#the thing immediately without allowing it to back down first. no more negotiation only solutions

[bitegore]

I do think it's funny that i can absolutely hit my limit and. Then i'm just normal. I'm not capable of getting loudly, personally mad at the moment. I got so mad it's turned off. Next thing that gets me really mad is just getting impersonally destroyed but I'm going to be nearly deadpan about it. Super chill. No yelling, no blustering, none of that. Like it'd be convenient if i didn't know exactly what the value of yelling first was.

[bruuluuu]

Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, step right up to the greatest show on Earth: Parenthood! In this thrilling rollercoaster ride of sleepless nights, dirty diapers, and endless negotiations with pint-sized dictators (aka toddlers), we'll be your trusty sidekick as you navigate the wild world of raising tiny humans. So buckle up – it's going to be a hilarious journey! In our first act – Baby Whisperer: Unlocking the Secrets to Parental Success – we'll reveal how mastering baby talk can transform you into a bona fide infant guru. Next up is From Diapers to Diplomas: A Comedic Guide to Winning at Parenthood. Here, we'll share some laugh-out-loud tips for surviving everything from diaper blowouts (you know what I'm talking about) all the way through high school graduation day. But wait - there's more! Table of contents: How to become a successful parent Baby Whisperer: Unlocking the Secrets to Parental Success From Diapers to Diplomas: A Comedic Guide to Winning at Parenthood Raising Future Geniuses: Hilarious Tips for Top-Notch Parenting Surviving the Toddler-pocalypse: Humorous Strategies for Taming Tiny Tyrants Parent Like a Pro: Laugh Your Way Through Sleepless Nights and Picky Eaters Ah, parenting – that magical journey where you somehow transform from a carefree individual into a responsible adult who's in charge of molding the next generation. It's like being handed the keys to a Ferrari and realizing you've only ever driven bumper cars. But fear not, dear reader! We're here to give you some top-notch advice on how to become the most successful parent this side of Hogwarts (because let's face it, Molly Weasley is #ParentingGoals). So buckle up those diaper bags and prepare for liftoff! First things first: embrace your inner Mary Poppins. No, we don't mean start flying around with an umbrella (though that would be pretty cool), but rather adopt her philosophy of "a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down." Parenting can be tough – there will be tantrums over broccoli and battles over bedtime – but if you approach each situation with humor and creativity, even those dreaded moments can become opportunities for bonding and growth. For example: when little Timmy refuses his vegetables at dinner time because they're "yucky," why not create an epic tale about brave knights conquering evil dragons made entirely out of Brussels sprouts? Or when Susie won't stop jumping on her bed after lights-out? Transform her bedroom into outer space by dimming the lights and playing astronaut-themed lullabies as she drifts off to sleep among stars. Now that we've tackled mindset, let's talk strategy - specifically communication skills worthy of Oprah herself! As parents-to-be or seasoned veterans in this game called life-with-kids know all too well; communication is key when it comes down navigating through uncharted territory such as potty training mishaps or teenage angst ridden years full rebellion against authority figures like yourself (*cue dramatic eye roll*). The secret sauce here lies within mastering art active listening empathetic responses while maintaining firm yet loving boundaries which allow children feel heard respected without compromising your own values expectations. Sounds like juggling flaming torches while riding a unicycle, right? Fear not! Start by practicing active listening: when your child is speaking to you, give them your full attention and resist the urge to interrupt or offer solutions immediately. Instead, try paraphrasing what they've said back to them ("So you're feeling upset because Tommy took your toy during playtime?") and validate their emotions ("I can understand why that would make you feel angry."). This simple act of acknowledgment goes a long way in building trust and fostering open communication between parent and child. And there you have it – the ultimate guide on how to become a successful parent (or at least fake it 'til you make it!). Remember: parenting is an ever-evolving journey filled with laughter, tears, surprises (both good and bad), but most importantly love. So go forth into this wild world armed with humor, creativity, empathy - oh! And maybe some earplugs for those sleepless nights ahead... Baby Whisperer: Unlocking the Secrets to Parental Success Are you a parent struggling to get your little one to sleep through the night? Are you looking for ways to make parenting easier and more successful? Well, have no fear! The Baby Whisperer is here! This mysterious figure has been around for centuries, helping parents unlock the secrets of parental success. Through their magical powers of whispering sweet nothings into babies' ears, they can help soothe even the most fussy infants. With just a few gentle words and some soothing sounds, these whisperers can turn any crying baby into an angelic sleeping beauty in no time at all. So if you're feeling overwhelmed by parenthood or just want some tips on how to be a better parent, look no further than the Baby Whisperer! They may not be able to solve all your problems overnight but with their help, you'll soon find yourself mastering this parenting thing like never before. From Diapers to Diplomas: A Comedic Guide to Winning at Parenthood Ah, parenthood. It's a wild ride filled with joys, frustrations, and plenty of surprises along the way. But don't worry - you can be a successful parent! With this comedic guide to winning at parenthood, you'll learn how to go from diapers to diplomas in no time. First things first: get ready for some sleepless nights! You may think that your little bundle of joy will sleep through the night right away – but chances are they won't (at least not until they're much older). So stock up on coffee and prepare yourself for long days ahead. Next up is potty training – one of the most challenging parts of parenting (and one that many parents dread!). The key here is patience; it takes time for kids to learn how to use the toilet properly so don't rush them or expect too much too soon. Be prepared with plenty of rewards and praise when they do something correctly – it'll make all those accidents easier to handle! Once your child has mastered potty training, it's time for school! This is an exciting milestone in any child’s life but also a nerve-wracking experience for parents as well. Don’t worry though; just remember that every kid learns differently so try different methods until you find what works best for yours. And above all else – trust their teachers; they know what’s best when it comes educating children! Finally comes graduation day: after years spent raising your little ones into young adults who are ready take on whatever life throws at them next - whether its college or career paths - there's nothing quite like seeing them walk across that stage with pride and accomplishment written all over their faces. Congratulations mama/papa bear ,you did good ! Raising Future Geniuses: Hilarious Tips for Top-Notch Parenting [caption id="" align="aligncenter" width="640"] Learn the secrets to becoming a successful parent! Get tips and advice from experts on how to raise children with confidence and help them reach their full potential.[/caption] Raising a future genius is no easy task. But don’t worry, we have some hilarious tips to help you out! First up: make sure your child has plenty of brain food. That means stocking the fridge with lots of fruits and vegetables – and maybe even a few cans of tuna for good measure! And don’t forget to give them plenty of intellectual stimulation too; reading books together or playing educational games can be great ways to get their minds working. Next, it's important that your little one gets enough sleep - so make sure they're tucked in nice and early each night (with their favorite teddy bear, if necessary!). Also, try not to overschedule them; while extracurricular activities are great for developing skills like teamwork and creativity, too much can lead to burnout. Finally – this is probably the most important tip – shower your kid with love! Showing affection will help boost their self-esteem which will in turn foster confidence as they grow older. Plus it'll just make them feel really special - which every genius deserves! Surviving the Toddler-pocalypse: Humorous Strategies for Taming Tiny Tyrants [caption id="" align="aligncenter" width="640"] Want to be a successful parent? Discover the essential tips and tricks you need to know to raise your children in a healthy and loving environment.[/caption] Ah, the toddler-pocalypse. It's a time of chaos and destruction that can leave even the most experienced parents feeling helpless. But fear not! With these humorous strategies for taming tiny tyrants, you'll be able to survive this tumultuous period with your sanity intact. First off, don't underestimate the power of bribery! Whether it's candy or toys, offering rewards for good behavior is an effective way to get your little one to cooperate (just make sure you don't overdo it). And if all else fails? A good old-fashioned timeout never hurt anyone - just make sure they understand why they're being punished in order to avoid any confusion down the line. When dealing with tantrums and meltdowns, try using humor as a distraction technique - after all laughter is often said to be the best medicine! If nothing else works then take them outside for some fresh air; sometimes getting away from whatever was causing them distress can do wonders in calming them down. Finally remember that patience is key when parenting toddlers - no matter how difficult things may seem at times just keep reminding yourself that this too shall pass eventually (even though it might feel like forever!). With these tips in mind you should have no problem surviving through this trying period known as 'the toddler-pocalypse'. Parent Like a Pro: Laugh Your Way Through Sleepless Nights and Picky Eaters [caption id="" align="aligncenter" width="640"] Discover how to be a successful parent with these simple tips and techniques. Get the guidance you need to raise happy, healthy children! How to become a successful parent[/caption] Are you ready to become a master parent? Well, it's time to get your game face on! Parenting isn't always easy, but with the right strategies and techniques, you can be sure that your kids will grow up into happy and successful adults. One of the most important things for any parent is learning how to laugh through sleepless nights and picky eaters. After all, parenting isn't just about discipline; it's also about having fun! So don't forget to take some time out of your day for a good chuckle or two - even if it means making silly faces at your toddler while they're trying their hardest not to giggle. It's also important that you stay flexible when dealing with picky eaters. Don't worry too much if they won't try something new; instead focus on finding creative ways around the problem by offering them healthy alternatives in an exciting way. For example, why not make dinner into a game by giving them different options each night? That way they'll have something new every day without feeling overwhelmed or pressured into eating something unfamiliar. Finally, remember that being a great parent doesn’t mean never making mistakes – we all do from time-to-time! Just keep in mind that no matter what happens during those sleepless nights or meal times battles – as long as everyone is safe and happy – then everything else will work itself out eventually (even if it takes awhile!). Conferences on Successful Parent https://www.capea.org/annual-conference - The California Parent Educator Association hosts an annual conference for homeschooling and parenting families, with workshops and keynote speakers on topics related to education and child-rearing. https://www.parentingoc.com/events/parenting-oc-conference/ - Parenting OC Magazine hosts an annual conference in Southern California, with speakers and workshops focused on various aspects of parenting, including education, health, and behavior. https://www.cpfcalifornia.org/conference/ - The California Parent Teacher Association hosts an annual convention for parents, teachers, and administrators, with workshops and keynote speakers on topics related to education and advocacy.

[mbti-notes]

Anon wrote: INFJ here. One thing that I dislike about myself is that I am really avoidant and shy. I can't stand my ground or defend myself or others. I either doubt my rightfulness or worry about the other party yelling, beating me or overreacting. 

I went to a butcher's with someone and the guy prepared us the wrong meat. The quality was a bit worse than the one we originally picked. The guy was still insisting and trying to sell it to us. Me being a pushover, accepted it easily. It was the wrong meat, but the guy had prepared it for us. And the guy could lash out and show a bad reaction. 

However, the person who was with me went and confronted the guy and didn't back down, until the guy changed the meat and gave us the original good quality one. The whole time, I was worried about the butcher yelling at her or saying something hurtful. As we left, she told me to stop being weak and afraid of holding my ground, and learn to defend myself. I wish I were like her, but I clearly lack this skill and can't defend myself or others close to me, because I'm avoidant and confrontation-averse. I either don't know if I have to confront, or I'm afraid of the other person's reaction. I usually just smile and accept things. 

I'm even afraid of driving and refuse to drive because I'm afraid of having to confront people for car-related or driving-related things. How can I improve myself in this manner and get thick-skinned? What sorts of steps can I take before putting myself into a (exposure) situation where I have to confront a potentially aggressive person?

__________________

Not knowing how to speak up for yourself harms you in several ways: 

Low self-awareness: When you aren’t even aware of your own needs, desires, rights, and boundaries, you don’t really know yourself. 

Low self-worth: What is your existence when you don’t even recognize that you and your needs matter just as much as everyone else’s?

Unable to care for yourself: When you don’t recognize your emotional needs or don’t recognize that they are important, you won’t work to fulfill them, which means that you won’t tend properly to your psychological well-being. This makes you more prone to suffering mental health problems.

Unable to protect yourself: When YOU can’t even respect your own needs, desires, rights, and boundaries, it’s a signal to others that it’s okay to dismiss you or violate you. Unfortunately, some people in this world don’t hesitate to take as much as they can from others. They look specifically for people like you because you let them get away with it.

Identify the root of the problem. Everything you think, feel, and do is rooted in fear. You have an overreactive fear reflex that leads you to always expect the worst from people. Do you honestly believe that the majority of people are violent rageaholics? People may get upset but it doesn’t mean that they’re going to attack you viciously. Is there a reason why your view of the world is so negative and extreme?

Fear is an emotional problem, which means that you have to work on your emotional intelligence. You’re trying to be smart by anticipating how events will go, which is natural for Ni doms. However, you only ever see how things could turn out horribly, which immediately activates fear. When your mind is so easily hijacked by fear and its related emotions, how can you think straight, let alone formulate a good strategy for handling a problematic situation?

Avoidance is exactly the wrong strategy because 1) it keeps you passive and stuck in weakness, and 2) you never develop the skills that you need to grow and solve this problem. To solve a problem, the first step is to confront it, then you can examine it and come up with a solution. INFJs who struggle with auxiliary Fe development usually struggle with learning social skills. If your fear and anxiety are extremely deep-seated (i.e. a result of serious past trauma), then it is also a good idea to get professional therapy. Unresolved trauma makes the process of learning new skills more difficult than it has to be, so it should be dealt with first.

When you don’t know how to do something (i.e. incompetency), it’s natural to be apprehensive because you feel like you have no control over anything. Thus, increase your social competency. Having good social skills allows you to think about social situations with more nuance and sophistication, as opposed to defaulting immediately to the most extreme scenario. Social skills are just like any other skill in that you have to study, practice, and improve systematically.

The following skills work together to improve social competency:

Emotional Intelligence: Be aware of feelings and emotions, both your own and others’. De-escalate intense emotions to keep a clear and calm head. Assess situations based on facts rather than fear, so that you can stop treating everyone as a threat and build common ground instead.

Communication Skills: Express yourself and your needs effectively. Respond to other people’s needs effectively. Ask the right questions to clarify situations and avoid miscommunication. Diffuse tension with empathy and diplomacy. Negotiate compromises.

Assertiveness Training: Know your rights, enforce your boundaries, and speak up for what you are owed. Treat your needs and goals as important. Ask for help or support as needed. Develop strategies for expressing yourself in specific scenarios that you’ve repeatedly found difficult to navigate.

Conflict Resolution: Have a strategy for dealing with conflict. Have ways to test how amenable people are to discussion and compromise. Have ways of making reasonable requests without anger or aggression. Have good contingency plans for when situations get out of your control. 

Nobody is born with this knowledge. Most people learn social skills by socializing, making mistakes, and doing better the next time. The longer you’ve avoided natural experimental learning, the worse your skills will be. If experimental learning is too much for you, due to unmanageable fear and anxiety, learn on your own first so that you feel more prepared. There are plenty of resources out there. See the Emotional Well-Being section, the relevant tags, and the resources list for book recommendations on the above topics.

[bestworstcase]

What are your opinions on the whole Rapunzel-Varian drama in S1 post Queen For A Day, especially with the whole "Rapunzel should've checked on Varian after the snowstorm" or whose fault it was for their conflict?

tbh… if i had to pick one single representative example of the tts fandom’s general inability to handle nuance in fictional conflict, it’d be the QFAD discourse™

because! while this isn’t to rag on anyone, if you pick a random person with an opinion on this question, chances are they will fall into one of two camps. either: 1) corona’s treatment of varian was horrifically unjust and everyone involved except him is a terrible person, or 2) rapunzel did what she had to do and varian’s anger is irrational, unfounded, and fundamentally unfair.

people in camp #1 tend to believe that rapunzel was simply being selfish and acting like a sulky child when she failed to check up on varian after the storm. people in camp #2 tend to point out that rapunzel was traumatized by the events of QFAD too, and believe that this justifies her failure to check up on varian.

but the thing is imo the conflict in QFAD + the rest of s1 is just as complex and messy as the argument cassandra and rapunzel have in RATGT, in that there is no One True Right Answer and no person who is one hundred percent “at fault.” the question of blame is… honestly sort of beside the point if you ask me. to break this down:

#1: rapunzel is a sheltered teenager with minimal social skills dealing with a national emergency halfway through her first unsupervised couple days on the job.

the girl has had like eight months tops of training for the monumental task of ruling a country. she grew up in a situation where the only choice available to her was how she would wile away her free time inside her tower; gothel exerted total control over every other facet of her life. and while she has a little more wiggle room now that she’s out of the tower, she is still basically living her life with all the big, consequential choices made for her.

QFAD was intended to be her first taste of true authority, while still being ultimately inconsequential. if all had gone according to plan, corona would have ticked along more or less on autopilot—just as frederic left it—while rapunzel got in a little practice making judgment calls about minor, unimportant things, like mediating small interpersonal disputes between her subjects.

nobody expected, and rapunzel was absolutely not prepared for, a legitimate national crisis to explode in her face out of nowhere. this was supposed to be pedaling by herself for the first time with training wheels and what she got instead is careening down the freeway on a motorbike at 95mph with zero warning. it is a miracle that she held things together as well as she did.

#2: varian is a child with an emotionally distant, unsupportive father who sets him up for failure.

he’s smart but he’s also fourteen. he has little if any formal training in alchemy, he’s figuring stuff out by trial and error, and he has zero adult supervision. his efforts have caused significant levels of destruction twice in only a few months—the exploding boilers in WTH, and his invention going haywire (with a little help from st. croix) in GE—and it’s implied that this is a fairly regular occurrence with him.

and yet quirin does nothing. he shouts at varian, shuts him down, and at several points orders him point blank to stop messing with alchemy… but he makes no effort to connect with his son or understand where he’s coming from; he doesn’t try to impose reasonable restrictions (like “don’t mess with volatile chemicals unless i’m there to help”) that would allow varian to pursue his passion while minimizing the danger; and he doesn’t create an environment where varian feels able to turn to his father for help. and then with the black rocks, he lets varian come along to see the king, but refuses to explain why he “lied” (/spoke in code) to the king, destroying any credibility he had in varian’s eyes and making varian panicky and desperate because it seemed like no one else cared.

so the end result is that varian feels like he has no choice but to sneak around behind quirin’s back. he can’t rely on his dad for help if anything goes wrong, but the situation is so dire that doing nothing also isn’t an option. he tries his best to be careful (before quirin barges in on him, varian is attempting to put just one drop of the amber serum on the rock) but even if quirin hadn’t startled him, a terrible accident was bound to happen sooner or later, and the responsibility for that lays just as much if not more on quirin’s shoulders—the adult in this situation—as on varian’s. the kid is FOURTEEN.

(i think a neat argument could be made for varian as a deconstruction of the teen/YA fantasy trope of the hyper-competent teenager with absentee parents whose absence allows the teen to get on with the important work of the high-stakes fantasy plot; but that’s a whole different post)

#3: rapunzel did the right thing, but lost control over the situation due to lack of experience.

it would have been wrong to abandon everybody in corona to run off into the blizzard with varian, and frankly it wouldn’t have helped quirin anyway. he was already encased in amber by the time varian got back to old corona, and rapunzel couldn’t have done anything in the moment had she been with varian then. the only benefit to her presence would have been to comfort varian—which is not a small thing, obviously, but it’s not in any way a reasonable exchange for the hundreds or thousands of lives that would have been lost if she left corona completely without a leader in the middle of a crisis. so broadly speaking, staying in corona was the right call.

however.

rapunzel was not in control during that scene in the palace. varian bursts in, panicking, explains his situation and begs for her help—and rapunzel just says, basically, “i can’t help you, there’s an emergency.” then nigel comes in and reinforces that, which makes varian freak out; he grabs rapunzel and shakes her, nigel signals for the guards in response, and varian gets dragged out of the palace while rapunzel pleads with the guards not to hurt him.

(sidebar: the hate nigel gets for describing varian as “attacking” rapunzel is unfounded. varian grabs her and shakes her roughly back and forth and that is, in fact, assault. nigel is not wrong to describe it as such.)

anyway, notice two the things that DON’T happen here:

1) rapunzel doesn’t offer up any alternative solutions. a more experienced or better prepared leader could have responded to varian’s plea with a plan of action, like: i need to stay in corona to oversee the evacuation, so we can’t leave right this minute, but cassandra will take you to ask xavier for advice right now and the minute it’s safe to leave we’ll go together to help your father. or whatever—the point is to engage proactively with varian’s problem, make him feel heard, and give him something productive to do so he isn’t just sitting around fretting in the palace or struggling back home by himself in the middle of a blizzard.

2) raps doesn’t challenge nigel’s decision when he summons the guards to throw varian out of the palace, which is something she absolutely could have done. she could have said no, i can’t go to old corona right this minute to help him, but we are not throwing him out into the storm again, he stays here with me. this is, again, a sign of her inexperience; she’s not used to being an authority, she’s never been in a situation like this before, and she’s under a ton of pressure—so when an older adult whom she sees as an authority (he’s her father’s advisor!) makes a judgment call, it probably doesn’t even occur to her that she can challenge it.

this is why i say that rapunzel lost control over the situation—because even though she made the Right Decision, she got a kind of awful outcome, ie varian being tossed out into the blizzard to struggle home by himself to deal with his problem without any support, and rapunzel inadvertently breaking her promise from earlier.

