#clarifying cause i��m not sure if that got across or was implied

[ravenwingdarkii]

Todoroki and Bakugo visit Midoriya BNHA CODA CH 303

Link to part 1 

After their trek down the hallway, All Might eventually gave the boys the room, leaving Midoriya’s side in what seemed to be the first time in hours. Bakugo slammed the door shut behind the former #1 hero, grumbling something under his breath. Shoto took one of the open seats by Midoriya’s bed, looking down at his friend. He remembered how badly injured he’d been, honestly it was a relief now to see skin clear of many cuts or bruises on his face. Someone with a strong healing quirk done well but it still didn’t look like his friend was sleeping.

The yellows and greens of fading bruises along his face and the pallor to his skin made sure of that. And Midoriya was no stranger to casts but with both his arms completely covered, he looked very small. Not the larger-than-life hero he’d been in the fight, stopping Shigaraki in his tracks over and over, without care for his own body. But that just brings the same questions burning in Shoto’s throat.

He pulls his head up sharply enough Bakugo (who had finished yelling at the insensate Midoriya for the moment), who had settled into the chair on the other side, drags his eyes from Midoriya’s broken frame to scowl.

“What? Do you have something...you wanna charades out?” he taunted.

Shoto pointed to Midoriya and went through a few motions he thought would clear up his question. By the blond’s deepening scowl, it didn’t. Todoroki sighed through his nose and went to rummage through cabinets. Eventually he found a pad of paper and a working pen and sat back down, using Midoriya’s bed as a writing surface. Contorting his burned hand to put enough pressure to use a pen was painful, and worse than that, his hand wasn’t responding correctly. It was the same sensation when he used way too much cold and lacked feeling.

He’d put that concern aside for now, the worries about burnt nerves or vocal cords. He didn’t need those to become a hero and he certainly didn’t need them to get some damn answers. It would have helped, but he would get by. He gripped the pen and used his other hand to guide the tip of the pen along the paper.

Eventually he set the pad in Bakugo’s waiting hand and the blond scrutinized the large and shaky hiragana. “‘His quirks’?” He said with an edge in his voice.

Shoto gave a single nod of his head and mimed flight with his hand. Then he leveled his most piercing gaze at Bakugo.

Something in Bakugo’s expression shuts off. Shoto could practically see the decision to keep quiet being made in his mind. It had only taken from meeting him to working through remedial training for Shoto to realize that once he got like that, only Midoriya stood a chance at changing his mind. The only one who could provide answers had shut up and Shoto couldn’t even /ask the questions/.

Shoto slapped the notepad out of Bakugo’s hand, sending it skittering across the floor before looking away. He could tell Bakugo was really staring at him now. His hands tightened into fists again. Something was happening to his friend, had caused his friend to be targeted, and he had been completely in the dark. Bakugo wasn’t good at faking it, it was clear he knew exactly what was happening as well. And Shoto was blind to it all. Because Midoriya had at least three quirks. Last time Shoto had mentioned it, it had been after he’d gotten Full Cowling and he’d assured Shoto it was an offshoot of his original quirk. Then Black Whip. Now this?

Shoto may be dense at times but he was far from stupid. He stared down at Midoriya, frustration itching in his eyes, wishing he were a better person, one who wouldn’t be so frustrated with his best friend, who was laying in a coma in front of him.

Hawks had said ‘One for all’ and Endeavor connected it to Midoriya, implied he was the target. Still unable to look at Bakugo, he took the pen to his palm, not bothering to retrieve the notepad. When the shaky scribble of pen didn’t form the right characters on his bandaged hand, he bit the words out in sheer force of spite. They came out with a dry croak, choked by a wall of anger he hadn’t quite realized he’d been immersed in.

“A-all M-mi-ight. All f-for o-one-e how--” his voice was so scratchy, it was whisper-quiet and octaves above where it should have been. He spoke until sound stopped coming from his throat entirely and he was let soundlessly trying to grasp his next words as he folded over in his seat with wheezing coughs.

He wasn’t sure how long it lasted but when he could focus again, his throat felt like lava, his breath whistled in and out of his nose, and Bakugo was next to him pushing a glass of water into his shaky hands.

“I told you to shut the fuck up. Seriously, don’t ask questions about all this, alright? As soon as Deku is awake, I’m sure he’ll want to tell you.” Bakugo seemed hesitant, but that couldn’t be right. He didn’t compromise. “Or you can beat it out of him for all I care. So just fucking wait. ‘Cause no matter how much you fuck yourself up trying to squeeze a pity answer out of me, you’re not gonna get fucking anywhere. I just can’t.”

The hard, sharp edges of Shoto’s ball of /anger-fear-worry/ in his stomach now mollified, he concentrated on taking sips of water tiny enough he didn’t have to swallow. Nothing was worth that pain.

Bakugo’s stance untensed enough that he limped back to his chair and settled back down in exhaustion. Shoto wondered if he’d be able to get back up at all. The boy gave out a long sigh. “Look, you saw him pick us all up with one quirk and fly us all with another. We’re on the same page there. No, he hasn’t been hiding secret quirks from you. I, tch, I don’t think he knew he had that last one until that fight. And no one is anyone’s secret love child, I swear if you start that shit right now I’m throwing Mineta out the fucking window.

“Yes, Mineta, because I was fucking impaled, I’m not gonna waste my strength trying to wrestle you out the window.” Bakugo clarified at Shoto’s slight head tilt. Then Bakugo’s eyes shifted back to Midoriya. He leaned forward and gave him a rough two-fingered poke to the forehead.

“Wake up, fucker. Half and half says he wants answers right now. I’m not gonna cover your ass on this forever.” The words lingered in the room until there was only a memory of silence. Eventually, Bakugo stood as abruptly as he could with his injuries. “Icyhot, we’re going.”

Shoto followed.

By the time they got back to their rooms, they had no choice but to acknowledge they’d hit an exhaustion wall there was no coming back from without rest.

“Where the hell is your room? Quit following me, dipshit, ” Bakugo bit when Shoto followed him back into his room a ways behind.

Shoto walked over to the side of the room, and gave the room divider a shove, leveraging enough room for him to pass. He jutted a thumb into the gap.

Bakugo’s mouth worked up and down in indignation. “Are you kidding me? I have to share a room with you? I want my damn privacy! Can’t Endeavor spring for a private room for you?” He was already trying to slam the dividing wall shut behind Shoto.

Shoto rolled his eyes and soundlessly headed to his bed. A quick glance to his phone confirmed even more unread messages from the class checking in with him. Not like he’d gotten a chance to look at them since he woke up. And it wasn’t a priority seeing as half the class was roving the hospital like some kind of gang.

He’d have preferred his own room, but part of him had to admit, it put him slightly at ease to know he was close to one of his worst injured classmates, when the inevitable nightmares about failing to save them began. He stopped to listen to Bakugo hunker back into bed.

“SHUT UP, I CAN STILL HEAR YOU THINKING!!”

Shoto settled down in the bed, refusing to admit to himself how utterly brain numbingly nice it felt to lay down again. The cottony feeling spread through his head.

A minute later, Bakugo’s voice comes a little lower. “You’re still fucking breathing over there, right?”

A small smile twisted the corner of Shoto’s mouth as he flicked the lights off in response.

[yes-i-am-happyaspie]

New Fic!

What May Said- happyaspie

Summary: When May goes out of town for a week to attend her best friend's wedding she allows Peter to remain in New York under Tony's care... but not before giving the man a list of rules to follow. Peter ends up being less than thrilled by how his time at the tower starts but with time, comes understanding. ...for both Tony and Peter.

-or- Nearly 5,000 words of Tony being an annoying helicopter dad.

Warnings: None  Rated: G Word Count: 4846

Tags: Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker’s Parental Figure, Tony Stark is Trying his Best, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro...  ...

It took less than forty-eight hours for Peter to begin regretting his agreement to stay with Tony while his aunt was off somewhere in Florida attending her best friend's wedding.  Of course, he'd been given the option to come along as her plus one and spend a week at the beach but he'd declined in favor of his vigilantism.   He couldn't be Queen's friendly neighborhood Spider-man if he as laying around on the beach for six days.  However, bringing up his heroism as the main cause of his reluctance to join, may not have been the best idea.  

"You know, as much as I love and respect your choice to go out and gallivant all over the city helping people, I'm not sure I want you doing that without me here," May had said when he'd first brought it up.

"I'd been doing it for months before you ever even found out about it and I was fine," Peter had replied without thought.  Once again, realizing too late that maybe that hadn't been the right thing to say.

May marginally agreed with a nod of her head but clearly wasn't anywhere near convinces. "That may be so," she said, -"but now I know and I can't help but worry about you.  What if something happens to you while I'm gone?  -and who's going to make sure you do your homework before you go out and enforce your curfew?" he asked with mild concern.

"I'll be fine May.  It's six days and only three of them are actual school days.  I have Monday off," Peter had tried to reason but it was of no use.  He could see the wheels in his aunt's head-turning and knew that if he wanted to be able to stay home, he needed to think fast.  "If it'll make you feel better, I could stay with Ned," he said with a wave of his hand, hoping that offering to sleepover at his best friend's house would be a good compromise but clearly it wasn't.

With a knowing smile, May had crossed her arms over he chest and shook her head. "No way.  If you're going to stay here, I want you and your alter-ego to be under some sort of supervision, and Ms. Leeds had no idea that you're Spider-man."  

Peter resisted the urge to roll his eyes and suggested the only other solution he could come up with. "What if I stay with Mr. Stark?  I stay there all the time on the weekends.  I'm sure he won't mind.  It might even be fun," he'd proposed even though he wasn't actually sure if Tony would mind or not.  He didn't actually have any idea how his mentor typically spent his time during the week, though he assumed much of it was dedicated to working in his lab or going to meetings.

After some thought, it had been decided that staying at the tower would be sufficient and Tony had eagerly agreed.   When May had said that she needed to talk to him in order to 'lay down some ground rules' Peter had been somewhat annoyed but not really worried about it.  Seeing as he would be expected to be in school while she was gone, he'd gone ahead and assumed that she wanted to talk to him about homework and what time school started and whatnot.  Things that, technically, he could handle all by himself but he'd not wanted to argue and end up being forced to accompany her to the wedding.

As the date grew closer, Peter started to become more and more excited about the idea of living with Tony Stark for a week.  If the weekends were any indication then it was going to mean, a lot of take-out, goofing off around the penthouse and late nights in the lab.  He knew he would still have to go to school and he was definitely planned to patrol regularly but he was looking forward to the change of pace that would be in between.  He was sure it was going to be the best week of his life.

__________

It felt like an eternity but eventually, the day came.  Peter hugged his aunt on his way out the door and endured what felt like the longest school day in the history of school days, waiting for the last bell to ring.  Even then, he couldn't get to the tower fast enough.  Public transportation seemed to be taking forever and he wholly regretted not taking Tony up on the offer to have Happy pick him up.   However, the moment the bus finally paused at his stop, he went straight up to Tony's private floor, where he was met by the man himself.  Though, he was looking decidedly dismayed.  

"Is that blood?" Tony asked, never taking his off of where Peter's fingers were just peeking out of his sweater's overly long sleeves.  "What happened?"

"Huh?" Peter replied as he followed Tony's gaze towards his right hand and held it up to inspect it.  The man wasn't wrong.  There was a small amount of blood dried around the tip of his ring finger.  He didn' think it was that big of a deal.  Especially since it took him several seconds to put together why his finger had been bleeding at all. "-Oh.  My nail kept snagging on my sweater so I tried to bite it and it kind of ripped.  I'm okay," he explained with a shrug of his shoulders but his mentor looked far from placated.

With a deep sigh, Tony took two long strides towards where Peter was still examining his hand.  "You know," he said as he tried to get a better look at the damage himself.  "May said for me to make sure that you don't get hurt while you're here.  -and what do you do?  You walk in, first thing, with blood on your fingers.  Did you wash it?" he asked, more as a prompt than an inquiry.  Obviously the kid hadn't washed it.  

"Um..." Peter replied with a glint of a smile crossing his face.  He wasn't really sure what to make of the dramatics.  

Ignoring the mirthful look he was receiving, Tony took the boy by the shoulder and guided him towards the kitchen sink.  "Come on, kid.  Let's go get that cleaned up."

Peter followed along, all the way up until the man started pulling the first aid kit out from under the sink.  Then he just laughed.  "You know, it's probably already healed, right? I just need to wash my hands," he stated but when Tony glared at him, he relented. "Alright, geez.  Whatever," he said, holding his hand out so that his mentor could pour peroxide over the practically non-existent injury.

Once he had been released from the kitchen with a bandaid wrapped around the tip of his finger, Peter carried his backpack into his room.  As he piled what little bit of homework he had onto his desk he involuntarily shook his head.  He wondered what exactly May had said to make Tony react as he had over something so mundane. He was pretty sure that when May had told the man not to let him get hurt, that him picking at his nails had been the least of her concerns.

The work that he'd been assigned took no time at all and Peter was soon wandering back into the living area, already suited up, ready to grab a snack before taking off.  That was the routine that he and May had long since established and he assumed that Tony had been filled in on that.   That is until the man he spotted the man staring at him from across the room with a confused look across his face.  

"Are you going out already?" Tony asked as his eyes flicked between Peter and the large clock on the wall.  The kid had been there for less than an hour and he wasn't one hundred percent convinced that enough time had passed for any kind of homework to have been completed.  Not that he had any idea how long it should take but considering that the boy went to an advanced math and science school, he assumed it would take a while.

"Uh... Yes?" Peter replied, while hurriedly scarfing down a granola bar and a couple of cheese sticks.  He couldn't quite sort out where that question was coming from.  

"You did all of your homework already?" Tony asked dubiously.  

Peter nodded his head, wiped the crumbs off of his hands over the sink, and downed a glass of water before answering.  "All of it except studying for Spanish but I can do that when I get back," he said as he checked his web-fluid cartridges and started towards the door that led to the balcony he often leaped from.  However, before he could cross the room, his mentor stepped between him and the door with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Nuh-uh.  Go back to your room and study," Tony said, gesturing wildly towards the hallway behind the kitchen.  "May said I'm supposed to double-check that all of your homework is done before allowing you to go out and it's not, so, go."

For a second, Peter cocked his head to the side in bemusement.  He'd not meant to imply that he'd skipped out on some kind of big assignment.  He just needed to go over a few things for an upcoming test.  "It's just some flashcards, Mr. Stark," he clarified, "I can look at them before I go to bed."

"Nope," Tony said with full authority before nudging the teenager away from the door.  "In fact, why don't you go get them?  I'll sit down and go over them with you," he added because that seemed like the best way to guarantee that the kid actually got it done.  

With a roll of his eyes, Peter tried to duck out of the hand that was still persistently prodding at his shoulder.  "I don't need you to-" he began before deciding that it would be easier to just give in to the situation.  It wasn't like there was much to study.  Arguing would take up more time than the flashcards would.  "- Alright.  I'll go get them."

The second Peter out of the building he sighed in relief.  Tony had been acting weird since he'd arrived and for the first time ever, he was happy to be outside of his presence for a while.  Though given the way afternoon had gone, he half expected the man to call and check up on him at least once while he was but that never happened.  He was even more surprised when he climbed back into the penthouse that evening, that the man wasn't sitting there waiting for him.

Assuming that FRIDAY had already told Tony that he was home and without injury, Peter went over to the fridge and warmed up some leftovers.  The sandwich he'd bought earlier hadn't stuck with him and he was practically starving.  He took his time finishing his plate, cleaned up after himself, and then went to take a shower and change into his pajamas before flopping onto his bed.  He'd just finished texting Ned and was just getting into the book that MJ had loaned him when Tony came into the room without so much as a knock.

"Why are you up?  It's past eleven and you have school tomorrow," Tony asked from where he'd paused in the doorway.  

"Ten-forty-five is my curfew, not my bedtime, Mr. Stark," Peter gently teased before trying to bring his attention back to his book.  

"I'm pretty sure the whole point of the curfew is to keep you from staying up all night.  May said that you're supposed to get a minimum of eight hours of sleep.  That means you should be asleep by eleven-thirty," Tony said, already crossing the room with the intention of prying reading material out of the kid's hands.  He'd just managed to get his fingers on it when the teenager jerked it out of his reach.

"-Mr. Stark!" Peter squawked, still keeping a tight grip in the book.   "I'm reading.  It's not like I'm playing video games and chugging energy drinks," he complained but his words didn't seem to affect his mentor at all.  The man, while no longer trying to get the book out of his sticky hands, was still looking at him with his brows knit together.

Not looking to start a fight but also not wanting to give in so easily, Peter tossed the book onto the bedside table with more force than necessary.  "Fine.  I'm going to bed," he said and then poignantly rolled over so that his back was to the door.  Yet even with all of his irritation, he couldn't stop himself from tacking on a quiet, "Good-night, Mr. Stark," once the man had turned off his lamp for him.

"Good-night, Buddy," Tony softly returned, patting the disgruntles kid gently on the back as he clicked the door closed

Peter went right to sleep and by morning, the previous day's irritation had already been forgotten.  He rolled out of bed, went to the kitchen to have some juice, and then popped back into his room to get ready for the day.  He realized as he was throwing his clothes on that he still didn't really know what Tony did while he was at school but he assumed that whatever it was didn't require him to be up at seven-thirty in the morning.  As such, when he heard his name being called as he ran towards the elevator, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Hey, Pete!  Where the fire?" Tony chuckled from the kitchen.  When his early alarm had done off, he'd considered not getting up to see the kid off but now he was glad he had.  Apparently the boy was planning on bolting out the door without eating any breakfast and he wasn't about to let that happen.  "Get back over here and eat something"

"I had some juice when I got up, Mr. Stark, and I'm going to buy some doughnuts on the way to school," Peter said with a smile.  He appreciated that his mentor wanted to make sure that he was eating but he already had that covered.  The plan was to grab something from the corner store so there would be time to meet up with Ned before class.  They had a lot to talk about.

"Doughnuts aren't exactly a healthy breakfast, kiddo," Tony said with a smile.  He knew it was a little hypocritical considering he only planned on having a few cups of coffee to start the day but the kid didn't need to know that.  "I bought some yogurt and there's a whole bowl of fruit here on the counter.  How about some of that instead?"

"You made me chocolate chip waffles for breakfast just last Saturday," Peter blandly returned, though he was quick to note that his mentor looked completely unimpressed by his assessment.

"Yeah, but this is a school day and May said that I needed to make sure you were eating things with actual nutritional value while you were here," Tony returned without missing a beat.  

"Well, the good news is that I have an enhanced metabolism.  I make sure to double up on the veggies at lunch," Peter replied before turning his back to leave.  "Bye, Mr.-" he began but was interrupted when banana hit him right smack in the back of his head.  "Hey!  What was that for?" he called out over his shoulder with a glare.

