taken advantage of, but also that she is extremely capable on her own. Batman point blank tells the Joker (after he’s hit her/tossed her out a window) that Harley is the only person that’s come that close to killing him. The Joker (who was initially going to leave her for good) realizes that he’s unleashed someone arguably better than him into the world, and like any abuser decides to get back on her good side to maintain control over her chaos rather than let her realize her worth. 

The new animated series dedicated just to Quinn, explores that notion further, and at some point during the second season sees Harley realize that she isn’t a hero or a villain, but rather a reactionary. She seems to have a soft spot for other abuse victims and in the series draws the line at over excessive killing, especially of innocent people. Ivy even states that while Harley is a criminal she is (at least in Ivy’s eyes) a good person. She has after all genuinely helped Ivy, and on occasion has helped save the day of her own free will. 

Obviously, like with any comic book character, how she is characterized depends on the writer, but it’s fair to say based on the media I’ve personally consumed putting Harley in a morality box is a wasted effort. What makes her special is that she resides in those grey areas. As I mentioned earlier her ability to reside there and remain popular of course relates to her whiteness, however I do think it’s important to remember that Harley Quinn is also Jewish and is therefore not a complete stranger to concepts of oppression. She is also in recent years officially considered Bisexual, and while all Batman villains are vaguely mental ill, she does fill up that category as well. 

I came across a tweet earlier today that suggested her whiteness is why many of her fans have turned her into a girlboss and downplayed her violence. I can certainly see where that person was coming from, but on a personal note, based on the above information that is certainly not the case for me. I know that I would enjoy Harley just as much (if not more) if she was a non-white woman, and that her violence and moral ambiguity are apart of what makes her a fun character. I’d never downplay her evil deeds. Granted, what I consider canon has a lot to do with the stories I’ve consumed (i.e I’ve never read anything about her involvement in the Jason Todd storyline therefore to me it doesn’t really exist), but ultimately Harley is no girlboss. She is a mess, and to quote Marie Kondo, “I love mess.” 

To put this further in perspective, when I was a kid I didn’t even know Bisexuality was a thing, but I did know that I liked when Harley and Ivy were together, and now as an adult who is out, seeing them officially canon affected me a bit more than I thought it would. They might not be good people, but I don’t think representation needs to always be about being squeaky clean. And ultimately that’s the rub isn’t it? Harley isn’t exactly like me and I’m not exactly like her, but she represents a level of chaos that yeah, as a marginalized person I’m not allowed to express. She can be a good person, but she can also be extremely outrageous. She shows that being the victim of abuse isn’t about how smart you are and that it can happen to anyone. She also shows that you can leave that behind and get stronger mentally and physically. In the case of the new animated series she does this without motherhood/babies thrust upon her, but through good friends who love her. 

Why Harley Quinn? Well, for me my current answer is because she’s complex. If you asked me as a child though, I’d probably say it’s because she was goofy and fun, and I wanted better for her than the Joker. Either way she’s currently being written by a Black, Disabled, Queer writer and as a long time fan, I absolutely look forward to the nuisances that’ll be added to the character as a result.

[ibijau]

xisang, 46?

Choosing someone else over them

Sitting on the other side of a table covered with food, Nie Huaisang appears deep in thought, something not infrequent these days. Although Lan Xichen ought to be proud of him for trying to be less impulsive, he rather misses the silly, capricious young man his lover used to be. It always made Nie Mingjue so upset that his brother appeared incapable of any serious thought, but Lan Xichen had treasured it, this last innocent among his acquaintances. The last of them to still be free, at least to a degree, but now even Nie Huaisang has lost his candour and must bend his neck to the demands of politics.

In the years since Nie Mingjue’s death, Lan Xichen has come to the Unclean Realm as often as he’s been able to. Too much, according to some Lan elders. Not enough, his disquieted soul says every time he gets there again and finds Nie Huaisang a little thinner, a little paler. Along with his innocence, he has lost the last few traces of childhood’s roundness that had clung to his face. He is more handsome like this, but less like himself.