#4: rapunzel doesn’t immediately go to check on varian after the storm because she’s traumatized, busy, and trusts her father.

painter’s block is all about how the trauma rapunzel feels as a direct result of her decisions during the storm destroys her ability to choose anything. she feels so debilitated by the fear that she will make the wrong choice—because she worries that she chose wrong when she allowed varian to be sent away—that she can’t do anything at all, let alone find the emotional strength to go to old corona and confront her mistakes. and while she tries to process and move past this trauma, mrs sugarby exploits it in an attempt to force her to free zhan tiri.

the next episode, not in the mood, involves rapunzel being put under enormous pressure to entertain an irascible ally of corona’s while he and her father negotiate a trade deal with the threat of a war breaking out if they fail. NITM is a silly episode, but it has the highest non-magical stakes of any episode in the entire series. this isn’t an event rapunzel could have reasonably skipped out on for the sake of one person, no matter how much she cares. she’s slammed. she’s still being forced to prioritize just like she was in QFAD.

and in the third episode after QFAD, rapunzel is tormented by nightmares about varian and what happened to his father, so she presses frederic for information about the rocks and varian’s safety. and frederic assures her that everything is fine. he lies to her face about the rocks having been removed, and rapunzel has no reason to doubt him, so she relaxes… until varian contacts her directly, and she immediately jumps to help him.

#5: at the same time, varian has been forced into hiding because frederic is attempting to cover up the rock problem.

what happens to varian after QFAD is plainly unfair and unjust. his father is trapped in amber, the rocks have completely destroyed old corona, most of the villagers have presumably moved to the new land frederic set aside for them, and frederic’s secret police are crawling all over the village trying to suppress information about the rocks (and fred’s role in creating them). the blame for this lies squarely at frederic’s feet, and varian is right to be angry.

i believe that varian interprets rapunzel’s absence as a sign that she’s complicit in what frederic is doing, making his anger at her justified as well. he doesn’t have access to the information we do about why rapunzel doesn’t seek varian out immediately—he doesn’t see how distraught and shattered she is after the storm, or the high-stakes political nonsense she has to deal with, and he certainly doesn’t see her trying to pursue the matter of the rocks and varian’s safety with her father and being flatly lied to to convince her to stay put in corona. all he knows is that rapunzel kicked him out and now she’s ignoring him and her father’s agents keep chasing him away from his home, and he draws the conclusion that makes the most sense to him, ie rapunzel must be okay with all of this because otherwise she would be here.

and once he has that idea in his head, the fact that rapunzel immediately jumps to help him when he contacts her isn’t enough to dislodge it. he’s a scared, lonely fourteen year old boy looking at this situation through a purely interpersonal lens while rapunzel is an overwhelmed eighteen year old doing the best she can while juggling about a million things at once and putting varian low on her priority list because she’s been told by a trusted source that varian is fine.

they both make mistakes, they’re both missing important contextual information, and neither of them handles this situation in the best possible way. but neither of them is “at fault” in the sense of being purely in the wrong, and—imo—frederic and quirin hold the lion’s share of the blame here, because they had all the information, and they refused and refused and refused to deal with the black rock problem until it overwhelmed them both. varian and rapunzel are both just kids scrambling to deal with something that should not be their problem to solve, and both of them fuck up! (and even then—the best fred and quirin could’ve done was just be honest and upfront about what the problem was. neither of them had the means to fix anything, and neither of them was responsible for the very unfortunate timing of the blizzard. so it’s not as clear cut as everything bad in s1 happens because fred and quirin stuck their heads in the sand. a lot of it honestly was just sheer bad luck.)

a n y w a y, i think by s3 and after a lot of introspection, varian has figured a lot of this out, and that’s why he’s so quick to let go of his lingering grudge against rapunzel. he’s realized that at the end of the day, rapunzel was just as unprepared and lost in that situation as he was, that she’s not responsible for (and wasn’t complicit in) her father’s decisions, etc, etc.

[secretpajamas]

a different kind of rush;

an Ezra x reader fic

pairing: ezra (prospect) x female reader

rating: explicit

genre: romance/smut/and they were roommates (oh my god they were roommates)

words: 2.7k

part 1 of 2

please scroll to the end to “content” if you would like to know specific smut-related content before reading!

---

Ever since the rush ended, mining work was somewhat scarce. Most aurelac miners—the ones who didn’t strike it rich, had already squandered away their profits, or ones that worked under flat-rate contract and not profit-share—had been swept up by the large-scale mining companies at the Ephrate.

You, unfortunately, had a falling-out with the head of your crew shortly before the end of the rush, and you were left out in the cold with little more than the clothes on your back and the helmet on your head. 

Now you operated alone, picking up what seasonal jobs you could. The ones that payed more tended to be more dangerous—you had a good sense as to which jobs would require you to stash extra knives on your person and demand your own private tent. That demand would often eat into your wages, but it was worth the peace of mind.

You were coming up on the last of your income from last season, which is how you found yourself scouting shuttle stations for work. Most of the bulletins at the larger stations were already picked clean. Now, at one of the smallest stations in the Reach, you hoped against hope you’d find a decent job posting.

Mostly scrap haul jobs—one odd request for a live-in massage therapist, and you knew what that was code for—but when you were about to give up and move on, one last blip on the readout screen caught your eye.

seeking experienced miner for short-term contract work (one season). small-scale operation, compensation negotiable. food and board included. helmet must be supplied by employee, O2 freely available. radio callsign alpha-echo-six, will be monitoring channel 07:00 – 23:00 universal time.

It was contract work, not profit-share, but what the hell. It was the best you had come across in your search so far and you doubted you’d find anything better. Checking the screen, you noted it was nearly 23:00—but you pulled out your radio, entered the posted callsign, and gave it a shot.

“This is radio callsign alpha-sierra-two, inquiring about job posting on shuttle station R-Twelve,” you said into your device. “Is the position still open?”

You waited for a minute in dead silence before you heard the line crackle to life. “Hello, alpha-sierra-two,” a thick drawl replied. “Long as you can hold a pickaxe steady, the job’s as good as yours.”

---

When you met him, the first thing you noticed was the shock of blonde hair. Nobody out in the Reaches had much use for cosmetic hair products, so it must have been a natural occurrence of some sort. It struck you as profoundly odd—but also incredibly attractive. You took a deep breath and swallowed down the nervous lump in your throat.

The second thing you noticed—well. It was a little hard to miss.

“Name’s Ezra,” he said with a sly smile, extending his left—and only—hand.

You weren’t sure which hand you were supposed to shake his with. You decided on your left, to match his. It took some fumbling, but you managed a firm shake in the end. You introduced yourself and then let your hands drop.

“Sorry if that was weird,” you said, “I’m not used to shaking hands with my left.”

Ezra chuckled darkly. “Me neither, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. Normally, you’d hate hearing that come from a man you’d just met. It would’ve felt like a belittlement. But not with this man—it just seemed to roll off his tongue without a second thought.

Then, you realized the implication of his statement. If he wasn’t used to shaking with his left, the loss of his right arm must not have been too long ago. In this line of work, any number of horrors could have caused it. You decided it was best not to dwell on the subject.

“Allow me to escort you to your quarters,” Ezra said, gesturing for you to follow.

He brought you to the only man-made structure within sight. He must have built it himself. He zipped the entryway door shut and clumsily removed his helmet with one hand. You swiftly removed yours, glad to get the sweaty thing off of you for the first time in hours.

The tent was sturdy and spacious enough to feel a little less like a hovel and a little more like a home. It was certainly nicer than most accommodations you’d been given on mining contract work before. There were two beds—well, just cushioned mats on the floor, but definitely an upgrade from a cot—separated by makeshift room divider in the form of a bedsheet tied between two of the tent supports.

“I can fashion a proper partition if you’d prefer,” he said, “the kid was prone to nightmares is all. Didn’t like feelin’ shut off. Took that tent wall down the next day, put the sheet up instead.”

“Kid?” You prompted.

“She’s livin’ in the Ephrate this season,” he said. “Got a scholarship to that fancy Academy an’ everything. Awful proud of her.” You could hear the fondness in his voice.

“That’s nice,” you said,  “she must have a good father.”

Ezra chuckled, the sound tinged with something bitter. “Unfortunately, I do not hold such a grand title,” he said. “Her parents are deceased. I am but her guardian.”

Oh.

“Well, get yourself settled and join me outside when you’re ready,” he said as he went to retrieve his helmet. “It’s not as complicated as aurelac, but it’s still a bitch to mine.”

---

After just a few days of harvesting starstone, you were inclined to agree with Ezra’s statement. It was an absolute bitch. If you so much as tapped it at the wrong angle it would completely lose its integrity. Then, as soon at was harvested, it had to be soaked in a complicated solution of enzymes so it would retain its color—if you waited too long to get it in the enzyme bath, it would turn pale and lose its shimmer. How the hell anyone managed to transport it without massive damages, you had no idea.

You voiced this to him. He simply shrugged. “Not my problem,” he said. “The buyer is arrangin’ her own transport. We just have to hand it off.”

“What is this stuff good for, anyway?” You asked.

“It’s pretty,” he said, “and if there’s one thing I’ve become privy to in all my years of prospectin’, it’s that all sorts of folk will pay a pretty penny for pretty things. ’Specially if those things are rare.”

“There’s no accounting for taste, I guess,” you mumbled, looking at the bright green and orange whorls of glittery stone around the two of you. Ezra snickered at your comment, and the sound of the raspy, almost boyish laughter made your stomach do somersaults.

“I can assume you have no such affinity for pretty things, then,” he said with a grin.

“Well,” you started, looking into those pretty brown eyes of his, “now and I again I might.”

Ezra just arched an eyebrow before returning to sifting through rock.

---

You and Ezra fell into an easy rhythm. He would wake up early to prepare the enzyme solutions for the day’s mining. You both mined as long as it stayed light out, going back into the tent as needed for a ration bar or a toilet break or just to rest your weary head for a minute. After dark, it was your responsibility to prep the filters and O2 tanks. As days turned into weeks, you found yourself finally adjusting to the man’s odd manner of speech, and even found yourself laughing at his dry wit.

And if you were honest with yourself, you were harboring quite the crush.

But this was job, damnit, and even if it wasn’t profit-share, Ezra payed far more than any other boss you’d had for contract work. You weren’t going to compromise that. A sexual relationship with someone who was technically your superior was never a good idea—you didn’t want to get yourself kicked off this planet without a full season’s pay.

This dwarf planet’s climate wasn’t as harsh and unforgiving as the Green. The air wasn’t breathable, which is why oxygen tanks and helmets were necessary, but there was nothing like the deadly moon’s dust you remember from the rush days. The one complaint you had: the weather was always hot, some days painfully so, and today was one of those days. You had both decided to cut the workday short and stumbled back to the tent, sweaty and exhausted.

You wrenched your helmet off of your head and immediately planted yourself in front of one of the air circulators. You heard Ezra’s helmet fall to the floor with a clank and several frustrated grunts as he began to unzip his suit. You knew by now not to offer help—even though it took him a long time to dress and undress, it seemed to be a point of pride to him that he do it himself.

You shucked off your own suit, leaving yourself standing in a sleeveless top and shorts. Cooler now, but still utterly worn-out, you all but flung yourself on your cot. You rucked up your shirt so you left as much of your skin exposed to the air as possible without stripping down to your underwear.  “Too fucking hot,” you grumbled.

“Preachin’ to the choir, birdie,” Ezra replied, finally kicking his suit off and out of the way. “Pardon my selfishness, but I’m inclined to take the first shower.”

You groaned, but you had taken the first shower yesterday, so you didn’t protest. Ezra took long showers—you guessed it was because of his arm situation—so you’d have to wait to get all the sweat and grime off. But hey—at least you had a shower. In some of your past gigs you had to wipe yourself down from head to toe with a wet rag.

The shower was attached to the main tent on the east-facing wall: your side of the sheet. Ezra walked by you to access it—he was shirtless, clad only in the pair of black compression pants he wore under his suit. You couldn’t help but sneak a look at him from where you lay—you had come to appreciate the broad expanse of his back and shoulders, his skin kissed all over with fading white scars, the little paunch of his stomach, and the dusting of dark hair that began below his bellybutton and traveled down beneath his waistband. He sighed and stretched before unzipping the partition and shuffling tiredly to the shower.

Seeing him half-naked had lit a spark in your belly. You swallowed thickly, your mind trailing into territory you usually reserved for late at night when Ezra was asleep. Yes, you were attracted to him—but it was more than just a baser instinct. Whenever you got yourself off in the past—or gotten someone else off—it had been quick and quiet and easily forgotten, something to take the edge off, to scratch an itch. You never really fantasized about romance or, Kevva forbid, love, but the longer you spent with Ezra, the more you caught yourself wondering what he would be like as a lover—if he’d hold you gently against his chest after, if he’d press a soft kiss to your forehead, if he’d tell you that you were beautiful.

You scoffed at yourself. Fantasies like that were for naive girls, not for a grown woman, especially not a world-weary miner who knew that men in the Reaches weren’t like that.

But maybe Ezra was different. He was already far different than any man you had ever met.

And maybe you could allow yourself the fantasy.

As you listened to the hum of the shower running, confident in your assertion that Ezra wouldn’t be out for some time—you snaked one hand down under the waistband of your shorts and underwear, rubbing at yourself in the way you usually did—in the way that would make you orgasm quickly. If you drew things out, that just gave your brain time to strike up ridiculous fantasies of Ezra making love to you.

Making love. There you go again. Why can’t you just call it fucking? But what you were thinking of wasn’t fucking—would he gaze into your eyes as he filled you? Would he whisper to you how good you felt, call you sweetheart like he did the first day you met—and nearly every day since?

Damn it, you said you wouldn’t think about it, but here you were. You rubbed yourself faster, just hoping to get this over with and move the fuck on—

“Shower’s all yours,” you heard Ezra’s voice ring out, and you froze. You didn’t breathe, didn’t move a muscle. How had you not heard the water turn off? How long were you daydreaming?

There was no way Ezra didn’t know what you were doing. You didn’t even have the plausible deniability of having a blanket over you. You were so fucked.

You moved your head a tiny fraction to look at Ezra. He had a threadbare towel around his waist, precariously held by a twist-and-tuck at his hip. He was staring at you, wide-eyed and stock-still, as droplets dripped down his forehead from his still-wet hair. You weren’t sure he was even breathing.

Neither of you moved.

Then, Ezra licked his lips, flicking his eyes from your face down to where your hand was still stuck in your shorts, then back to your eyes again. Slowly, deliberately. He quirked an eyebrow at you.

You hitched your hips up a little under his gaze, almost involuntarily. He watched the movement with intensity.

Fuck. Was this really happening?

Ezra brought his hand up to his mouth, rubbing at his lower lip with his thumb. He looked to where your hand was trapped between your legs, and gestured with a nod.

With your heartbeat hammering against your chest, you began to move your hand again, eyes locked on Ezra. His breath hitched as he watched you touch yourself, his eyes intent on your body, pupils blown wide and dark.

You rubbed at your clit, your legs tensing as you brought your hips up to press into your hand. Unable to help it, a moan escaped your throat, and Ezra answered back with a low hum of his own.

Hearing him respond to you made your body light up like lightning. You closed your eyes and sucked in frantic bursts of air. The oppressive heat around you was unbearable, the pressure building in your core even more so. Your pulse roared against your eardrums as you frantically worked at your clit, almost sore now, needing to come now more than ever, needing that release—

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Ezra said, and the sound of his voice had you coming hard, thighs shaking. You chased your high as long as you could, clit nearly rubbed raw, until you winced at the overstimulation, dropping your hips back to the bed and letting out a heaving sigh. Almost in a daze, you opened your eyes, chancing a glance at Ezra. He was staring down at you as if he’d seen Kevva’s gates open up before him. He was also visibly tenting his towel, holding onto where it was tied at his hip in a vise-like grip.

“I’m,” you started, catching your breath, “I could use a shower now.”

“As very well could I,” Ezra replied as he shifted his weight back and forth, voice strained, “an’ a cold one at that. But I’d be remiss to waste the water.”

“Sorry,” you mumbled. About the shower or the impromptu peepshow, you weren’t sure.

“Quite alright. But don’t be alarmed if you emerge to find me in a similar position when you’re done in there,” he remarked, gesturing to the shower with a jerk of his head.

You planted your face in your pillow, mortified beyond belief, hot shame washing over you. Ezra simply chuckled.

“No reason to be embarrassed, sweetheart,” he said. “Close quarters make for... sticky situations such as these.”

“Shut up,” you grumbled as you stood up, walking past Ezra to make your way to the shower.

What the fuck just happened?

---

a/n: this was supposed to be a quick smutty oneshot (oops) but it was getting long so I’ve split it into two parts! Part two should be out by the end of this week.

content: masturbation, voyeurism (but is it voyeurism if both parties are aware of the voyeur-ing?)

READ PART 2 HERE

[phantompearlsalt]

Sour Cherry, Chapter 15

We’re taking a break from the smut this week, folks! This update I bring you more soft Kuvira, specifically moments where our favorite girl needs some extra loving. We don’t see Kuvira as feeling much of anything in the show but I think we can all imagine she feels deeply and intensely so...that’s what this is kind of. She just has someone to love on her and reassure her ❤️ As always, I love to read your comments so feel free to drop some on AO3 or leave me some messages in my inbox! LOVE Y’ALL! 

Ba Sing Se

It’s not unlike Kuvira to fall asleep at her desk these days.

You’ve been in the Earth Kingdom capital for some time now, and although the worst of the violence has since subsided, the imminent work of bureaucratization poses an overwhelming task.

There’s no doubt in anyone’s mind that Kuvira will fully restore Ba Sing Se to its former glory — even improve it. Given Suyin’s decision to remain complacent in the face of such chaos, Kuvira symbolized the steady hand that would guide a city in disarray into an era of peace and unity.

From the moment she took it upon herself to oversee this venture, she proved time and time again that few people—if any—could assume such an undertaking and carry it to completion. She managed to instill a persistent flame of hope in everyone, even beyond her army. There was a reason her popularity grew so rapidly among the local residents.

She was the beacon of light no one had expected to find but now relied on as a means of getting through this period of such great distress.

But at the end of the day, Kuvira is still human.

Despite having initiated a new kind of relationship with her, you’re ashamed to say that sometimes even you forget this simple fact. Kuvira is many things: above all else, she is a strategist. Of course, this mentality shapes every move and decision she makes in Ba Sing Se and this extends far beyond politics.

She’s methodical in her approach to life, modulating her demeanor in a way that allows her to easily adapt to constantly shifting environments, people, and interactions. In doing so, she often becomes a force of pure energy, steady and obstinate. After all, one doesn’t become the Great Uniter by projecting any degree of weakness. The Earth Kingdom needed somebody who embodied strength, fearlessness, and hope. They needed to reclaim that sense of certainty that had been shattered the moment all structure—however precarious it was—vanished upon the Earth Queen’s death.

So when you walk into your makeshift quarters, lit up only by the dwindling flame of her desk lantern, it’s a sharp reminder that even Kuvira reaches her limits.

You walk over to her slowly, paying extra attention to the weight of your feet against the floor. When you reach her, you kneel down and carefully drift your fingers towards her arm. She has them folded beneath her cheek, her lips parted just enough for a faint whistle to travel between her teeth. You touch Kuvira’s shoulder and stay still, not wanting to rouse her from slumber too brusquely.

She sniffles once and the sound makes something in your chest twinge so you press your fingertips into her uniform just enough for Kuvira to feel the pressure of your hand more surely. “Kuvira,” you whisper. “It’s me.”

Upon hearing your voice, her eyelids snap open and even through the dusty orange glow of the room you can see just how bleary-eyed she looks. You wonder if anyone has ever seen her like this, walls down and vulnerable, but the answer comes to you before you dwell on it too long.

“I’m sorry,” she says, flattening out her back so she’s leaning into her chair. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me…”

“I think I do,” you respond, inching forward until your lips softly press against her cheekbone. “Come on, let’s get you out of this stuff.”

Never having been the recipient of such doting, it takes Kuvira a few moments to respond but she eventually stands and walks over to your shared bed. You pull away the sheets of metal along her shoulders and forearms, carefully setting them aside while Kuvira pushes the breastplate off her torso and lets it clatter to the ground.

Once she’s cloaked only in her dark green uniform, she collapses onto the bed and looks just about ready to pass out. There’s one more thing left for you to do though.

You quickly kiss the crown of her head before crawling onto the mattress and finding a position along her back, your knees positioned around her hips. Kuvira’s braid is barely a braid anymore, mostly a disheveled rope of hair with some vague semblance of pleated folds.

You make quick work of it, dragging your fingers through the thick strands and undoing the knots you encounter. Once it feels loose and heavy, you reach for the brush on your nightstand and start guiding it from the roots to the tips along her back.

It’s a choreography you unknowingly crafted at some point when you could finally call Kuvira your lover but it’s one that you fall into so easily it’s as though you learned it another lifetime. Your fingers know exactly how to glide through the silk-like texture of her hair, how to hold the contours of the brush so your movements stay slow and gentle. Kuvira lets herself fall against your palm and you imagine this might be how a moonflower preens beneath the glow of a stainless night sky.

You aren’t sure how long you brush her hair but eventually her breathing evens out again and can’t tell if she’s fallen asleep. She starts inching forward and it’s sufficient indication that you’ve done your part.

With a loving smile, you set the brush aside and guide her onto the pillow. Leaning down, you let your lips hover over her temple before finally pressing them against the soft skin. Though you attribute it to a trick of the light, you fall asleep to the image of Kuvira’s cheek twitching against your touch.

---

Republic City

In the context of all that was to come, three years seemed like such an insignificant period of time. There was so much left to do to consummate the burgeoning Empire. The vast majority of the former Earth Kingdom now fell under Kuvira’s rule but there was still the matter of Zaofu. The United Republic of Nations.

Although Kuvira had successfully wrested the authority to rule from the young prince, the Earth Empire army knew it was only the beginning of a much larger mission. The past three years hadn’t been easy by any means but there was something unusually intimidating about annexing Zaofu and the United Republic.