Rather than answering the question, Tony pointed towards the fruit that was still laying on the floor at the kid's feet and gritted his teeth.  "Eat the banana and then you can go," he hissed.  All he wanted the kid to do was to eat something of substance before he left and the boy was being difficult. It was annoying and he suddenly wondered if that was what Rhodey felt like every time he had to drag him away from his books, to the campus cafeteria while they were at MIT.  He made a mental note to, sort of, apologize for that at some point.  Then his thoughts were interrupted by the kid shouting at him.

"You can just throw food at me and think that-" Peter started to growl, still rubbing the back of his head where the fruit had struck him.  It hadn't hurt so much as he was trying to make a point.  Although that point was tossed to the side the moment Tony picked up an apple and it looked like he was about to throw that at him too.  "-Okay, okay.  I get it.  I'll eat the stupid banana. Are you happy now?" he asked, as he aggressively tugged at the peel and took a bite.

"Yes.  Very," Tony said with an approving nod of his head.  Then he smiled sweetly and told the kid to have a good day before disappearing down the hall with a mug of coffee in his hands.  

After that, going to school almost seemed like a blessing.  He still managed to get there early and sat on the steps sharing his hurriedly purchased doughnuts with his best friend while he ranted about the previous twenty-four hours.  "It's crazy!  He's crazy.  I'm telling you, Ned, he worse than May.  It's weird," he grumbled while Ned smiled back at him.  "-and It's not funny."

"It kind of is," Ned replied as he pulled the last sugary pastry out of the bag and broke it in two.  "He's acting like your dad and, I'm sorry, but that's hilarious," he elaborated with a grin, offering his friend, the slightly larger half.  

While Ned was willing to laugh it all off, Peter wasn't.  He'd been expecting to have an easy-going care-free week, out from under May's watchful eye. Tony taking over her role with such vigor had been unexpected but he tried to stay optimistic, hoping that by the time he got back to the tower, the man would be back to his usual laid-back, if not slightly sarcastic self.    

Except it would not work out that way.  He left school in a generally good mood, followed Ned home so that they could exchange some quick notes and then caught the next bus to Manhattan.  Upon his arrival, he took the elevator straight to the penthouse to get started on his homework and was met at the door by his mentor who looked five kinds of frazzled.  "Uh... is everything okay, Mr. Stark?" he asked, wondering what could have possibly happened to make the man appear as though he'd been trying to pull his hair out.  

"Where have you been!  I've been looking all over for you!" Tony barked in return, while simultaneously pulling Peter into a nearly strangling hug.  

"I went to Ned's house after school for a few minutes," Peter replied while rapidly tapping the man's arm in an attempt to get him to let up.  Once he'd been released, he took an overly dramatic breath and shook his backpack and jacket off onto the floor.   "We're doing a history project together and I needed to get his notes so I can start my part of it."

"-And you didn't think to tell me that you were going to be late?" Tony questioned in a tone that was somewhere between relieved and mildly annoyed.  He knew the day hadn't exactly started out on the right foot and had been a little worried that the kid had decided to not come back.  He'd spent the last ten minutes wondering how he was supposed to explain that to May without her climbing through the phone to strangle him.  He was sure if anyone could do that, it would be her.

"Honestly?" Peter replied with a defeated sigh, "No, because it's not that big of a deal, Mr. Stark.  I'm only twenty-five minutes later than I was yesterday," he said because it wasn't.  He could understand the man being upset if he'd walked in an hour later than expected but twenty-five minutes?  That was nothing.  Especially when you thought about how bad New York traffic could get at times.  

"I was worried, Pete!" Tony strained.  "May said for me to make sure that you get to and from school every day and you couldn't be bothered to let me know that you would be late?" he asked, gesturing towards the kid's backpack.  "You have a phone, you know."

That was it.  That was all Peter could take before he finally snapped.  "Would you stop it!  I'm sorry I didn't call you or something but you're acting all crazy over nothing.  Even May wouldn't freak out over less than half an hour and it's not like you called me either!" he shouted, instantly regretting it when his mentor raised an eyebrow at the volume.  

"No," Tony replied with less aggravation than he was feeling.  Some of it towards himself.  He knew Peter was right, he probably should have tried to call before anything else but he'd automatically assumed that the kid had jumped straight into the spider-suit rather than returning home.  When he'd not gotten a location he'd worried that the tracker had been removed again and had been solely focused on that.  "I was too busy checking the suit to make sure you didn't sneak off early,  May said-"

"-Oh my god!  Enough of what May said!  Just stop it.  You're not actually in charge of me and I don't need you micromanaging everything I do!" Peter pressed, turning around the moment he'd said his piece to stomp off towards his room.  

The room quickly grew quiet and Tony was suddenly ambushed by a mixture of hurt and remorse.  It hadn't been his intention to make the kid feel like he was being excessively authoritative.  He'd just been trying to do the right thing.  May had adamantly drilled it into his head that Peter staying for the week was very different than him staying for the weekend and had made him swear to keep tabs on the teenager's safety and well being for the duration of her absence.  She'd said, she trusted him and he'd not wanted to mess that up.  Though it seemed he'd messed up anyway, just not in the way he'd expected.  

With a deep sigh, Tony ran his hands down his face and dropped down onto the couch.  He considered calling May and asking her what he was supposed to do but decided against it.  He figured that since he'd dug himself into the hole, that he could dig himself out.  Starting with an apology.  Though, he opted to give the kid a little while to cool off first.  Just enough time for him to throw some premade cookie dough into the oven, pour a glass of milk and place it all onto a tray.

With everything balanced, on one hand, Tony knocked lightly on the kid's door.  When he was given the okay to enter, he tentatively stepped in.  "A cookie for your thoughts?" he asked as he placed the tray onto the corner of the boy's desk that didn't have homework strew across it.  

Rather than accepting or even declining the way, gooey offering, Peter dropped his pencil and sighed.  "I'm sorry, Mr. Stark.  It's just that, that-" he said, pausing briefly to collect his thoughts,  "-Usually when I come over here it's fun but this time it's been different and I hate it," he finished, chacing only one small glance Tony's direction.  He wasn't trying to sound ungrateful.  He just needed the man to understand why he was so frustrated.  

Tony chuckled a little at the kid's hesitation.  "Yeah, well, If it makes you feel any better, this hasn't exactly been thrilling for me either," he said with a long sigh, "-but this is the first time your aunt has said that she actually trusted me with you and I didn't want to screw it up," he added before allowing his frown to morph back into a mirthful smirk.  "She's scary when she's mad."

Peter laughed because he couldn't disagree with that.  May was a little scary when she was mad.  "Yeah, she is," he agreed with a nod of his head. "It's just that she gave you all of these rules and stuff but she's not even that strict about them. I mean, she is, she just doesn't get all crazy over them.  Like, she lets me stay up and read in my bed and she doesn't freak out if I don't come straight home from school," he said.

"I guess I can understand that, Kiddo," Tony said, grabbing Peter's shoulder so that he could spin him around in the swivel chair that he was seated in.  Once he had the boy's attention on him he smiled.  "I didn't mean to stress you out  I was just wanted to prove to your aunt that I could do this and I don't even know why," he continued with a roll of his eyes. At that point, he really wasn't sure what he'd been thinking.  "You're right.  I was being over the top."

"Maybe just a little," Peter replied with a small half-smile.

Tony chuckled, Patted, the teenager on the knee, and handed him a cookie.  "I think we should probably talk about all of this.  You can tell me where I went all crazy so that the rest of the week can go by a bit more smoothly.  What do you say?" he asked with a gentle smile.  He wasn't sure why he'd not done that in the first place.  Peter was a good kid.  He should have known that the boy didn't need anyone breathing down his neck for him to do the right things.  He wondered if May's insistence had been about ensuring that he would behave, more so than Peter.  Now that he thought about it, everything she'd said could probably be translated to, 'Don't hide in your lab, have something besides pizza in your freezer, don't keep him up at all hours and don't you dare encourage him to skip school,' he thought to himself with a roll of his eyes.

"Sure," Peter replied. He was more than willing to have that discussion.  Especially if it meant things could go back to something a bit more 'normal.'

"Great." Tony said with a clap of his hands.  "Why don't you go ahead and finish up your homework and maybe hang out here for the afternoon.  I can order some Thai food for an early dinner if you'd like, and then you can go swing around the city for a little while after."

Peter grinned and squinted his eyes into a playful glare.  "That depends.  Are you going to throw a banana at my head if I eat around some of the vegetables?" he asked, working hard to hold back the laugh that was threatening to escape him.

"Nah,  I'll throw a carrot at your head instead," Tony instantly replied.  "The bananas are for breakfast."

"Mr. Stark!" Peter dramatically whined, breaking into a laugh at the end.  Things already seemed better.  Tony had admitted that he'd been being a little overbearing and that was enough to allow himself to relax again.    

With a smile, Tony sighed in relief.  He'd not realized how much he loved and had been missing the sound of Peter's laugh until that very minute.  "Oh, stop with the whining and finish your homework," he teased as he gently swatted at the boy's thigh.  Then just before he got up from where he'd settled himself on the edge of the bed, he glanced towards the work piled up on the desk.  "Do you need any help with anything before I go?"

Peter opened his mouth to say that he had it under control but he stopped himself before he could get the words out. Ned's comment about the man acting like his dad was suddenly hitting him pretty hard.  He could see that now and it made him smile a little.  "I guess you could help me study for my Spanish test if you want to, Mr. Stark," he said, as he casually took another cookie off of the tray.

"I'd love to, Pete," Tony replied and accepted the stack of cards being handed to him. "Eres mi pequeño araña," he said with a soft smile.

Peter offered his mentor one of the many cookies that were still sitting between them and smiled back.  "I'm pretty sure that's not going to be on the test but, sure.  Soy tu pequeño araña," he said and from there, the remainder of his time there went without incident.  As long as you didn't count the mild argument that took place the following evening when Peter called Raiders of the Lost Arc 'a really old movie.'

" Peter Benjamin Parker, I swear to god, that's it.  Go to your room and don't come out.  I'm watching this by myself."

[thirsty4theextraordinary]

Everything Burns - Chapter 15

Pairing: Ledger Joker X OC

Warnings: Fire, violence, implied violence. 

Word count: 2081

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 l Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14

Chapter 15: Better Class of Criminal

By the time midday came around The Joker and Jester were ready and waiting. He had briefed her on his plan or rather as he called it, 'idea' of going to pay Harvey Dent a visit in hospital.

He had asked Scarlett to get him a nurses outfit so early that morning she had gone home to raid her closet finding one that was given to her by mistake and was far too large.

It was an odd turn her life had taken but she was rather enjoying it and she could no longer see her life any other way, the thoughts of going back to work filled her with dread, but the thought of a life without Jack was even worse.

She had agreed to go with him and a few of the 'boys' to the meeting with the mob that afternoon, to pick up the Joker's payment.

Jester prepared herself to leave as she pulled on her boots, the boys switched on the TV and something caught her ear. With one boot on and the other off she hurried over in an odd limp-y fashion and snatched the remote out of the goon's hand before turning the channel back to what it was just on.

On the TV was the usual news anchor for GCN and below him was the caption.

Later on GCN

REVEALED: BATMAN'S TRUE IDENTITY

In the upper left corner of the screen was a video link to another man.

"He's a credible source, an M&A lawyer from a leading consultancy. He says he's waited as long as he can for Batman to do the right thing. Now he's taking matters into his own hands. We'll be live, at 5, with the true identity of the Batman. Call in at 5 to have your say." Said the News anchor and Jester quickly pulled on her other boot before running to tell Joker.

"So he knows who the Bat really is and he's going to broadcast it on TV," clarified Joker, looking up at her from behind his desk, she simply nodded. He burst out into hysterical laughter and she was a little taken aback. She had expected him to be pleased but not this happy, but then this was Jack and he didn't do things by half measures.

"Well you said there was a number do you remember it?" he asked and she nodded he held out a pen and scrap of paper and she wrote down the number that had come up on screen.

"Well done Jester!" he said laughing again before he pocketed the number and stood pulling on his coat.

At 3 thanks to the Joker's police 'connections,' they were told about Maroni going to see Gordon. They knew he had ratted them out, having told Gordon where The Joker was going to be. The 'boys' were sent on a small errand after that to fill the basement of Gotham General with a large amount of ammonium nitrate. They had it rigged up within the hour but were not back in time for the meeting so The Joker and Jester were left with just four goons. The hospital explosion would be the distraction they needed to get the cops off their backs while they paid Harvey a visit.

She was surprised how quickly the Joker could get things done, and it was somewhat of an honour to witness him at work.

He caught her staring at him when he got off the phone with one of the goons and shot her a quizzical look.

"What?" he asked, his eyebrows knitting together.

"Nothing. It's just awe inspiring to watch your brain work. I mean less than an hour ago you were told about a police ambush and already you have a way out and a pretty spectacular one at that. I just forget sometimes that you are an absolute genius" she said and he chuckled.

"Come on, let's go check on our guest," he said, as he walked past her his hand ran along her side, it was some kind of a habit now.

After a night in the boot of a stolen cop car, Lau was surprisingly well, and Jester squeezed his cheek playfully when they opened the boot to make sure he wasn't dead, yet.

The meeting with the mob was on a container ship, the money was already there and waiting. At 4 they left for the meeting, knowing full well the police were planning their ambush.

They arrived at the docks just past 4 and The Joker jumped out the van before offering a hand to Jester which she gladly took. The goons followed behind with a bound and gagged Lau. The docks were empty apart from the enormous red coloured container ship. It was enormous and Jester looked around the ship curiously. There must have been thousands of shipping containers all stacked at least ten high. As a door to one creaked slightly, something snapped inside of Jester and she stopped in her tracks. She couldn't tell if she wanted to laugh or cry. Joker turned back to look at her, watching the turmoil going on inside her head. The sound of a chainsaw motor rumbled in her ears. 

"Come on Jester," he said and she seemed to come back to herself, a twisted grin spreading across her face. She skipped over to him laughing slightly to herself.

He led them down into a large room within the container ship, in the middle of the room was a huge pile of money. It must have been at least half a storey high and spread out across much of the room.

"Put him on the top" the Joker said to the goons motioning to Lau, and they dragged him up quickly. Either Lau was stupid or very clever as he did not struggle as the Joker climbed up the pile behind the goons with a chair. He placed it on the top and the goons pulled Lau into it before the Joker dismissed them and left them to go look out for the Chechen.

He began to tie Lau, who was now dressed in a straight jacket to the seat.

"He's here" shouted the voice of the goon no less than a few minutes later and the Joker looked up from his place, before ducking back down to continue tying Lau to the chair securely.

Jester stood back to lean on the wall as she heard footsteps approaching. The Chechen was a skinny man with a shallow face and sharp features and he smiled disgustingly at Jester as he entered the room.

"Not so crazy as you look." said the Chechen loudly to the Joker who began to stand up on top of the pile.

"I told you, I'm a man of my word," said Joker standing up fully, on top of the pile of money before he patted Lau on the head sarcastically and jumped down the pile, sliding down most of it to come to a standing stop in front of one of the goons. He looked back at the money as piles of it slid down in his wake.

"Where's the Italian?" the Joker asked though he knew full well that Maroni would not be coming.

"I don't know, but he's not here so he doesn't get a share. We go 50/50" said Chechen in his broken English. The Joker shrugged at this before picking up wads of money and beginning to launch them up at the Lau hitting him in that face a few times.

"Please" Lau begged and Jester laughed loudly as yet another wad of money hit him.

"Joker-man, what you do with all your money?" asked the Chechen pointing to the pile with his lit cigar.

"You see, I'm a guy of simple taste," said the Joker turning to the Chechen.

"I enjoy... dynamite … and gunpowder... and gasoline," he said the last one much louder than the rest. The Joker took a step back, as a goon with a gas can came in and began to soak the bottom layer of cash in petrol.

"What the...?" exclaimed the Chechen rushing towards the goon angrily.

"Ah, dah, dah. dah." sung the Joker pointing his gun at the Chechen who stopped dead in his tracks.

"And you know the thing that they all have in common?" the Joker asked the Chechen approaching him again.

"They're cheap," he said with a slight growl in his voice. Jester glanced down at her phone, checking the time, it was just past 5, and she shot the Joker a meaningful look.

"You said you were a man of your word," said the Chechen , the cigar in his mouth causing him to slur.

"Oh, I am." said the Joker before he pulled the cigar from the Chechen's mouth. He held the cigar up blowing on the end a few times.

"I'm only burning my half," he said before he turned and threw the cigar at the petrol-soaked pile of money. It was engulfed in flames in seconds and Lau began to wiggle in his restraints. The Chechen face went grey and he looked at the burning cash in horror.

"All you care about is money." spat the Joker to him.

"This town deserves a better class of criminal... and I'm gonna give it to them." said the Joker, his face close to the Chechen's.

"Tell your men they work for me now." said the Joker poking the Chechen hard in the chest with his gun.

"This is my city," he said and the Chechen moved his face away.

"They won't work for a freak," the Chechen said.

"Freak." mimicked the Joker making fun of the Russian's accent.

"Why don't we cut you up into little pieces and feed you to your pooches? Hm?" the Joker said as he brought his knife out and waved it in front of the Chechen's face.

"And then we'll see how loyal a hungry dog really is." shouted the Joker, as a tow of the Chechen men came up behind the Chechen and held a blade to the Russians throat, before pulling him away.

"It's not about money, it's about sending a message." muttered the Joker to himself, before he pulled his phone out his pocket and began to dial.

"Everything burns" he cried loudly as Jester began to laugh.

"I had a vision" began the Joker into the phone, after a few moments Jester moved over to him and began to play with the buttons of his waistcoat.

"Of a world without Batman. The mob ground out a little profit and the police tried to shut them down one block at a time. And it was so boring! I've had a change of heart. I don't want Mr Reese spoiling everything but why should I have all the fun? Let's give someone else a chance. If Coleman Reese isn't dead in 60 minutes then I’ll blow up a hospital" said the Joker before he hung up and pushed his phone back into his pocket. He looked down at the raven haired clown still playing with the buttons of his waistcoat.

He reached out and pulled her chin up so she was looking at him before his arms moved to encircle her waist, he leant in and kissed her hard and she let out a squeal of delight. He bit hard on her bottom lip, drawing blood and she grinned at him.

"Come on gorgeous," he said, taking her hand in his and leading her away from the flaming pile of cash.

The Joker really was a man of his word as before they left the ship, he did indeed chop the Chechen up into little pieces and feed him to his beloved Rottweilers.

"Can we keep them?" Jester cooed as she knelt down and stroked one's head as it ate lumps of its old master.

"You want to?" The Joker asked as she began to scratch the dog behind the ear, causing its back leg to kick strangely.