Tonight, as always when Lan Xichen is visit and there are no other guests to entertain, the two of them have retired in Nie Huaisang’s quarters to dine in private. The room, which used to be decorated with many trinkets, is still bare. Nie Mingjue’s uncontrollable rage destroyed so much, and his death never gave his brother a chance to restart his collection. It is another way in which things have changed, another thing Lan Xichen wants to correct and return to normal. He brings what small presents he can when he visits, just as he makes sure that Nie Huaisang, at least in his presence, eats to satiety. It is an innocent joy to be found in his lover’s presence… at least, when Nie Huaisang allows it.

Tonight, he refuses to eat, even when Lan Xichen, in a playful mood, offers to trade kisses for it. Food has held less appeal to Nie Huaisang in recent months, but he has always been weak to tender gestures. It is how Lan Xichen started taking notice of him, a sweet boy his brother’s age, but much more generous with his affection than Lan Wangji had ever been. It is deep in Nie Huaisang’s nature to touch and be touched, to crave any form of contact, or at least so Lan Xichen always assumed. If this too has changed…

Lan Xichen isn’t fond of change, but he is very fond of Nie Huaisang, and hoping all of this is just temporary, that things will return to normal once his lover settles into his new role.

Shaking his head slightly to chase away unpleasant thoughts, Lan Xichen puts back in his bowl the piece of mushroom he’d been trying to feed his lover, and sets down his chopsticks.

“Will you share what’s on your mind then, if it makes it impossible for you to eat?”

Nie Huaisang shrugs. He has his elbow on the table, his chin resting on his hand, a near pout on his lips. Lan Xichen ought to make a remark about manners, but this carelessness is enough like before to be not only tolerated but enjoyed.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about da-ge lately,” Nie Huaisang says, and then doesn’t elaborate.

It used to be near impossible to shut him up, and now he’s so careful with his words. Sometimes Lan Xichen can still get him to blabber a little, but more and more frequently even he gets hit in the face by a barrage of ‘I don’t know’ if a conversation goes on too long.

“What about da-ge?” Lan Xichen insists.

Rather than to answer, Nie Huaisang observes him a moment. There’s a sharpness in his eyes that matches the new sharpness of his features. Lan Xichen misses the lost softness, even when he knows it is unkind of him.

Nie Huaisang looks away, and fiddles with his fan. “It’s just that it’s so odd, the way he died. I know he was unwell, but I wonder… I’ve done research, you know?”

Lan Xichen chuckles. “Have you now?”

His lover’s eyes dart toward him, throwing daggers.

“And why not? Am I more stupid than others?” Nie Huaisang snaps. “My brother dies so suddenly, even when he did everything he was supposed to prevent it, can’t I wonder if someone didn’t use the state he was in to hide something more sinister? He had plenty of enemies after all!”

“I’m sure few men would dare have called themselves his enemy,” Lan Xichen counters, surprised by this sudden fit of anger.

“They sure didn’t have the guts to say it out loud,” Nie Huaisang mutters to himself, before raising his voice again. “You can’t act like he didn’t disrupt things for certain people,” Nie Huaisang accuses. “Not when some people profited so well from his death.”

A frown forms on Lan Xichen’s brow.

“What are you trying to say?”

Nie Huaisang hesitates, and opens his fan, almost like a shield. His expression, or as much of it as Lan Xichen can see right now, is cold and calculating, entirely unlike the young man Lan Xichen once fell in love with.

How much can grief change a person? Even Lan Wangji, devastated and wounded, nearly dying after his own loss, hasn’t turned into a stranger the way Nie Huaisang sometimes feels now.

Nie Huaisang who takes a deep breath, and uses what little resolve he possesses to speak again.

“I’m saying that someone saw da-ge was unwell, murdered him, and blamed it on his unstable Qi. Am I speaking plainly enough for you, Zewu-Jun?”

It is more than plain enough, even if even now, Nie Huaisang isn’t saying all of it. Lan Xichen’s hands clench into fists over his knees.