Perhaps because it felt much more personal. Of course, you felt the connection of a common background with all Earth Kingdom inhabitants but Zaofu was your home. You grew up there...Spirits, you probably still had loved ones there.

And Republic City? Maybe it was the way people and communities hailed from all nations and found ways to live in relative peace after the horrific events led by Amon and then Unalaq. But even then, all of it seemed precarious when compared to the vision Kuvira was putting forth.

As you drive away from the Four Elements hotel, Kuvira’s hand wrapped tightly around yours, you think back to Zaofu once more but this time you aren’t met with images of your old library or the bright green fields that lay beyond the metal walls.

No, you think of Suyin. She was the last person Kuvira spoke to before you left Republic City. You had waited in the shadows of the hotel patio after the failed coronation, hoping it would shroud you enough to avoid being seen by any of the world leaders.

Just when you were about to make your way upstairs Kuvira stepped out of the elevator, flanked by her guards. “Everything has been packed,” she said coldly. “We’re leaving. Immediately.”

She didn’t wait for you to respond, instead charging forward without a second glance at her surroundings. The interaction left you stunned before you finally came to your senses and scurried close behind her.

The first few seconds in the Satomobile were almost tangibly uncomfortable. You wanted to ask how she was doing, to soothe whatever venom Suyin had undoubtedly said. There was a dark shadow cast over Kuvira’s face, one that you hadn’t seen since you first left Zaofu all those years ago.

Instead you stayed quiet, folding your hands over your lap and looking at the cityscape zooming by. Eventually, Kuvira’s gloved hand slid over yours, twisting between your fingers until your palms met in that familiar embrace you could distinguish even without first knowing it was her.

As the train comes back into view, you squeeze Kuvira’s hand, hoping the sentiment translates all the same despite your inability to verbalize them. The tension in her body doesn’t loosen up but she closes her eyes momentarily and lets out a slow, even breath through her nose.

For now, it’s all you can ask for.

---

The State of Yi

The meeting with Yi’s governor ended poorly. Even without Kuvira’s report, the smattering of ink dripping from the metal table was indication enough.

After exchanging a few curt words with the young airbending boy, she makes her way back into the train and calls an impromptu Inner Circle meeting. Bolin reluctantly leaves Opal’s side while Baatar joins without hesitation.

The conversation is awkward at best, deeply uncomfortable above all else. Kuvira keeps it together quite well for someone who had been shunned away mere moments ago but you’re certain no one else can see the fire of indignation in her eyes.

“There has to be another way to help them, right?” Bolin insists. “Can’t we just stay another day? If we bring Opal and Kai on board, I bet we could come up with another plan to help these people.”

“You more than anyone should know we cannot afford to waste our time on fruitless negotiations,” Kuvira snaps. “I will not sacrifice the wellbeing of our fellow citizens who are willing to accept our aid for a single governor who refuses to acknowledge the suffering of his people.”

Varrick, Bolin, and Baatar end up falling into a chaotic exchange of potential solutions that very quickly wears Kuvira’s patience thin.

“Enough!” she commands. You watch in silence as everyone freezes and slowly submits to her exasperation. “I have made myself clear. We will wait one day — not an hour earlier or later. If the Governor would rather see his people perish, I will not be held responsible. This meeting is adjourned and I expect no one to leave this train unless expressly informed to do so.”

Everyone nods and promptly makes their way out of the room. You make a move to join them but wait for everyone to get ahead first before sliding the door closed and pivoting back towards Kuvira.

She’s silently fuming — a vein sticks out from over her collar and her hands are woven tightly together behind her back. You imagine she might look composed to others who don’t notice those details but you’ve learned to see past the iron facade she forges around herself.

You fold your hands over Kuvira’s and feel the tension her fists carry, the way it courses all along her arms and bleeds into the rest of her body. Kuvira isn’t known for being a very relaxed person — she’s all hard lines and perfect posture, angled features and unyielding brow.

But this rigidity is different because it’s fueled by ire. Kuvira doesn’t take refusal well and with most of the Empire united, the Governor’s reluctance proves especially inconvenient.

However, she softens into your touch and you start to see her for what she really is, for what she only allows you to see. A woman on the brink of burnout. A leader nonetheless, so close to securing all she has worked towards, but which she has sacrificed too much to achieve.

She unfolds her hands and weaves her fingers into yours, letting her shoulders drop just enough for you to know this is helping to some extent.

And even though it lasts no more than a minute, because suddenly you’re interrupted by the voices of her guards requesting her immediate presence, when she looks at you there’s a softness along the corners of her eyes that hadn’t been there before.

---

Zaofu

The army is stationed immediately outside the Zaofu metal domes. Kuvira had left with Bolin and Baatar moments ago to meet with Suyin and hopefully come to an agreement that would eliminate the need for outright combat.

You insisted on joining her, afraid of what she might be subjected to and unable to accept that potential reality. You never knew the Beifong matriarch to resort to violent tactics but her response to Kuvira’s actions led you to believe anything was possible at this point.

Nevertheless, Kuvira had none of it. “I’ll be with Bolin and Baatar — I’ll be safe. I know Suyin. She knows better than to try anything of that nature with our army posted just outside her gates. I promise you I’ll return, unharmed,” she reassured, kissing you once before making her way outside.

You pressed your hands against the window, watching as the three of them grew into small green dots that eventually disappeared past the metal lotus structures. Kuvira was smart, you didn’t doubt that. She could absolutely hold her own. Yet despite her attempts to sway you otherwise, you still found it difficult to accept that Suyin wouldn’t try anything.

So you paced back and forth, sitting and standing, fiddling with your hands and carelessly flipping through papers on your desk until you heard guards murmuring and saw Kuvira’s silhouette making its way toward the tent.

She returns with Bolin and Baatar at her side again and you notice the former appears rather grim. Nevertheless, you’re instantly hit with the searing desire to throw yourself around her, to feel the heat of her blood beneath her skin and the bends of muscle and bone pressing against yours.

She’s here. Obviously she’s okay. But you can’t shake the need to confirm it by feeling her and knowing she’s uninjured.

Bolin starts talking, a nervous edge in every word, asking too many questions that ultimately set Kuvira off. She towers over Bolin, questioning his loyalty to the Empire, to her, and you stand in your corner silently. Baatar watches with an almost smug look on his face and it makes you scowl.

“Both of you are dismissed,” Kuvira says when she steps back. Still thoroughly shaken by the encounter, Bolin stays frozen for a moment before Baatar coughs and they step out of the tent in tense silence.

Kuvira sits down and leans forward so her fingers press against her temples. She sighs frustratedly and tightens her jaw. Even with all that transpired in the past ten minutes, that instinct to hold her close and just feel her doesn’t waver but you know better than to cave into it right now.

She does look up at you and her face has grown haggard with frustration in the span of seconds. It startles you how easily she conceals this side of herself, doing so in a manner that seems so effortless that she has everyone convinced that she really is impenetrable.

Right now, she lets the veneer crumble until all that’s left is an expression so openly cumbered with fatigue it seems to draw you in with arms of its own, tugging you forward until you’re at Kuvira’s side and she’s still looking up at you.

Every possible gesture seems inappropriate. What could you tell her that would offer that reassurance she needs? How can you be sure that’s what she needs at all? She’s being faced with the increasingly likely reality of using brute force to take that which once served as her home.

You don’t know when Kuvira’s cheek presses into your belly but when it does, your arms wrap around her head of their own accord.

Kuvira’s body speaks to yours in a language of gentle touches and unspoken pleas. Naturally, you have come to understand the meaning of each movement and your body responds as such. You hold her close to your body, feeling her head dip into the soft flesh, and smooth her hair over her scalp.

You aren’t sure what’s going to happen next. The Avatar is still gone. Despite Kuvira’s threat, you know Suyin will not acquiesce and there is still the possibility that she will try something horrible to stop Kuvira. And even if you manage to successfully take Zaofu for the Empire, that leaves Republic City.

But with Kuvira’s head cradled in your arms, her cheek dipping into your torso, all of that stops meaning something if only for a moment. Right now you have each other. Most importantly, Kuvira has you. And you’ll figure everything out as you go.

[elexica]

Last Chance Christmas - Chapter 1 {{December 20}}

In honor of the season, I’m pointing my fic Second Chance Christmas on Ao3, and cross posting here! Summary:  The radio had droned on about an incoming polar vortex. How could the weatherman have known that his ex-husband would be on the plane? - - - Following an acrimonious divorce, Joey and Kaiba have managed to co-parent the kids without seeing each other for three years. After Kaiba is caught in a blizzard, Joey is forced to spend the holiday with his ex-husband, and confront certain feelings that he thought were dead. Tags: Jounouchi Katsuya | Joey Wheeler/Kaiba Seto, Kaiba Seto, Jounouchi Katsuya | Joey Wheeler, Tenjouin Fubuki | Atticus Rhodes, Tenjouin Asuka | Alexis Rhodes, Getting Back Together, Post-Divorce, Reconciliation, Family Fluff, Family Feels, Family Drama, Dysfunctional Family, Christmas Romance, Christmas Fluff, Fluff, Domestic, Fluff and Angst, rekindling relaitonship, Christmas Angst, No infidelity!, AU-gust 2020, ygocollablove

Other notes:  Kaiba and Joey were married and have two children – Alexis and Attius (from GX, but you do not need to see GX). This is a get-together-again fic. The divorce was not amicable, but no cheating/infidelity. They’re about 40 in the fic, in honor of them being 40 in 2020 if they were 15 in 1995. Joey is half-American, and his mom and Serenity live in New York, too.

Chapter one under the read more! 

The sleet fell heavily against the car, turning the view through the windshield into an impressionist painting of abstract asphalt and splotchy red break lights.  The drives to the private airport in Westchester were always the worst.  Even though Kaiba rarely accompanied the kids on the flight from Japan, even the haunting proximity to the shiny private jets and the trappings of his ex put Joey on edge.  Not because he longed to be driving the expensive cars parked in the lot or any other petty envy, but because the whole place always reeked of Kaiba’s ghost.  How the man could haunt the freeways and tangled overpasses from thousands of miles away was yet another unsettling superpower of his ex-husband.

The sleet, the traffic, and the eerie nature of the drive allowed frustrated ruminations to wind their way into Joey’s head.  Like the suction cups on the edges of an octopus’s tentacles, little doubts and regrets clung to his mind.

Was it petty to fly the kids back and forth from Japan in the dead of winter for only a week?  Yes, of course it was.  But the custody arrangement hadn’t even demanded that Joey allow that week.  The kids were in school in New York, and it was his year to spend Christmas with them.  They spent the full summer break in Japan every year.  It was Joey’s only time of year—and even then, only every other year—where they all could spend time off together.  He didn’t want to give it up without a fight.  And Joey was still a fighter.

When Mokuba had announced his wedding date for the first week of the kids’ Winter break, Joey was so tempted to force some other concession out of Kaiba.  Joey had been invited as well, but the thought of attending turned his stomach something fierce.  He could see it in his minds’ eye: watching his family, his children, and his closest friends, dressed to the nines, celebrating something so pure.  And him, looking at the ruins of the most significant relationship of his life.  It felt like a mockery, to stand there and watch Mokuba enter a beautiful marriage while he stewed in the wreckage of his own.  Plus, Joey’s self-destructive streak was supposed to have died with his relationship.

So, what remained was that precious promise: every other winter break.  And this one was his.  Sure, his ex-husband was one of the greatest negotiators in the business world, but Joey had thrilled, just a little, and with more than a little guilt, at the thought of bringing him to his knees over this.  The opening was his to take.

He hadn’t quite calculated all the way out—indeed, the long game was Seto’s specialty.  And once Atticus had been informed that he would be both a performer at his uncle’s wedding reception, it was game over for Joey.

Of course, that was so Kaiba, ever on the offensive, always flipping the script.  Stuck negotiating over Christmas and coming to this frustrating solution.  He was a cruel rival and a bitter adversary.  An altogether dreadful ex-husband.

Weaponizing Atticus’s precious enthusiasm was a perfect move.  Which left Joey messing with the logistics and driving in this awful weather.

. . .

The radio had droned on about an incoming polar vortex.  How could the weatherman have known that his ex-husband would be on the plane?

Joey hadn’t noticed him at first—he was too busy catching Atticus’s tackle hug, and patting Alexis gently on the head.  All that warmth and love had blinded him to the frigid bastard standing at the other side of the gate.

But one his heart was full again, the primal part of Joey’s brain was triggered.  Like he could sense the predator lurking, he looked up and saw those stupidly long limbs.  He’d know that silhouette from a mile away.  “What’re you doin’ here?” Joey shouted.  It was so reflexive that he forgot to hide the vitriol from the kids.

Kaiba stalked over slowly, as if he was trying to take too long, waste all of Joey’s time.  “Waiting on my return flight plan,” Kaiba said.  His voice had gotten more gravelly over the years, but his cadence remained  almost robotic.

“Alexis was scared of flying home in the storm!” Atticus laughed, still embracing his father.  “And she said the only way she’d fly back was if Oto-san promised he’d pilot!  It was so cool dad!  Did you know he could fly planes?!”

Joey forced his mouth into a pinched smile.  “I did know that.  That was very nice of him.”

Kaiba looked at him.  “The children anticipated being in New York for Christmas.  I am still a man of my word.”  Joey wondered if he was tired from the 14 hour flight—he certainly didn’t look any worse for wear.  

Frankly, he didn’t look much different than the last time he had seen him, three years before.  He was still unfairly trim and perfectly composed.  The only noticeable changes were the introduction of a few grey hairs, scattered among the deep brown and a pair of wire-frame glasses that looked like he’d always had them.  His black turtleneck was as clean and tight fitting against the prominent muscles of his shoulders and chest as it had been.  His dark jeans were still the same stupid level of tight that looked a little like he hadn’t realized he wasn’t a teenager anymore.  Between the black Armani loafers and black Burberry trench, he looked like he was about to return to a casual Friday in the Financial District and get drinks at the most expensive bar he could find.

Joey had not anticipated seeing anyone other than his kids, and maybe Isono, and felt instantly exposed.  Without the pressure of having to be Kaiba’s arm candy at events, Joey had put on a fair amount of weight, and settled into something of a dad-bod.  He was wearing his comfiest jeans and a puffy winter coat.  The worst part was the recognition in Kaiba’s eyes—it was the same coat he’d had when they were living together, only more faded and a little tattered at the edges and unzipped.  It revealed a shirt that he’d acquired as a volunteer at a concert-fundraiser for Atticus’s youth orchestra.  It was an unnecessarily bright green, mercifully faded by the washing machine.  His white chunky sneakers looked just like ones he had in high school—and only a little less scuffed up.  Overall, the look was one meant for a quick trip to the grocery store, and the last thing he’d wanted be wearing to see his ex-husband for the first time in years.  Joey braced for some comment to that effect.

“Well, I’m glad they’re here.  We should get going, after all—how many days are there until Christmas?” Joey asked Alexis.

“Five!” She announced.

“Yep!  And the tree isn’t even up yet!”  Joey said, in mock shock, and smiled at the kids’ surprised faces.

While Atticus was bemoaning how much crucial Christmas celebrating needed to be done in the next five days, a member of the airport staff approached Kaiba.  Kaiba stepped away to discuss the flight plan, but Joey kept an ear out.  It’s not eavesdropping if it’s your ex-husband, after all.

“Mr. Kaiba, this airport is being closed, effective immediately.  The entire metropolitan area is bracing for a significant blizzard, and you are absolutely not cleared to fly.”

Joey couldn’t make out his husband’s harsh whispers, but relished in how they were tinged with a light panic.  At least the bastard was freaking out a little.  It felt nicer than he would ever admit to know that he made his terrifying ex-husband a little scared.

“Mr. Kaiba, we cannot permit that.  I will personally be turning off all lights on the runway and not approving any plans that you submit.  It could not possibly be worth dying to avoid spending a few days in New York.”

“That is not your determination to make!”  Kaiba’s voice was slightly heated, which was another signal that Joey had gotten to him.

“I’m sorry sir.  You are a valued customer, but it would be deadly for you to depart at this time, and I refuse to be a part of such a flight plan.  As soon as I can permit take-off, I will personally contact you.”

With that terse statement, the administrator marched off.

Kaiba stared at the ground with a combination of fury and focus.  After a few terse breaths, he whipped out his phone and began tapping away.

Joey was about to tell the kids to say Goodbye Oto-san!  But deep down, Joey had done the math too.

“Dad, is Oto-san going to be able to stay with us for Christmas?” Alexis said, looking up with pleading eyes.  “Like we’re a family again?”

Alexis was smart as hell, and even at age six was a master of strategy.  Someday, Joey thought, she’ll be devastatingly skilled at Duel Monsters.  Today, she was inconveniently cunning.

“It depends on what arrangements he wants to make,” Joey deflected, hating that an offer slipped through the cracks.

Kaiba looked up from his phone.  For a second, he did look a bit tired from the flight.  From his life.  It was humanizing, and Joey tried to discard it.

“I could stay in a hotel in Manhattan, and visit,” Kaiba proposed, grip on the phone like a vice.

“That’s not what families do…” Alexis whined.

Kaiba’s jaw clenched.  Joey was familiar with this face—Kaiba was acutely aware of his compromised position.  It felt like they’d never finished the dreaded conversation.  The energy that hung in the air was the same as that trite explanation of divorce.

It still was sickening when Atticus echoed the conversation from three years prior.  “We’re still a family, Lexi.  But Dad and Oto-san can’t stay in the same house anymore because it isn’t—”

It was too much, and Joey couldn’t help himself, “Of course your Oto-san can spend Christmas at the house.  If that’s what he wants.”

“If I’m cleared to fly back to Domino sooner, of course I should return to work,” Kaiba answered the unspoken question, and trailed the group back to the car.  Atticus was already sharing stories of how well his performance at the wedding had gone.

. . .

The house was a nice house—large enough, with a pretty backyard and a pool in a good neighborhood.  It had more expansive grounds when they had been together, but the family didn’t even use the stables or tennis courts, and Joey had sold them off to people who would actually enjoy them.  Kaiba had forced his hand when it came to the mortgage and upkeep, but other than the house and the kids’ schooling expenses, Joey had refused any formal alimony.

At the time, Joey had thought it was a brilliant plan.  If Kaiba really wanted to value his work over all else, then he would have to suffer through watching all of that effort not change a damn thing for his family.  Joey refused to be truly dependent, fifteen years of the golden handcuffs had been more than enough.

Now it was a little embarrassing that the house hadn’t changed a bit more.  Since Kaiba had been gone, more of the children’s artwork graced the ornate walls.  No interior decorators had been hired, so any new pieces of furniture clashed with the pre-existing scheme.  It looked more lived-in, and Joey tried to take some pride in that.

Kaiba was examining a particularly poor crayon representation of the Red Eyes Black Dragon.  The scale was completely off: the face was much too big and the eyes bulged grotesquely.

“Don’t say anything mean,” Joey whispered harshly at Kaiba.  He was shocked when Kaiba obeyed him.  “Now, who wants hot chocolate?” Joey offered, and the kids practically cheered.  Atticus was en route to the kitchen already.  “Seto, could you start a fire in the living room?”

Kaiba nodded, turning towards the room from perfect memory.

The milk was quickly heated, and the cocoa mix dissolved like magic, swirling into a pleasant warm desert within minutes.  Joey had wondered if Kaiba would come into the kitchen to join the family, but he remained in the living room.  The kids ran off to the playroom to mess with whatever new game Yugi had sent them home with.

In the soft lighting of the warm fire, Kaiba looked frustratingly, devastatingly, untouched by time.  In brighter lights the fine webbing under his eyes and frustrated crease between his brows brought attention to forty years of an overburdened life.

But instead the fire burned away the years.  With his glasses stowed away, he looked like the exact same man who he had fought with in the same damn seats three years ago.  Hell, he looked like the same man he’d dueled on the beach of Duelist Kingdom island.

“How much do you want?” Kaiba had asked in that god-awful conversation.  Kaiba spoke coldly, as if it wasn’t his husband standing before him but an uppity secretary demanding a raise.

Joey had the messy manilla folder out.  The old prenup looked fresh other than the creased corner, the bends around the staple proving that someone had read it.

Without a word, he handed it over to his husband.  Kaiba skimmed it, eyes quick and calculating.  Then he tossed it in the fire.

“You’ve always been a terrible negotiator,” Kaiba said, pouring a bit more whiskey in the glass on the coffee table.  The liquor was erasing the bored look in his eye.  For the first time in a long time, Kaiba’s glare looked a little unhinged to Joey.  Like he was as a teenager—barely suppressing his manic energy.  Kaiba took a long, slow sip of his drink before returning to the conversation.  “I’m not trying to hold out on the father of my children.”

“Say what you want, and it’s yours.” Kaiba’s words sounded completely empty of passion, drive.  Everything that Joey had fallen in love with.

The combination of venom and possession in those words made Joey’s blood boil.  How impersonal, as if there was no other important relationship there.  Nothing else that he could recognize.  Just the father of my children, like a job title.  And wasn’t that just like Kaiba?  Generosity as the ultimate weapon.  Proving he cared so little for the entire situation by abdicating any role.  Take whatever you want—none of it matters anyway.