"Yes, please, they're so cute and they are trained as attack dogs, they could be useful," she whined looking up at him with big eyes.

"Sure, put the dogs in the van," the Joker said, turning to his new men, who without question led the three enormous dogs away.

"Thank you," she said getting up and moving closer to him.

"Anything for you" he purred against her ear as he brought her close to him again.

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

Thank you so much for reading, sorry it took me longer to post this chapter but things have been a bit mad at home recently. Hope you enjoying please, please like and reblog. 

[onthevirgeofdestruction]

Dreaming While I Wake

Sanders Sides Foster Care AU - Roman-centric Angst & Hurt/Comfort & Abuse Recovery

Roman tries to be upbeat and hopeful despite all the shit that’s happened to him. And a lot of shit has. Luckily, his new foster home is with two literal rays of sunshine (and a sarcastic asshole).

Words: 4,059 Warnings: Death Mention, Doctor Mention, Suicidal Ideation, Foster Care Issues, Anxiety Attack, Bad Self-Image, Bad Self-Talk, Self-Hatred, Stealing/Theft, Desire to be Punished, Food Issues Characters: Roman, Patton, Thomas, Virgil Universe: Dreaming While I Wake Genre: Angst/Family

Chapter 16 

chapter 1 for new readers - ffn mirror

   “Are you doing okay, kiddo?” Patton asked, sitting across the couch and looking at him with those damned kind eyes. Roman didn’t respond. He didn’t feel like he could even form the words without breaking apart. He didn’t even want to think about how not all right he was at the moment, much less articulate it. Patton seemed to get the picture after a lengthy pause, because he changed the subject. “So what were you looking to buy that you wanted a job for?” Patton asked politely. “If you need to sign it, just hold up the letters long enough that I can read it,” Patton added after a prolonged moment of silence. Roman held up his hand to sign the letters, but kept a hold of the glass of water between his legs with the other hand and didn’t look away from focusing on the melting ice cubes in the water.

   “D…S…? Is that right?” Patton said, sounding very confused. After a moment it seemed to click with him. “Like the Nintendo? Kiddo, I think Tomathy had one in his office he doesn’t use,” Patton said plainly, sounding like he shifted on the couch. “I don’t think he’d care if you wanted to borrow it. What game did you want to play on it?” Roman looked up and scrunched up his face, trying to remember that one what had dragons and farming one of his old friends really liked. It took a minute, but he eventually raised his hand to sign the letters. “R-u-n-e-f-a-c-t-o-r-y? What’s that? F-a-r-m? Oh, one of those farming games? Did you want to play something relaxing?” Roman nodded and signed yes. Patton smiled lightly, but his eyes were still laced with concern. As long as he didn’t vocally acknowledge it right now. Roman signed why he wanted to play it. “B-e-d? Not in bed, I hope. B-4? Oh, before. I don’t think Thomas has that one,” Roman shrugged. He was intending to save up for a DS in the first place, buying the game was assumed.

   “Thomas doesn’t have what?” Thomas asked, coming back down the stairs. He didn’t look too distressed, so hopefully that meant Virgil was okay. Part of him wanted to ask, but that meant that meant he had to acknowledge it as his fault and that he also wasn’t okay and Roman wasn’t capable of doing that at the moment.

   “Run-e… factory, I think? Roman wanted to play it to calm down before bed,” Patton explained and nodded to Roman.

   “Runny Factory?” Thomas asked, making a baffled expression and looked to Roman. Roman spelled rune again for him. “Oh! Rune Factory! No, I don’t have that. That’s a fantasy game, right? I’ve heard good things about it, the storyline and music are supposed to be superb,” Thomas said and Roman nodded silently. He just liked the fantasy element and thought breaking up the farming with monster murder would be more interesting than just farming. Breaking up the monster murder with something laid back also seemed cool. He took a deep breath and sipped his water again. His throat was still so tight it hurt a little going down, but he was feeling like maybe he could continue to be okay as long as nobody made him think about himself. “Hey, uh, Roman, did you know?” Thomas asked a little awkwardly and Roman looked up at him in confusion. “About… Virgil?” Thomas finished. Roman put the glass of water between his legs to free up his hand.

   ‘What about him?’ Roman signed.

   “Are you having trouble talking? I’m not any further than learning the alphabet yet, I’m sorry,” Thomas said, sitting next to Thomas. Roman motioned for him to come closer and Thomas complied and leaned in.

   “Know what?” Roman whispered. He could mange whispering right now. He was just trying his damnedest not to break down again. He was not stuck in the shitty boat Virgil was. He picked back up his water cup and held it with both hands.

   “That maybe he also has PTSD from… other homes?” Thomas asked softly, looking disconcerted.

   “What do you mean also?” Roman whispered.

   “The ER doctor thinks you have it. Do you remember being in the ER?” Thomas asked, sounding concerned.

   “Not much,” Roman said under his breath. This was going into territory Roman wasn’t so comfortable in.

   “There’s stuff about PTSD I guess we didn’t realize until now, I guess. Like that it wasn’t just about certain triggers,” Thomas clarified. “Did he say anything to you?” Thomas asked with concern.

   “He might have mentioned it,” Roman whispered. “He noticed I was… worried about you guys hitting me and he told me I was safe. Then explained that it’s why he noticed. He implied he didn’t like talking about it. I kind of agree with him,” He admitted. He didn’t want to talk about it right now, for sure, but talking about it any time wasn’t ideal.

   “I wish one of you would have told us, but I can’t fault you for not wanting to think about it,” Thomas looked frustrated for a moment, but his face softened again when he saw Roman back up slightly. “Have you heard of age regression?” Thomas asked. That seemed out of the blue. It baffled Roman enough that he no longer was shying away from Thomas.

   “That’s that thing perverts do, isn’t it?” Roman asked quietly and raised an eyebrow at Thomas, a little confused on why he would bring it up.

   “What?” Thomas looked just as bewildered as Roman felt. “Oh, I hate having to google these things,” He muttered. “Not that. This is medical,” Thomas said more clearly and sighed, shaking his head. Oh, well, that’s good, maybe? “Sometimes certain triggers can cause age regression in PTSD patients. Do you know how I know how I know you had a gun pulled on you?” Thomas asked, looking like he was examining Roman now. It unnerved him a bit.

   “No,” Roman muttered, watching Thomas nervously in return and gripping the cold glass firmly.

   “Because you told me. You were a very mouthy 13-year-old. You also thought I was Satan for a bit,” Thomas said, sounding kind of amused. Roman stared at him for a moment while he processed what Thomas said. When he realized he that he might have cussed out Thomas, his eyes widened and he shut them tight, trying to to freak out. Thomas didn’t deserve his defensive bullshit. He had to put up an aggressive front or people wouldn’t take him seriously. It didn’t pay off for him in the end, though, and he regretted ever doing it.

   “Sorry,” Roman choked out and tensed up.

   “No, no, it was kind of cute,” Thomas chuckled weakly and looked to Roman reassuringly. Roman took a deep breath and tried to settle down. Cute wasn’t exactly what Roman was going for, but at least he didn’t hurt Thomas’s feelings or anything. “Well, Other than the fact that you were disappointed you didn’t die. You don’t still feel like that, do you?” Thomas asked softly, sounding sad. Roman’s shoulders flinched, and he swallowed hard.

   “Doesn’t everybody?” Roman whispered, joking weakly. The small broken laugh that accompanied it wasn’t the most convincing thing he’d ever done.

   “No, Roman, that’s not normal,” Thomas said, putting his arm on the couch over Roman’s shoulder’s without touching him. Roman could feel the heat from his arm but appreciated not being touched. He was even closer to breaking down now, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold out. “You got a referral for a psychiatrist at the ER and I’ll be making you an appointment, okay?”

   “No, Thomas, please! I’ll be good, I’ll try not to-” Roman started babbling loudly, shooting a desperate look up to him.

   “Hey, kiddo, it’s okay!” Patton held his hands up and cut Roman off. Roman held his lips closed tight in a thin line.

   “Why are you scared of the psychiatrist?” Thomas looked pointedly at Roman.

   “My… They’ll know- The foster people. That I’m a bad kid. And then they won’t be able to place me, and then I’ll be stuck in one of those holding centers, they’re worse than the group homes, they’re really awful and that’s… I just can’t,” Roman rambled choked on a sob. He sniffled and dropped back against his cup, a tear breaking loose despite how hard he fought against it.

   “Why are you worried about going to a holding center?” Patton asked, sounding concerned.

   “’Cuz having mental health record is bad and harder to place since I’d be special needs,” Roman mumbled between his legs, starting to cry.

   “Do you still think we’re sending you back on Friday, Roman?” Thomas sounded sad.

   “Maybe,” Roman breathed.

   “I missed that,” Thomas said. Roman looked up and glanced at Thomas.

   “You should! I don’t belong here! I belong somewhere crappy where I’m too busy trying to survive to have to think about things. I never… I never struggled like this. At least not until I got used to not having Remus around,” Roman sighed, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. He and Remus had a shitty time when the memories were fresh, but losing Remus was worse.

   “Actually, sometimes people who have been in a hard situation for a long time usually struggle in more positive environments because they’re not sure how to process love and support. Did getting separated from your brother really hurt?” Patton piped up, sounding very compassionate when he suggested an explanation. Roman barely understood what he meant, but he could follow the question easily.

   “It was like they took half of me away when they tore us apart,” Roman grumbled.

   “Maybe because it was the last bit of stability and support you had, you closed off and just tried to deal with the situation, and you’ve been doing that ever since,” Patton offered, continuing his explanation. Roman couldn’t completely follow, though.

   “What?” Roman asked. His head hurt and he didn’t comprehend a lick of that. Some more tears broke free, and he sniffled again.

   “I think you belong here,” Patton said resolutely. Roman could follow that much easier. Wait, what the fuck? No, he couldn’t!

   “What?” Roman asked more incredulously, wiping his eyes.

   “You love Disney and The Princess Bride and books and you’re kind and considerate and quick and Lita loves you. And Virgil’s opened up more since you got here, so I think he likes you, too,” Patton said, holding up a finger. “You fit in just fine! All the other stuff isn’t you. It’s what you’ve been through,” He smiled brightly, looking confident. That didn’t make sense, though. He was a fuck up for a castle keep full of reasons.

   “I wasn’t able to sleep or keep track of time or sit still or do well in school before everything else. There’s plenty of stuff that I’m bad at, that’s all me,” Roman grumbled in objection.

   “And there're ways you can learn to cope with all of that when you’re somewhere safe,” Patton provided.

   “I can’t stay here,” Roman rested his chin on his legs and stared forward, feeling despondent. He couldn’t stop the stray tears, but he was too empty to freak out anymore. Thomas looked bewildered and sad out of the corner of his eyes, but he said nothing.

   “And why is that?” Patton asked evenly, though his eyes looked sad.

   “I’ll…” Roman dropped his head into his legs again. He couldn’t bring himself to say it.

   “You’ll what?” Patton urged him to continue.

   “It’s selfish, and it’s unrealistic,” Roman grumbled, shifting to sip his water. A timer in the kitchen dinged and Thomas got up. Roman flinched from the motion and sighed. He was so on edge it physically hurt. He was buzzing with restlessness but too tired and sad to even start figuring out how he could fix it.

   “How about I decide that?” Patton asked softly.

   “I have to get to go to a home that’s willing to take two kids when Remus also needs placement. I’ll never see him again until we turn 18 if I don’t. If he doesn’t hate me by then, anyway,” Roman sighed again and looked up to the ceiling.

   “I promise we’ll take you to see him when we can, Roman,” Patton said, and he sounded like he meant it, unlike most other times he’s heard it. Though he could never really trust adults meant it when they offered, though. He’d been burned too many times before. Patton probably only meant it at the moment, but it would be too much when the time came, just like always.

   “But I won’t get to be his brother again,” Roman said despondently. “Whisper nonsense words and have him completely understand me. Play fight like the fate of the world depends on the outcome. Write stories with him that turn into whole universes. All the stuff we used to have. The brother stuff you can only have when you’re a kid and you live together,” Patton looked somber but didn’t say anything. There really wasn’t anything to say.

   “I hope you’re hungry, Roman,” Thomas called from the kitchen.

   “You know I’m not,” Roman groaned loudly.

   “Too bad!” Thomas called back. Roman sighed and sipped his water again.

   “I would miss you guys… I’m not trying to say I don’t… appreciate you being nice and stuff. As much as it drives me up the wall,” Roman chuckled weakly and Patton pouted at that. “I just… I’ve been going this long on the hope I’d get him back. I got through everything I did because I never let go of the hope of being reunited, you know? I just can’t let go of that. And I don’t want to make it harder to be placed and then lessen my chances even further of getting to be with him again. I’ll be good, I promise, okay? I just can’t have that go on my records,” Roman begged him.

   “How about I talk to your caseworker about it when we see him Friday? See what we can do without it going on your state records?” Patton offered gently, looking strangely conciliatory for someone who did nothing wrong.

   “I’m a ward of the state who is just staying at your house. They own my ass,” Roman bit, though there was very little energy or aggression behind it, mostly just tired frustration with his situation.

   “Roman, I know you’re upset, but you don’t have to be mean,” Patton chided, frowning slightly.

   “Sorry,” Roman sighed heavily. “Right after I said I’d be good and everything,” Roman muttered to himself sourly. Roman wished he knew how to stop being a bastard already.

   “It doesn’t hurt to ask,” Patton said. “And I’m going to either way as your guardian, but I’d much rather you be on board with it,” Patton said gesturing with his hand.

   “Thanks for your honesty, I guess,” Roman rolled his eyes. “I’m on board as long as it doesn’t hurt my chances,” It was just asking, not acting in it. Roman leaned back again and put his cup down on the side table. He was so fucking itchy still. Thomas couldn’t see him, though, it was just Patton in the room. He probably wouldn’t freak out at a little itch. Roman scratched at the edges of the bandages and exhaled in relief as he itched at the adhesive, which stung slightly.

   “No scratching!” Thomas called from the kitchen and Roman froze in complete and utter bafflement.

   “What the actual fuck, Thomas?” Roman groaned loudly enough to project into the kitchen.

   “Dad powers,” Thomas said seriously. “Apologize for cursing,”

   “Sorry for saying fuck,” Roman huffed and dropped his arms in defeat to the couch with a light thud.

   “Roman,” Patton said firmly, furrowing his eyebrows at him.

   “Sorry for saying it again,” Roman rolled his eyes and saw Virgil come back down the stairs. He looked pretty okay other than kind of tired, which was relieving.

   ‘Saying fuck in front of Pat twice?’ Virgil signed. ‘Props,’ He fingerspelled.

   ‘Nice to see your dumb face again,’ Roman signed back.

   ‘Can’t say the same to you,’ Virgil signed and smirked at him before sitting back down at his controller and starting to play again. He glanced over to Patton, who mostly just seemed to be considering something. Roman was just glad the conversation was over. He turned his eyes back to the TV screen to watch the game again. He slowly loosened back up as he watched Virgil play. The long scarf physics were really eye-catching, and he just let himself drift to that.

   “Dinner’s ready!” Thomas called after an interminable period of silently watching the cloaked guy running through the level. Patton smiled at them and got up and headed to the kitchen. Virgil looked Roman up and down after he paused the game.

   ‘You don’t look capable of crime,’ Virgil signed and looked at him disbelievingly. Wow, Virgil didn’t beat around the bush.

   ‘Thanks?’ Roman signed, raising an eyebrow. Maybe that was a good thing?

   ‘Can you do anything other than sell drugs?’ Virgil signed.

   ‘You cut right to the point,’ Roman made a face at him. He wasn’t sure what Virgil was getting at, but it was weird to straight-up ask.

   ‘Can you?’ Virgil signed again.

   ‘I can pick pockets and pick locks,’ Roman fingerspelled. He could do other things, too, but he wasn’t as ashamed of those things as the others.

   ‘No shit?’ Virgil signed and some excitement in his eyes leaked into the disbelieving expression.

   ‘Seriously,’ Roman signed back and nodded.

   ‘You’re lying,’ Virgil frowned. Fucker. Roman wasn’t lying.

   ‘I’ll prove it,’ Roman signed, getting up from the couch. He had to talk carefully and tenderly to the kitchen on his fucked up feet, but found a stride.

   Thomas was still at the stove getting things on to serving dishes and Patton was putting water cups at the table. This was too freaking easy. Roman picked Thomas’s wallet as he passed and nonchalantly slid it in his pocket. He sat down and smiled at Patton, who smiled back and sat down. Virgil joined them at the table and stared at Roman, clearly waiting for him to do something. Roman smirked and pulled Thomas’s wallet out, throwing it at Virgil. He caught it and looked between the wallet and Roman. Patton looked up from serving himself food and saw them.

   “Virgil, why do you have your wallet at the table?” Patton asked, peering closer. “Actually, isn’t that Thomas’s? Did you find it somewhere?” Patton asked, taking it from Virgil’s hands. “Virgil found your wallet, Thomas,” Patton said as Thomas walked over with the last of the food and placed it down on the table, looking confused.

   “What? I don��t remember taking it out. Thank you, Virgil,” Thomas said, taking the wallet back from Patton and sliding it back in his back pocket before sitting down. Roman leaned on the table and smirked, raising his eyebrow at Virgil in anticipation.

   ‘You absolute bastard,’ Virgil signed, looking extremely impressed. Roman took a bow.

   ‘Careful, it’s not all I can do,’ Roman sat back in his chair, looking concernedly at all the food now.

   ‘Don’t threaten me with a good time,’ Virgil signed back before reaching over to serve himself a giant pile of tater tots. He served a single tater tot to Roman with a smirk before reaching out to grab a piece of chicken.

   “I’m not beyond serving you food and sitting here until you eat it,” Thomas eyed Roman. Roman sighed and grabbed a small piece of chicken and a single scoop of vegetables. “That’s half as much as Virgil is eating, Roman,” Thomas said critically.

   “I’m 100% positive he’s powered by a black hole,” Roman objected sourly, motioning to Virgil.

   ‘Thanks,’ Virgil smirked and started eating.

   “Teenagers are biologically hungry, and you are not exempt,” Thomas corrected him.

   “It’s fine,” Roman huffed.

   “I think we’ve successfully established you don’t have the best impression of what fine is, Roman,” Thomas said critically and leaned back in his chair.

   “Thomas, sassing Roman isn’t nice,” Patton chided him. “Just take a tiny bit more, okay, kiddo?” Patton looked at him pleadingly. Virgil served Roman another single tater tot.

   ‘There. More,’ Virgil signed and Roman laughed. This fucking guy.

   “Thank you,” Roman smiled and signed as he spoke.

   “Virgil, don’t encourage him,” Thomas frowned and chided Virgil.

   ‘Sure. You suck, Roman,’ Virgil signed with a lopsided grin.