To make use of Nie Mingjue’s state, a murderer would have needed to know about it. The Nie are private people who don’t share more than they must. An attack would have needed to come either from within (unlikely, when Nie Mingjue was beloved by his sect) or from the very few outsiders in whom Nie Mingjue confided his trouble. Lan Xichen knows, of course, that he did cause any harm to his sworn brother, and Nie Huaisang must know it as well, because he’s too clever to confront him so directly without proof… and such proof cannot exist, since Lan Xichen did nothing.

The accusation, then, must be directed at Jin Guangyao.

It isn’t that Lan Xichen cannot see why some suspicion would arise. Jin Guangyao and Nie Mingjue were hardly on good terms toward the end, both of them always complaining about the other whenever Lan Xichen was alone with one of them. And with Jin Guangshan in the middle of a dispute with Nie Mingjue over the punishment given to Xue Yang, with Jin Guangyao often coming to the Unclean Realm to play Cleansing, there is both a motive and an occasion.

Perhaps if the accusation came from someone else, Lan Xichen would consider listening. Perhaps not. Jin Guangyao, so recently risen to lead Lanling Jin after his father died from his excesses, has attracted many enemies, and Lan Xichen has been forced again and again to side with him against those who would have used his origins to tarnish his reputation.

The question is irrelevant, because the accusation, coming from Nie Huaisang, cannot be anything but ridiculous. Lan Xichen loves the man dearly, or perhaps just the memory of what he so recently used to be, but he doesn’t allow that affection to make him blind. Nie Huaisang, is many things, and he can even be quite clever on occasions, but he’s still not particularly smart.

“I think if your brother had been murdered, someone would have noticed,” Lan Xichen says with cold politeness. “I saw his body, as did others. There were no marks of wounds, nor of any poisons.”

“Someone knowing about his state could have easily edged him on to make things worse,” Nie Huaisang points out, burning eyes peeking out from behind his fan.

“By that logic, you could be called a murderer,” Lan Xichen retorts calmly. “His biggest disputes were usually with you, weren’t they?”

Upon hearing this argument, Nie Huaisang freezes, eyes widening in horror just as his face turns deathly pale. His shock is such that he even drops his fan, revealing a mouth slack with stupefaction.

“Zewu-Jun, you…”

“I’m not blaming you for what happened,” Lan Xichen adds. “I’ve told that enough times, what happened would have happened even if the two of you had gotten along better. But just as you cannot be held responsible for your brother’s fate, neither can Jin Guangyao.”

“So you won’t listen to me at all?”

“Not unless you have some more serious proof than this to offer to me,” Lan Xichen says. Then, not wanting to appear too cold to the man he does still love, and who has had a rough year, he adds: “If you do have anything that can prove what you say, then I’ll listen. And if that proof is strong enough, of course I will side with you and help you get justice for your brother.”

An easy promise to make, when Lan Xichen knows that there was no foul play. Nie Mingjue himself had been preparing for his death since the Sunshot Campaign, resigned to an early end. This conspiracy Nie Huaisang is inventing is just a new way to try and deal with a loss that took only him by surprise.

Nie Huaisang’s fan rises again.

“No, I don’t suppose I have proof,” he says, careful and sharp. “I think I’m just tired. I think I’ll ask you to go back to your room, Zewu-Jun.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind staying, even if all we do is sleep,” Lan Xichen says. It isn’t a lie. He does enjoy holding Nie Huaisang in bed, feeling the warmth of another body in his arms. “If you’d like, I can even play you something so you’ll rest better.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Nie Huaisang snaps.

“You’re angry at me.”

“I’m not!” Nie Huaisang hisses, to which Lan Xichen only has to raise an eyebrow for his lover to roll his eyes. “Or maybe I am! I don’t know how I feel about anything, I don’t know, I just don’t know. Is that better? I don’t know how I feel, I don’t know what I know. I just know that I want you to leave me alone. Can’t I have this at least?”