With the paperwork in flames, Joey’s lawyer would have told him that he was entitled to half of everything his husband owned, including those valuable shares of Kaiba Corp.  If Joey had been thinking cruelly and carefully, he might have realized then what he only contemplated years later: that he had been the only person who could have taken Kaiba Corporation away from Seto Kaiba without a fight.  Those shares and the right collaborator… Joey could have taken the whole thing in a matter of months.  Ousted Kaiba, put his ex of the street.  Reminded Kaiba what that felt like.

But of course, Kaiba had played three steps ahead, and even his evaluation of Joey’s demands was insightful.  He had correctly assumed that Joey wanted nothing to do with the company.

“I don’t want any money.  I don’t need it.  I can figure something out on my own.  I don’t need you for that,” Joey said.  Honda had been pissed at him about it when Joey had called the next morning to tell him that terrible bargaining position.  Honda supported any way to make sure that Kaiba got the fullest “Fuck You” that Joey could manage, but he was floored that Joey wanted to have to work, and budget, and live like he hadn’t spent the last fifteen years of his life in a world where money was ethereal, unimportant.  So plentiful that it had lost absolutely all value and meaning.

Kaiba laughed villainously into the whiskey, campfire scent bubbling up.  “Keep the house.  Our children shouldn’t have to move.  This is more instability than they deserve anyway.”

Joey didn’t push the issue.  The instability stung, and the fact that he repeated his parent’s pattern of getting divorced with young children was absolutely searing on his heart.  Instead of mourning, he let the bitterness curdle.  And Joey couldn’t help remarking, “I’d be surprised if they noticed a difference.”

Kaiba said nothing, kept his face schooled in that icy way that sickened the blond.  But it was imperfect to the skilled observer, and his eyes heated up, eyelids becoming just a little wider.

“They should continue to attend their current schools, this cannot interfere with their education,” Kaiba droned, as if it was just another term of a perfectly standard consumer contract.  “And they should spend the summer in Domino.  We can switch off for the winter holidays.”

Part of Joey was waiting for Kaiba to suggest that they split the kids up.  A perfect 50/50 of the children.  It was the worst thing that Joey could think to do, really.  Shove in Joey’s face that he had made the same mistakes as his parents, had learned nothing.  Demonstrate, viscerally, that Joey was going to dissolve their marriage and hurt his kids in the same way that he had been hurt.

But it never came.  In the moment Joey felt so defensive.  So certain that Kaiba would exploit every vulnerability—that was the man he knew.  Ruthless in every sense.

In the years that passed, Joey realized that he wouldn’t have married someone so evil that he’d do that.  That Kaiba’s own pain should have been enough to guarantee he had no interest in splitting the siblings.  But in the battleground that their living room had become, Joey couldn’t trust anything.          

“Fine.  But otherwise, I don’t want to see a cent of your goddamn money.”

This line, which Joey had considered so fucking crystal clear became the core of their most prominent post-break-up arguments.

Joey had always been a crowd favorite at the kids’ daycare, and his transition to part-time employee was seamless.  A quick mention of the divorce was all that it took to silence any lingering questions.  He was good with kids, warm and patient, and he wasn’t far from his own.  The job paid enough, the hours weren’t demanding.

After Kaiba had returned to Domino City full time, the economics of the problem became apparent.

Simply put, the mansion upkeep was entirely unreasonable on Joey’s salary.  Everyone was aware of this, especially Joey.  He was planning on letting the gardens narrow to a level that he could manage on the weekends, drop the security teams, just let everything mellow out.  The household manager was fired on day one.  The maids on day two.  The house was never as spotless, but the traces of dust and dirt were a small price to pay for the lived-in feel that grew.

But the bills never arrived.  No emails, no letters, clearly they were rerouted.  Gardeners that Joey had fired showed up Monday, as if they hadn’t gotten the news.  No house staff returned without a request, and Joey really was going to let it slide.

But the next month Joey received a notice that the utilities had been overpaid.  Not by a terribly extravagant amount, but by about a thousand dollars.  Joey knew better, but he resisted looking the gift horse in the mouth for just one month and accept the refund.

The next month, the refund doubled, and Joey wasn’t going to take it.  When Kaiba answered the phone, Joey didn’t even give him the opportunity to pick a greeting.

“I told you, I don’t want the money.  I’m gonna send it back to you, what’s the address again?” Joey demanded.

“Put it in the children’s trusts.  Put it towards—” Kaiba’s answer was harsh and quick.

“I don’t want the money, Kaiba.  I don’t need it.  They don’t need it.  We’re fine without it.”  Without you, Joey almost shouted.  But Kaiba was smart enough, right?  He should be able to understand that much.

“Fine.”  Kaiba hung up first to spite Joey’s victory, but the refunds on the utilities stopped.  Over the last few years there were a couple more schemes.  Refunds from the school.  Overpaid property taxes.   Every time Joey whined to Honda, his friend told him to give up and just take it.

But Yugi had a different guess.  Yugi pointed out that, well, every time Kaiba came up with a new way to slip money to Joey, Joey called to clear it up.

“I don’t know how many people he talks to, Jounouchi-kun, but maybe… he just wants to call.”

What an entirely too human thing for Joey’s ex-husband to do.  “He has my number, if he wants to talk, he can try, instead of buying it.”

Yugi had shrugged and wisely changed the subject.  The whole thing left an odd taste in Joey’s mouth.  Even though Joey was the one who had asked for the divorce, Kaiba had done his utmost to seem entirely unaffected by the whole thing.  Joey had been prepared for a knock down, drag out fight.  Instead, Kaiba kept such an impartial face, it was as if the dissolution of their union didn’t perturb him in the slightest.  As if it were some sort of contract terminated at inconvenient time, and no more.

Mind returning to the present, Joey scanned Kaiba’s face in the glow of the fire for any sign of humanity.  Any indication that their separation had bothered Kaiba just a fraction of the way it had hurt Joey.

Finding none, Joey handed off the warm mug of hot cocoa.  If Kaiba realized it wasn’t coffee, it didn’t show on his face.

“So, anyone miss me at the wedding?”

Kaiba gulped down some “Your friends were there, of course.  I think they would have preferred to see you than me.” Kaiba took another pensive sip at the cocoa mug.  “Atticus was right.  His piano performance was excellent.”

Kaiba pulled out his phone.  The screensaver of a Blue Eyes White Dragon melted into a sea of icons.  KC must have released a new model in the intervening years.  Joey took a bit of joy in the fact that he hadn’t even noticed.

The screen dissolved into Kaiba’s photo album within a few taps.  The grid was full of almost identical images of their kids at the wedding, and Kaiba had to scroll for a bit before tracking down a video.  It pricked at Joey’s chest, just a touch, to see how many duplicate photos Kaiba had taken of the little subjects.

Finally, Kaiba pressed play and there was nine-year-old Atticus, fluffy brown hair tamed in the back just barely in a tiny low ponytail.  Between the hair and his light blue suit, he looked like a baby Mozart, Joey thought.

The image of him at the white grand piano began to move, and the boy played some classical music that Joey couldn’t identify if his life depended on it.  It sounded pleasant, the notes flowing and smooth—clearly the little guy had been taking his lessons seriously.

“He is good, huh?” Joey smiled, looking at Kaiba.  The radiant satisfaction in Kaiba’s eyes hurt to look at for too long.

Kaiba handed him the phone and stood up.  “I’ll check on them.  They’ve been quiet for too long, I don’t trust it.”  Kaiba rose with his usual dignity.  Even without the trench coat, the man swept out of the room with such presence.  For better or worse, Joey’s house had lost the melodrama without him marching about.

His ex-husband’s phone sat heavy in his hands.  The new release was slim, all flawless and shiny and new.  It was a little hot.  And it was unlocked.  He could search through anything—did Kaiba really still trust him that much?

Joey smirked, and continued to look through the wedding pictures.  The rest of the reception looked very precious.  There were many attempts to capture a decent shot of Mokuba and his new wife Yui smiling with the kids.  From the number of goofy pictures and the relative paucity of serious ones, it had been an uphill battle for Kaiba to get one decent picture that he could put on his desk.

The next series appeared to be taken by Atticus, a legendary phone thief, and was largely shots of Kaiba’s arms and hands grasping for his phone.  Joey’s own phone had more than enough pictures like that, and sometimes he couldn’t bring himself to delete them either.

There were a couple of cute shots of Alexis challenging Yugi to a duel.  She could read the majority of the cards.  Joey didn’t know how she convinced Kaiba to let her bring her duel disk to the wedding, but he was always a sucker for the kids.

There were some pictures what were just Kaiba and Mokuba, and Joey couldn’t help but gaze at his ex-husband.  Standing next to his brother with that small smile that looked so hauntingly like the photo in Mokuba’s locket.

They weren’t teenagers, but the pang in Joey’s chest was not convinced.  

The next few photos hurt even more, just Kaiba and the kids.  Alexis, duel disk still strapped faithfully to her arm, appeared to have requested to be held, and Atticus stood in front making little peace signs and sticking his tongue out.

Kaiba was smiling that tiny, genuine way—still.  Through rows of photos, he didn’t stop, except for a few when Atticus jumped to try and steal his sister’s duel disk.

Joey’s eyes pricked with tears, and all of that curiosity was silenced.  He had meant to do some snooping—follow up on some headlines about a secret lover that Honda had sent him—but any curiosity was stamped out.

Joey decided it was because he was sad to miss their friends, not their life together.  And that everyone had been playing quietly for too long.  He abandoned the phone on the couch to see what had happened in the playroom.

The playroom was a nice, cute space.  Light blue walls, big windows facing the gardens, plush tan carpeting.  Back when they had maids, the room was always tidy, but now Joey had given up.  It was for the kids to play in, anyway, so if the train set and crayons and common Duel Monsters cards littered the floor, who really cared.  Against the wall, there was a fairly large grey couch that had seen better days.

It was almost too much, to see Kaiba, passed out with a book in his lap, and the kids on either side snoring away.  Alexis’ hair dripped over the side of the couch.  Atticus was leaning against his father.  Joey leaned over to collect Alexis first to take her to her bedroom.

The soft vision was hard to face, and Joey couldn’t resist the simple thought that “this is what I wanted.”

At the movement, Kaiba stirred.

Joey resisted smiling at the spacey, sleepy face.  Kaiba blinked tiredly, slowly collecting himself and gathering his bearings.  It took quite a lot of effort.  “I’m putting them to bed,” Joey said.  Kaiba nodded and ruffled Atticus’s hair.

By the time Atticus had been dropped off at his room, Kaiba was missing.  But Joey had a decent guess where to find him.

. . .

“So, who’s the secret lover?” Joey asked, wandering into the room that had once been Seto’s study.  Joey hadn’t changed anything about it.  He hadn’t even removed the decanter of expensive Japanese whiskey or the two crystal glasses that sat next to it.  To be honest, he hadn’t spent time in the room at all, except occasionally dusting when he remembered.  After the kids were asleep, it was Seto’s usual haunt back in the day.  Seto was nothing if not a man of certain preferences.

The decanter was already wide open, and Seto was making significant progress in draining it.  He looked quite at home for a man who had been threatening to stay in a hotel.  His cheeks were just a little flushed and Joey could tell the liquor was affecting him because Seto laughed at Joey’s comment.

“Please.  You don’t have some sort of web alert on my name, do you?” Kaiba said, raising his glass like there was something to celebrate.

“Nah.  But Honda does,” Joey answered, and was rewarded with another one of Kaiba’s signature cackles.  It was close enough to friendly that Joey decided to take the companion chair in the study.  Joey hadn’t sat in that chair even once in the three years since Kaiba’s departure.  Leaning into the plush velvet, he realized he had missed it.

“Of course.  There is no one, naturally, just that endless speculation.  A man continues to take care of his appearance and he can never do it for his professional image and personal health,” Kaiba pulled his phone from his pocket, scrolling absently.  “It must be for a lover.”  The echo of blue light from the phone contrasted the warm yellow light from the study’s art-nouveau inspired banker’s lamps.  It traced Kaiba’s high cheekbones in a flattering manner.  It made Joey instantly more insecure about his own softer face.

Between the baggy sweatpants and charitable flannel bathrobe, he felt like no one would accuse him of taking up a new lover.  If anything, he had spotted a few unflattering headlines in the last couple of years.  The attention died off dramatically after Kaiba was all the way out of the picture.  “Well, I’m sure you’re not worried about me finding anyone else.  Don’t think anyone’s interested these days, I kinda let myself go.”

Kaiba’s eyes snapped away from his phone and back to Joey with a fierceness that Joey hadn’t expected.  “First of all, I do not tolerate anyone talking about the father of my children that way,” Kaiba spat, the liquor making him slur the edges of some of the words.  “And second,” Kaiba huffed a short breath, “you really have no idea what’s going on in my head.”

“Y’know what, Kaiba,” Joey challenged, “I really fucking don’t.”

Kaiba downed the rest of the drink.  “I was thinking that you look just as attractive as the day I met you,” and Joey could spot that hunger in his eyes, seductive as ever.  “Your hair is still always tousled, like you’ve been playing outside all the time.”

Kaiba returned his full attention to the decanter.  “And I can’t look in your eyes without my heart absolutely aching,” Kaiba said as he refilled his glass.  He sounded a bit angry to deliver the compliment.

The heat rose in Joey’s cheeks with the compliments.  Joey released a sad little laugh before commenting.  “Why do you gotta hold back on stuff like that ‘cept when you’re drinkin’ or whatever?”

Kaiba didn’t answer.  He put his drink down and leaned in, so close that the heat of his breath tickled Joey’s cheek.  Kaiba’s hand floated up to Joey’s face, the pad of his thumb running tenderly over the stubble on his jawline.  Those haunted blue eyes saw straight into Joey’s soul.

“Even though you have done nothing but break my heart for the last four years, you are just as irresistible as ever,” Kaiba whispered, before pulling Joey in.  There was no force behind the touch, as if he didn’t quite believe he was allowed to.

Maybe, Joey thought, if he hadn’t had such a dry spell, if he wasn’t so intoxicated by Kaiba’s praise and presence, then Kaiba wouldn’t have been allowed to.  But the combination of loneliness, yearning, and unspoken regret was too heady.  Always, Kaiba had to be too powerful.

And the kiss could have been their first kiss.  It could have been the kiss that sealed their marriage at their wedding.  It could have been the kiss after Joey first saw Kaiba hold Atticus.  The kiss after they brought Alexis home from the hospital.  It was tender and warm and peaceful.  It was so right it felt like nothing had every happened to them, between them.

It was soft, and chaste.  And too loving.

After Kaiba released, he must have noticed the tears that had leaked involuntarily from Joey’s eyes.  The next kiss was not nearly so pure.

For one thing, Kaiba couldn’t seem to resist sticking his hands in Joey’s hair and pulling him in.  If that first kiss was asking for permission, the second was to put Joey on notice that he was going to be devoured whole.  It was hot and the lingering whisky all but burned Joey’s mouth.  The campfire smell was almost too much—a warning that this was a bad idea.  That they were both vulnerable and volatile and misguided.

But that hot mouth once again overpowered good sense.  It always did, after all.  And Joey only broke the make out in order to rise from his seat and straddle Kaiba’s hips in the opulent chair.  It was clumsier than the last time they had done this, and Joey felt a bit insecure and out of shape, too much on display.  But before the could undo his bold move, Kaiba grabbed him by the hips, long fingers artfully playing with the band of his sweatpants, dancing under his shirt and to his back.  Kaiba smoothly scraped his nails down the soft flesh.  Kaiba’s efforts were rewarded with a full body shudder, and he smirked back, as if to say “I’ve still got it.”

Joey moved in for another kiss, just to get that stupid, self-satisfied smirk off of his face.  He was interrupted by his own moan at the sweet sensation of Kaiba grabbing and kneading at his ass.  It was sexy as hell, and he felt so wanted.  Like Kaiba was drinking in every second of his time with him.  Like the last four years had faded away—or maybe never happened.  

Joey knew enough signature moves to reduce his partner to a quivering mess.  He decided to run his own nails over Kaiba’s scalp and was instantly pleased when Kaiba purred into his mouth.  Putty in his hands.

As they proceeded, Kaiba continued to make desperate, needy noises.  After his shifted his hips up and whimpered, Joey determined that something was up.

Well, something else.

After he pulled back and rose shakily to his own feet, he offered a hand to his partner.

Kaiba stumbled.  He caught himself, but only by relying on Joey’s stability.  He looked a little dizzy just to be standing.

“Goddammit.  You’re really drunk Kaiba.  And you probably didn’t even take breaks or shifts on the flight over, so you’re exhausted too,” Joey sighed.

Joey should have caught on faster, should have known better.

“This is so totally you, so fucking classic.  You haven’t changed.  This is why I fucking left, and never looked back.  You’re exhausted and want to pull something and just… I really just get the dregs of you.  Like you give your all to every single thing on earth, anything, so that you’re a mess by the time that you get to me.  I’m the last priority every damn time, below even your desire to fuck off.”

“Jou…” Kaiba said his name on the exhale, and it evaporated in the room.

“You haven’t changed a bit in three years. I’m wasting my breath, you’re too much of a mess to even appreciate this.  But I’ll tell you I feel like you bought me, and our relationship comes last.  I’m your child-rearing assistant, the head nanny, and you don’t even have to try to be my partner.”  Joey could feel his face going read with anger.  “I get the worst of you, every time.”

Kaiba was silent.  One of the most frustrating things about Seto was that no matter what he was going through, the processing power of his mind was rarely genuinely diminished.

“I am a good father.” Kaiba said, more to himself than to Joey.

“Yeah, but you’re a shit husband.”

Joey regretted it the second he said it.  Hearing it out of his mouth felt unpleasant, like he was possessed by someone else.  Someone a lot crueler, more dismissive.

Kaiba had no comment, no stinging rejoinder.  He leaned onto Joey’s shoulder, long brown strands falling against the flannel bathrobe.

“C’mon, you can sleep in the guestroom.” Joey’s arm wound around Kaiba’s waist as he dragged him through the hallway.

[ravenwritesstuff]

Best Laid Plans (13/?)

Fandom: Frozen (modern AU, no magic) Pairings: Helsa, established Kristanna, Rapunzel/Eugene, lotsa frohana Rating: T for now, M later almost for sure A/N: Meh.

She goes to the bathroom where she had changed originally. 

By some mercy all of her things are still there. She does not know why she thought they might not be, but this day is quickly showing her just how unexpected things can be. Her mouth still tingles from the pressure of his and if she is honest she cannot say it was entirely unwanted. 

Still: this precedent cannot stand. If this event is to go forward she absolutely cannot abide this kind of behavior.

It is distracting. It is unprofessional. More than that it hints at the one thing she has not allowed herself to consider for over two years: a future. 

Hans Westergaard may not want anything from her more than a fling, but she cannot know that for sure. She cannot entertain anything that may have staying power and if his reaction to her is even a fraction of what she has felt when he touches her then they are in trouble.

The first thing she does is breaths. She knows she tends to not do that and that is no good. She must breathe. Breath is crucial to brain function and clearly she needs as much of that as she can get. 

She needs to breathe.

She needs to think.

She needs to move forward.

Her first step of moving forwards is to go to the miniature version of her traveling drugstore in the corner of the gold and marble bathroom, and she immediately starts setting herself right. She cannot get out of her wrap and suit fast enough. Even with the rinse down below she still feels sticky. She pulls out her face and body wipes and gets to work, then the lotion. It is not the type that drenched her skin with cloying scent, but instead offered a delicate perfume that she hopes will remove all traces of the reef and everything after. As she works the cream into her skin she feels her body relax. The familiarity, the sense of routine, slows the spinning world enough that she finally feels like she stands on solid ground.

Her body is hers. Her mind is hers. Her spirit is hers. She focuses on that.

She tells herself this routine has nothing to do with erasing his touch, covering it with additional sensation so she can forget the heat he poured into every inch of her. She tells herself that caressing her body with her own hands has nothing to do with forgetting the imprints he left on her. She reasons that gargling sharp minty mouthwash is to take the tang of ocean salt from her tongue and not the memory of his own intimate flavor. She tells herself that she hadn’t kissed him back.

She wishes she believed herself, but the last point is a lie and she knows it.

Still she comforts herself knowing that if nothing else it reminds her that there is life off of this boat, outside of his initiative. These steps, routines, exist outside of him. The vast majority of her world exists outside of him and would continue to be so for as long as she is alive. It is a victory, she tells herself, to not need him. 

All she wants is to plan a great event. All she wants is to elevate her company to the next level so when she leaves she will know they are set. All she wants is to make peace with her fate and leave her family with the resources they need for success. 

She dresses, glad for the shapeless way her shift floats around her body revealing nothing. She untangles the mess of her hair and combs her fingers through the white blonde mass. The salt from the ocean brings out its fullness and body. Without a blowdryer and a round brush there was no hope of taming it to lay around her shoulders and down her back without it exploding into a frizzy mess. Her fingers deftly create a braid that she curls and pins at the nape of her neck, hiding her scar.

Finally she finds her silver locket and clasps it behind her neck. 

She may have been tempting fate wearing this specific piece of jewelry. Hans Westergaard had taken a special interest in it at the wedding after all, but she knows she cannot simply stop wearing it. It is her most precious belonging and she is not about to allow one over-inflated playboy keep her from exercising what little control she has over her life. 

She straightens her shoulder and swipes on just enough makeup to make her feel like she isn’t a ghost: a bit of mascara, concealer, brow fill, blush, and a swipe of nude lipstick. She has never been a gloss girl. Her fair complexion already makes her look younger than she is. She does not need help in that department, especially since she will never grow old.

The thought slips in before she can stop it but it still catches her breath. It has been easy to ignore for the last two years, but she knows she is chasing the end. Time and fate do not just stop because you turn your eye. She feels them both biting her heels. 