   “Oh, I’m wounded,” Roman put his palm to his forehead and leaned back dramatically. It did actually start to smell good, at least. Roman began eating slowly, trying to get it over with, but the more he ate the easier it finally felt and the more his stomach woke up. It stopped hurting when he ate, and he ate more comfortably. “Thanks for dinner, Mr. Sanders,” He said absentmindedly as he reached out for another serving of vegetables.

   “Um, you’re welcome, Roman,” Thomas sounded a little confused, but the food was good and Roman didn’t bother looking up from eating. He grabbed a second piece of chicken, as well, after finishing the first one. Virgil knocked on the table and Roman looked up at him.

   ‘Are you going to tell them you stole his wallet?’ Virgil asked. Roman put down his fork and swallowed.

   ‘Why?’ Roman signed back, confused. Tell them he stole from Thomas? That was dumb.

   ‘Because they won’t be mad and I want to see their faces,’ Virgil signed. Maybe they wouldn’t and everything would be chill. But if they did get mad, maybe he’d finally get punished and fell right in the freaking world again. It seemed like a win-win scenario with a bonus of amusing Virgil.

   ‘Fair,’ Roman shrugged. He finally felt awake and feeling impulsive. Virgil laughs, well, as much as he does, and Roman gets sent to his room without dessert or something assuredly way too tame for what he did.

   “You didn’t lose your wallet, Thomas. I picked your pocket,” Roman said flippantly, eating one of his two tater tots. They both stared at him dubiously and exchanged a look before looking back at Roman. Virgil leaned forward to watch, looking amused already.

   “…Why?” Patton asked after a quiet moment of confusion. Virgil did that silent laughing thing behind his hand.

   “He didn’t believe me,” Roman pointed to Virgil. “I didn’t take anything. I don’t think it’s right to steal money. I just wanted to prove I could,” Roman explained with a smug smile and a little shrug. Roman had enough money stolen from him that he genuinely couldn’t bear to do it to anyone else anymore.

   “Why can you…” Patton started to ask but trailed off. He probably answered his own question as Roman raised his eyebrow and leaned on his arm.

   “I learned how to do lots of things,” Roman passed his hand over the tater tot on his plate and it disappeared. Roman passed it quickly behind his back and popped it in his mouth while they were all looking at the plate. “Magic!” He announced. Stoners fucking loved sleight of hand. He once got a fifty dollar tip from a guy who was completely blasted.

   Lita weaved under his feet and he shivered from the dog fur through his sock. His feet were still feeling raw from his run this morning. Roman pulled them up and went back to eating his vegetables. Thomas looked shocked and Patton beamed in delight. Virgil looked unimpressed as usual and returned to going to town on the pile of tater tots.

   “Do you know any other magic tricks, Roman?” Patton asked with a sparkle in his eye.

   “I know sleight of hand and card tricks, not any magic-magic tricks,” Roman shrugged. “Nothing fancy,”

   “Well, will you show me one after dinner?” Patton smiled, returning to cutting up his chicken.

   “Do you know the four kings in the tower?” Roman asked, interested in getting to show off.

   “No,” Patton shook his head, looking invested already.

   “Then that it shall be,” Roman declared regally, twisting his fork in the air. He rolled his eyes at his own idiocy and returned to eating.

Personal Taglist: @bunny222 @elizabutgayer @prinxietyforever @kanene-yaaay-o-retorno @the-sympathetic-villain @croftersjam15

the taglist repository:

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Roman Angst:  @k1ngtok1 

Hurt Comfort:  @callboxkat @nonasficcollection @supernovainthenightsky @evoodo123

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[richieisabastardman]

Hold me now - Part 7 (Richie Tozier x Reader)

Summary: You had forgotten about everything that happened in Derry until Mike called you up. Now, sitting in the restaurant surrounded by your friends, you remembered everything. More importantly, you remember Richie. (Fluff/Angst)

Word count: 1413

Warnings: Swearing, Implied sexual stuff 

Note: The next part will be the last part (though I will probably do drabbles every now and again related to this story cause I’ve enjoyed writing it so much).

Link to first part (which will lead you to the other parts)

Soft fingers trace lightly upon your naked back. Your head, which was resting lightly upon Richie’s bare chest, moved gently with his breath. He was singing along quietly to the song playing from his phone (Def Leppard’s “Hysteria”) which sat on your bedside table. Both of your eyes shut, the two of you were taking in the bliss of being able to hold each other in your arms.

“I can’t believe you give me shit for my taste in music when your post-coital choice of music is Def Leppard” you mumble into his chest, smiling at the face you imagine he is making at your comment.

“Okay first of all, don’t ever use the word coitus again” he piped up and you laughed. “Secondly, you love it. Don’t lie”.

After having your lunch and conversation at the diner you had decided to come back to the motel and look for the others. When you arrived, the motel was empty. After a few anxious calls, you found out they were okay, but dealing with their own totems still. Naturally, a few moments after this and the relief that came with it, you and Richie had ended up in bed together. Again. ‘Making up for lost time’ Richie had said, and you agreed.

You were now laying across his naked chest, feeling the heat of his body against your cheek and relishing in his touch. You tried not to think about how you may never get to do this again if things go badly in the next few days. The thoughts still lingered despite your efforts. Their volume within your mind got a little bit quieter however whenever you felt Richie’s feather light touch upon your back, writing letters and words you couldn’t quite make out.

Richie took your hand that was resting upon his chest into his own and kissed your palm softly. You hummed happily at the feeling and you felt him smile against your hand.

“Did you ever want to pursue anything with Eddie” you asked suddenly but cautiously, and you felt Richie shift to lift his head to look at you curiously.

“What?” he asked.

“Like… did you want to… be with him?” you clarified.

“You mean, instead of being with you?” he said, and you could see that the suggestion of such a thing insulted him slightly. He wasn’t sure how much more he could do to prove his feelings towards you.

“I just mean… if you could be with him, would you?”

“Eddie’s always going to be the first guy I ever felt something… strong towards. And I’m not going to lie and say that coming back here didn’t bring those feelings back up. But you asking me if I’d rather be here with him right now instead you… well it would be like me asking you if you’d rather be laying in here with Bev” he laughed.

“and how do you know I don’t want to be in bed with Bev right now?” you joked.

He laughed again. “I mean I wouldn’t blame you… she looks great” he replied, and you lifted your head to look at him, mouth agape and slapped him lightly on the chest. He feigned injury, but quickly smiled at you again, saying “not as good as you look though”.

You rolled your eyes but reached up to kiss his lips anyway. He kissed you back softly and slowly, his lips soft and light against your own. He let out a soft sigh and you grinned against his lips, causing him to move in for another kiss.

“Have you ever dated a woman?” he asked against your lips, your eyes still shut from the kiss.

“Is that what you were thinking about just now… as we’re making out?” you asked.

“We were kissing, not making out” he said seriously, and you rolled your eyes.

“Richie.”

“Fine. Yes.” He confessed.

You sighed and moved to lay back on your pillow, facing the ceiling. Richie moved to his side to stare at you, tucking some of your behind your ear and away from your face. You looked towards him, eyes wide with love. You could see his eyes mirrored yours.

“I had a girlfriend in college” you said, and you could see his eyes light up for a moment. Richie was holding your hand, playing with your fingers as you spoke. “She was a film studies major”.

“Naturally” he replied, and you frowned playfully at him, but quickly smiled again when he grinned at you.

“She moved to California about six months into the relationship. We tried to do long distance, but it just didn’t work out” you explained.

“I’d say I’m sorry to hear that but… her loss is my gain so…” Richie said and leaned forwards to kiss your lips again. He moved his kisses over to your cheek and then your jaw, slowly making his way down your neck. You moaned softly and you heard him let out a deep breath, trying to control himself.

“Teenage horniness is really not something I thought would come back to me when I came back here” he laughed lightly into your neck. He began to position himself on top of you, letting his naked lower half rest on top of your own. You could feel that he was semi-hard already. So soon after your last session as well. He continued to kiss and suck at your neck and you giggled at the sensation, feeling him smile against the skin of your neck.

“Maybe you should tell Eddie” you said suddenly, and Richie stilled on top of you. He moved up to look you in the eye, his brows furrowed.

“Oh, you totally just ruined the mood” he groaned, moving to lay on his back next to you.

“Sorry” you cooed, and he just huffed, turning so that he was on his side and his back was facing you.

You cuddled up closer to him, resting your face against the skin of his back, between his broad shoulders, and placed an arm around his waist.

“I just mean… I don’t know what’s going to happen in the next few days… even the next few months. And I also don’t completely know the extent of how you felt about Eddie.” You sighed “But what I do know is that telling you how much I loved you back when we were kids was really like… healing for me”.

Richie was unmoving for a moment before he turned back over to face you. He slung an arm around your waist and kissed your forehead lightly. “Are you saying you don’t still love me?” he mumbled against you and you slapped his arm lightly at his joke.  He was trying to deflect with humour, as he always did. But you wouldn’t take it right now. Not regarding this.

“You’re right” he finally said. Though you couldn’t see his face, as you had moved to bury your face into his neck, you could tell he was serious. “I’ll talk to him”.

You smiled and you hoped that he was smiling too.

Suddenly a man’s voice, Ben’s you were sure, boomed loudly from downstairs “Y/N!? Richie!? You guys here”.

Richie groaned and released you from his grip, quickly racing out of his bed and putting on his briefs before jogging to his room’s door.

“Yeah! Be down in a second” he yelled out of the door, opening it only enough to get his voice to reach the man downstairs but still hide his semi-nakedness. “I also didn’t realise that coming back here meant that just like my teenage years, I’d be constantly interrupted when I had a girl in my bed” he joked with you after closing the door behind him.

He walked from the door to his bed again, realizing quite quickly that you were strangely quiet. The look he saw upon your face was once of immense fear. It was probably what his own face had looked like after his encounter with It earlier that day.

“You know what everyone being back here means” you said quietly, looking up at Richie from the bed.

“Were going to have to go….have to go kill-“ Richie began to answer.

“It” you finished. Your throat was suddenly far too dry as you tried to swallow down a swelling feeling within it.

You watched Richie stare at you as thought he was trying to commit all he was seeing to memory. You did the same.

Tag list (if your tag isnt hyperlinked, you need to change your settings so you can be tagged in things!): @felicityofbakerstreet @emiliesnowflake @itsfuckinemily @adritozier @the-almond-dinger @brenna-xoxox @fionnthebandersnacc @simplymaddii18 @pinkdiamonddoingthings @frog-face-wolfhard @hair-dye-or-nawh @jutte-m @whosaskinguniverse @imagine-whatever @smokyscreen @sloppybitchardtozier @marlopoe @meaganjm @thexmancometh @letmereid @twitchmoosen @jojo-buttercup @gamingaquarius @sweetotismilburn @socially-unaccepptable-dameron @ggclarissa @nerdychics @donteatmycookiesplease @cable-kenobi @abeck566 @eleventhdoctorsangel @kydrogen-monoxide @bxtch-kiss​ @darkcrystal-wolf​ @srtafarrell @merrynewtmasx​ @idjitdestiel​

[battlestar-royco]

Let’s settle this once and for all: are the Illyrians MOC?

So, in writing the answer to this ask, I FINALLY put two and two together on something: another reason why SJ/M’s constant use of “golden-brown” to describe the I/llyrians doesn’t sit right is because that’s literally the only indication that they are MOC. Looking at fan art, it’s clear that some artists are going for a non-white skin tone. If so, then why don’t they look like MOC? Why is there so much contention and confusion around whether or not these men are white? I have been subconsciously baffled by this phenomenon for years, since AC0MAF came out in 2016. I don’t know why this took me so long to conclude, because people have been essentially saying the same thing about POC in SJ/M’s books since AC0MAF dropped, but here is the reason: in both the books and the art, their complexion is the only thing that indicates they are MOC. There’s a lot, as they say, to unpack here. This is gonna get long (seriously, RIP to your thumbs. I promise it’s half photos). Snip.

The Golden-Brown Suitcase

So. We have descriptions such as these (all emphasis mine; special thanks to @longsightmyth​ for pulling many quotes and citations!)...

1. about C/assian and A/zriel: “Like their High Lord, the males---warriors---were dark-haired, tan-skinned. But unlike Rhys, their eyes were hazel...”  (AC0MAF, pg. 140 B&N ebook).

2. “Cassian surveyed Rhys from head to foot, his shoulder-length black hair shifting with the movement” (140).

3. about A/zriel: “But the second male, the more classically beautiful of the two... Even the light shied from the elegant planes of his face” (140).

4. “I could have sworn Rhys’s golden-brown skin paled” (AC0WAR, pg. 223 Kindle edition).

5. “Color bloomed high on Azriel’s golden-brown cheeks” (254).

6. “I tried to catch Cassian’s gaze, but he was monitoring them closely, his golden-brown skin unnaturally pale” (280).

7. “But Nesta’s pale fingers gently probed his golden-brown skin” (514).

... spawning fan art en masse like this:

art courtesy: x x x

What’s wrong with this (these) picture(s)? They are white men with the complexions of MOC. The fandom (and thus artists) have nothing but “golden-brown” (a term that is notably introduced in AC0WAR, one installment after the I/llyrians first appear) to go on, so they default to imagining the I/llyrians as tanned Henry Cavill, Nikolaj Coster-Waldau, Viggo Mortensen types. You could simply lighten the value of the above artworks (but please DO NOT do this) and have white men. THIS is why, despite the golden-brown descriptor and the Darker-Than-Fayre skin tones in the fandom art, there is so much debate and confusion around whether or not the I/llyrians are MOC. Golden-brown skin with straight black hair, straight noses, and round light eyes do not a man of color make. Why not? Because “golden-brown” is a very nebulous term that can apply to countless skin tones and ethnicities. Some examples (... your THUMBS I’m so sorry slafajklsk):

^ Indian,

^ Mexican,

^ Guatemalan,

^ Hawaiian,

^ Afro-Caribbean,

^ and Filipino. For starters.

Now, why is it that upon first glance, you can tell that all the men in these photos are not white? Because race is constructed such that we can immediately identify it, whether subconsciously or consciously. We’re socially conditioned to recognize this in other people and immediately ascribe our own perception of their race and ethnicity onto them. Not only can you tell they are not white, but you also have a ballpark idea of where in the world they are from. Note the wide variance in thickness and texture of hair (head, facial, and body); the cool and warm undertones that change by the person; the wide, ridged, and/or downturned noses; eye shape, body type etc. So why can’t we put a finger on what the I/llyrians are supposed to look like as MOC? Why do so many people perceive them as white? Because SJ/M has no target ethnicity for the I/llyrians, meaning that they have no clarifying features to imply one specific ethnic background in the text or fan art. All we know for sure about the I/llyrians is that they are dark-haired, darker complected than the A/rcheron sisters, and they pale and blush. Vagueness regarding race always causes fandom to default to white, thus the general “tan white dudes” interpretation of the I/llyrians.

The Illyrian Suitcase

We’ve now come across another suitcase within this entire I/llyrian Ethnicity Moving Truck of stuff we need to unpack: the smidge of evidence that the I/llyrians are inspired by somewhere in the MENA region. Given the harem pants and henna-reminiscent tattoos that appear in the Nite Court, plus the mosques and clothing that appear in fandom edits and art, general “MENA” may be the closest approximation to I/llyrian ethnicity. However, the problems snowball from here.

1. The MENA label is far too general to treat as one single race/ethnicity. General fandom perception/depiction of I/llyrians does not nearly encompass the multitude of appearances someone could have if they are from the MENA region. Harem pants and henna are used in multiple countries, so it is impossible to pin down a non-monolithic appearance with just the Nite Court attire and “golden-brown” description.

2. The Nite Court and the I/llyrians are two separate entities. Not all V/elaris residents are I/llyrian, not all Nite courtiers are I/llyrian, and not even all Inner Circle members are I/llyrian. Therefore, we cannot conflate the Nite clothing and tattoos with I/llyrian culture.

3. This leads me to my next point: we still have white and non-I/llyrian characters wearing harem pants and tattoos. Fayre, M0r, and A/mren’s attire is not culturally meaningful to the Nite Court. It also clashes with sweaters and leggings, dresses made of chiffon, bell sleeves, and Elie Saab-reminiscent designs (ie Starfall, Court of Nightmares). Thus, the attire loses all internal consistency and meaning beyond the mood SJ/M wishes to set for a given scene, making the implication that their outerwear is meant to be sexy or aesthetic rather than culturally significant.

4. The I/llyrians as a race of POC meaninglessly perpetuate stereotypes. Granted, sexism exists in high fae society (ie Fayre being paraded as “Rice’s whore” in the CoN, M/or being treated as a commodity and broodmare, the lack of High Ladies), so the misogyny and violence against women are not unique to I/llyrians. We also get more than one I/llyrian main character, so they are not a complete monolith. But there are still issues. One, the I/llyrians are oppressed by the high fae. It is well documented that the high fae are the dominant race and look down upon lesser fae. This dichotomy has yet to be unpacked by SJ/M. Two, I/llyrian women are oppressed by I/llyrian men (wing-cutting, commodification, gender roles, etc). There are absolutely zero fleshed out I/llyrian women, so the only information we have about their experience and existence is through Fayre’s eyes and Rice’s word. This framing is white feminist at best, white savior-y at worst. Three, we only know I/llyrians who have assimilated into high fae culture. Rice, the High Lord, is half high fae and half I/llyrian. Only he and his friends, I/llyrians who have been “elevated” from bastard/oppressed I/llyrian status, know better than the other more “savage” I/llyrians. Coincidence? I think not.

The Lucien Suitcase

All this gets even more confusing when you consider the fact that SJ/M uses “golden-brown” as a blanket non-white coding tool. In the T0G series, at LEAST the following characters are described as golden-brown: S/artaq (T0D, pg. 345 Kindle edition), Nesrin (K0A, 180), and Irene (403). In AC0WAR, at LEAST the following are described as golden-brown: the I/llyrians, Vassa (685), and L/ucien (183, 302, 456). Our best approximation is that S/artaq and Nesrin are South Asian given their southern continent origin, Irene is part-black given her E/yllwe father, Vassa is... golden brown, and L/ucien is part black and part white. The term is used so frequently that it is meaningless as an indicator for race. We’ve again found the golden-brown suitcase, which in SJ/M’s novels encases allll the aforementioned ethnicities and more. Again, this causes very anglicized and/or inconsistent looks to pop up in fan art:

x

x

x

Conclusion

it seems that the I/llyrians are MOC, based on the fact that they and other POC are frequently described as “golden-brown.” That said, the golden-brown descriptor is not enough. The I/llyrians do not serve their purpose as representative characters because they are not easily identifiable to their target demographic, nor are they a positive representation. In a social context where we are so trained to recognize these things, explicit media representation is much preferred, if not necessary. It is the reader’s prerogative---namely, non-white readers’ prerogative---to interpret these characters how they wish. We’d be unpacking a whole other house if we were to go into the meaning behind L/ucien as a black man, Irene as a black woman, Nesrin as South Asian, etc, and that is for another day. Thanks so much for reading all this way if you got this far. I know I’m extra, sorry. The creative writing/women’s and gender studies major jumped out lmao. My inbox is always open if you want to parse that out or if you have any further questions!