Lan Xichen’s fists clench tighter, but he forces his smile to remain mellow.

“As you wish, of course. I’ll see you tomorrow, Huaisang.”

Nie Huaisang only shrugs. He doesn’t rise from the table, doesn’t follow Lan Xichen to the door, doesn’t beg for a kiss the way he always used to do. Lan Xichen doesn’t remark on it and leaves the room.

As he walks, he tells himself that it isn’t a surprise if things took such a turn. Their affection went through some rough patches already when the war broke, when Lan Xichen became sect leader and found himself with much less free time, most of which he’d spent with his sworn brothers at first, until they all found a balance. This new change might just be the last drop for them. If it comes to that, Lan Xichen will mourn what they had once, while knowing also that meeting and parting is only another part of life.

He tells himself, also, that he will not share with Jin Guangyao those suspicions Nie Huaisang mentioned. His sworn brother would be too hurt that even one of his few friends would think that way of him.

[husbandograveyard]

Chapter I - The Seed

Chapter Summary: Sometimes love happens spontaneously. Sometimes it needs some time to grow. Yours has been growing for a while now. 

Chapter warnings: mentions of child neglect (vaguely), slight manga spoilers (if you squint) 

Word count: 1.7k 

Next chapter | Series masterlist - Click 

Love is very much like a flower. The seed can be planted very early on, and may need some time to grow. And without love, sunlight and patience, a flower may never bloom. The seed of your love was planted when you were only a child. 

You weren’t really sure when exactly you saw him for the first time, but you knew he captured your attention right away. You were walking to the store, your very first ‘grown up’ chore. Your mom would give you a little piece of paper with the groceries on it, and let you go get it at the convenience store right next to the apartment where you were living. She’d call the store beforehand to let them know you were coming, and never really worried because nothing could happen within that very short distance. And she was right, nothing ever really happened, and it became your favorite chore. Not necessarily because of the chore itself, but because of the little boy that you would sometimes meet on your way. 

He was quiet, usually standing in the hallway, hanging around the same apartment. Your young brain figured out he lived there, but you weren’t sure why he wasn’t always inside his house. You never saw his parents. He captured your attention, because he seemed… off a little. You couldn’t put your finger on it, not at that age, not with you sheltered you had been so far. You knew of heroes and villains but you didn’t know of all the actual evils in the world. You did not know what he was going through. 

But you did know that he looked nice, at least in your innocent-minded eyes. And he looked special, with a sharp gaze that seemed directed nowhere in particular and the beautiful wings poking up from behind his back. You wondered if they were soft. 

So one day you asked. Well, it had started with you saying ‘Hi’ every time you saw him in the hallway. And eventually, you’d get a ‘Hi’ back every once in a while. You told him your name, he told you his. Sometimes you would say something about what he was wearing, although usually his clothes were pretty plain and not always as pretty or even clean. His wings however, those always looked nice, bright red and sometimes even a little fluffy, that’s when they looked to be at their softest.

Most of the times when you shouted ‘I like your wings’, you didn’t get much of a reply, usually he just briefly redirected his stare at you before looking away again. But you were still young, full of hope and full of resilience that nowadays you wish you still had as much of, and you kept repeating it until you heard him mutter a soft ‘thanks’ in reply. It wasn’t too long before you started walking toward him for the shortest of conversations, you knew that you couldn’t stay away too long or your mom would definitely call the grocery store. And eventually, you asked him to touch his wings. He would always refuse, and you would never give up. 

One day he said yes, and it’s the day you remember most vividly. You were almost racing to the store by now whenever you saw that he was out, just so you could talk to him, always keeping an eye on the kiddie wristwatch your mom had given you. “When the big hand points upwards completely, you have to be home or I’ll come looking for you”, she’d say. You had gotten better at keeping an eye on it. You went through the usual ritual, saying hi, getting a greeting back. He seemed to be a little happier to see you lately though, smiling a little whenever he saw you approaching. 

“Your wings look fluffy today, can I pet them?” 