In an act she hopes is fortifying she looks herself in the eye in the mirror. 

She says what she has said for many other days to remind herself of her position, her focus, whenever she felt lost:

“The end is coming.” 

The words bend in a strange way in this space. She has grown used to how they unfurled in the small bath off of her studio apartment where she has often found macabre comfort in her single affirmation. What use has she for self-help mantras and manifestation when science has told her the truth? 

The end is coming, and it is coming soon. She has felt it. It is not constant, but just enough that she recognizes its impending presence. This is when she must bow out and relinquish herself to fate - no matter how cruel. She did not choose this, but it seems the universe did. Who is she to argue with the universe?

Her shoulder rolls back, eyes catching in the mirror, and she cannot delay further. If she does it will result in her heaving herself off the deck into the depths of the ocean and not coming back up and that is not becoming for PR regarding an up-and-coming event planning business.

She must face this.

She considers what she has faced to this point and in many ways is able to convince herself that anything she has encountered between herself and Mister Westergaard is quite small. Perhaps, in many ways, it is. Perhaps this ephemeral chemistry has left them grasping at things that do not exist. 

There is no future and she is fine with that. Yes she may have reacted and even enjoyed the attention of his kisses but that does not mean she must succumb to the succulent pleasure he offers. After all he does not know what he is asking.

She does not have a future. 

She does not know how to tell him that.

So she looks at herself in the mirror and decides that after this event she is done. Of course she will do her best at finishing out what she needs to contractually, but she will not accept any more events. From here on in her purpose will be to transfer whatever authority she has to a new trainee. It is the most she can hope to do for a company that was founded on the fact that she is dying.

Her head shakes, hand gripping pure stone counters veined with what she can only assume is actual gold, and this is her purpose. This is why she is here. If she can keep this event under the guise of E&A Events without ever giving away her position as she has done with everything they have done. Then their business will catapult to the stratosphere of society.

They are ready. She knows they are. They all have the skill and capability to reach the heights she never will, but she hesitates. Hiring. The one thing they have never really done. Kristoff was acquired through dating Anna. Rapunzel and Eugene were acquired through Kristoff and Anna drinking at a bar and forcing Elsa to realize they were the perfect fit for their expanding needs. The intern Sven, Kristoff’s friend, fit in well enough to warrant a staff position if available, but he definitely could not fill her shoes. 

They needed someone who was focused on delivering perfection, someone who would balance out her obsession with black and white solutions, someone who could move them forward when her own desire for being more kept them from actually accomplishing anything.

Someone like Hans. Her own mind betrays her and she takes a breath.

She had not lingered in this bathroom to have her own motivational mirror time accost her so she knows it is time to go. Turning towards the door she sucks a serrated breath and reminds herself of the truth.

All that matters is the deal, the zeros on the bottom line, the chance to upscale the business. 

At least that is what she tells herself as she tries to settle an errant, romantic heart.

Romance. The very word simultaneously makes her laugh and cringe. Of course she had wanted someone to share her life with, someone who didn’t judge or query or laugh. Someone sober-minded, driven, responsible, kind… but she shoves aside that narrative. 

Even at Camp for Those Who Probably Weren’t Going to Make It (not the official name but the name given by her and her best camp friend in the summers spent there) she knows how unrealistic this is.

Love can heal, it does heal, but not when it comes to cases like her.

This is no simple saga of a single broken heart that could be bandaged if the right pair of hands came along. This is her own body declaring war on itself while requiring her to be inside of it but also sit back and watch. The cruelty is not lost on her, but she is prepared. This has been her end for a long time. 

She will watch until the bitter end.

So she looks in the mirror. She squares her shoulders. She tightens the muscles in her back. Though not the tallest woman in the room she is above average and feels that is very much to her advantage. She will take every advantage she can during this negotiation for more than one reason.

After all: what is negotiation other than having the best side of a deal? 

Little does she know that she is about to find out.

….

The rest of the party is back and dressed in their original clothes when she emerges onto the deck where they had first started. She takes stock and if she was not wound as tightly as a child’s music box she may have found the mix of mussed and professional endearing. 

Well, at least where her team was concerned. 

Her sister especially struck a chord in her disheveled pigtail braids, freckles shining on her cheeks and nose from their time in the sun, and her negligence to reapply any kind of makeup. Even in her casual professional outfit Elsa could not help but see her sister as they had been as children. As they had been before - 

That thought is dangerous territory in current company and she reigns it hoping no one noticed the flicker of sentiment (and by no one she means Hans Westergaard). The situation has made it clear that she cannot afford any emotional weakness, no chinks in the armor, and she whips and beats her consciousness to submit to meet what she is so sure they need. 

With an effort she is chagrin to admit she meets Mister Westergaard’s eyes to find them carefully resigned, as if he had to muster a similar effort to meet her gaze. Still the moment her eyes meet his she is struck with a heat she cannot explain - especially considering the distance. She swallows nothing, throat working around the promise of relief that cannot be found in such a simple action. 

“Sorry to have kept you waiting,” she says around the lump in her throat, gaze scanning everything. 

The elaborate spread of food and drink menus have been removed and she feels a pang of hunger that makes this discovery a regrettable one. Simultaneously she is surprised she is even interested in food at this moment. Not just because of her racing heart but she hasn’t been hungry in weeks, not genuinely anyway. She knows what that signals, but has been ignoring it. 

Perhaps this is a good sign?

She tightens her core against the burgeoning hope. She is beyond trusting herself. If her condition has gone far enough she really cannot trust her own mind. The idea sends a spiteful fever through her gut, coiling and venomous. Who was she if she could not trust herself, her judgement? 

She pushes at the hunger and levels her gaze somewhere in the middle of the group: “What did I miss?”

Anna smiles in a way that betrays nothing. She is either getting better at masking her feelings or Kristoff really hasn't divulged anything.

“We all just got here,” her sister smiles. “We were waiting for you.”

Elsa does not dare look at Hans for his response to that comment. 

“Well I’m here now,” Elsa squares her shoulders and shifts her attache case in her hands. “Shall we discuss the initiative?” 

The words themselves rest a tang on her tongue, bright as blood, and she is just glad it does not taste like him. 

“Of course,” it is he, his voice smooth and calm as she hoped she had sounded before. “But you all must be hungry. I have taken the liberty to make sure lunch was provided today so we can spend the afternoon discussing details.” 

It is only then that she allows herself to realize that he has lost his sweater from the morning and only wears the crisp white button down that had been hidden beneath. The long white sleeves are rolled to the elbows. His forearms are lean, roped with purposeful strength, and sprinkled with both freckles and thick copper hair. The sight of even part of him reminds her of how much she had seen before and unease descends upon her like a guillotine.

“Certainly,” Elsa nods, aware everyone is watching for her cue. “Thank you for the consideration, but we cannot presume to take so much of your time. I am sure after a working lunch my team and I will have enough to get started on your project. After all we want to provide you with the absolute best services and we are best prepared to do that in our offices.”

“Of course,” Hans Westergaard steps nearer and even at the distance of several feet she feels her calf cramp against the impulse to step back in response. “But you see I plan on being involved through this entire process. It is crucial that I work alongside you and make sure you understand everything you need to know so you can deliver exactly what I want.”

She levels her gaze, steadies her breath, and sees exactly what he is doing. Just as he clearly saw her own tactic a few moments before and she has never met someone to challenge her like this. 

“That is the beauty of hiring E&A Events,” she smiles instead of screaming. “We can accomplish things for you in less time and with less supervision things that many other event planners cannot. That is why we hope you trust us and our recommendations. Once we outline your expectations we will only have to check in periodically to make sure we are on track.”

A shadow of a smile pulls at his lips as his gaze darkens. “And if I want to have a more hands on approach?”

Her breath catches against her will. Her body heats with each memory of exactly what his hands felt like across her frame and that is not part of the deal. It never will be, but she can feel the tension in the air. She can sense her crew’s suspicion rising at this exchange, inferring indiscretion, and she raises an imperious brow in counterpoint. 

“There are no contracts signed, Mister Westergaard. Let’s sort through the particulars and see if we are a good fit.” 

It is the best she can do to diffuse and redirect a conversation she can only describe as wildly out of hand. Still the look in his eye at her phrasing does nothing to settle the rolling feeling in her stomach. His enigmatic gaze tells her nothing but that she is in trouble.

“Lunch sounds great,” it is Kristoff who breaks in. His voice is just a little too eager.

“Yeah,” Anna chimes in too and Elsa cannot help but wonder just what she has gotten out of Kristoff explicitly and what she has read between the lines. “After all of that swimming I am starved!”

Rapunzel and Eugene seem all too happy to acquiesce and she can see Hans Westergaard slip into his perfect host skin. His smile broadens, his eyes get less focused, and he moves his attention from lasering in on her to directing the party as a whole. At least he can read a room - but maybe that is what makes him so dangerous. 

Hans introduces the impeccable brunette that had directed her to the Sunset Parlor. Janet, her name is Janet. Elsa fixes onto that, on the humanness of this woman and how she could clearly care less about Hans Westergaard and his charm and his influence and whatever else he brings to the table as she offers the most gracious of smiles and gestures to Elsa’s crew to follow her. 

The group all goes ahead of them.

Elsa had thought Hans Westergaard would go first but all he does is rock on his toes like a dare as the rest push into the interior of the boat. Elsa’s mind flashes to creamy yellow leather and lush mahogany wood and how if the lunch options were anything like the brunch options she may actually have to indulge (slightly). If this is the challenge he wants to lay down she will meet it. 

She turns and follows the group. In no less than three steps she stopped by a strong hand on her shoulder turning her to meet his watching eyes. They have not quite left the main deck and she has watched carefully enough to know that the reflective glass is keeping them from further chatter of indiscretion. That does not mean she is thrilled to be stopped before she is coupled with the relative safety of going into lunch with her team. 

Still she turns with razor eyes: “Stop it. This is not the right time.”

“Oh? Why do I feel like it will never be the right time with you?” he pulls the easy smile she knows is not his and her stomach turns.

“Stop,” she steps back and his hand drops. “You really have to stop.”

Her spine tightens as she tries to not lean away even though he has not moved closer. The kisses between them still sing. She may not be the most experienced girl at the bar but she knows a player when she sees one and there is no way she is letting him get closer in any way. 

He cocks his head to the side, “why?”

“I understand you are an influential man,” she stares at the third button down his chest, ignoring that the first two are undone, and trying her best to not remember… “But we are, well I am not in the habit of pawning off favors for the sake of business. If I gave you the wrong impression or insinuated what you might expect…”

Her blush cuts her off and swallows. 

His voice is low and soft, “I don’t expect anything.”

That rips her eyes to his. She does not know him, but she knows enough to never trust that sentiment. 

“Everyone expects something,” she replies before she can catch herself and her mind goes double time to make up for her misstep, for showing her authentic feelings.

Even if it is true - even if he is born to an entire line that expects something - that does not give her permission to spew all over him. Still she is not about to allow her company to become the laughing stock of higher society because this man can adapt to any circumstance. There are no stakes for him here as far as she can see.

So she straightens her shoulders and does not back down. His chin lowers, slow grin melting across his face. All he does is shift his weight and she has to keep herself from jumping. What if Anna - ?

“What is it that you think I expect that has you so on edge?”

His eyes are hooded, lips soft, and the heat of their kiss is so near to her memory it would only take the slightest effort to pull it to the front of her mind and make a terrible decision, but she reins it in.

“Honestly I don’t want to patronize you with what we were both privy to,” they hold each others gaze for an uncomfortable breath then: “Before we move forward I need you to be honest about your potential contracting of E&A Events. It must have no ulterior motive beyond your event creation and completion. Tell me that you are hiring us for our collective merit, the event we could plan for you, and not for any other reason.” 

He tilts his head to the side with a smirk, “What other reason could I have?”

She flushes, but not of embarrassment. This time the flush rises from - she hates to admit - agitation. She had though they had been on the same page, that he was actually listening to her, but that seems to be untrue. 

“Are you asking me to suppose that you kissed me - repeatedly - was simply out of some sort of goodwill?”

His grin blossoms in full at that and it fills the room to where her whole body tense to stop a step back though he does not move. Even with feet separating them she can feel the heat of him against her and it is not fair. He rests so easy across the space from her that she cannot help but cross her arms over her chest in resistance to him.

“No. I am fully supposing you understand I kissed you because I find you wildly attractive,” his smile stretches so wide she wonders if it hurts even as it stops her lungs.

“Then this cannot go on,” it is a hard rush of the only air left in her body. The exhalation of this truth gives her space to suck in new air and continue, “while I am flattered there is no version of this story that ends the way you want unless that story ends with my company planning you an unforgettable event and us not getting involved in any way.”

The moment the words are out of her mouth she second guesses them. Her mind goes wild with everything she said wrong or could have said better but she is glad that the truth is at least out there. When expectations are set, she has learned, most parties end up happy. Still as she watches him she cannot quite be sure that rule applies here. 

His hands tuck into his pocket and he rocks onto his toes. It isn't disappointment, but there are shades of that along with other things beneath the surface that she tries to not dissect too closely. Her mind comforts herself with the black and white of the situation. These kinds of boundaries are good and what they need to be professional. She had felt unsettled before because she had allowed gray to shade them. If he couldn’t accept her terms then -

“Well,” his tongue wets his full bottom lip and she can feel the gray slipping back in. “I told you I would kiss you like I would never get another chance. If that is all we get, I’ll learn to live with it.”

He smiles, not his mega-watt-light-the-night-sky-smile, but something softer and more secret. It sends a thread of anticipation up her spine that she cannot unravel. 

Still she takes his words to heart. 

I’ll learn to live with it.

He would have to.

After all. She had.

[ previous ]

[sherlockcallmymama]

Legal Solutions Columbus GA

Accidental Injuries Lawyers Columbus, GA –– Kenneth S. Nugent, P.C.

Accidents along with the injuries and damages they can cause may have a major influence on the life from the injured person and their families. If you or your relative has been injured or killed inside an accident, it is only natural to feel completely helpless and angry as these are natural emotions to such an event.

Kenneth S. Nugent, P.C. 1234 1st Ave STE 200, Columbus, GA 31901

But, it is also important to think about the highway back to recovery. It is rather probable that your damages and injuries may be paid by the party liable for the accident. This is when a law office experienced with taking on accidental injuries cases can assist you deal will the negligent parties and their insurance adjusters to get you compensation for damages and injuries.

Here is the form of qualified legal experience you can get when you use the knowledgeable attorneys at Kenneth S. Nugent, P.C. Law Firm. Our legal team has extensive expertise in handling accidental injuries cases in Columbus, GA and will offer you great support with this time of need.

Personal injury lawsuits may be especially complex along with the aftermath of a serious accident is often combined with confusion and emotional upheaval. Allow our experienced accidental injuries attorneys to deal with the complexities to help you hop on using the recovery process.

So How Exactly Does a private Injury Case in Columbus Work?

After a car accident, it is really not uncommon to obtain a proposal in the insurance adjuster representing the at-fault party. At this point, most people wish to determine it can be also worth contesting this offer when the amount may seem reasonable and won’t involve a long legal process. But, there are some important aspects to consider before you make this decision.

Here is what you must understand about accidental injuries cases:

The true price of your case should come to the “damages” you have sustained as a result of negligence of some other person. The whole damages includes the financial costs, emotional distress, mental anguish and physical struggling with injuries linked to the accident. Additionally, punitive damages might be laid in the at-fault person if their actions were especially egregious.

Under Georgia Law, the plaintiff, or the individual that received the harm, is qualified for compensation equal to the volume of damages they experienced as a result of accident. These damages has to be purchased by the defendant, or the at-fault person. More typically, it will be paid by the defendant’s insurer.

The damages awarded will probably be decided by both sides after negotiations. Both sides will develop a figure they think is fair and can try and reach a happy-medium settlement which everybody can decide on. If this settlement can’t be reached in negotiations, the case may be come to court along with the judge will order the harm award be paid.

Who Can Be Named in a Accidental Injuries Lawsuit?

Very often it is easy to detect an at-fault party and start creating a case against them. Still an informed team of experienced accidental injuries attorneys will offer you no end of benefits here. However, there are occasions that the true parties responsible are certainly not as obviously identified and there could be many parties liable for the incident mainly because it played out.

At Kenneth S. Nugent, P.C., we have now extensive experience investigating cases of accidental injuries and provide all parties responsible to terms using their negligence. A few of the parties we incorporated into our lawsuits are:

A number of these entities and people we have now expertise in negotiating with include:

-Individuals

-Businesses

-Government institutions or cities departments

-Manufacturers and Defective products

-Insurance providers

You will find various ways that each of these potential defendant has to be contained in the accidental injuries claim. You can even rely on each of these defendants counting on experienced legal teams to safeguard their interests in these case. For that reason it will be imperative for the chances of you a reasonable shake which you also include a qualified legal team to pursue your case in negotiations and courts if needs be.

What is the time limit for filing a private Injury Claim?

Most states could have an occasion frame by which accidental injuries cases can be done, this time around limit is named the statute of limitations and varies between states. In Georgia, defendants have 24 months in the date from the incident that caused the injuries to create their accidental injuries claims. After that time, the case could be void.

Call the law firm of Kenneth S. Nugent, P.C. if you would like to understand a little more about the statute of limitation mainly because it applies on this site in Columbus, GA.

Simply how much is My Personal Injury Claim Actually Worth?

There are several factors that are involved in properly qualifying your own injury case in fact it is tough to come up with a general approximations without exploring the information on the case. At Kenneth S. Nugent, P.C. Law Firm we provide you with free consultations to people who have suffered injuries from negligent parties. We are going to review your case and give you a clearer picture of your respective chances for recovering compensation. We are going to also counsel you in the best approach using this point.

Below are a few factors that will change the overall price of your own personal injury case:

-Future medical cost and lost income

-Exactly how the accident happened

-Future brings about medical issues

-Medical expenses

-Wages and income lost

-Injuries suffered

The specifics of each of these factors must be thoroughly examined and their damages converted into a cash value. Those accidents that resulted in serious damages could have far greater influence on the life from the injured person which can add value to the case.

A number of these damages are really very easy to calculate, like the cost of treatment, although the damages for suffering and pain or emotional may require professional opinions and resources to calculate. A respected law office, like our, could have every one of the resources and connections to create precise calculations and a strong case for negotiations and court battles.

Just How Long Could It Take for My Columbus, GA Accidental Injuries Case being Settled?

There are several important steps that will need to be obtained from submitting the lawsuit to reaching the very last settlement. Before a settlement may be reached both sides will need to decide on an award amount through negotiations. If this can’t be completed, then your matter will need to be settled in courts.

There are many individual factors in every individual case that will use a role in prolonging or shortening the procedure. Naturally, those cases that are straightforward and include only minor damages will probably be completed far faster than others including more dangerous physical impairment pain suffering and extensive medical treatments.

Critical Factors Affecting the Time of a private Injury Case in Columbus

Settlements

For those who have an extremely specific notion of what kind of settlement you think is acceptable, you will probably find that negotiations will take a little bit longer. Negotiating to get a top-dollar compensation requires more work than when the injured party is flexible within their expectations. But, this doesn’t mean you ought to accept the first offer you are given.

Insurance providers are really careful concerning their work and can try and do just as much as they can to lessen the pay outs they make for medical expenses. When they can prove that your injuries were not actually attached to the accident, they have got no responsibility to offer compensation for these people.

When the injuries are, undoubtedly, attached to the accident, they have got different ways to lessen the payouts they have to make. As an example, they could say your injuries are certainly not as serious as you may described them and can only need moderate health care for the near future. Obviously, this is not carried out with your full recovery at heart, however in the interests from the insurer.

These are just some of the important reasons to experience a qualified accidental injuries law office in your corner to ensure all the information are properly included plus your case is bullet proof before entering negotiations.

Furthermore, having a accidental injuries attorney in your corner will guarantee the procedure is conducted as smoothly and favorably as you can. Perhaps the case is strong and runs very smoothly from learn to final negotiations and a settlement. But, in cases where the matter is not so easily resolved, it must be come to court. It will likely be necessary to have strong legal counsel in these an occasion.

There exists still a chance to recover damages from a car accident if you were partially responsible for the injuries. In Georgia, the law of modified comparative negligence implies that given that an individual is below 50% responsible for the accident.

While the idea of employing a team of high-caliber lawyers is normally an extremely expensive prospect, we will not allow financial capability to stand in the way of getting our clients the compensation that they need to get a full recovery. In the Lawyer of Kenneth S. Nugent, P.C., we operate within contingency plan, or perhaps a “No Win, No Charge” arrangement.

Our extensive experience in such cases has allowed us some understanding of the plight of accident victims and their immediate needs. One important thing they certainly do not require is usually to be weighed down with financial burden of employing a good lawyer for the compensation the law entitles these people to.  In addition to the many costs of medical expense, you will find the potential of reduced wages when the individual is unable to make the same type of work effort because of their injured conditions.

For that reason, we don’t charge out clients a cent for our expert advice, professional consultations or extensive expertise in accidental injuries lawsuits – until we win them the compensation they deserve and everybody goes home happy.

The contingency arrangement makes certain that financial need will not be an issue to get the legal assistance you have to pursue your compensation. So, you have absolutely nothing to lose along with the practical information on a whole recovery to get. Phone us today!

To Schedule Your Free Consultation and Case Evaluation Contact Kenneth S. Nugent, P.C. Accidental Injuries Lawyers Today!