[v-thinks-on]

Jeeves Gets Sick - Part 2

Previous

A small warning: This installment includes some referenced/implied past violence and the resulting scars.

The next morning, I awoke with a rummy feeling that not all was well with the world, call it a premonition, if you will. My dreams had been restless ones that had me tossing and turning in the night and I awoke none too cheerily to the morning sun streaming in through the window. I took only a minute or two to blearily blink into awareness, hoping, but not expecting Jeeves to come rippling in through the door at any moment, tea in hand, but I could have told myself it was all in vain, and I believe I very well did say to myself that Jeeves would not appear.

All was probably well with the man - as well as it had been the night before, that is. In fact, it was a good sign that he was still sleeping, resting away his illness, but I couldn’t shake the suspicion that the man had taken a turn for the worse in the night. I slipped out of bed, flung on a dressing gown, and toed it to the man’s quarters, just to be sure. I didn’t pause to knock, perhaps that was my first mistake. I pulled the door open and found myself face to face with the broad, sturdy back of my man, Jeeves.

Now you may be saying to yourself, what’s so remarkable about the sight of Jeeves’s backside, certainly he must occasionally turn away from his employer in the course of his usual duties? To answer that, a few points must be clarified; it was not merely Jeeves’s back, but his bare back, not precisely in front of me, but only a couple feet away - plainly I had caught the man mid-dressing. But it was not the bareness of his back that really caught my attention, but the scars. Every inch of his skin was covered in scratches - most long and thin, but some deeper and more contorted - as though the surface had been cut up and reassembled.

I did not stare for long. Jeeves didn’t so much as have a chance to turn around and greet me with a weary “Sir?” I stumbled back away and shut the door behind me with rather more force than was strictly necessary. I may have shouted an apology as I retreated.

I hobbled back to my room and was myself in the middle of fumbling with a tie when Jeeves rippled in, as silent and sure as ever. He put aside the tea tray and deftly took the tie from my hands to tie it into a perfect knot. I tried to stand dignified and unaffected, but my eyes acted of their own accord, flickering back to Jeeves’s torso, now glaringly aware of what lay beneath his starched suit. I could only wonder how he moved so effortlessly despite the fabric chafing against raw skin.

“My apologies, sir, for my tardy appearance. I assure you it will not happen again.”

I waved it off eagerly, relieved to be back on familiar ground. “Not at all, Jeeves. You’re sure you’re clear to be up and about? I don’t want to run any risk of relapse, what?”

“Yes, sir.”

I tried to subject the chap to my strictest scrutiny, but the man was inscrutable as ever. By all appearances, he seemed to be back to his usual self, the very image of health without a single hair out of place. His movements were silent and efficient. But now I knew there was something lurking beneath his impeccable appearance, that even though his illness had passed, all was not right with Jeeves.

“Why don’t you take it easy today, what? Just to be certain, I mean.”

“Sir, that is hardly necessary.”

I shushed him. “No, Jeeves,” I said firmly, “you should rest. Work a little if you must, but take it easy, will you?”

“Very good, sir.”

After breakfast, I went for a long rambling walk, echoing the shape of my thoughts. I wandered to and fro, eventually, inevitably winding up at the Drones for a rather earlier lunch than is my usual wont. The place was on the quiet side, most of the Drones presumably not yet out of bed, but Bingo was in on account of Mrs. Bingo Little - the celebrated novelist of romantic drivel known to her public as Rosie M. Banks - being occupied with authorly duties, as Bingo had informed us at the revels the night before.

“What ho!” I shouted upon seeing him, and he shouted back the same, and waved me over to his table.

Bingo and I, if you don’t know, are old chums, going back years and years, and as such know each other only as such pals do. He was truly a sight for sore eyes, especially under such circs. He was just the chap to lend a sympathetic ear in a fellow’s time of need.

“Tish,” I declared as I took a seat, by way of letting him know things were less than rosy in the life of Bertram W.

“Girl trouble?” Bingo asked with a knowing smile.

I shook my head. “Jeeves.”

“Dictating your wardrobe again? What’s it this time, a tie? Or those trousers?”

“My trousers are perfectly fine, thank you. I’ll have you know Jeeves picked them out himself.”

“What is it then, if it’s not a girl and not clothing?”

I hummed and hawed a little over this part. Bingo is a lifelong pal and all, but there are some things a chap doesn’t even tell to a pal like that. I knew well enough to tell that I wasn’t supposed to see Jeeves’s injuries, I couldn’t very well go telling the rest of the world.

“Jeeves came down with a horrible illness!” I said at last, sticking to the truth, just not all of it. “Well, he’s better now, but it was touch and go for a time.”

“Oh! No wonder you were so mopey last night. The lads had a bet going after you left. Gussie’ll be disappointed; I convinced him to put his money on you having fallen in love at last.”

“No, nothing like that,” I insisted.

“But if Jeeves is back to his problem-solving self, then what’s there to beef about?”

“I’m just worried about the chap, that’s all. Getting sick isn’t like him, you know? What if he’s been out over-exerting himself or somesuch?”

“Jeeves, over-exerting himself?” Bingo asked skeptically.

“I know, but there must be something! Maybe he’s been sneaking out at night fighting bears in the woods.”

“What, and he caught the flu from the bear?”

I hastily added, “What if it rained while he was out? Or maybe he’s a secret agent and got attacked by enemy spies - in the rain!”

Bingo gave me a skeptical l., “Bertie, what’s gotten into you? Jeeves is a remarkable cove and all, but I doubt he’s doing any of all that. What does it matter anyway, if he’s back to form already? Nothing’s ever gotten in the way of his work before.”

“I suppose not. But it’s my responsibility, isn’t it? He does the feudal thing and gets me out of the soup, and I’m supposed to do the feudal thing and give him a fiefdom and what not.”

“A fiefdom, Bertie? In your London flat? I know it’s spacious, but that’s a bit much.”

“Not exactly, but you know, all the things you’re supposed to give a vassal, protection and justice and all that. And I know his quarters aren’t exactly the height of luxury, but I have plans to fix that.”

“And he’ll go fight for you in the Crusades?”

“Bingo,” I protested.

“So not fighting for you in the Crusades. But so Jeeves got sick once in - how many years has he worked for you? And?”

“It’s-” I stopped myself short of revealing Jeeves’s secret, whatever it meant. “Oh, it’s nothing,” I said moodily.

“That’s the spirit! Now, you have to hear what happened last night after you left! I’m sorry you missed it, leaving early.”

Bingo chatted eagerly about the later part of the previous night’s revelries, but my heart just wasn’t in it. After we finished eating and such what, I made my excuses and set out across the city - while half-listening to Bingo prattle, I’d come to a decision.

It wasn’t too far from the Drones to Dr. Watson’s practice. I knocked haltingly at the door, still rather out of my depths, but no longer in such a frantic rush as when I stood on that very spot the morning before. Again, the maid ushered me in.

“What ho!” I said as she directed me to a little waiting room of sorts. “Dr. Watson about?”

“No, sir,” she said. ”He’s on his rounds, but he should be back shortly, or I can take a message for him.”

I settled in to wait and the maid biffed off for some tea. It felt like a rather long while before the good doctor returned, but in fact, the clock informed me that it wasn’t more than half an hour that I waited, sipping at a cooling cup of merely passable tea - when a fellow is accustomed to Jeeves, any alternative seems rather lackluster in comparison.

“Mr. Wooster, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Dr. Watson asked as he appeared at long last.

I jumped to my feet to greet him. “It’s Jeeves,” I explained without even a “what ho” in greeting.

“It may take him a day or two to recover,” the doctor cautioned.

I shook my head. “It’s not that. He’s all better now, but well-” I hesitated.

The doctor showed me into his office and took a seat behind the desk. I belatedly perched on the seat across from him, too keyed up to make myself comfortable as he suggested.

“Now, what was it you were concerned about?” the doctor asked patiently, though he seemed a little wary of what I might say.

“Well, it all started when I woke up this morning. You see, Jeeves didn’t come in with the tea - thinking back on it now I suppose I was up a bit earlier than my usual fashion, but after everything, well, you can understand my being a bit worried about the chap. So, I went to check on him, I know I shouldn’t have barged in, but-” - I faltered a little in embarrassment, my cheeks flushed red - “well, I’m afraid I caught him in the middle of changing. I didn’t see anything, just his back, but it was covered in the most horrible scratches, and I don’t know what’s caused it; if he’s fighting bears or secret agents or what not, but dash it all! Plainly something’s wrong with the man and I don’t know what to do. But you’re his doctor, you must have seen them when you checked on him the other day - it was only yesterday, wasn’t it? So much has happened between then and now that it feels like it’s been a bally week.”

Dr. Watson nodded as though he’d somehow managed to follow the outburst - a remarkable feat given that I wasn’t even sure I could follow everything I was saying. It seemed to take him a bit of a while to compose his thoughts, however, before, at last, he said, “I am aware of Jeeves’s scars and I don’t believe there’s any cause for concern. To my knowledge, none of them are recent; he’s had nothing more than ordinary scrapes and bruises in the past ten years. I doubt he’s been fighting bears or secret agents.” He gave me a somewhat indulgent smile, but I let it slide.

“You mean to say they’re all old wounds? From long before I met him even?”

“I would say so,” the doctor answered.

It should have been comforting, but I found I only had more questions. “That’s an awful lot of them. What was he doing?”

The doctor sighed. “I’m sorry, Mr. Wooster, but I can’t say.”

“You mean to say you know?” I demanded.

He grimaced. “Yes, I know. But it’s up to Jeeves to tell you if he wants to, and I doubt he’ll want to, not if he’s anything like…” the doctor trailed off. After a moment’s thought he picked back up the thread not too far from where he left off, “It’s not a pleasant thing, but thankfully it’s all in the past; there’s nothing to worry about any more.”

“But what is it?”

The doctor only shook his head. “Try not to worry about it, Mr. Wooster, and don’t worry Jeeves about it either. He’s come a long way since then, his fondness for you is a clear enough indication of that.”

I nodded and agreed not to trouble too much about it, but I was still very much troubled when I left the doctor’s office. I took a meandering way back home, torn between wondering what horrible accident had befallen the man and trying to pluck up my courage for what I knew must come next.

When I arrived back at the flat, my slippers were waiting for me at the door and everything else was back in its place, bearing all the tell-tale evidence of Jeeves’s renewed efforts, though the man himself was nowhere to be seen - the chap could never be heard, his recent illness notwithstanding. I stopped at the door to the kitchens with some trepidation, but it was too serious a matter to let I dare not wait upon I would - or whatever the expression is exactly - like the cat in the adage. Still, keenly aware of my fraught errand, I knocked at the door.

Jeeves opened it with a curious, “Sir?” With the door open, I could still smell the aroma of a recently lit gasper, and the Spinoza sat bookmarked on the table, no doubt interrupted in the middle of the scene where the detective discovered the second body.

“What ho, Jeeves,” I said without my usual pomp.

“Is there anything you require, sir?”

“Well, um, actually, I was rather wondering if I could perhaps have a word,” I managed to stumble out the words.

“Very good, sir.” He waved me into his lair, where I had spent an awful lot of time of late - I found myself almost missing the place, though I was happier than anyone to have Jeeves back up and about.

I stood about awkwardly, shifting my weight from foot to foot as I cast about the room in search of a place to start. It’s not an easy thing to talk about, walking in on your valet while he’s changing and finding that he’s got more scars than a fellow who ended up on the wrong side of a tiger.

At last, I blurted out, “I went to see Dr. Watson.”

“Sir?” Jeeves asked, sounding a bit concerned now. His eyebrow raised about a quarter of an inch.

“About those scratches, those scars, I mean. I know I shouldn’t have walked in on you without knocking, but once I did, well, I just had to know what was wrong - to do something, what?” I stopped short, preoccupied with Jeeves’s expression and out of words besides. He was watching me warily, with an actual frown rather than that usual stuffed frog expression he does sometimes.

When it was clear I was finished, he asked, more composed, “May I ask, sir, what Dr. Watson told you?”

“Nothing. He said I had to ask you and not to bother if you didn’t want to tell me.”

He nodded. He seemed relieved, though it was hard to tell behind that mask of his - figuratively speaking, of course. “If I may say so, sir, Dr. Watson is a very honourable gentleman.”

I could tell I was trying my luck, but still I had to ask, “But what happened? What gave you all those scars?”

“I prefer not to speak of it, sir.” Jeeves spoke with a solemn air of finality that made it perfectly clear that further inquiry was not welcome.

“Oh. Right-o, then.” I didn’t bother to hide my disappointment, but I knew better than to harp. “Been taking it easy, what?”

“Yes, sir.” Jeeves’s lips twitched a fraction of an inch upward, signifying his approval of the change in topic, and I didn’t have the heart to begrudge him it - or anything for that matter.

One morning, some days later, I was sitting, picking at my breakfast, when Jeeves shimmered over to the table.

“What is it, Jeeves?” I asked.

“I have procured something which may be of interest to you, sir.” He held out a bound manuscript, written in an unfamiliar hand.

I took it from him and read aloud the title, “An Unpublished Adventure of Sherlock Holmes, what?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You mean to say this is the real thing?”

“Yes, sir, penned by Dr. John H. Watson himself.”

“Jeeves this really is the top! How did you manage a bally thing like that?” I stopped. “Are you saying that old doctor is the Dr. Watson?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Of all the rummy things, Jeeves! How did you get to know a chap like that?”

“As I said, sir, he’s my family physician.”

“Does that mean you know Sherlock Holmes too?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why, Jeeves, this is beyond belief! How did you get Dr. Watson to part with one of his manuscripts?”

“I asked him, sir. Given your appreciation for his work, I thought it would be a fitting expression of gratitude for your assistance during my brief illness, and Dr. Watson was happy to oblige.”

“I say, Jeeves! I don’t know what I could ever do to thank you enough.” It seemed a little thick to me that Jeeves was going so far out of his way to thank me for doing practically nothing when I already owed him so much for everything he does for me. I added a little belatedly, “And it’s awfully kind of Dr. Watson to give me a peek at a Sherlock Holmes story.”

“Dr. Watson has taken something of a liking to you, sir. However, he did request that you not distribute the manuscript, as he has deemed it unsuitable for publication for personal reasons.”

“Personal reasons, Jeeves?”

“Yes, sir.”

I delicately paged through the manuscript, all the more intrigued at what it might hold that Dr. Watson had deemed suitable for my eyes only. Probably nothing terribly interesting, but a fellow could only wonder.

“Will that be all, sir?” Jeeves asked, the corner of his lips turned up just a smidge in the suggestion of a fond smile.

I beamed back. “Yes, Jeeves, thank you!”

“Thank you, sir.”

Part of The Mysterious Mr. Jeeves

[master-sass-blast]

Strong as Stone: Part Four, Second Half.

@the-last-hair-bender

*rubs hands together as I sniff the air* Ah. Yes. There it is. The undeniable scent of pure, unadulterated ANGST.

*grins* This is going to be good.

ALSO, HOLY FUCK THIS IS LONG. IT’S LIKE 10K WORDS. WHAT THE FUCK, ME?

Last time, we got to see the getting together of Shuri and my OC, Dewani. In the midst of all of that, Okoye is preparing for the Harvest Moon festival, but doesn’t have the usual security contingency of the Border Tribe to count on. Fortunately, she’ll have some time off after, and our favorite Jabari Chief, M’Baku, has asked her to come visit him during her brief vacation. Unfortunately, before we can play, we must work.

And, as I alluded to in my previous post, this part is rated M for Mature for non-sexual reasons.

If you’re not good with any of that, that’s fine. I’ll see you back next week (or maybe not; Part Five is going to be a doozy, too).

Rating, just in case it wasn’t clear: Mature. Read with care.

Warnings: panic attacks, violence, injuries, implied child abuse, depictions of violence, mentions of homophobia, SO MUCH CRYING AND ANGST, with just a little bit of fluff and sibling love to even everything out. I’ve tagged as best as I can, both up her and in the actual tags, but please be careful. This one’s heavy.

Pairings: Okoye x M’Baku, Shuri x OC, and background T’Challa x Nakia.

(Disclaimer: Dewani is the one on the receiving end of the abuse, and, no, M’Baku is not the abuser. This is all explained in the “chapter,” but I wanted to clarify that now. The characters that we know and love are all great with each other.)

Strong as stone, that is how you must be. Unyielding, unbending, unbreaking. Let the river wash over you and smooth away your rough edges.

But be careful to not let the river carry you in its current. Gentle persuasion will polish even the most unassuming of gems, but heavy battering will cause even the strongest strain of vibranium to crack.

However, you should remember that a crack is not an end if you don’t let it become one. Each time you feel like you are going to break, look forward as though it is only a new beginning. Lean on your fellow women; one stone on its own may be strong, but many stones stacked together can redirect rivers.

“I have to say, Dewani, we were all surprised at your interest in vibranium based technology. Most of my sister’s efforts to equip the Jabari have been rejected,” T’Challa said, drawing her attention back to the present.

Dinner was dragging on, and Okoye was starting to lose patience.

Was it lovely that Dewani and the Udakus got on like they’d been lifetime friends? Yes.

Was it adorable to watch Dewani and Shuri trade infatuated smiles and adorkable compliments? Yes.

Did she also have a lot of work to do to prepare for the festival? Yes.

How can one meal last so long? Okoye wondered as she took another bite of her –vegetarian—dish. Maybe making a habit of working through my meals wasn’t the best idea…

“There’s a difference between having things sent to us without asking or observing our way of life first, and seeing the uses of vibranium of our own choosing,” Dewani said with the artless honesty possessed by most teenagers.

The corner of T’Challa’s mouth lifted in an amused smile. “And what do you think of vibranium, now that you’ve had a chance to see it in action?”

Dewani chewed thoughtfully, eyes lifting to the ceiling with thought, and swallowed before answering. “I think it’s a risk.”

“How so?” Nakia asked, leaning forward in her seat.

“Well, vibranium isn’t naturally occurring to our planet. Eventually, it’s going to run out. I don’t see the wisdom in making everything out of a material that you have a finite, non-renewable resource. What happens when you run out? Everything stops working.”

“Our technology doesn’t take that much vibranium,” Shuri retorted, coming to the defense of her creations as expected. “And once it’s made, it doesn’t need replacing.”

“As far as you can see. And, eventually, the source will run dry. What happens when Wakanda can’t make any new inventions, much less update the ones they have once they don’t fit the needs of the people using them?” Dewani asked.