“Okay, but be careful” 

You gasped, and your eyes grew wide with excitement. “Really?”

He just nodded in response, turning a little sideways so you could easily reach out and pet the feathers. They were not as soft as you had hoped, not like the plushies surrounding you in bed every night, but they were soft nonetheless. An interesting kind of soft, like only a feather could have. You were absolutely mesmerized and he seemed to be happy that you were happy. 

“Next time I will show you my hero” 

You smiled as you ran upstairs with the groceries, just in time to not worry your mom. You were super giddy the next time she asked you to get groceries, but your friend was nowhere to be seen. That in itself wasn’t that unusual, there were multiple times when you didn’t see him, but you were quite disappointed, especially since you felt you really were making friends with him now. 

You blinked in confusion, but there was no time for you to ask for an explanation, as you noticed the longer hand of your clock almost pointing to the top of your watch.

“Okay! Promise?”

“Promise!” 

The next time you went, he wasn’t there either. Nor was he the next time, or the time after that. You were slowly getting a little worried and sad. But as it goes so often in a little child’s mind, there were only so many things you could worry about and you nearly forgot about the boy with the wings.

Until you saw him on TV. 

It was years later, you were training at U.A. making it into the hero course, developing your quirk to do good for this world. Part of your training was also keeping an eye out for all the heroes and their ranks. No matter how much you wanted this world to be fair and easy, there’s only so much you can do by simply being a good hero. The rankings were a whole other thing that came as a nasty side effect of wanting to make it in a world where just being good and strong wasn’t enough to be a hero. You had to stand out in some way. 

News of a newcomer not from U.A. spread so fast, especially since he was rising up in the rankings at an unseen pace, especially for his age, making him the youngest hero so high up. He was incredibly popular: campaign ads, interviews, magazines… Not surprisingly so, he was not only a talented hero, he was very handsome to boot, with hoards of fans already collecting merch as if their lives depended on it.

To the whole world, he was known as pro hero number three, only behind Endeavor and the one and only All Might, Wing Hero Hawks. But to you, he was the little boy from the hallway that once was ever present in your mind, one of your first friends that you lost before the friendship could even be properly cultivated. And now that his image was hard to avoid, his presence was back in your thoughts, more pertinacious than before. 

You were drawn to him the same way many of his fans were, but besides awe and admiration, there was another feeling present whenever you heard his name or saw another picture appear on the billboards you passed on your way to school. It was small still, this feeling, and unidentifiable, at least for now. All you knew was that there was an additional motivational fire burning within you now. You were certain you wanted to intern under him, you wanted some way to be able to talk to him. Just a few moments, to see if he would remember. Just a few moments, to maybe be able to put a finger on what you were feeling, maybe it was a desire for closure. You realized these were all superficial and stupid reasons, but as long as it got you training to intern at the number three’s agency, there was really nothing lost. 

Realistically speaking, you knew the chances were small he’d take you on. There weren’t even that many sidekicks at his agency, and you were pretty sure he’d need someone to keep up with him, which was nearly impossible seeing as he maxed out in almost all possible fields. He was the number three for a reason after all. 

You had a tactic though. Half of the plan being very obvious: train until you couldn’t anymore. Get high grades, develop your quirk, max out your physical strength, study evacuation techniques, be an overall great student. You had to make sure your potential was spotted by many heroes on occasions such as the sports festival. You had to make sure your teachers noticed you. 

The other half of your plan was working on getting his interest. Wear his merch around whenever there’s a U.A. moment broadcast that didn’t require you to wear your uniform, learn all there is to learn about him and his agency (a surprisingly easy task, as there was very little known about him actually). And then finally: work on advertising yourself. You wrote multiple letters to his agency, none of them demanding or desperate in tone, but continuously offering yourself as a valuable candidate for internships and training days, even when you would get no replies at all.