There are several aspects to consider from the aftermath of your accident where there can be many feelings of upset and frustration at the moment. Don’t do or say whatever can place your chances for full compensation in jeopardy. Get yourself an accomplished Columbus Accidental Injuries Law Firm in your corner.

Kenneth S. Nugent, P.C. Accidental Injuries Law Firm has the skill and experience you will have to allow you to get the favorable settlement you really want for. There is not any need that you can lose sleep over the legalities of your respective predicament. Let us become the perfect legal support as you hop on using the important business of a full recovery.

[swordoforion]

Orion Digest №19 — On Nuclear War and Deterrence

On August 6th, 1945, an atomic bomb was dropped on the Japanese city of Hiroshima, and in that moment, the world was irreversibly changed. The nations that had spent years fighting war, thinking they had seen the most devastation that could be wrought after half a century of horrors, realized that there was an even greater threat — an instantaneous vaporization of cities that gave no second chances for surrender or diplomacy once used. A merciless fireball that destroyed soldiers, civilians, buildings and all without resistance. Three days later, another was dropped on Nagasaki, Japan, and one of the biggest wars in all of human history came to an end.

Like the mythical Pandora’s Box, once the atomic bomb was used once, it could never be unseen, and in the nearly 80 years since it’s use, upwards of 60,000 nuclear bombs have been produced by the most powerful nations in the world, despite the fact that if all of them were to be used, the planet would be made uninhabitable for human life. While our central fight is stopping annihilation from the climate crisis, a nuclear war in full force would bring that fate immediately, with the added side effect of making thousands of years of progress meaningless within a day.

So, if nuclear war is against the interest of every nation on Earth, why would we continue to keep them, to make more? That question is best answered by the policy of ‘nuclear deterrence’, or ‘deterrence’ in general. As the governments of many nations seek to gain power over others, to be able to assert their will on nations they disagree with or that act as an obstacle to their goals, the concept of absolute destruction was not appalling, but enticing. The weapon never had to be fired — simply held over the head of any enemy as incentive. If they complied with the wishes of one who held the weapon, they would survive; if they did not, they wouldn’t be around to tell the tale, and thus, they are deterred from resisting.

However, inevitably, the U.S. did not remain the sole wielder of nuclear weapons, and so, when both sides have the threat of a nuclear weapon on their side, how do you gain the advantage? Simple — by making more than the enemy, making them harder to detect, and by making them more powerful. The world knew full well that the creation of large amounts of deadlier nuclear weapons would simply make the outcome of their use more devastating, but having power was simply more important than the risk, than having any sympathy for the billions of citizens who had no say in this conflict between superpowers, and who would be wiped out because of something outside of their everyday lives.

Particularly strange is the idea that, when both sides had weapons and the capability to make more, they still rushed to upgrade and increase their arsenal anyway. If you and your enemy both have 5, and they decide to make 5 more, just because you make 10 more doesn’t mean that they will decide to stop, that it will convince them that resistance is futile. If they were capable of production of nuclear bombs, they can continue that production, and the ground you have gained will be all for naught. Similarly, say it only takes 20 bombs to destroy either side. Once each side has 20 bombs, it doesn’t matter if you or your enemy make them more powerful or make more. No matter what happens, both of you will be destroyed, even if they only launch 20 and you launch 100. You’ve still sealed your fate by merely launching one.

We’ve begun to slightly come to our senses in the years following the Cold War, as nations have been signing treaties of disarmament and limitations, but the fact that as of 2020, over 9,000 nuclear warheads are in active service means that those treaties would be meaningless in an actual nuclear war. The threat still remains that if only one nuclear weapon were launched, devastation would rain. If the U.S. shot weapons at Russia, Russia would have no reason, if they were to die anyway, to not fire back and take the U.S. down with them. As long as nuclear weapons exist, we still face a rapid extinction, which is only made worse by growing tensions and hostilities among major world superpowers.

Deterrence applies to more than just nuclear war, though the arms race is one of the best and most frightening examples. A much smaller scale problem, especially here in the United States, is the ownership of firearms. We are so focused on feeling unsafe because an assailant might have a gun that we must own guns as well, and in the end, the only result is that everyone has guns, and not every situation in which guns are drawn may end in peaceful negotiations like nuclear war did. In the end, the availability of guns for defense will increase their capacity for offense, and regardless of their use, more people needlessly die. The only remaining worthwhile reason is that the loss of our firearms may leave us helpless before forceful action by the government, and that we must keep them in the case of revolution, which itself is a symptom of the distrust and corruption all too common in American politics. (A statement which I understand is hypocritical in nature, especially given my constant reiteration of the dangers of thinking “this is the way it is”, but drastic situations may call for necessary evils to ensure that such violence never repeats itself. There are, of course, better ways through diplomacy and through non-firearm or non-lethal firearm combat, but whether the majority of people in the U.S. could secure the training and equipment for such combat in the case of a short-notice revolution or not is uncertain.)

The common thread between nuclear deterrence and firearm deterrence is that neither side believes the other is reasonable enough to see the futility of mutually assured destruction, and oftentimes, neither side is reasonable themselves, because they also cannot see the futility of such combat in the first place. War is often nationalistic in nature, fought for some gain because trade and cooperation somehow wasn’t enough. It is a failure of diplomacy for two nations to be in conflict in the first place, and the results are often bad blood and undeserved hatred of one’s citizens towards the other. The simplistic notion of “why can’t we all get along?” is, admittedly simplistic, but cutting past the self-assumed righteousness of nations and their petty historical ties and feuds, it isn’t that ignorant a question. From a basic standpoint, we have the resources and the territory that, if properly managed, could avoid war and allow a stable global system, but our past blinds us to the possibility of getting along with other nations.

The ultimate expression of this is nuclear deterrence — an absolute stubbornness and refusal to understand the other side’s point of view, expressed through applying force and risking global destruction just to win a fight, just to ensure that you come out with the advantage, even if there was a peaceful way that could have resolved the issue. Because it’s not about getting what a nation needs — it’s about getting what a government wants, and in places of illogical greed, excessive force works wonders. Gun violence reflects this not in practical use but in the grand, political concept, as the government refuses to assuage fears of enforcing power and violating rights, while the gun-owning public refuses to accept the many innocent deaths that easy firearm access has caused for years, and both will push their respective agendas until one wins, and for those caught in the middle, all they can do is hope things turn out well.

The ideal solution with both cases would be to destroy every last one of the weapons in question — nuclear weapons and guns alike. If neither side is capable of using them to begin with, nothing changes except the ease with which either side is able to kill en masse. No one trusts anyone enough to be the first one to give it up, which means until we have a little more reason in the world, we can’t undo what has been done. But one can hope that diplomacy will prevail, and we’ll see conflict with others as a puzzle to be solved, and not a contest of beating each other into submission.

- DKTC FL

[captaincharpen]

Movie Optimus and Megatron are actually really deep guys, seriously

You know what, screw it, I’m dropping all of my thoughts on why I think Bayverse Optimus and Megatron are tragically underrated here. So buckle up kids, here we go

So everyone seems to think that the Optimus Prime and Megatron of Michael Bay’s movie series are either terribly shallow husks of their classic characterizations at best, or atrocious bastardizations of sacred childhood icons at worst.

However I, an intellectual, have unwisely spent several hours of my life poring over every detail of them to come to the conclusion that there’s actually a lot going on with them. So I’m going to drag you, kicking and screaming, into my head and break down exactly what makes these two tick. Starting with Megatron.

Now most people see this guy and think “generic movie bad guy. Makes evil plan, screws up evil plan, slinks away to return in sequel with a more messed up face”. But this Megatron actually has so much going on for him that I think he could almost be seen as a would-be hero in his own way.

While starting a war that effectively killed his planet does dock him quite a few sympathy points, one thing that can’t be denied is that he truly cared about Cybertron when all’s said and done.

While his plots to destroy Earth to restore Cybertron can easily come off as bog-standard bad guy scheming, looking at it from his perspective, he’s fought for centuries to reform his home for, what he thinks, is the greater good. And now that he’s done so much damage to it for that goal, he’s determined to fix it, no matter what it takes.

That’s why he risked stranding himself on an alien planet to find the Allspark when, arguably, it would’ve been easier to simply press on with the war he was winning and find another planet to colonize when the dust settled. It’s also why, no matter how many times he’s left for dead or forced to work with people who’s ideals he’d normally hate, he still chases every chance to restore life to Cybertron anyway. Because that genuinely is the most important thing to him, and he’s perfectly willing to give his life as many times as necessary to save it

And even though his negligence of human life seems terrible from our perspective, in his eyes it’s a necessary evil to sacrifice a bunch of tiny aliens to finally bring his home back from the brink of a death that he’s effectively responsible for. Of course that doesn’t make it okay, but it’s not like he’s a cackling villain who wants to screw over humanity for fun. From his perspective, Optimus abandoned the planet they’d waged thousands of years of war over for the sake of some random alien planet he decided he liked better. And the thing is, he’s kind of right

The Optimus Prime of the movies is usually seen as either a noble, if bland, hero or a psychotic maniac who’s prone to chronic bloodlust. But honestly, he can be, and very much is, a little bit of both

So it’s obvious that this Optimus is a little cracked in the head, and it’s hard to see how he could NOT be after having his figurative and/or literal brother turn on him and failing to stop him from nearly destroying their homeworld and killing millions of people, all of whom Optimus was responsible for protecting. Not to mention being forced to willingly seal his planet’s fate by throwing the Allspark, the one thing that could save it, into the far reaches of who-knows-where.

And through all of this, he HAS to maintain a stoic, optimistic appearance. He can’t show any doubt, hesitation, grief, or even the effects of the general stress of the job, because he’s the one pillar holding up what’s left of the Autobots. They’ve lost literally everything else, and if their perfect leader who’ll get them through any crisis were to ever show that he’s vulnerable, the last thing they could really believe in would effectively be shattered.

So instead he dedicates himself to an, admittedly very unhealthy, black-and-white view of “Autobots and humans good, Decepticons bad”. He’s tried pleading, negotiating and showing mercy to the Decepticons and it got his planet nearly destroyed and him and his loyal friends stranded light-years away. So he’s essentially lost faith in himself and allowed himself to go further than he ever would otherwise just to see an end to the Decepticons for good

I think the best character to compare him to would be, believe it or not, Batman. No matter how far he goes, he’ll always hold onto his one rule. And for Optimus, that “one rule” is humanity. He clearly sees humanity as a reflection of what the Cybertronians used to be and as a result, projects his guilt over his failures and desire to see Cybertron start over, and do things right this time, onto them.

When he makes the decision to sacrifice himself and the Allspark to save Earth from Megatron, it’s arguable that he was effectively running away from what he sees as his failed legacy and giving a new chance to humanity in its place. Now obviously that’s an incredibly short-sighted idea, which even Sam could see, but by that point Optimus had effectively given up on Cybertron and adopted Earth as his “new Cybertron”. In his final speech at the end of the first movie, he seems incredibly dismissive of the loss of Cybertron and seems totally fine to just chill on Earth forever.

And no matter how many times the Decepticons uncover new ways to fix Cybertron, at the expense of the humans, he immediately shoots them down, while never trying to find a more mutually beneficial solution of his own. Even when the cracks start to show in the Autobots’ alliance with the humans and his own mentor and father figure seemingly comes back from the dead to tell him he’s given up on Cybertron, he still gives an optimistic speech at the end of DOTM and says that he’ll never turn his back on humanity. Even after seeing his old world right in from of him, he seems to feel no affinity for it anymore.

That is, until he has his mid-life crisis after the soft reboot of the last two movies. Humanity outright betrays him, almost all of the last of his loyal followers and friends are dead because of it, he could’ve seen the obvious signs of this coming, but he didn’t.

He decides to break his one rule and kill whoever’s responsible for all of it, but still clings onto his black-and-white defense mechanism of convincing himself that this one human is the SOLE instigator of their betrayal, as he’s still unwilling to admit that his new favorite aliens could be just as terrible as his own people can. And when he does finally kill him it’s only when his new human friend would die if he didn’t act immediately.

But once that line was finally crossed, he hits rock bottom. Sure, he goes back on his threat to abandon Earth and commands his Autobots to protect yet another special human friend, essentially falling back on his old ways of having maybe a little too much faith in humans. But once he leaves to find his creators, to “find himself” essentially. He’s forced to confront his failures yet again, this time in front of someone claiming to be his creator and, by extension, the supposed authority on what he should and shouldn’t be. And, in his vulnerable state, he allows himself to become corrupted into “Nemesis Prime”.

Now one could argue this was just simple brainwashing, but I could argue, have you SEEN this Prime? This is essentially what he’s like all the time, only now he’s stripped of the tenuous limits he’s placed on himself. In keeping with the Batman comparison, he’s “lived long enough to see himself become the villain”.

But the thing that brings him back from the brink isn’t one of his precious humans, it’s the voice of the one Autobot who stuck by his side all this time and is still there believing in him even at his worst. When he’s finally reminded of what he’s really fighting for, the Autobots who pledged their loyalty to him, knowing that he could lead them to victory, his faith in himself is restored. Maybe not completely yet, but he’s remembered that the awe inspiring leader that his Autobots see isn’t just a facade. Which is why his “did you forget who I am” scene is one of the most underrated badass moments in the entire movie series. Even without my painstaking overanalysis in your head to back it up.

And with that, I think I’ve rambled long enough that your brain has been reduced to a fine paste, so if you’ve really soldiered on this far, total props to you on that and I appreciate you caring this much about my mad rambling. Obviously, I’ve romanticized both characters here quite a bit, but I kind of had to for the sake of the argument. In practice, both of them are unstable, single-minded and admittedly kind of selfish. But I just wanted to point out that both of them have their own reasons for being the way they are, that could have easily gone deeper and made them into truly iconic takes on these characters if the movies had only run with the concepts they set up.

And so my only solution was to amend that with a hastily slapped together essay on my Tumblr blog that nobody reads. Anyway thank you for coming to my TED talk

[sunshinelikesstarwars]

Day 3: Firsts and Lasts

Here we have some firsts and lasts of Satine and Obi-Wan’s relationship. Canon compliant.

—

First thoughts:

She looks pompous. I hope this mission is short.

He looks arrogant. Why are Jedi even here?

First words:

“I told you, I don’t need extra protection! There’s no reason at all for them to be here. Send them away!” A young human female, angry, sharp, turns to a beleaguered-looking advisor on her right. Her hands are curled into fists at her sides.

“Your grace,” a young human man says, his tone even, his face perfectly placid. The fists hidden in his long sleeves are clenched tight.

 First touch:

A hand lifts, elegant. Satine doesn’t look at Obi-Wan as he takes her fingers with his larger ones and bows, kissing the air above her hand, and so she misses the flash of blue fire in his eyes.

He turns away too quickly to see the flash of green fire in hers as she watches him go.

 First fight:

“Absolutely not. Opening a communication channel is the surest way to be tracked.”

“If it’s a secure connection, that would only happen if the recipient themselves was tracking the call! My court is trustworthy. They would never betray me in such a way!”

“And I suppose those bounty hunters had an intimate knowledge of the palace layout and your personal schedule from some other source. And certainly no member of your court could be threatened into compliance.”

“We are Mandalorian! Our new creed is peace! What you speak of is treason, and cowardice, and much too dark a conclusion for a peacekeeping Jedi to come to.”

“You seem to be under the impression that the galaxy is full of idealists such as yourself, your grace, and that sort of thinking will only get you killed.”

“Better dead for peace than seeking betrayal in every corner!”

“Better prepared for betrayal than allowing everything you worked for to die!”

 First laugh:

“Has he always been so…”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan says flatly, turning his attention back to the soup over the fire.

Satine chuckles. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.” She brings over some of the food they got from the market and starts to prepare it for roasting.

He smiles back at her, taking a few vegetables and adding them to the pot. “He’s been my mentor for more than a decade. Trust me. Whatever you were going to say, the answer is ‘yes.’” They grin at each other.

There is quiet while Obi-Wan stirs and Satine threads bits of meat onto skewers until Obi-Wan breaks the silence with a gentle laugh. “You know, that actually reminds me of a mission we went on a few years ago.”

Qui-Gon comes back to two young adults giggling like children as they try to keep dinner from burning.

 First cry:

Exhausted, but relatively safe, they finally stop running. Obi-Wan lets Satine down and she immediately starts rummaging through their gear, careful not to put weight on her injured leg. Qui-Gon catches his breath for only a moment before telling them he is going to scout the area, and then he is gone.

Out of sight of his Master, Obi-Wan lets himself collapse. His heart is pounding. He doesn’t quite understand. He’s run faster than that, for longer distances, carrying heavier weights. Why does he feel so weak now?

He jerks awake—had he fallen asleep?—when Satine starts tugging open his robes. Blushing, he jerks upright, then nearly falls back over as the blood rushes from his head. He groans and presses his hands over his eyes.

“You’re poisoned,” Satine announces. Poisoned? Oh, yes, the venomites. Nasty little things. Obi-Wan nods, still covering his eyes. When Satine tries to remove his clothes again, though, he’s still startled.

“You’re hurt, Ben,” she says. “I’m helping. Sit still.”

He’s momentarily, happily distracted at his new nickname being used, until, for some reason, her taking care of him starts bothering him. It takes a moment (a moment in which Satine manages to completely bare his top half and inject some kind of pain medication into him), but it comes to him eventually. He grabs the wrists of the hands that are starting to spread some sort of gel on his arms and looks down at her legs, trying to find the injury he knows is there. “You’re hurt. I drop...dropped you.”

“Shut up!” is her reply to that. “I don’t care!” Her voice sounds a bit strange, and he finally looks up to focus her face. She...she’s crying. Stars above, she is crying from pain and trying to help him anyways.

With a distressed noise, he tries to reach the medical supplies, ignoring his body’s protest. As he searches, he croons, “No, no, I’ve got you, it’s fine, you’ll be fine—“ To his confusion, that only makes her cry harder. Her intense emotions, mixed with his own exhaustion and pain, start to affect him as well, and he tries (and fails) to blink away the tears forming in his eyes as he digs around the bag to find a bandage and some pain medication. “Satine, I’m sorry, so sorry, Tina, forgive me, I’m—you’ll—“

It is during this blathering that Satine throws her arms around him.

Obi-Wan goes still very quickly. After a moment of her crying against his chest, he cautiously brings up his arms to encircle her. That’s what one did with hugs, right? Return them? He wishes he was thinking clearer. He wishes he would stop crying. He wishes Satine would stop crying. He also wishes that the tiny bites all over his body wouldn’t hurt so badly where Satine is touching him. But Satine is trembling, and obviously is in need of comfort of some kind, so he just holds her close and hopes he is doing the right thing.

“Idiot,” she mumbles against his shoulder. “You’re an idiot.”

Obi-Wan does not dispute this. He is feeling pretty idiotic at the moment.

She lets his idiotic self hug her anyways, and he sits and tries to think. Eventually, one thought rings out about all the others: he had tried to rescue her and she’d gotten hurt anyways. There was a lesson in there somewhere. Something about acceptance and attachment, about the inevitability of existence. Something about not being able to save everyone.

 —

 Last laugh:

The drapes on the windows are pulled shut in Satine’s Coruscant apartment. Even though they aren’t necessarily doing anything wrong or terribly interesting, the gossip columns won’t think so, so they are careful with these meetings.

They sit on the floor, an approximation of their many meals outdoors in years past. That is, if the plush carpet and cushions could be mistaken for uneven dirt and stone, or the ornate artwork a dark forest of leaves and creatures, or their expertly-prepared cuisine a crude mishmash of available ingredients.

Satine hums into her champagne flute. “Well, Anakin Skywalker...he’s certainly something else.”

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes. “Tina, you don’t even know the half of it.” He bites into a cracker, then almost immediately starts laughing, covering his mouth. He swallows and says with a raised eyebrow, “You, ah, may have noticed a secret relationship with a certain senator?”

A very un-duchess-y snort is the reply. “A secret relationship? They’re trying to keep it a secret?” She shakes her head and adds a few pieces of fruit and cheese to her plate.

“‘Trying’ is the operative word here,” he says, then gestures out with his flute. “Anakin is about as subtle as...as...well, something very, very unsubtle.” Obi-Wan drains his champagne and settles further into the cushions behind him.

Satine laughs, tossing a piece of fruit at him. (He catches it, of course. Insufferable man.) “Where has your eloquence gone, O Great Negotiator?”

“Oh, shut up,” he says with a grin, and pops the fruit into his mouth.

 Last fight:

“These measures are unnecessary. Mandalore is a place of peace. We are not a part of this war, and we will not act as if we are.”

“Even a neutral party in war is a part of the war.”

“Not this again, Ben. I will keep my people safe.”

“And I will keep the galaxy safe. I must.”

“...I know. I understand where you’re coming from. I just...wish this war was over. I wish it had never happened.”

“Don’t dwell on the might-have-beens, my dear. We’re both trying to end this war, and I do understand your position. You’re a wonderful leader and Mandalore is lucky to have someone as dedicated to their safety and future as you. I’m sorry that this has all turned out so…well.”

“Me too. And though I don’t agree at all with what you’re doing, I know you’re trying to find peace without fighting. You’ve done the best you can with the situation you’ve been given.”

“As have you, Tina.”

“...What a pair we are.”

“Indeed.”

 Last cry:

Sundari is quiet at night, especially at the palace. Satine stands near a holo terminal, staring out the window at the city, waiting for the call to connect.

“Duchess?” a familiar voice calls. She turns with a smile to see a life-size hologram of Obi-Wan standing before her.