“We’ve done our research,” Shuri shot back. “There’s enough vibranium to last over one hundred thousand generations of Wakandans. Besides, our latest studies suggest that the vibranium is morphing the other minerals into itself. The vibranium is here to stay.”

Dewani shrugged. “If you could find a way to grown and harvest it at a rate that meets the needs of the demand, you might have something. As it stands, it’s still a risk.”

“Yes, but some risks are worth taking. We can’t just stand still.”

“I agree, but there’s a difference between plotting the path before you run it and sprinting off a cliff.”

“Which is why we’re trying to find ways to make vibranium renewable,” T’Challa said before the two could start arguing. He smothered grin with a sip of wine, but the amused sparkle in his eyes was impossible to mistake. “I think you two are equally matched, to say the least.”

I could’ve told you that from the start, Okoye thought. Let’s see, if I hand off guard duty to the sentries tomorrow, Ayo and I can--

“General, you’ve been rather quiet tonight,” T’Challa said from his seat across from her. “Do you have any questions for Dewani?”

Okoye tamped down her annoyance before it could register on her face. “I’m not sure I could offer anything all that interesting, my King.”

“You’re practically family, Okoye,” Ramonda said warmly. “You have every right to ask your questions.”

Normally, she wasn’t in the position of asking questions. As the General of the Dora Milaje, she was granted special access to the council meetings and the lives of the royal family, but she wasn’t technically one of them. She wasn’t an equal; outside of matters of security, missions, warfare, and any matters specifically pertaining to the Dora Milaje, she didn’t have any specific right to challenge to family or their decisions.

Granted, the Udaku family had always given her a generous amount of free reign, space to speak her mind, but none of that changed the simple fact --her kind listened in the presence of the royal family. That wasn’t a gap that could vanish on the permission of the King.

No matter, Okoye told herself as she switched between ideas. We all have to step outside our comfort zones. She tapped her finger against her glass, then set it on the table. “Vibranium aside --from least egregious to most egregious--what are we doing wrong?”

Nakia let out an amused chuckle as Dewani tilted her head to the side, drifting into deep thought. “That’s quite a thinker.”

“I think that judging an entire society by their choices is predestined for failure,” Dewani said as she pushed at the last of her yams with her fork. “But, I guess if I had to pick one thing... I guess I don’t understand the War Dogs initiative. I don’t see the truth in it.”

“How so?” Nakia asked, leaning forward in her seat.

“Well, aside from retrieving stolen vibranium, what’s the point of it? To watch and see if the world is ready to know Wakanda --but we can never truly be a judge of whether the world is ready. By our standards, the outside world will never be ready. We’re limited by our own perceptions of culture and society,” Dewani said.

“The War Dogs were also created to see if the world had need of Wakanda, and if they could be trusted with our resources,” T’Challa rebutted.

“And what did they decide when our cousins in America were being brutalized for their skin color?”

Okoye could feel a chill run through the room at the undiluted truth. She certainly doesn’t pull her punches. “Not every organization can succeed one hundred percent of the time.”

 “No, but some failures are less acceptable than others.”

Across the table, T’Challa sighed and set his fork down. “I won’t pretend that Wakanda did the right thing during the slavery and segregation eras. Instead of rising to the occasion, we took the actions of one group of people as an excuse to stay in hiding, and that was wrong. That’s why we’re reaching out now.” He paused to smile at Nakia. “To atone for the past and start ourselves on the right path.”

Dewani shot a glance at Shuri, and the two teenagers made subtle gagging motions at each other.

Okoye smirked as M’Baku cleared his throat in admonishment. “Well, I wasn’t quite expecting such a vast answer.”

“I was,” Ramonda said with a fond smile. “An innovator needs a quick, sharp mind, though I wasn’t expecting you to be an innovator of philosophy.”

Dewani shrugged and smiled sheepishly. “There’s more than one kind of innovation.”

“Indeed.” Ramonda patted her daughter’s arm. “Well, Shuri, I have to say I’m deeply impressed with your choice. I don’t think I could’ve handpicked someone better for you.”

M’Baku puffed up noticeably at that statement, clearly proud of his sister. “She has the best mind among all of Wakanda.”

T’Challa smiled amiably. “Well, out of brotherly duty, I’d have to disagree --but only just.”

Okoye allowed herself a small smile as dinner came to a close and the respective parties started dispersing together. Off to work. Before she slipped away, she watched as Dewani kissed the back of Shuri’s hand before saying goodnight. The Queen Mother was right, she thought with a grin as she retreated into one of the back hallways. The Princess made a good choice.

...Unfortunately, due to protests from tribe members, we won’t be able to supply the requested quota of replacement members for the security contingency. We hope, given the spiritual importance of the Harvest Moon festival, that this discrepancy will be understood...

Okoye let out a growl of frustration as she read through the official response from the River tribe to her request for help during the upcoming festival. Don’t they understand that, if they want to shove the Border Tribe out, they have to pick up the slack? How is that so hard to see?!

Yes, the Harvest Moon festival was spiritually important, she knew that. It was a time to thank the gods and goddesses for a year of provision, a time to acknowledge the wealth Wakanda had been blessed with via a five day long celebration.

The eldest spiritual leader from the River tribe would lead the opening ceremony on the first day, in which each household of Wakanda would offer sacrifices to the patron of their tribe and to Bast. The night would be devoted to prayer and ritual fasting, but the opening ceremony required a great deal of management to keep the crowd orderly.

The second and third days were devoted to seeking out the poor in Wakanda and making sure that they had what they needed to make it through the next year. It required a strong security force to make sure that envious hearts and greedy hands didn’t try to take what wasn’t theirs when the givers turned their backs.

The fourth day was dedicated to celebrating the farmers that put in the labor to make sure that Wakanda’s crop didn’t fail. The fourth day, arguably, was harder to secure than the fifth. There was a history of other farmers sabotaging others if they felt eclipsed by one another, and there was usually enough alcohol involved to make things dicey. A drunk, angry farmer with the technology to break stones in a field wasn’t an easy opponent to face down.

The fifth day was the day of all out celebration. On the fifth day, the nation came together to take joy in the provision granted by their gods and goddesses. Vendors cooked from dawn to dusk to dawn again, friendly combat challenges open to anyone took place in the main arena throughout the day, and alcohol flowed everywhere.

Alcohol. Lots of it. In every cup, bottle, glass, and bloodstream. Livers were on the line, as was the safety of the citizens. A strong, experienced security force was vital to making sure that the rowdy drinkers didn’t get out of hand, that the teenagers didn’t try to steal a few forbidden glasses, and that the odd predator didn’t succeed in whatever disgusting conquests they had planned.

Okoye resisted the urge to smack her head against the stone wall of the hallway, and settled for rubbing her temples instead. I should’ve stood my ground with the Council. I shouldn’t have capitulated. There’s no way we can do this without the Border tribe, especially since the other tribes won’t--

“Okoye?”

Okoye whirled, ready to shove her spear into-- Bast dammit, I’m going to kill him.

M’Baku took a step back, eyes widening. “Whoa. Are you alright?”

Okoye realized that she was seething, closed her eyes, deactivated her spear, and took a moment to compose herself. “I’m fine,” she said, opening her eyes once she felt like she wasn’t going to rip out the throat of the next person she saw. “Just... a little frustrated.”

“What’s wrong?”

Okoye let out a heavy breath. “You know, no one ever really asks me that.”

M’Baku gave her a sympathetic look, and held out his arms. “Come here.”

Okoye took a quick glance around to make sure they were alone, then let herself be hugged against his chest. She let out a sigh, and pressed her cheek against the leather tunic he wore.

“Now, what has the greatest General in all of Wakanda so worked up that she could kill an average man with just a look?”

Okoye laughed, despite herself and the situation. “Bast, am I really that bad?”

“No, but you laughed, which was the point. Now, my love, what has you so on edge?”

Okoye groaned. “Do you remember the Council’s promise to supply extra warriors to make up for the absence of the Border tribe during the Harvest Moon festival?”

“Yes...”

“Well, they aren’t. I just got an apology from the River tribe because, given the ‘spiritual significance of the festival,’ they ‘were dealt an unexpected amount of backlash from the tribe members, and they ‘hope I understand.’” Okoye found herself blinking back tears of frustration, and opted to nestle further into M’Baku’s chest. “So, between the River tribe and the Merchant tribe --who opted out because they have the most farmers, and don’t want to take away their people’s ability to celebrate their efforts on day four--I’m knee deep in rhino shit, and I’m barefoot to boot.”

“How many warriors are you short?”

“At least one hundred fifty.”

M’Baku made a noise of surprise. “That many? Why do you need that many? Is the rest of Wakanda filled with crazed radicalists?”

“Well, we work people in shifts. Some of the celebration and rituals go on through the night, so we can’t run the same people all day. Some members don’t have a household to offer for them during the first night, so they take that day off in trade for some of the others to have the last day off. Some participate in the giving on the third day and cover on the second, and vice versa. It’s a very delicate balancing act,” Okoye explained. “And, no, Wakanda is not full of ‘crazed radicalists.’ However, there’s still a lot of people to account for, and people are unpredictable.”

“Fair enough.” M’Baku wrapped his arms all the way around her, almost enveloping her. “Have you tried talking to the King?”

Okoye grimaced. “No...”

“I sense a ‘but’ coming on.”

“Royal strong-arming usually isn’t the best answer. It might get me the head count I need, but strong-arming usually results in some sour moods among the ranks, to say nothing of the Council,” Okoye said with a roll of her eyes.

M’Baku let out an unimpressed snort. “And here I thought the rest of Wakanda was banded together in the tightest of brotherhoods.”

“We’re all human down here. Humans are fallible. Besides, the only reason we’re running into this problem is because the other tribes aren’t used to fielding military and security needs. That has always fallen to the Border tribe and the Dora Milaje. I assure you, when everything’s running as it usually does, we’re quite the oiled machine.”

M’Baku laughed quietly. “You sound like Dewani. She’s always reminding me to consider the other side whenever I get too cynical. She likes to call me ‘The Great Curmudgeon.’”

“She’s a smart girl. You should listen to her.”

“I take it you approve of her.”

“I’m not sure why she would need my approval.”

“But you’re okay with her?”

Okoye studied M’Baku’s face as she tried to puzzle out what the man was getting at. “Are you worried that I won’t want to spend time with you if she’s in the picture?”

M’Baku’s cautious smile slipped into a veiled, bitter frown. “There have been... a few others who weren’t okay with Dewani. I’m her sole caretaker, and I intend to see that through until she comes of age. She and I are a package deal. I’m not going to shove her aside for anyone. Not ever. Especially since... ”

Okoye frowned. “Since what?”

M’Baku sighed. “Dewani is my half-sister, technically. Our father remarried her mother when my mother died to settle a territory dispute between the Jabari and the Mining tribe. My uncle took custody of her when our father died, but...”

“That didn’t go well, I take it,” Okoye said as she watched M’Baku’s expression darken.

“He abused her for several years. I managed to reclaim custody of her when I found out. Her experiences with him have left her scarred... I will never cast her aside, Okoye. She’s been through too much.”

Okoye smiled reassuringly at him, and reached up to stroke his cheek with her thumb. “I wouldn’t ask you to. I think she’s a remarkable young woman with an excellent sense of humor --just like you.”

M’Baku relaxed a bit and flashed her a cheeky grin. “Thank you. I like to think that I make quite the remarkable young woman as well.”

Okoye groaned as she realized her mistake. “No, that’s not what --you know that’s not what I meant!”

“I know, and thank you. It means a lot to hear you say that.”

Okoye glowered up at him. “You can be really annoying sometimes, you know that?”

“Just one of my many charms.”

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that.”

Something in M’Baku’s gaze shifted as he rubbed her cheek with the pad of his thumb. Intensity smoldered in his dark eyes, and he leaned forward to press his forehead against hers.

Okoye felt her heart stutter as his warm breath danced against her lips. She let her eyelids flutter shut as she felt his nose brush against hers.

Her communication bead started beeping.

Okoye scrunched up her face in a scowl and mentally swore death to whoever had just interrupted her. Okoye stepped back, took a moment to collect herself, and answered the call.

T’Challa’s face peered up at her. “General Okoye.”

Bast dammit. Regicide wasn’t an option she could afford. “My King. How can I help you?”

“I just saw the responses from the River and Merchant tribes. I wanted to discuss them with you. Could we meet in the main conference room?”

Okoye nodded. “Yes, my King. I’m about fifteen minutes out.”

“I’ll see you there.”

Okoye looked up at M’Baku as T’Challa closed the line. “I have to go.”

M’Baku smiled at her, and kissed her forehead one last time. “Go. Wakanda needs you.”

Yes, Wakanda needs me, Okoye thought as she took off at a brisk pace. And I need a vacation.

The sun had barely crested over the horizon, staining the sky with shades of yellow and coral. Birds were just starting their morning songs, and a light breeze cut through the still dawn air.

Okoye walked up the stairs that led to the landing platform outside the palace, trailed by Ayo and Aneka. T’Challa had woken her up early for ‘pleasant news, for a change,’ and Okoye had decided to bring the other two women along so that she could get a jump on the long list of preparations necessary to ensure that the Harvest Moon festival went off without a hitch. “Ayo, I’ll need you to oversee the morning training for the rest of the Dora Milaje so that I can get started on the walk through with Djabi and K’Wani.”

“Yes, General.”

“Aneka, I need you to start assessing the records of the volunteers we’ve been promised. Make sure that there isn’t any history of criminal activity on any of the volunteers. We can’t afford to have any weak points.”

“Yes, General, but shouldn’t the other tribes have already scanned for that?”

“We’re not dealing with the Border tribe this year,” Okoye said. “We have to take extra precautions.”

“Yes, General. What should I do if I find any warriors with unsatisfactory records?”

“Make a list and give it to me. I’ll handle it from there.”

“Yes, General. What do you think the pleasant news is?”

Okoye couldn’t help but smile slightly at Aneka’s curiosity. “If I knew, I would tell you. Oh, Ayo, I need you to run through the other possible candidates from the River and Merchant tribes. We’re still short one hundred fifty people, and having a list of names might help us back the tribal leaders into a corner.”

“Yes, General.”

Okoye cleared the last few steps to the landing pad and nearly froze in shock.

The landing pad was filled to the brim with dozens and dozens of Jabari warriors. At the front stood M’Baku, who was talking with the King.

What, in Bast’s name, is going on?

T’Challa looked over as she drew closer and grinned. “General Okoye.”

Okoye stopped and bowed. “My King.” She shot a wary glance at the Jabari. “What... what is all this?”

T’Challa shot a look at M’Baku that was equal parts amused and impressed. “I think I will let Chief M’Baku explain himself.”

At that, M’Baku grinned. “I believe you mentioned that you were short by one hundred fifty warriors?” He gestured back at the ranks of Jabari soldiers with a massive sweep of his arm. “May I present the best that the Jabari has to offer. One hundred fifty soldiers, to serve on the festival security contingency as needed.”

Okoye’s eyes widened, and she did a quick head count. There’s actually one hundred fifty of them. He actually pulled one hundred fifty of his soldiers to help me. She realized that T’Challa was watching her with unhidden amusement, and quickly rearranged her expression into something more professional. “Thank you, Chief M’Baku. The Dora Milaje and I are very grateful for the Jabari’s contribution. Aneka--” she turned to the younger soldier “--can you call up a Djabi and a few others to escort the Jabari warriors to the primary courtyard?”

“Yes, General.”

“Commander, can I trust you to review the soldiers and brief them on how we handle festival security?”

“Yes, General.”

Okoye faced T’Challa. “My King, if I could have a moment to speak with the Chief before I start the festival walk-through?”

T’Challa nodded after a moment, a knowing smile playing on his lips. He walked back to the palace, while Ayo and Aneka escorted the Jabari warriors off the landing pad.

Okoye waited until she was certain that she and M’Baku were alone, then leaped up and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Thank you.”

M’Baku laughed as he held her against his chest. “You’re welcome, my love. You know, you could’ve asked for my help yesterday. I would’ve said yes.”

“I didn’t want it to seem like the Jabari were only ‘fill ins’ to the rest of Wakanda,” Okoye admitted. “Besides, you had already filled your quota. I didn’t want to ask for so much more, especially since you were coming to observe for the first time.”

“There’s more than one way to observe, and observing from the stance of festival-goers and security personnel lets us gain a more rounded view of how things are handled down here.”

Okoye feigned suspicion as she looked up at M’Baku. “Dewani said that, didn’t she?”

M’Baku let out a hearty laugh. “Was it that obvious?”

“Just a little.”

M’Baku shrugged with an easy grin. “I told her I needed a good excuse to give to the King, and she came up with that.”

“What, helping me isn’t a good enough excuse?” Okoye teased.

“You seem to prefer not letting on that we’re ‘seeing each other.’ I want to respect that.”

Okoye sighed and smiled at him gently. “I would be fine with letting everyone know we’re seeing each other.”

“I sense a ‘but’ coming.”

Okoye traced her fingers over the seams that held his leather armor together. “My job doesn’t afford a lot of privacy. It’s nice to have something just for myself.”

M’Baku kissed the top of her head. “As long as that’s it.”

For a brief moment, Okoye thought about leaning up and kissing him properly. Unfortunately, before she could make up her mind, her kimoyo beads started beeping.

M’Baku smiled sadly. “Called away once more?”

“I have to do a walk through to assess the security points for the festival. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Go do your job. Keep Wakanda in check.”

Okoye chuckled as she forced herself to let go of M’Baku. “Last time I checked, that was the King’s job.”

“There is the one who makes the law, and then there is the one who does the work and enforces it.”

Okoye let out a scandalized laugh and smacked his arm. “I’m going before you get me in trouble.”

M’Baku darted forward with a grace surprising for someone of his size and kissed her on the cheek. “In case I don’t see you tonight.”

Okoye forced herself to walk off the landing pad, but she carried a besotted smile with her the entire way to the plaza where the walk through started.

Okoye blinked as she watched two warriors, one from the Mining tribe and one from the River tribe, duke it out in the festival arena. Wow. It’s the fifth day already. How did that happen?

The Jabari had been a true gift from Bast. None of them had protested the temporary use of the kimoyo beads to communicate during the festival, which had almost left her with her jaw on the floor.

The first day had gone off without a hitch. There hadn’t been so much as an argument to diffuse.

The second and third days were a little trickier. Instead of managing one big crowd in one area, they had to manage multiple moving crowds across the whole of Wakanda. Okoye had to track down several of the River tribe volunteers during the course of both days, who had stepped off to give to the poor to ensure that they were ‘in proper spiritual accord with their gods.’

Okoye understood wanting to partake in the festival, and she wouldn’t decry their devotion to the gods, but they had one fucking job to do, dammit, and Bast help her--

Okoye forced herself to take a deep breath when she realized her grip on her spear had gone from ‘hold it upright’ to ‘white knuckles of death.’