It took you until your last year at UA to finally get some sort of an answer. By that time, you had already sent so many letters, that at this point, you weren’t even expecting anything anymore, but it was more of a habit. A promise to yourself that you would try, at least until you had graduated and found another agency to work at. So when professor Aizawa pulled you aside at the start of your year to tell you that all your internships and training days were already secured in Hawks’ agency if you’d agree on it, you over-enthusiastically said yes about three hundred times. Aizawa passed on the information you needed, and you thanked him profusely before heading to your next class, the map of information nearly burning up in your hand. 

One step closer to the boy in the hallway. One step closer to your hero dream. No matter the outcome, you could only win.

Tag list: @pinkhatlizzy​ @franko-pop-3000​ @silenceofthecookies​

[khaotic-kitsunes]

Garden of Secrets

Yes??? I’m super glad I have this request because I recently read some fantastic Shouto x Reader scenarios and have been in a real half n’ half kick! But...I have a fuckton of requests, so I refused to let my eager dumbass ask for more until I get through these ones!

I really hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think and have a great day!

(I am so so so so sorry that the banner took me so fucking long to make...I’m picky with that sort of thing...haha)

🥃 AO3 🥃 || ✉️My Askbox✉️ || 💬Discord💬

Cheeky Kitsune 🦊💋

.

 “I’m not hearing another word about this Shouto. You will marry the princess in two months’ time for the prosperity of our land. End of discussion.”

 .

 Shouto frowned as he stared across the carriage at his father, thoroughly displeased with the conclusion the argument that had been going on ever since he had first heard about the arrangement a month prior.

 To say that he hated the idea of his father’s plan would be an understatement. His father was putting him in the very same position that his mother’s parents had put her in when his father came to them for her hand in marriage; Shouto had always despised his father and how his mother had ended up, being put in the same position was terrible.

 “We’re here…behave yourself and get used to the idea that this woman will be your new bride.” Enji muttered the words under his breath as their guard opened the door to the carriage, leaving Shouto behind as he went on ahead to greet the Queen of the land; the mother to Shouto’s new bride.

 “My lord…?” Shouto turned his head to look at the guard before sighing quietly to himself and climbing out of the stuffy carriage, glad to be out in the open air; a refreshing change compared to the past few days that he had spent stuck in there with his father.

 “I’m fine. Thank you.” He glanced towards the guard before following after his father and king, well-aware that any tardiness when meeting the Queen and Princess of the land wouldn’t be tolerated; it would be seen as an insult towards them and possibly cause a war. Many would perish if such a thing were to happen and given that his home was originally his mother’s lands, Shouto would prefer to keep any innocent lives safe.

 .

 ~  ~  ~

 .

 “Ah…here she is, (Name), come greet our honoured guests. King Enji and his son, your future husband; Prince Shouto.”

 .

 You blinked in surprise as you stepped into the throne room, curious gaze lingering on your mother before dropping down towards the two men that stood nearby; one an angry looking man that looked as if he were a tyrant and the other. A young man, looking to be close to your age, a shocked expression plastered over his scarred face; mirroring your own look of surprise.

 Your heart raced as you approached your mother, keeping your eyes on the young man that had been announced your future husband-to-be; in any other occasion you would protest to the idea of being married off. However, it was impossible to deny your attracting to him; you could do worse, that much was certain.

 You had seen the men your mother had been considering before now. All older than you, pigs and old fools that wanted strong heirs.

 .

 “(Name).”

 .

 You were ripped away from your thoughts by the sharp tone of your mother’s voice, causing you to look back towards her with a pleasant smile gracing your red stained lips; a fake, of course, but enough to keep you out of trouble.

 “My apologies Mother.” You paused, speaking softly as you turned to face the two guests, curtsying out of respect to their positions. The last thing you wanted to do was cause troubles between the two rulers, to anger another ruler would be foolish when such simple acts could be done to prevent such tension.

 “It is a pleasure to meet you” You kept your greeting short before standing gracefully and turning back to your mother, needing an excuse to be allowed to leave the room; anything to go back to your previously care-free mood of the day.