“Ben,” she says, and she watches that careful formality melt away. If she can call him Ben, they are alone. Diplomatic shields are hardly necessary.

He sits down on what she assumes is his bed and she crosses to a nearby sofa to do the same. “How are you doing?” he asks softly.

She looks away. “Children, Ben. They were children. They might have died.”

“But they didn’t. You found out what was wrong. You stopped it. They’re safe.”

She scoffs. “Safe. Yes, safe, until the next black market is set up, or the next official compromises their standards, or the next terrorist attack in a public park, or—“

“Tina.”

She stops and pulls in a ragged breath. She’s trying so hard to keep it together. They really were lucky. No children had died. They’d been uncomfortable for a while, yes, but every one of them had gone home. There had been other problems, though. So many problems. “We trusted people to bring us food, and they bring us poison. We trusted someone with the safekeeping of our children, and he risked their lives for his own profit. We...I trusted Almec to do his job, to find a peaceful, legal solution for our problems. And...”

“Corruption at any level can bring down a city, be it industry, education, or government.”

“How depressing the truths of life are.”

They stay silent for a moment, long enough for Satine gather the frazzled parts of herself. After a deep breath, she looks back at the only person she knows she can trust completely, as different as they are. He looks tired, so tired, and her broken heart shatters a little more. “And you? How are you?”

He’s quiet for a moment, perfectly still, and then leans forward—almost collapses, really—and covers his face with his hands. She sees his shoulders start to shake. “Children, Tina,” comes the quiet, muffled response.

She closes her eyes. She has been spared the front lines of this war, the aftermath, but her Ben has not. And she can’t even hold his hand, or stroke his hair, or cradle that too-big heart close to hers.

All she can do is share his tears.

 Last words:

“Satine!” He reaches for her. Too late, too late.

She finds the strength to smile, even as her strength fades away. “I’ve loved you always. I always will.”

 Last touch:

The hand that trembles against his cheek falls away. Still, he doesn’t let go. He can’t. He can’t look away from her face, from her eyes, though they are closed now. That fire that drove her to change worlds has been put out. And with the death of that fire, that light, he feels something within him die as well.

He lifts her hand—elegant as ever, but lifeless and limp—and presses his lips ever-so-gently against it.

 Last thoughts:

This isn’t your fault, Ben. Don’t let this destroy you.

My duchess, my Tina, my love. Forgive me. I’ve failed you.

[travllingbunny]

The 100 rewatch: 4x05 Tinder Box

Murphy’s Law (not the episode, the actual Murphy’s Law) is the guiding rule of The 100: everything that can go wrong, will go wrong. Well, not exactly: sometimes you think a situation will explode into a disaster – the “tinder box” here first seems to be the imminent war between Sky people and Azgeda over Arkadia as a shelter from the upcoming radiation disaster, but everything gets resolved peacefully… but then another disaster strikes no one (or almost no one) was expecting, and it all becomes a moot point by the end, when Arkadia gets blown up by a third party for an unrelated reason.

Meanwhile, Raven’s big storyline of season 4 starts, and we get some important world building info that will be crucial for seasons 5 and 6.

Ilian finds Octavia and takes her to Arkadia, claiming he ran into her on his way home. Octavia manages to warn everyone about Azgeda troops coming to take Arkadia, before losing consciousness.

Another character who has found herself in Arkadia is Niylah, returning for the first time since 3x11. She  has been coming to do trade. Clarke tries to make her stay there, whether that’s just because she wants to renew their FwB relationship, or whether she’s thinking about potentially saving her, but that’s  unlikely – it’s not she’s likely to get a chance to participate in the lottery? But maybe she could be saved with the Nightblood solution.

Since Azgeda doesn’t have the element of surprise anymore, they find themselves surrounded by Arker snipers, as a backup to Clarke, who proposes to talk to Roan. It reminds me of the season 1 bridge meeting, on a larger scale. Roan orders archers to target Clarke, but Arkers surround them and target Roan and the rest. Clarke is shocked to see Bellamy and Kane as hostages – well, mostly Bellamy. Echo says it could be a trap, and Roan points out that it is, and they are already in it, so he agrees.

Bellamy’s state of mind completely changes when he realizes that Arkadia has been warned – which means that Octavia is alive.

Roan and Clarke have their argument in a cave, negotiating over the places in Arkadia, and arguing over Roan’s distrust in what Arkers say they are doing with the Nightblood. When Clarke tells Roan that she is trying to save everyone, Roan utters probably the most puzzling lines in the entire show “You grieve for Lexa, but you haven’t learned anything from her. She rose above loyalty to the clan..” Wait, what? Didn’t he get it all backwards? Also, since when is Roan a Lexa stan?  The guy tried to convince Clarke to murder Lexa in 3x03 and claimed she was awful and worse than his mother. Clarke was the one trying to save everyone in season 2, when Lexa betrayed her and left Arkers to die at the hands of the Mountain Men, under the justification “for my people”. She then tried to make everyone including the Arkers a part of her coalition, but that’s not “rising above the clans” if you’re trying to make everyone accept your authority – that’s expanding your power. And while she was doing that, Roan was claiming she’s awful and trying to make Clarke murder her. What has changed and when? The fact she decided not to take revenge and start a war against Arkers for the killing of her army? She did that because Clarke convinced her to. This all seems like fanservice/desperate attempt to appease Lexa’s fans for killing off their favorite character in a rather crappy manner, which resulted in over-compensating with these idealized references to her that bear little resemblance to the real character we saw in seasons 2b and 3a. The only way this makes sense is if you interpret it as Roan bullsh1tting as a manipulation tactic. Which, to be fair, is in character for him.

He also calls Clarke Wanheda, Commander of Death, as a way to insult her, and I’m so over the people, especially Grounder leaders, doing that. Oh, you mean Clarke is bad because she managed to defeat and kill all the Mountain Men, as the only way to save her people from being horrifically murdered, after you guys, Lexa and all Grounders minus Lincoln, betrayed her and the alliance and left Sky people to die? The nickname she got because she actually was able to do it – because you would have probably killed all the Mountain Men, too, if you could have, only you wouldn’t need to be backed into a corner to decide to kill them all indiscriminately, because you have the “Blood must have blood” thing and are always threatening to kill everyone – you just weren’t ever able to defeat or even seriously threaten the Mountain Men without the Sky people? I’m never going to be over this.

Anyway, Roan wants half of the places, literally 50:50, and threatens to execute the hostages, Kane and Bellamy, if she refuses. Clarke tries to bluff, reminding him that she was willing to let her own mother die to stop ALIE. Roan says, I was OK with mine dying to help you (was he? It wasn’t exactly his choice) and then he’s like. OK, then it is war, and Clarke folds. Roan may piss me off a lot of times, but at least he’s smart – he remembers what happened when he threatened Bellamy’s life in front of Clarke in 3x02, and knows to what lengths those two would go to protect each other, and he was able to use Clarke’s “weakness” to get her to do what he wants.

Meanwhile, Riley, who is obviously suffering from PTSD, goes rogue and obviously wants to kill Roan, because he had been enslaved by Azgeda for months and had just been freed. Harper points out he shouldn’t be there. Exactly! Why is he there? Are these people so dumb? Monty goes to talk to the Azgeda warriors to stop the war. Bellamy says Riley shouldn’t be there (exactly!) – at least he has learned something since season 1, when he didn’t realize the guy who had been speared by the Grounders shouldn’t be guarding the meeting with a gun. Bellamy manages to convince Echo to take him to talk Riley down, she says they put chains on Monty instead and make him the other hostage

One of the best parts of the episode is Bellamy getting to demonstrate his new way of thinking, and what he has learned from his mistakes in season 3. He points out to Echo that the whole tribalism thing, “my people”, “my king”, is pointless, as Praimfaya doesn’t care about which clans they are. Echo says that Queen Nia used to say “War makes murderers out of all of us”. Oh, how profound… not. Coming from Nia, it obviously meant ‘oh well, we kill people in war, so then it’s OK to do any kind of awful thing with the excuse of war, right? Like blow up civilians, kill children, enslave people… why not?” But Bellamy successfully talks down Riley, by paraphrasing that line and saying ‘War made me a murderer” and that Riley should not allow himself the same, that the freedom he has now should be used in a better way. Echo seems affected by this. If this is supposed to be buildup for their relationship, it’s very one-sided and unsatisfactory, because we see how and why Echo could fall in love with Bellamy eventually, but there’s no setup whatsoever, in the entirety of season 4 for Bellamy falling in love with Echo – we’re supposed to take this a completely off-screen time jump thing.

Everything has been agreed on and no one died, but then disaster strikes – thanks to Ilian, who is on his “destroy all technology” war path, and after destroying tech in Polis, has come to Arkadia, which has a lot more tech. Octavia wakes up (the framing of the scene where she wakes up and sees Niylah’s face is interesting, it’s also similar to how she saw Ilian’s face earlier) and realizes that Ilian just used her as a way to get into Arkadia, and immediately tells Niylah that the server room is the simplest way to destroy all tech. Octavia is too weak and can’t even walk, Niylah has to carry her. Octavia tries to talk down Ilian, but her efforts are in vein. Which is not surprising, since her choice of arguments is pretty poor “This won’t bring your family back”, “I was a prisoner on this ship and hated it, but now we need it” – how about you tell him why it is needed? Tell him about Praimfaya and that it is needed as a shelter! Try that! I hate it when character doesn’t use the best argument. Ilian says she can’t understand if she has never been in the City of Light, and blows up Arkadia.

He doesn’t target people, though, so saves Octavia and Niylah and carries them out, Bellamy takes care of Octavia , while Clarke does so with Niylah before checking out on Octavia, and everyone else gets out and just stands and watches Arkadia go out in flames. Only Ilian has a happy look on his face. Everything has been for nothing and the B-plan for saving people just blew up. It’s all about the Nightblood now.

Meanwhile, in Becca’s lab, Raven has hallucinations, feeling like she can spacewalk in the lab, and knows things she would have no way of knowing, and has a seizure. It turns out that the EMP ALIE used on her to upgrade her brain means she still has some of Becca’s mind in her. Does that mean she now an upgraded half-AI like the Commanders? She thinks they can use the space pod from the lab to synthesize the Nightblood in space. Bad news – it will probably kill her.

First mention of Eligius Mining Company and that Becca was synthesizing Nightblood for them – the Nightblood was supposed to help the convicts they used as labour withstand radiation caused by two suns. (Later, Becca used Nightblood to ensure that the human body could accept the chip.) This is info relevant for both season 5 and season 6.

Jackson figures out that Abby also has upgraded mind just like Raven, though she denies it. She ends up having a hallucination of Clarke dying from radiation and telling her they’re out of time.

Body count: No deaths! This is the first time ever? Bellamy even puts it in words: “no one died today.” But Arkadia being blown up means that at least 100 people who could have survived Praimfaya now won’t.

Rating: 7/10

[achrisstevenson]

The Illustrious Wendy Van Camp Interview!

Author Interview: Chris J. Breedlove

October 23, 2019

Wendy Van Camp

2 Comments

I asked Author Chris Breedlove what his motto for being a writer was.  He answered:

A Writer is… A humble, receptive student and negotiator But the heart that beats within his/her breast Is a determined savage Unfamiliar with surrender

Please welcome this savvy science fiction author to No Wasted Ink.

My name is Chris Harold Stevenson and I’m 67 years young. I go by the pen name Christy J. Breedlove for my YA books and stories. Yes, I changed gender entirely. That’s another story.

My early writing accomplishment were multiple hits within a few years: In my first year of writing back in 1987, I wrote three SF short stories that were accepted by major slick magazines which qualified me for the Science Fiction Writers of America, and at the same time achieved a Finalist award in the L. Ron Hubbard Writers of the Future Contest. This recognition garnered me a top gun SF agent at the time, Richard Curtis Associates. My first novel went to John Badham (Director) and the producers, the Cohen Brothers. Only an option, but an extreme honor. The writer who beat me out of contention for a feature movie was Michael Crichton’s Jurassic Park. My book was called Dinothon.

A year after that I published two best-selling non-fiction books and landed on radio, TV, in every library in the U.S. and in hundreds of newspapers.

I have been trying to catch that lightning in a bottle ever since. My YA dystopian novel, The Girl They Sold to the Moon won the grand prize in a publisher’s YA novel writing contest, went to a small auction and got tagged for a film option. So, My latest release is Sceamcatcher: Web World, and it’s showing some promise. I’m getting there, I hope!

When did you first consider yourself a writer?

I considered myself a writer when I published the two shorts in Amazing Stories magazine. I actually considered myself an author after my first non-fiction book was published and hit the media. It seems I had to have legitimate credits in order to claim such status.

Can you share a little about your current book with us?

I can give you the basic summary, or the extended blurb:

When seventeen-year-old Jory Pike cannot shake the hellish nightmares of her parent’s deaths, she turns to an old family heirloom, a dream catcher. Even though she’s half-blood Chippewa, Jory thinks old Native American lore is so yesterday, but she’s willing to give it a try. However, the dream catcher has had its fill of nightmares from an ancient and violent past. After a sleepover party, and during one of Jory’s most horrific dream episodes, the dream catcher implodes, sucking Jory and her three friends into its own world of trapped nightmares. They’re in an alternate universe—locked inside of an insane web world filled with murders, beasts, and thieves. How can they find the center of the web where all good things are allowed to pass? Where is the light of salvation? Are they in hell?

What inspired you to write this book?

It all started with a dream catcher. This iconic item, which is rightfully ingrained in Indian lore, is a dream symbol respected by the culture that created it. It is mystifying, an enigma that that prods the imagination. Legends about the dream catcher are passed down from multiple tribes. There are variations, but the one fact that can be agreed upon is that it is a nightmare entrapment device, designed to sift through evil thoughts and images and only allow pleasant and peaceful dreams to enter into the consciousness of the sleeper.

I wondered what would happen to a very ancient dream catcher that was topped off with dreams and nightmares. What if the nightmares became too sick or deathly? What if the web strings could not hold any more visions? Would the dream catcher melt, burst, vanish, implode? I reasoned that something would have to give if too much evil was allowed to congregate inside of its structure. I found nothing on the Internet that offered a solution to this problem—I might have missed a relevant story, but nothing stood out to me. Stephen King had a story called Dream Catcher, but I found nothing in it that was similar to what I had in mind. So I took it upon myself to answer such a burning question. Like too much death on a battlefield could inundate the immediate location with lost and angry spirits, so could a dream catcher hold no more of its fill of sheer terror without morphing into something else, or opening up a lost and forbidden existence. What would it be like to be caught up in another world inside the webs of a dream catcher, and how would you get out? What would this world look like? How could it be navigated? What was the source of the exit, and what was inside of it that threatened your existence? Screamcatcher: Web World, the first in the series, was my answer. I can only hope that I have done it justice.

Do you have a specific writing style?

I’m a fruit salad of other known writer’s influences. Oh, like what I consider stylists: Poul Anderson, Virgin Planet, Peter Benchley, The Island and Jaws, Joseph Wambaugh, The Onion Field and Black Marble, Michael Crichton, Jurassic Park, Alan Dean Foster, Icerigger trilogy, and some Stephen King. Anne Rice impresses with just about anything she has written. I think it’s the humor and irony that attracts me the most–and it’s all character-related

How did you come up with the title of this book?

After I had the idea/premise for the book, having researched similar works, if any, I found that I had something very unique. It dawned on me to name the book Screamcatcher since it was a play on words and it sounded impactful. Again, I researched that word and only found that it was used in a short story about a kid having a tooth extraction. I knew then that I was home free. I was continuously complimented by all of the publishers and editors who saw the title. It’s the first book in the series, and I have sub-titles for the other two as well, which are sold and just about ready for editing.

Is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?

I’m not very heavy-handed when it comes to delivering messages in my books. I want to avoid any preaching at all costs. I do include the basic/standard survival, loyalty, courage and persistence themes in my young characters, as well as emotional growth and cooperation. I did hide, or rather include, a very deep and subtle message in the story that I think most will gloss over or not recognize altogether. And that is my belief that sometimes the nice guy finishes first and gets the gal. I wanted something that swerved away from the controlling, domineering alpha male that is so often seen in other works of YA and romance. I wanted a slow burn sweet romance that was touching. Quite a few reviewers recognized this message and I got kudos for it. That was a RELIEF.

Are experiences in this book based on someone you know, or events in your own life?

The main character Jorlene (Jory) is named after my sister. Although she does not resemble the FMC physically, she does so in an emotional sense. Her boyfriend, Choice Daniels, is named after my great-nephew. All of my books contain the names of my extended family members. And there are parts of them that show through in the personalities of the fictional characters.

What authors have most influenced your life? What about them do you find inspiring?

Other than those stylists mentioned above, I had direct contact with members of the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America. Alan Dean Foster, Richard Curtis, Robert Bloch, Bob Heinlein, Clive Barker, and others. From their Youtube instruction videos and articles, JK Rowling, Anne Rice, and Stephen King have inspired me tremendously with their no-nonsense attitude about hammering those keys in spite of depression, lack of motivation or pure laziness.

If you had to choose, is there a writer would you consider a mentor? Why?

That honor would go to Poul Anderson who wrote back to me habitually and gave me guidance in the industry when I needed it the most. He took out his valuable time to befriend me and answer so many questions. Can you tell I’m a dinosaur yet?

Who designed the cover of your book? Why did you select this illustrator?

Carlone Andrus of Melange Books, Fire & Ice YA division rendered the cover after reading the book. I had a different idea in mind, but she absolutely nailed it. The compliments have never stopped coming. Most of the plot is revealed on the cover but you would have to search very hard to put it all together.

Do you have any advice for other writers?

Watch your spending on ads–they can be grossly ineffective. Use social media and generously interact with fellow writers and readers. Don’t abuse FB and Twitter solely for the purpose of “Buy My Book.” Join writing groups and learn from the pros. Ask politely for reviews–don’t pressure, harass or intimidate. Be creative. Target your genre readers. Offer incentives and freebies. Craft a newsletter and send it out bi-monthly. Don’t take critiques as personal attacks–learn from honest opinions. Don’t despair. Never give up. Revenge query. I run a writer’s advocate blog and I pull no punches.

Do you have anything specific that you want to say to your readers?

If you think that you’ve had it tough, I recommend you watch Magic Beyond Words, the life story of Joanne Kathleen Rowling. Books just don’t happen. They are nurtured and raised from infancy, just like a budding writer is. This business might quit you, but you cannot quit the business. Stay active and attentively writing.

Chris J. Breedlove Sylvania, Alabama

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Screamcatcher: Web World

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader -”The Eiffel Tower”

Davros Hotels are considered neutral ground, internationally used for meetings, negotiations and cash only transactions: no weapons allowed, no fighting, no personal vendettas. Since you became the owner of Davros Hotel in Gotham four years ago, The Joker developed a fixation with your long legs. Why? Because you are very tall.Not a mere inch difference in height between the two of you, not at all: more like 8 inches, almost double when you wear high heels.

“This is neutral ground: no weapons allowed, no fighting, no personal vendettas. Davros Hotels are internationally used for meetings, negotiations and cash only transactions; safe haven can also be provided on case to case basis. Breaking the house rules will result in major penalties, including the membership being permanently revoked,” you explain to the new member, even if everyone already knows the oath they are committing to before they join the exclusivist organization.

“Of course, Madam President,” the man agrees without any hesitation.

You take the gold pin engraved with the letter “D” from its small box, attaching it to his suit’s collar.

“Congratulations,” you smile and he kisses your hand, getting up from his chair.

“Thank you,” Jonathan Crane strengthens his back, heading towards the two bodyguards waiting to take him to a meeting taking place on the 35th floor.

Once Scarecrow exits your office, The Joker taps his green cane on the marble floor, grinning. The Clown Prince of Crime just “happened” to be here for the short ceremony and quietly waited on the couch until you were done.

“That was emotional,” he chuckles, staring at your long legs showing from behind the glass desk.

“Mister J, are you participating in any meetings today?” you cut him off because you have a feeling he’s here without any purpose in particular.

“Nope, I’m just visiting so I can take care of my obsession,” he smirks and you don’t tolerate that kind of behavior at work.

“J, can you not?!”

“Oh, so now I’m J,” the answer doesn’t seem to impress a displeased Y/N that knows exactly what he’s referring to.

You became the owner of the Davros Hotel in Gotham four years ago and The Joker was already a member. Very hard for him to follow any regulations, but every villain, assassin or hitman that respects himself is part of the elite corporation.

From the first time he saw you, J developed a fixation with your long legs. Why? Because you are very tall. Not a mere inch difference in height between the two of you, not at all: more like 8 inches, almost double when you wear high heels.

“Please don’t make me take away your membership,” you start writing in your ledger, hoping he’ll take the hint and get lost.

“I didn’t break any house rules, Madam President,” The Joker brings to your attention and you keep on scribbling, annoyed he’s actually right. “Are you going to watch the meteor shower with me tonight?” J asks and you lift your head up, sighing. “You can bring the kid,” he points towards Emma’s picture on the desk.

“Hmm…If I can bring the kid then I might,” you mumble and return to your task while The King of Gotham continues to analyze what he came for: the fascinating pair of legs he can’t stay away from even if he’d try.

Suddenly, your hand slows down on the paper.

“I wish…” and you pause,”…I wish she could see how beautiful it is,” you gaze at him and unconsciously bite on your cheek.

“I know,” The Joker takes a deep breath and that’s probably all that he will say on the subject.

You nod a faint yes, brushing your fingers on top of the tattoo inside your left wrist: it spells “Emma” in Braille alphabet symbols.