She was standing in the arena box that the royal family and tribal leaders sat in while the combat challenges took place. She could see everything taking place on the arena floor, but was close enough to the door that if she got a call from one of the security volunteers, she could step out and handle things without disturbing the family and the elders.

She smiled politely as the Mining tribe warrior finally yielded to the River tribe warrior, then smiled genuinely as Nakia stood up and cheered for her fellow tribesman.

This. This is Wakanda, Okoye thought as she watched the crowd applaud and cheer.

All the tribes together --including several Jabari--celebrating the year and the prosperity that Bast had blessed them with, celebrating their hard work and culture.

This is what Wakanda is supposed to be.

She was glad M’Baku and the Jabari were here to see the Harvest Moon festival. Hopefully, when they went back to their mountains and solitude, they’d remember the rest of Wakanda like this, rather than think that those who lived in the valley were vibranium-crazed modernists who thought nothing of their heritage.

“I still don’t understand why I can’t sit with Dewani and the rest of the Jabari,” Shuri complained as she gazed at the section occupied by the rest of the Jabari warriors.

“It’s your duty, as the Princess, to attend the festival with your family,” Ramonda said. “Besides, you’ll see her later.”

“Well, why can’t she sit up here with us? M’Baku’s sitting up here, and she’s the sister of the Chief of the Jabari. She’s just as important!”

“Because you need to watch the festival, not watch Dewani the whole day,” T’Challa teased before ducking out of the way of Shuri’s swinging fists.

“Behave, both of you,” Ramonda admonished her children. “Dewani chose to sit with the other Jabari warriors of her own accord. You need to respect her decision, my child.”

Okoye smirked as Shuri slumped in her chair, dejected. Ah, young love. A moment’s separation is an eternity of torture.

“Are there any other challengers who think they can best the champions of Wakanda?” the announcer cried out over the loudspeaker system.

There was a shuffling among the crowd, and man dressed in the traditional greens of the River tribe stepped onto the arena floor. “I am M’Kobu, son of M’Kenda!”

Okoye stiffened as recognition shot through her. How, in Bast’s name, did he get in here?

M’Kobu, son M’Kenda, tribesman and warrior of the River tribe. He had been on of the candidates for the Princess’s hand before the Queen Mother had stepped in and called the venture off.

M’Kobu, unlike the rest of the candidates, hadn’t taken the news with grace. Okoye could still remember restraining the enraged man in the throne room before he could attack the Queen Mother. 

T’Chaka had decided, at the contrite begging of the River tribe elder, to merely ban M’Kobu from the palace and from direct participation in the festivals, rather than execute him.

Perhaps he thought the King wouldn’t remember his father’s edict, Okoye thought as she stepped out of the box to call Ayo. Unfortunately for him, I do.  “How the hell did he get in? I know he was on the ban list!”

“As far as we can tell, he got in through the section monitored by the River tribe volunteers.”

Okoye's vision went red. “I’m going to kill them all.”

“Save that for later. Get him out of the arena before someone responds to his challenge. Once the combat starts, we can’t boot him until he yields.”

Okoye ended the communication and hurried back into the box.

“M’Kobu, son of M’Kenda! What do you fight for today?”

M’Kobu pointed his vibranium club at the royal box. “A year ago, I was promised an opportunity for the Princess’s hand, only to have it ripped away without justification. Today, I’m back to claim what is rightfully mine.” He laughed. “I mean, someone has to bring the brat of Wakanda to heel.”

The announcer laughed uncomfortably. “Right. Okay. Is... is there anyone who would answer to M’Kobu’s challenge?”

Shuri clutched at T’Challa’s arm. “Brother! Stop him! Please!”

Okoye took the opportunity to step up behind T’Challa’s seat and speak quietly in his ear. “My King, your father banned M’Kobu from directly participating in all festivals when he tried to attack the Queen Mother. He should be thrown out for violating the orders of the former King, to say nothing for how he just defamed the Princess.”

Before T’Challa could react, a figure darted out of the stands and onto the arena floor.

M’Baku stiffened in his seat. “No, no...”

“You want a fight?”

Okoye watched, stunned into silence, as Dewani strode across the arena floor, staff in hand. Child, what are you doing?

“Listen to me, you sad sack of shit,” Dewani snapped when M’Kobu started laughing. “I don’t know what you smoked to make you think you’re even remotely worthy of the Princess. Frankly, the fact you’ve already been rejected should tell you everything you need to know, which only confirms that you’re an incomprehensibly stupid twat with cow shit for brains. However, if it’s a fight you want, I’m happy to give it to you --unless you’re worried about being beaten by a backwards, savage child.”

Okay, so she knows how to talk smack, but that won’t help her once the fight starts. Breaking from protocol, Okoye reached out and gripped T’Challa’s shoulder. “My King, she hasn’t formally accepted his challenge. You need to stop--”

“Are you... are you formally accepting M’Kobu’s challenge?” the announcer asked, disbelief evident in his voice.

“I am,” Dewani said.

Okoye grimaced. There’s no turning back now.

“I see... and your name?”

Dewani stood up straighter. “I am Dewani, sister of M’Baku, the Great Gorilla of the Jabari tribe. I accept M’Kobu’s, son of M’Kenda, challenge, and I am going to clean this arena floor with his pompous ass!”

In the stands, the Jabari spectators cheered and barked for their Princess.

“Is there anyway to stop this?” M’Baku asked, voice strained.

T’Challa’s expression was grave as he shook his head. “No. Not until one of them yields.”

“Alright. The match is between M’Kobu of the River tribe and Dewani of the Jabari tribe. This is a non-lethal fight, so it ends when one of you yields. Understood?” When both warriors nodded, the announcer raised his hand. “Then, let this match begin!”

Okoye couldn’t move from her spot, glued in place as she was by the spectacle.

Granted, Dewani was a decent opponent. She had a sharp, quick mind, and she was built broadly, with strong shoulders and thick legs. She was only a few inches shorter than T’Challa as well, which certainly helped her.

Unfortunately, it was even more obvious that she was still an amateur. Her footwork was unsteady, her stance too tense. Against a more experienced fighter like M’Kobu--

Okoye clenched her teeth as she watched M’Kobu land another blow to Dewani’s shoulder. Loosen up, Okoye thought, as though she could telepathically implant the suggestion in Dewani’s mind. Your shoulders are too tight; it’s throwing off your strikes.

Something wasn’t right with Dewani, either. Her jaw was visibly tight, and the look in her eyes almost seemed cagey.

Okoye frowned as details flickered through her mind. M’Baku said that their uncle abused her, that it left her with scars. Just how bad was her experience? Would it be enough to shut her down in a fight?

“T’Challa! Just stop this already! He shouldn’t even be here!”

Shuri’s frantic arguing pulled Okoye back to reality.

“Dewani answered his challenge! I can’t throw M’Kobu out until he yields!”

“You should’ve reacted faster!”

Okoye watched, horrified as M’Kobu clocked Dewani across the head with his club. “He’s fighting dirty!” She clapped a hand over her mouth as he brought his club down on Dewani’s left shoulder, causing Dewani to let out a shriek of pain and drop her staff. Her shoulder’s out. He dislocated her shoulder.

M’Baku gripped the armrests of his chair, anger burning in his dark eyes. “End this now, or I’ll go down there and throw him out myself!”

“You have no right to speak to speak to your King in such a manner!” the River tribe elder snapped.

Okoye gasped as M’Kobu grabbed Dewani by her collar, then let out a shaky sigh of relief when he recoiled after Dewani slammed her right fist into his face a couple times.

Shuri was screaming, completely panicked. “T’Challa! Just stop this already!”

“Get some of the Dora Milaje down there,” T’Challa ordered. “This has gone on long enough.”

“I’ve already called Ayo.” Okoye leaned forward as Dewani skittered backwards, clutching at her left arm. What is she doing? Her stomach lurched as she watched Dewani try to pop her shoulder back in. “No, no, no, no. Don’t try to relocate it. Just let us end the match,” she whispered, even though Dewani couldn’t hear her.

In the arena, Dewani let out a cry of pain, then managed to pop her shoulder back into its socket.

She’s done that before, Okoye thought to herself. She shouldn’t know how to do that.  Okoye’s blood ran cold as she caught sight of the look in Dewani’s eyes, turning what little relief she felt into dread. Oh fuck.

Later, she’d describe it to Ayo that it was if Dewani had left and was replaced by a malevolent demon. Sure, it was the same body and face, but the energy in her eyes, the energy pouring off of her, was like a cornered beast that was ready to snap.

She’d seen it before, too many times, in the War Dogs that came back after particularly heinous missions.

“T’Challa.” Okoye struggled to find her voice as she watched Dewani seeth through gritted teeth. “Call it off now. Call it off.”

Dewani lowered herself into a crouch, then launched herself across the arena.

Okoye found herself recoiling, despite her training. Shit, she’s fast.

Dewani was on M’Kobu in seconds and slammed into him with the force of a rhinoceros. She took him to the floor with a sickening thud, knocking his club clean out of his hands and sending it sailing.

The crowd cheered as Dewani straddled herself over M’Kobu, pinned his arms with her knees, and started punching him.

Shuri was sobbing angrily as she shook T’Challa by his shoulders. “Just stop this! She shouldn’t have to fight him! Just stop it already!”

“I agree with Shuri. This ends now,” Ramonda said. “Call off the fight, T’Challa!”

M’Baku was gripping the railing of the box, shouting down at his sister. “Dewani! Stop!”

Dewani stopped punching M’Kobu, only to start choking him out instead.

Okoye called Ayo. “Get the Milaje on the arena floor. She’s snapped. She can’t stop herself.”

M’Kobu squirmed underneath Dewani, before he finally smacked his hand against her leg in submission.

Dewani didn’t stop.

“Now! Do it now, Ayo!”

M’Baku leaned halfway over the railing. “Dewani! He yielded!”

Dewani flinched as she registered her brother’s voice, seemed to realize that M’Kobu was still smacking his hand against her leg, then scrambled off him so fast he might as well have been on fire. For a moment, she looked like she had no idea what to do. Then, she put on a fake air of bravado and cheered loudly, beating her chest in  victory. The Jabari in the stands responded in kind, until the rest of the spectators were swept up into the celebration along with them. Dewani shot one last, shaky grin at the crowd, then practically sprinted into one of the tunnels under the arena.

“She’s off him,” Okoye told Ayo. “Be ready to carry M’Kobu out of the arena.”

T’Challa let out a relieved sigh. “Shuri, I’m-- where she’d go?”

Okoye turned around just in time to see Shuri sprinting towards the stairs that led to the tunnels. “She’s going after Dewani!” Okoye ran after the Princess, taking the stairs two at a time as she tried to catch up to Shuri. “Princess Shuri! Wait!”

Shuri was standing a few feet away from Dewani, wringing her hands. “I found her like this! I don’t know what to do!”

Dewani was sitting on the floor, back against the tunnel wall. She was shaking like a leaf, and her breaths were shallow and irregular. Her eyes were wide and unfocused, and she almost seemed like a rag doll.

“What’s happening to her? Is she dying?”

“No,” Okoye said. “I don’t think so. Check her with your kimoyo beads to be sure.”

“I already did! They couldn’t find anything fatal!”

“Then she’s not dying. Try to calm down, please.”

Okoye had seen plenty of death before --it was the nature of her job. While she wasn’t a psychologist, what she was watching looked more like a severe panic attack than anything else.

Oh, child. Why did you push yourself so hard if this was going to be the outcome? We would’ve handled it. With a sigh, Okoye knelt in front of Dewani and took the girl’s hands in hers.

Dewani’s eyes snapped into focus, and she made a noise that was somewhere between a whimper and a snarl.

“Breathe,” Okoye said gently. “In through your nose, out through your mouth.”

Dewani tried to follow Okoye’s instructions, but only managed jerky, faltering half-breaths.

“Breathe with me.” She started doing warrior breaths, breathing in through her nose until her lungs were full, then exhaling through her mouth until they were empty.

Dewani’s fingers tightened around Okoye’s hands as she started mimicking the her.

“That’s it,” Okoye said softly. “You’re safe. Just breathe as best you can.”

Eventually, Dewani’s breathing evened out, and she seemed to be solidly back in the present world. Her eyes were tired, but she wasn’t staring through the wall anymore.

Okoye let out a quiet breath as she relaxed a little. She looked up for the first time in almost twenty minutes to assess where everyone was at.

T’Challa and Nakia were standing about six feet back, far away enough to give proper space, but close enough to keep an eye on things. They were holding hands, and the lovers had identical worried expressions on their faces.

Shuri and Ramonda were closer, only a few feet away. Ramonda was holding Shuri, who was crying quietly as she leaned against her mother’s chest.

M’Baku was standing the closest, expression grim. Wordlessly, he sat down next to his sister and put his hand on her good arm.

Dewani let out a shaky breath, looked up at the grim faces surrounding her, and said, “Why does everyone look like they’re attending a funeral?”

“I thought you were dying!” Shuri exclaimed as she darted over to Dewani’s side.

“Why would I be dying?”

“Well, I didn’t know if you’d sustained any internal injuries! I mean, he hit you on the head!”

“Oh, yeah. That did happen.” Dewani took her hands out Okoye’s and held onto M’Baku’s hand with one and Shuri’s with the other. She glanced between her brother and her girlfriend. “Well, don’t we make quite the trio.”

Shuri let out a high-pitched, nervous laugh as she leaned against Dewani, the recoiled hard when Dewani let out a hiss of pain. “I’m sorry! Are you okay?”

“Yeah, that’s just my bad shoulder.”

Shuri was on her feet in seconds. “Come on, I’ll take you to my lab. You’ll be healed up in no time.”

“The Jabari don’t use vibranium to heal themselves,” M’Baku muttered, but there wasn’t any real protest in his voice.

“I think Hanuman will forgive us if we indulge in advanced medicine this one time,” Dewani said as she let Shuri pull her to her feet with her good arm. “Besides, do you really think you’ll win an argument with her? In this state?”

Okoye chuckled, mostly because it was clear that was the reaction Dewani wanted, and held her hand out to M’Baku. “You know she’s right.”

From her post by the lab’s entrance, Okoye could see everything.

Shuri was flitting about nervously as she used her technology to check for internal injuries and heal a few cracked ribs that Dewani had suffered during her fight with M’Kobu. Her expression was pinched, only loosening for brief spurts as Dewani mouthed off and cracked jokes before her face would pucker with stress once more.

Dewani, to her credit, was doing remarkably well in spite of everything. Her eyes were tired, but she was still smiling and laughing as she tried to get Shuri to relax. Only when Shuri’s back was turned did the cheerful mask slip, and the weariness set back in.

T’Challa and M’Baku were watching their sisters near the entrance, careful to give Shuri enough room to work. T’Challa’s gaze followed Shuri as she moved about her lab, while M’Baku’s was set, never leaving his sister.

Nakia and Ramonda had left to deal with the council, who had called an emergency meeting once Dewani was patched up.

When Shuri walked over to fiddle with something on one of the tables, T’Challa reached out and brushed his fingers against her arm. “Is everything okay?”

“Joints dislocate easier when they’ve been dislocated multiple times,” Shuri mumbled before walking back to Dewani.

T’Challa frowned, and turned to Okoye. “Do you know what she means?”

“Dewani’s dislocated her left shoulder more than once,” Okoye said. “Or, more likely, someone’s dislocated it for her more than once.”

There was an uncomfortable pause, and they both looked up at M’Baku.

M’Baku’s eyes were glossy as he watched Dewani smile at Shuri. “My mother died when I was ten. My father remarried Dewani’s mother, a woman from the Mining tribe, to settle a border dispute. His brother was not a fan of the match, and when my father and Dewani’s mother died...” His voice trailed off, and he let out a shaky breath. “Our uncle is not a kind man, nor is he an open-minded one. 

Okoye looked down to hid her own tears. She’d heard the story before, but what she’d imagined paled in comparison to the results she’d witnessed today. What kind of bastard dislocates a child’s shoulder?

“I only got her back two years ago,” M’Baku said, voice wavering. “She wouldn’t even look at me during the first couple months. She didn’t smile for six more, not at all.”

T’Challa placed his hand on M’Baku’s shoulder. “You’ve done a wonderful job with her. She’s a lovely young woman. You should be proud of her.”

“I am,” M’Baku said as he wiped tears away from his eyes. “I really am. She’s come so far.”

“Hey, no! Don’t make him cry!” Dewani said from across the lab. “He blubbers like a baby when he gets started, and I’m the one who’ll have to clean him up!”

“I do not blubber like a baby,” M’Baku said indignantly, smiling nonetheless.

“Oh, please. Whales look at you and go ‘wow, he blubbers a lot.’”

“Ah, and is that your translation of things?”

“No, it’s a cat’s. I heard it through the grape vine.”

“Oh, so you take your advice from fruit and felines now.” M’Baku shot a teasing glance at T’Challa. “How... dubious.”

“Says the man who’s most striking resemblance to a gorilla is the way he snores!”

“Her ribs and shoulder are done healing,” Shuri said in a watery voice. “Fortunately, there weren’t any other internal injuries.”

Dewani spread her arms open with a faltering smile. “Good as new!”

T’Challa let out a heavy sigh, and placed his hand on Dewani’s good shoulder. “I owe you an apology, Dewani. I should’ve stopped M’Kobu before anyone could’ve answered his challenge, and I should’ve stopped him even though you responded. I’m sorry.”

Dewani shrugged, somewhat deflated. “It’s okay.” She jerked her head at M’Baku. “He’s always telling me that I let my temper run away with me too much, anyway.” Her voice cracked at the end, and she tilted her head back, blinking hard.

T’Challa patted Dewani’s shoulder, then nudged his sister. “Let’s give them a minute.” He looked at Okoye. “Will you escort the Chief to the throne room when she’s ready?”

Okoye nodded, and tried to make herself as unobtrusive as possible as T’Challa and Shuri left. She watched as M’Baku stepped in front of Dewani and pulled her into his arms, until all that was visible of the teenage girl were her arms, which were pressed against his back.

For a moment, everything was quiet. The lab was like a tomb.

Then, a tiny whimper escaped Dewani. The whimper became whine, the whine became a cry, and eventually she was sobbing, hoarse and broken. Her arms and hands went from resting against her brother’s back to clinging, desperately, as though if she loosened her grip he’d sail away from her.

Okoye felt her eyes sting as Dewani’s pained cries echoed off the lab walls. She did her best to blink back her tears and keep her face clean. You can have your sadness later. You still need to look presentable for the council meeting.

Yes, it was sweet that the two cared for each other so obviously, but Okoye couldn’t help but view the entire thing as a tragedy.