 “Mother, may I return to the gardens now?” She narrowed her eyes at your request, staring at you for a moment before turning her gaze towards the young man known as Shouto; a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Never a good sign when it regarded one of your requests.

 “You may, it will do you some good to get acquainted with your husband-to-be. Take him with you and mind your manners (Name)…they are our guests and I hope you will remember that.” You nodded your head in understanding with an inaudible sigh, glancing towards Shouto as a sign for him to follow after you; wanting to waste no time in leaving the elder rulers to their own devices.

 “If you would follow me…”

 .

 ~  ~  ~

 .

 You moaned out softly as Shouto trailed harsh bites along your sensitive neck, his hands above your head, pinning your wrists to the ground while his hips pressed flush against your own; stretching you with his throbbing cock.

 It was a strange situation. One minute, you were showing him around the gardens, giving a polite guide and making idle chatter; the next minute, you had fallen into the large pond that your mother had installed in the garden and Shouto was helping you out; his gaze lingering over your soaked form, your clothes clinging to you in an all too flattering way.

 After that, everything had moved so quickly. Just a quiet utter of a compliment from him and then suddenly you were hidden by the tall standing lilies by the pond’s edge, lips against skin, moans filtering through the quiet noises of nature; forbidden moments in motion.

 “Did I hurt you?” Your cheeks flushed as Shouto lifted his head to stare down into your gaze intently, a concerned frown decorating his features while his touches halted; giving you time to answer him with a clear mind. He was being frustratingly perfect for a man you should be trying not to marry; the idea of an arranged marriage had always been something you hated, but he was so very different to what you had imagined.

 “N-No…I’m fine Shouto…” You trailed off quietly while he leaned down towards you, giving a firm thrust of his hips in order to pull a surprised moan past your plump lips; the action making his lips twitch up into a heart-melting kind of smile. It wasn’t fair.

 “Good…hurting you is the last thing on my mind” His lips swallowed your moan as he began thrusting his hips roughly, large hands trailing down along your arms to your hips; pulling you closer to his body and making it easier for him to bury himself inside of you.

 You whined into the kiss softly when your lungs began to burn for the need of oxygen, gasping out and gulping in deep breaths the moment Shouto pulled his head away to instead busy his lips with your soft skin; groaning from the way you squeezed down around him.

 “God…we shouldn’t be doing this” You mumbled out the words before you could stop yourself, rocking your hips against his rough thrusts, moans spilling free while he lifted his gaze up to your face; his mouth closing around your pert nipple, hot tongue flicking over the sensitive bud.

 “We can stop if you want” You felt him smile against your skin when you shook your head in response to his muffled suggestion, moving your hands down to his strangely coloured hair; tangling your fingers into the soft locks and giving an encouraging tug.

 “No. No, don’t stop…” Your voice was a soft whisper drowned in the moans that he took great pride in pulling from your delectable lips, Shouto couldn’t even begin to explain why he had initiated such an action; a part of the reason would likely be that his father would be furious if he ever learned of such events before the wedding.

 However, he knew that it wasn’t the only reason, nor was it the main reason. Shouto couldn’t put his finger on it but everything with you, chatting idly in the gardens, helping you out of the pond; even kissing you in a moment of pure instinct. It all felt right.

 Like you belonged together.

 .

 “Good…I don’t know if I could stop now”

 .

 You arched your back as he moved his hips roughly, soft moans spilling free as Shouto sent wave after wave of pleasure coursing through your body; quickly becoming too much to handle as a strange sort of heat began to build in the pit of your stomach.

 Shouto groaned above you, thrusting his hips harshly and burying his head against your chest, nipping at the flesh between your breasts to distract himself; neither of you wanting to be too loud, lest you get caught by your parents.

 You whimpered out his name quietly as you bucked your hips, biting your lip to hold back the cry of pleasure that threatened to break free as pleasure flooded your system; your orgasm rocking through you.

 “(Name)…” Shouto muttered out your name in a low groan as he buried himself inside of you deeply, filling you with his hot seed.