As far as she could understand, M’Baku had adopted Dewani because he had to, because he had to save her. There was no doubt that he found great joy in caring for his sister, but there was an undeniable element of necessity that painted a picture of an angry, broken family with a child caught in between them.

In some ways, it reminded her of the disaster of T’Chaka’s and N’Jobu’s falling out, the disaster that had created N’Jadaka’s campaign against his extended family.

Okoye allowed herself a small smile as M’Baku kissed the top of his sister’s head and wiped the tears off her cheeks. Fortunately, Dewani has something in her life that N’Jadaka likely never had --someone who cares about her deeply.

Dewani would be okay. Okoye was sure of that.

When she stepped into the throne room, despite her many years of navigating the palace, Okoye thought for a moment that she took a wrong turn. This isn’t a council meeting. This is pit of chaos.

Normally, the Tribal Elders could usually be counted on to maintain some level of decorum. Okoye had only ever seen two out and out fights --once when the UN started leaning on Wakanda to open its borders to an inspection team, and once when T’Challa was reseated as King; fingers were pointed in every direction, each leader trying to cover their own ass for having not challenged the outsider, until T’Challa managed to get a word in edgewise and assure the leaders that he held no grudges or ill feelings.

Today, the elders were all talking over each other, creating a din that echoed off the walls and high ceilings. It was almost impossible to pick out words or phrases, but years of practice helped Okoye put together that they were arguing about two things: how M’Kobu had gotten into the arena, and Dewani.

“That’s enough!”

Okoye’s head whipped up at the sound of T’Challa’s voice, clear and clearly annoyed. She carefully took her seat as she watched him struggle to compose himself.

“I appreciate your concern and enthusiasm over Chief M’Baku’s sister, but it stops there. The relationship between my sister and the Jabari princess is my family’s concern, Chief M’Baku’s concern, and no one else’s. Am I clear?” When the --slightly cowed--leaders murmured their agreement, T’Challa nodded. “Good. That leaves dealing with M’Kobu.”

“Well, there’s only one person in here that can explain that,” the River tribe elder said crisply. “General Okoye, would you like to explain the failings of your soldiers?”

Between the weeks of scrambling to prepare for the festival and the last two hours she’d just gone through, something snapped in Okoye. They refuse to let us use our regular security force, forcing us to train an entirely new team in less than adequate time, balk on providing the amount of support needed, their volunteers are the ones that ran off and let M’Kobu in, and they want to blame my women? “My soldiers?” Okoye hissed as she tried to reel her temper in. “You want to blame my soldiers for what happened today?”

“They were in charge of the security force. This failure in on their heads.”

Okoye nearly ripped the armrests off her seat. “Do you really want to know what happened? Your volunteers decided to ignore the blacklist we gave them and let M’Kobu in!”

“Well, maybe they thought--”

“No!” Okoye snapped. “They didn’t think! Instead of listening to my women, they went and did their own damn thing!” She smacked her hands together. “This is why we need the Border tribe! This is why we needed our regular security contingency! They already knew about the blacklist from several years of working during festivals and celebrations, and they’re used to following orders!”

“Yes, but we couldn’t count on the Border tribe to be loyal after their betrayal.”

“Well, we can’t count on the other tribes either!” Okoye exclaimed, exasperated. “Both the Merchant and the River tribes balked on the numbers that they promised to supply. If it hadn’t been for the Jabari, we would’ve been short by over one hundred people! If you’re going to force us to go without one of the tribes, then the other tribes have to pick up the slack! There’s no other option!”

The River and Merchant tribe elders had the decency to look sheepish.

“General Okoye is right,” T’Challa said after a moment. “If anything, today proves how much Wakanda needs all her tribes. We cannot function if we are divided. The Border tribe needs to be welcomed back into the fold.” He stood. “If you’ll excuse me, my sister’s had a rough day and I need to attend to her. We can discuss reintegrating the Border tribe at a later date.”

Let’s see... make sure all my bills are up to date, make sure nothing’s growing in the fridge, pull my winter jacket out of storage...

Okoye smiled to herself as she walked down the inner hall that led to the landing platform. She was going to say a quick good-bye to M’Baku, then head to her apartment to pack, and then...

Then, in forty-eight short hours, she’d be up in the mountains with M’Baku.

For nearly two weeks.

She’d smacked Ayo in the shoulder last night when her second-in-command had not-so-innocently asked if her contraceptive shot was up to date.

“I almost didn’t recognize you without the armor on.”

Okoye looked down at her blue, yellow, and orange blouse and plain jeans that Shuri had given her last year. “I don’t wear the armor when I’m off duty.” She grinned up at M’Baku, but her grin faded when she took in his solemn expression. “Is everything okay?”

“How upset would you be if I asked you to postpone your visit to the Jabari lands?”

Okoye’s heart sank, but she did her best to keep her expression neutral. “What’s wrong?”

M’Baku let out a heavy sigh. “My grandmother’s health has taken a turn for the worse. Dewani is deeply attached to her, so I suspect most of time between reaching home and coming back for the next council meeting will be devoted to caring for them both.”

Ah. Nothing to raise a fuss over. He’s got his hands full. “It’s fine. Being the General of the Dora Milaje racks up a lot of overtime. I’ve got several months of vacation days stored up. We’ll simply plan for another time.”

The look of relief on M’Baku’s face was almost heartbreaking. “Thank you. I’m sorry for backing out on you.”

“It’s fine; you’re not backing out on me.” Okoye wrapped her arms around his waist in a reassuring hug. “Would it be offensive if I offered a prayer to Bast for your grandmother’s health?”

“No, as long as you don’t make any offerings or burn incense during the prayer, but...”

“...But?”

M’Baku’s eyes were glossy as he went on. “The healers think this might be the end. She has cancer, and they’re pretty sure it’s in its final stages.”

Okoye frowned sadly. “I’m so sorry, my love. You know, the Princess would happily examine her to see if she had something that would help.”

“I can’t do that.”

“I know the Jabari are wary of vibranium, but if you’re worried about adverse side effects--”

“I didn’t say ‘I won’t do that.’ I said I can’t.”

“I’m not following.”

M’Baku stepped out of her arms to stare out the one of the windows that dotted the hallway, jaw tense with anger. “I’m not the executor of my grandmother’s care and estate. That duty falls to my uncle, and he’ll never approve.”

“You’re the chief. Can’t you override him?”

“Could I? Yes. Unfortunately, the consequences of doing that aren’t exactly minor. He has a lot of friends among the Jabari, and I’m the youngest chief to be elected in our tribe’s history. I’ve already caught flack for rejoining the rest of Wakanda. I can’t afford any careless missteps, especially in an area where he holds so much authority in his own right. I only managed to get Dewani away from him because of my authority as chief of the tribe. If I lose that power...” M’Baku shuddered. “I can’t even think about it.”

Okoye rubbed her hand against his arm as she tried to comfort him. “Is he really that bad?”

M’Baku shot her a dark, angry look. “He beat my sister for being a half-Mining tribe lesbian. What do you think?” Before she could respond, M’Baku let out a groan and covered his eyes with his hand. “Sorry... sorry. I shouldn’t have directed my anger at you. He’s just--”

“A wasp in the garden of life?” Okoye offered.

“No shit. Angry, self-righteous, buzzy little bastard...”

“I happen to know some people who are pretty good with a fly swatter.”

M’Baku laughed. “Don’t tempt me. I get enough bad ideas all on my own.”

“I’m just saying. You know where to find me.”

M’Baku gave her an incredulous look. “You’d commit yourself to an inter-tribal hit?”

Okoye flashed him a devious grin. “I’d use my spear. Files would be redacted and witnesses would go missing. Simple.”

M’Baku let out a peal of shocked laughter, but it was cut off by an irritated shout.

“M’Baku!” Dewani’s voice echoed through the hall. “I swear to Hanuman, if you--”

“What did I say about swearing to Hanuman over inconsequential matters?”

“Something about blasphemy.” Dewani rounded the corner. “Oh. Hi, Okoye!” She waved, then pointed in the direction of the landing platform. “Our ship is waiting.”

“Thank you, Dewani--”

“It’s ready.”

“I gathered as much. I’ll be coming in just a minute.”

“You know that’s a pitfully short amount of time to last, right?”

Okoye snorted and clapped a hand over her mouth.

M’Baku, by comparison, was far less amused. “Go.”

“Sheesh, fine! Make one dick joke, and suddenly you’re a pariah!”

“Dewani!”

“I’m going!”

“Your sister is a gem,” Okoye said once Dewani rounded the corner and disappeared from view.

“Exactly! I’m a fucking delight!”

“Dewani!” M’Baku glared at the corner, then refocused on Okoye when it offered no further commentary. “Sorry. I’m still working on housebreaking her.”

Okoye shrugged. “Believe me, I’ve heard worse.”

M’Baku’s eyes went dark and intense as he gazed down at her. He rubbed the pad of his thumb over her cheek. “I’m going to miss you.”

“I’ll be here when you come back,” she promised. She felt her heart lurch in her chest as M’Baku leaned down towards her, and let her eyelids flutter shut.

It wasn’t forceful or brutish. Instead, M’Baku kissed her with a gentleness --with a tenderness--that completely belied his size and made her feel like she was floating.

“If you keep kissing me like that, I won’t be able to let go,” Okoye warned him when they parted.

“I’m not opposed to that.”

“I figured as much, but I won’t be practical for what you’re headed in to.”

“I adapt quickly.”

Okoye shook her head as she laughed. “You’re impossible.”

“It hasn’t put you off me yet.”

“You couldn’t put me off you if you tried.” Okoye kissed him once more, briefly, and patted his chest. “Go. Your ship is waiting.”

“Good-bye, Okoye.”

"Are you finally done sucking face with your girlfriend?”

“That’s enough, Dewani.”

“Sorry. Bye, Okoye!”

“Good-bye, Dewani.” She watched M’Baku’s back as he walked away from her, then smiled and made a gentle shooing motion with her hands when he paused at the corner to turn back and look at her.

M’Baku smiled softly at her, then stepped past the bend.

Okoye let out a sad sigh, and slumped against the wall. It’s okay. Life happens. There will be other times. She stood, and walked in the opposite direction of hte landing platform.

Her apartment in Birnin Zana was waiting for her.

[junhaoclub]

hold me now (m)

pairing: junhao  genre: angst, prostitute!au  warnings: underage prostitution, underage!minghao kidnapping, implied non-con, sex trafficking, sexual abuse  a/n: please read this with care. it’s the grittier, more triggering, version of a prostitute au and i f*cking hate viper, i hope you come to hate him too  prompt: #31 prostitute/client au  words: 1700  summary: tonight feels different somehow. it's not something having to do with junhui though...

it's all minghao right now. minghao is different than usual. 

"Minghao, you look fucking terrible."

Minghao laughs humorlessly in response, wincing through it when his spread lips make his busted lip split open again. Junhui tsks at him and grabs more gauze, pressing it firmly against the wound on Minghao's bottom lip.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" Junhui asks, his tone gentle and reassuring and Minghao really wishes he had it in him to hate him.

But he doesn't and that's exactly his problem.

Instead, Minghao's actually pretty sure he's in love with the rich bastard. Which only makes his life that much harder because Junhui doesn't want him.

To be very blunt, Minghao is a prostitute. Not by choice, but by force. He was taken from his home in China and smuggled into South Korea where he was smacked around by Viper for only being able to speak Chinese, therefore not responding properly to his questions and being "disrespectful". He'd been tricked into meeting up with a boy his age for a movie and the last he'd seen of Anshan was what he could glimpse from the back of the van they'd dragged him into before he blacked out. When he woke up, Viper had been standing before him and his hands were tied.

He'd cried the first week there, but the others ー God, the others ー they huddled into him and centered their too thin bodies around him until he was completely cocooned by their reassuring murmurs and furious whispers of keeping his cries down before he came in to check on them. And Minghao really only understood that much because anyone would be able to understand what "Sh!" means in practically any language. Still, the others. There are kids younger than him with Viper, older, even a few around his age, but with the drugs Viper forced onto them, Minghao can't really pinpoint a certain age for any one of them. Their bodies are mere skeletons now and their eyes are lifeless, barely with the will to live.

Minghao has tried, tried so hard to leave ー to get back home ー but he can't. He can't and it's breaking him apart. He's hooked on the drugs just like the others and if Minghao were to leave the country right now, he'd only get caught again because of the withdrawal symptoms he'd be sure to undergo. Viper could very well kill him if he left as well, but Minghao honestly prefers death over this life he's being forced to live. He's only seventeen and yet Minghao feels old beyond his years.

The only good thing that has come out of this is Junhui.

In Viper's eyes, Junhui is a client, but Minghao knows better.

He and Junhui have never had sex. Yes, Junhui does pay the full-night fee each and every time he "picks up" Minghao, but they have never once had sex with each other. Junhui rents out a hotel room each and every time they're together, then lets Minghao do whatever he wants.

He lets Minghao shower, lets him dress in comfy clothes that aren't littered with week-old stains, and lets him sleep for their entire time together if Minghao so desires. But each and every time, Junhui makes a point of cleaning his wounds, of dressing them and bandaging them properly. Junhui is a nurse from a rich family and his medical knowledge has helped Minghao prevent a number of certain infections. Sometimes, Junhui will even have an STD kit with him to test Minghao and make sure he hasn't caught anything from his clients and Viper alike. So far, Minghao has managed to remain clean thanks to the ever constant condoms Junhui always supplies him with.

Since Junhui's entrance into his life, the others haven't been as welcoming as they once were, but Minghao knows it's only because they want rich clients as well so that Viper will leave them alone more often. Minghao doesn't blame them for being jealous, this is survival after all and only the most resourceful will be able to win.

There are some nights though when Junhui will talk with Minghao.

Now even after being in Korea for a year, Minghao still can't speak the language very well. But Junhui is Chinese himself and only came here to work because the hospital is owned by his family. So Minghao takes comfort in the familiar language that he craves to be surrounded by again.

But they talk. A lot, sometimes and other times, not enough. Minghao doesn't know what to make of Junhui most of the time, but he knows that without a doubt, Junhui would never want him like that. Junhui is much too absorbed with the fact that Minghao was brought here against his will and his body is now being sold off against his wishes as well. He's hooked on drugs that Minghao would never have voluntarily taken in the first place and it makes Junhui sick to his stomach that a child, a child is being used like this. Minghao knows this, he knows all of this, but that doesn't stop him from falling for the elder, doesn't stop him from wishing that maybe one night Junhui will want to have sex with him because Minghao definitely wants to have sex with Junhui.

Tonight feels different somehow. It's not something having to do with Junhui though, this is their usual routine after all, Junhui treating his wounds, cleaning him up, giving Minghao some comfort and human affection to latch onto and save for other nights ー for the bad nights ー and just being there for Minghao in general. Junhui is the same kind man as ever and it's all Minghao right now. Minghao is different than usual. He misses China, not that he ever really stopped missing it, to begin with, but tonight it's like an ache in his chest. He misses Anshan and he misses his mother and grandmother, his misses his friends, and his heart aches for the pain he must have caused them all when he was taken away.

Minghao has been clean enough this week that he's not too worried about having withdrawal symptoms, but he isn't too sure either. Because he's still on drugs, just not as high of a dosage as usual. Viper thought it'd been a good idea to cut back ever since another client told him Minghao was too doped out to do anything. So he's cleaner than usual, but maybe not as clean as he should be if he decides to finally take Junhui's offer tonight.

He wants to go home and hug his mom again, wants her to smooth his hair back and kiss his forehead before holding him tight in her embrace again. Wants his grandmother to make his favorite soup for him as she pats him on the back and coos at him for eating it so well. He wants to go home to his tidy room and spread out on a bed that's all his own, not a hotel bed Junhui got for him or that air mattress he shares with three others.

Minghao wants to go home. He wants to leave and never look back again.

"I want to go home."

Junhui doesn't freeze up, doesn't pretend like he didn't hear Minghao. He merely nods and continues to clean and dress Minghao's wounds. It's only when he's done that he finally acknowledges what Minghao said.

"You're ready to go?" Junhui asks with his warm brown eyes on Minghao.

Minghao nods, tears springing to his eyes as he thinks of his mother and grandmother again. "I want to go home," he repeats.

Junhui opens his arms and Minghao falls into his embrace, muffling his sobs into Junhui's chest. He cries like he did that first week, but this time, there's relief mixed into the whirlwind of his emotions. There's relief and a sense of safety as Junhui holds him close, with his sturdy arms wrapped tight around Minghao's too skinny frame and Minghao's own skeleton arms curled around Junhui's torso. And Minghao cries and cries and cries until there's nothing left for him to cry over and Junhui still holds him tight.

"Once you're back home, I'm pulling the plug on Viper," Junhui murmurs. "I should've done it when I first found you, but I couldn't risk you getting hurt in the struggle. I needed you safe and, preferably, out of the country before I did."

Minghao nods, his eyelids tear-swollen and cheeks flushed. "And the others?"

"I'm getting them out. I'm getting them all out." Junhui's voice does not shake when he says this and Minghao believes him. He trusts Junhui to save the others as well.

"And you?"

Junhui smiles and pushes Minghao's hair away from his face. "I'll meet up with you when it's all said and done. Think you can get rid of me that easily?"

Minghao laughs, pressing his face into Junhui's neck. "I wouldn't dream of it."

Junhui's laugh rings like bells in Minghao's ears.

Eventually, they find themselves sitting on the edge of the bed, side-by-side while Junhui holds his cellphone out to Minghao. Minghao eyes it and takes it cautiously, not sure about what Junhui is trying to tell him. Junhui only smiles at him, nodding at him to go ahead.

"I have international calling on my plan. If you still remember her number, try calling your mom," Junhui clarifies, smiling again when Minghao's fingers fly across the screen in a panic to call his mother as quickly as he can.

The line rings and Minghao waits with a baited breath, his nerves on edge. It's been a year since he's heard his mother's voice. Will she know it's him? Will she think it's some kind of prank? What if she gave up on looking for Minghao months ago? Does she even want him back?

"Hello?"

Minghao freezes, his breath caught in his throat as his mother's voice rises from Junhui's phone. Tears prick his eyes but Minghao blinks them back, dragging in a deep breath before he speaks, already imagining how tight his mother will hold him once he's back in Anshan. Once he's home.

"Mom. It's me."

a/n: i never expected to write something like this actually and i didn’t go with the typical fic you’d expect with this au because that’s not really my kind of style.

i tried to handle all that went on as delicately as possible, but if there’s something else you think i should warn for, please let me know!!!!

junhui is in like his early twenties in this fic btw, i couldn’t pick an actual age so i just didn’t mention it. and i also didn’t know whether to use sti or std instead bc growing up, i was taught that it’s std and then college came and kicked that out the window with sti instead v.v

i hope this wasn’t really horrible. thank you for reading!! please give minghao lots and lots of love!