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

Three years ago

It was Tuesday morning and he barely got out of bed and managed to put on his boxers. J wondered if you already left, but the smell of coffee in the air meant that you were probably still there. He silently headed towards the kitchen and sneaked behind a sleepy Y/N without a word. Your back was turned and didn’t notice he was there; you had a coffee mug half empty on the counter and kept on scrolling through your cell phone.

The thing he liked the most was the fact that you were wearing one of his shirts; it was too short for you and The Joker could see the bottom of your lacy bikini.

“Morning Madam,” he growled and turned you around, kissing your breasts peeking from behind the fabric since the shirt was unbuttoned.

You just smiled and reached for the coffee maker, discretely getting away from his touch while pretending to do something useful.

“Good morning,” you poured some hot liquid for him in another mug and offered the beverage in a hurry. “I have to go; I’ll probably see you later this week, OK?”

“Busy again?” J frowned, sipping from the cup. “I want you to have breakfast with me; I don’t like to eat alone.”

“I can’t, I don’t want to be late,” you tried to go around him and he trapped you against the counter.

“Bulshit! You never stay. Why?” the blue eyes truly demanded an explanation; you could tell he was getting angry.

“Because it feels… too personal,” was the best explanation you could offer.

“And sex is not?” The Joker snarled though his clenched teeth; he seemed mad and you tried to reason with the man you spent the night with.

“Why don’t you call one of your girlfriends over, hm?” you took the cup out of his hand and set it aside, sincerely proposing a reasonable solution for the issue.

“I wanna have breakfast with you! Can’t you understand it’s an honor and a privilege to be invited to eat with The Joker?!”

“Well, it’s an honor and a privilege to sleep with Davro’s owner, so we can say we’re even. Yes?”

Before he could reply you lowered your head to kiss him, aware how much J hated to get on his toes so he can sort of reach your lips.

The reality was that The Joker didn’t want you to stay and eat with him for any other reason besides the fact that he was used to get what he wanted, when he wanted, regardless of the circumstances. You didn’t indulge his whims simply because nothing was owed to The Clown Prince of Crime.

Y/N had a different power over Gotham than The Joker’s; she was protected by the secret society’s laws and principles that not even him could touch. At least not without disastrous consequences.

“I have to be at the hotel early this morning, it’s not a lie. We have a situation in Madrid that requires immediate attention,” you tucked his green hair behind the ears, annoyed with the temper and demands. But he was great in bed and that’s why you dropped by once or twice a week, depending on your busy schedule.

J peeled his shirt off your body, tossing it to the ground.

“Go then!” he raised his voice afterwards, irritated. “Go!”

You calmly walked towards the master bedroom without a word, gathering garments scattered all over the place. He kept on glaring at the tall, naked Y/N wearing only a pair of bikini, mumbling to himself:

“Goddamn Eiffel Tower!”

You raised your hand up and waved without turning, rolling your eyes at the nickname you knew about.

“I heard that!” *************

It turned out the Madrid affair was even more serious than anticipated and it required your presence. You were set to fly to Spain the next morning at 7am,using the organization’s private jet and one of the fake identities at your disposal. Fortunately, you didn’t have to pack too many things because Davros Hotels always accommodate their owners and members with everything necessary no matter the country or location.

Searching your purse for the last details, you realized something important was missing: your yearly planner with handwritten notes, probably left at The Joker’s Penthouse. You recalled stopping by the elevator and digging in your purse for the car keys before you left, placing a bunch of items on the coffee table. It was certainly still there.

Instead of sending one of your men to get the planner, you decided to be the one to drive back to J’s place and recover it: you knew exactly where it was so might as well.

It was 9pm and Frost kind of froze when he saw you, not expecting to see you twice in the same day.

“I’m going upstairs,” you announced your intention and he pressed the button, calling the elevator for you.

“Madam President,” Jonny fake coughed,”you should know that Mister J has…umm…company.”

You chuckled, amused.

“Don’t be childish, Frost. I don’t care; I only forgot something in the lobby. It will take a moment to get.”

“Of course,” he agreed, gulping. Jonny was actually worried for no reason: you occasionally slept with his boss, nothing more. You liked your freedom and he liked his. No strings attached, plain and simple.

When the elevator’s doors opened on the 30th floor, you definitely noticed signs of some kind of party: confetti, drinks, balloons and loud music playing in the background. You tiptoed towards the coffee table, already seeing the tiny notebook was exactly where you left it.

Since the lobby directed straight into the living room, you couldn’t help but take a quick look around the premises: one girl was passed out on the couch, two others were having a pillow fight, visibly drunk and stripped down to their bras and panties. The Joker was sitting on a chair wearing a pair of sweatpants, making out with the woman sitting in his lap. She kept on grinding against him and you could tell he was very worked up about it since her outfit was super skimpy.

Busy guy… you thought and backed out towards the elevator when J saw you and it was kind of awkward, that’s why you felt the need to say something:

“I’m not here!” you shouted and rushed inside, guilty to have interrupted the fun.

Your cellphone rang before you reached the 22nd floor. The Joker’s name popped on the screen and you had to answer.

“I didn’t know you’re coming,” the deep voice sneered.

“Sorry to sneak in like that, but I forgot my planner on the coffee table. I didn’t mean to intrude,” you apologized even if you didn’t have to.

“I can send them away,” he proposed but Y/N had no intention to return that night.

“I didn’t come for sex so there’s no need. Like I said, I simply forgot my planner and I came to retrieve it. I’m flying to Madrid tomorrow and I need it.”

“How long are you gonna be away?”

“For a while, not sure. I’ll call you after I return,” you informed, somewhat flustered.

“Fine!” and J hang up without any further comments.

You sat in your SUV for a few minutes, staring at the cars in the underground parking for no reason. You dreaded your trip, but it had to be done:  Devros managers could never neglect their duties.

Even if the only thing the owner of the Devros Hotel in Gotham wanted for the moment was to call The Joker and tell him to get rid of those girls so she can spend the night with him.

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

Madrid was a mess; took two months and a half to clear up the craziness: the owner of the Hotel was assassinated and imminent chaos menaced to strike the network in Spain since the successor was the one suspected to have killed his predecessor.

In the end it was proved the new owner was innocent and the charges were dropped, a very tired Y/N finally returning to Gotham after a long absence. You didn’t contact J at all, waiting to get better before seeing him: while abroad, you felt sick for days and ignored your health because you were simply too busy helping out the Organization. And then you found out why.

Ten days after your arrival, The Joker decided to pay you a visit: you weren’t hard to find since you lived at the Penthouse on top of Davros Hotel. He knew you were back and got pissed you didn’t call like you promised. Not because he cared, but because of his ego.

You weren’t in the mood for a meeting when security asked if J should be allowed to come to your suit, but he insisted. You left the door opened for him and he found a pale, much skinnier Y/N waiting for him in the living room, covered with a blanket.

“You didn’t come over,” The Joker criticized instead of hello, reckoning you don’t look good.

“Because I’m sick,” you signaled him to come sit by you on the sofa.

“What’s wrong?” he inquired out of pure curiosity.

You didn’t want to tell him.

Once his body was next to yours, you just fed him some lies, this way he’d leave you alone.

“Nothing to worry about; just a bug I caught while traveling. A lot of stress and sleeplessness on top of everything, you know?”

He pretended to debate, bringing up the real problem:

“So when exactly I’m going to have those long legs of yours up on my shoulders or around my waist, huh?”

Even if you were nauseated, you started laughing like you didn’t laugh in weeks.

“As soon as I’m better, OK?”

“Yeah, but when? I need a time frame,” The Joker attempted to negotiate.

“Soon,” the repeated word made him sigh, exasperated:

“Goddamn Eiffel Tower!”

“Am I that tall?” you teased, waiting for an over-the-top response and you weren’t disappointed.

“Pfft, yeah! I need a fucking stool to hop on if I want to kiss you when we’re standing!”

J expected more laughing but you seemed sad.

“We’re not standing right now…” you whispered and pulled him closer until your lips touched. ”I missed you,” you caressed his face and then leaned back on the pillows, placing your legs in his lap. He wasn’t sure about what was going on, but he wasn’t stupid: something was off.

“Is this a mating sign?” he lifted his non-existing eyebrows, starting to walk his fingers on the soft skin and yanked at your blanket, throwing it behind the couch.

You pressed your abdomen with both hands in a hurry, not expecting that action from his part.

“Can you give that back, please?!” you pleaded. 

He looked at your tummy in silence, then uttered:

“Madam President, is that a baby bump?”

How could you have denied it? You were two months pregnant when you left for Madrid and had no idea yet, plus the two months and a half spent over there…It showed.

“Yes,” you sniffled and cuddled against the pillows, a bit anxious.

“Am I the father?” the interrogation went on.

“No.”

“Are you sure?” The Joker suspiciously smacked his lips.

“Yes.”

“Are you lying to me?”

“No.”

“Then who’s the father?”

“It’s none of your business!” you cut him off and then turned your attention towards the TV, watching the random movie that you couldn’t hear over your ears ringing.

J saw the tears you struggled to keep in and the frustration, deciding to drop it.

“What are we watching?” he grabbed the remote, scrolling down the channels.

You just lifted your shoulders up and refused to talk. J kept your long legs in his lap for hours until you fell asleep. Before he left, The Joker touched your tummy and grumbled, careful not to wake you up:

“Behave! You’re making your mom sick.”

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

It was such a difficult pregnancy followed by an excruciating delivery; you were miserable the whole time, some days you couldn’t even muster the energy to go to your office on the 27th floor so you just worked from home while bedridden. Thankfully, you had trustworthy people helping and it made the process easier. You avoided J as much as possible, which wasn’t hard since he didn’t show up at Davros for meetings or transactions anymore. He certainly had his girlfriends to have fun with, plus your priorities changed also.

After your water broke, you were in labor for almost 24 hours. It was a very complicated birth and the doctors had to perform an emergency C-section in order to save the baby.

Emma brightened your existence at 2:03am on a Saturday, but the medical team had to give you bad news: at the preliminary examination, it was determined that your daughter was born blind.

The announcement was a serious blow to your mental state: the tiny miracle in your arms didn’t deserve such faith and you couldn’t stop crying, blaming yourself for what happened to her.

They kept you at the private hospital for eight days until you were given the ok to return home. The new mother was tired, depressed and heartbroken, even if the numerous specialists that further evaluated your daughter’s eyesight said that a few options might be possible once she was older: eye surgeries and even corneal transplant. No guarantees anything would work, of course.

The Joker showed up at your Penthouse one month after Emma’s birth. He convinced the security team not to announce his arrival and had to pull a lot of strings, but he was able to get in your suit, trying to guess where the baby’s bedroom was among the 14 rooms. J found it upstairs, right by the master bedroom.

You were pacing around, talking to the little one:

“This is mommy. Can you feel me?” you touched your cheeks with the small hands, smiling at her. Emma fussed and you covered her in kisses, seconds later bursting into tears. “Mommy’s so sorry…” you gently rocked her, hoping she would fall asleep. “I don’t know what I did wrong…I’m so sorry sweetheart,” and you wiped your tears when you heard the knock on the cracked door.

“Can I come in?”

You stared at The Joker, surprised to see him there. He placed the huge bouquet of flowers on the recliner you often slept in and waited.

“With all due respect Madam President, I must say you look like crap,” he kept a straight face while pronouncing the words. You didn’t react in any way and he found it imperative to converse more:

“I came to offer my congratulations,” J pointed towards your daughter and you mumbled a faint thank you. “Can I look at her?” he approached and you didn’t stop him. “Is it true that our baby is blind?” he nonchalantly brought it up, hovering over the little Princess you were holding.

“Y-yes,” you admitted to both questions, sobbing even if you tried to control your composure.

It’s just been so hard and him being there didn’t help.

“That sucks,” The Joker puckered his lips and hinted: “You know it’s not your fault, right? She’s healthy otherwise?”

You nodded a yes, blowing your nose in a tissue and J sighted:

“It’s not the end of the world, Madam President. Can I hold her?”

You hesitated, but gave in and handed Emma over to The Joker. She yawned and he could see her eyes couldn’t focus; they were a very light, unnatural blue shade.

“All these cute things I bought for her and she can’t see them,” you remorsefully sniffled and didn’t understand why he gestured for you to sit down on the pink couch. You complied though and J turned off the light, slowly finding his way towards an upset Y/N.

“Shit it’s dark!” he complained and you worried he’ll stumble and drop the baby.

“What are you doing?!” you asked and extended your arms until you felt him and guided him to sit beside you.

“There, this way we can see what she sees, which is apparently …nothing.”

He wondered what you were thinking about but the mystery solved itself when your head rested on his shoulder and softly said:

“It’s not that dark once you get used to it…”

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

“You know this is mommy, yeah?” you snickered and tickled the seven months old Emma, touching her nose with yours. She babbled and cooed, recognizing her mother’s voice. She was crawling around in the padded bedroom, especially set up for her because you didn’t want your daughter to hurt herself.

“Such a good girl,” you praised and let her feel your face and then kissed the little fingers. 

“Com’ere, Pumpkin!” The Joker clapped and his little girl excitedly screamed: another voice she recognized and crawled towards the source of the noise, almost losing her balance. The Joker waited for her to reach his feet and then lifted her up, tossing her in the air and she giggled each time he caught her. It always made you so content to see her happy. And it made you happier when J showed interest towards his daughter.

“OK, daddy’s tired,” J huffed after a few rounds, placing Emma back on the padded floor and giving her the binky. “Pfew, she’s getting heavy,” he over exaggerated and collapsed next to her. Emma started rattling toys she couldn’t see, thrilled about the noise nevertheless and tried to climb over him without success.

You were organizing some books on the shelves, a ton of bedtime stories in Braille alphabet and how to read Braille, lots of things you collected and learned in order to be able to help your baby in the future. You finished and turned around to see what Emma was doing: she was snuggling with J’s purple coat and he was watching her, puzzled.

“I don’t know why she likes it so much; she can’t even see the vibrant color,” he taunted and attempted to pull it away from her. She whimpered and you had to explain:

“Emma likes it because it smells like you; that’s she recognizes us: by our voices, scent and the shape of our faces.”

You were ready to protest him taking the coat from her, but he cuddled with Emma, squeezing her chubby cheeks:

“The real thing is better, hm? You don’t need the coat.”

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

1pm today

“Mommy is as tall as The Eiffel Tower,” J addresses his sleepy daughter, ranting about random stuff like he always is.  

“Fafel?” the innocent reproduction of the French landmark makes him laugh like a maniac; the two year old is entertaining as hell.

“Precisely!” he kisses Emma’s forehead as a reward and tucks her and the teddy bear under the sparkly comforter for the afternoon nap. “Mommy is the President of Davros in Gotham, which is a very cool job and daddy is a King, also a remarkable occupation,” The Joker boasts even if the little girl has no clue about what he’s rambling.

“Da’yy, whe’s mommy?” she pouts because your daughter didn’t hear you in a while.

“Mommy’s at work right below us. After you wake up we’ll go see her, alright?”

“U-hum,” she squeezes her fluffy toy closer and The Joker waits until she is completely out before calling over the nanny so he can visit you on the 27th floor.

He barely made himself comfortable on the couch when the secretary announced:

“Mister Jonathan Crane is here for his inauguration.”

“Tell him to come in,” you get up and prepared the gold pin to give to the new Davros member.

“Madam President, can I participate in this solemn moment?” the devilish silver smile makes you doubtful on the request. “I promise I’ll behave.”

“It’s better if you don’t,” a sour Y/N replies, but it is too late: Scarecrow enters the office and J attends the short ceremony. Actually was quiet for once and behaved.

Until Jonathan left, of course.

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

Since The Joker invited you over to his Penthouse to watch the meteor shower, you plan to spend the night there with Emma. After dinner, you got out on the terrace, read a few stories to her and she dozed off in her dad’s arms. The swing is holding the three of you while you and J wait for the celestial show to begin.

“How I wish she could see this,” you stroke her long hair. “Can you imagine how stunned she would be?” you brush your lips against the toddler’s closed eyelids.

“Maybe one day she will,” he growls and elbows you. “Hey, do you know I had to cancel an orgy so you two can come over?”

“Wow, you never cease to amaze me. You’re just so selfless,” the lack of enthusiasm in your voice prompts more nonsense:

“Indeed. I think I deserve some kind of compensation,” The Joker lustfully stares at your long legs. 

“Oh, I think it’s starting!” you squeal, interrupting his enthusiasm. “I’ll turn off the lights in the living room,” the hyper Y/N strolls inside and swiftly returns to her spot on the swing.

“It’s pretty dark out here,” J frowns because he got ignored and you kiss his neck, smiling:

“It’s not that dark once you get used to it…”

Also read: MASTERLIST

http://diyunho(dot)tumblr(dot)com/post/153664676321/joker-x-reader-masterlist

AO3 account - same blog name: DiYunho

[strrne]

Give Me a Signal, Ch.2

Chapters: 2/?

Word count (so far):  5579

AO3  Ch.1  Ch.3  Ch.4  Ch.5  Ch.6  Ch.7

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

@praetor-canis

Chapter 2

As soon as Anakin and Padmé had stationed themselves at a convincingly professional distance from one another, or perhaps as soon as he sensed himself being accused of something, Obi-Wan stirred awake.

“Isn't that right?” Anakin called to him before the Jedi Master had barely wiped the stupor off his eyes. “If I'd been alone, no one would have paid attention–”

“Anakin, what is going on?” Padmé wanted to know. Gone was the blissful giddiness at seeing her husband, in was listening to yet another bout of squabbling between two grown men, who she was starting to believe were actually physically glued to one another.

“You first,” Anakin insisted, as Obi-Wan was taking his time joining the blame game. “You aren't in any trouble, are you… Senator?”

Padmé shook her head. “No, it was just a misunderstanding. We talked about it at dinner, with… the bankers. Apparently they've been having wide-spread reception issues for the last few weeks or so.”

Obi-Wan shuffled over, looking as though he had either really needed that nap, or ruined the rest of his day by taking it. He did find it in himself, however, to shoot Anakin what appeared to be a 'I told you so' look.

“I knew they would send at least one of you,”Padmé sighed. She gestured at the laxly guarded door, which both Captain Typho and Teckla had just walked through with ease. “As you can see, we're all fine here. And now that we've established that, what's this about an arrest? There's a law that forbids your presence here?”

She was, of course, owning up to her own unfamiliarity with such a law, and already blaming herself for this whole muddle. The negotiations hadn't even started yet, and she already had two Jedi Knights to bust out of jail?

…Or a hotel lobby? Padmé narrowed her eyes as she finally tore her gaze from Anakin and looked around. It was all awfully nice for a lockup.

“Apparently,” Obi-Wan finally found the energy to open his mouth, somehow managing to articulate no less eloquently than usual, “The Scipians have a mostly overlooked, but technically still valid law that forbids military presence on the planet while an interplanetary negotiation is taking place, especially when said negotiation takes advantage of Scipio's status as neutral ground.” He gave a deep yawn, not covering his mouth until he was already done, and apologizing once he realized his mistake.

“That's ridiculous,” Padmé said. “I arrived here with a whole squad of clone troopers and their captain. Of course, they were asked to wait at the spaceport while we entered the neutral zone.”

“Yes… I did say 'mostly overlooked',” Obi-Wan pointed out. “I tried asking the employees about the particulars of this regulation,” Obi-Wan explained, gesturing at what appeared to be… some sort of reception desk. “They had to look it up on HoloNet. Long story short, a squad of troopers stationed outside the neutral zone would not count, whereas two decorated Generals has some troubling implications.”

He gave Anakin a long, significant look. “Especially when one of them refuses to leave without 'checking on the Senator'.”

“Anakin!” Padmé cried, crossing her arms confrontationally. “If you so much as elbowed–”

“I didn't!” Anakin insisted. Obi-Wan made a vague gesture that didn't really confirm or deny anything.

Padmé shook her head, all-too familiar with the great joys of bureaucracy and legal trifles to know this could yet turn into a fine mess. Then again… sometimes those same things were her very best friends.

“Only,” she began with optimism, “I haven't actually negotiated anything just yet!”

“You haven't?” Obi-Wan perked up.

“That's what it says, correct? Military presence is forbidden while the negotiations are underway. I have witnesses to attest that no such negotiations have yet taken place in any form, so that should ensure your imminent release and an easy solution to this misunderstanding.”

Padmé gestured for Typho and Teckla to come over, giving them detailed instructions how to retrieve the witnesses and subsequently secure the release as quickly as possible. The aides nodded without a single question, and saw themselves out.

Padmé looked at Anakin. He'd been awfully quiet for a while, and seemed almost disappointed that he'd soon have to leave after having just arrived, and barely gotten a, uh, first taste of his beloved wife. He did manage a small smile though, and there was a playful glint in his eyes that made her grin as well. She desperately wanted to at least hold his hand, and wondered if she could successfully pass that off as a 'always happy to do business with you' type of handshake. But that would mean she'd have to leave immediately after, not to mention give Obi-Wan a matching uncomfortably long farewell.

Although, truthfully… had she been unable to resist kissing him right then and there, Obi-Wan would have most likely suffered an inexplicable, unprecedented coughing fit, excused himself into a corner and muttered something about koja nuts in the nutrition bars.

-

“There's… how many of them now?!” Clovis groaned. He had not thought he could detest the word 'Jedi' any more, but on top of everything else, it was of course also a null plural. And with his luck, they were both secretly smitten with Senator Amidala and ready to run down the entire galactic economy if it somehow meant her happiness. He made grudging nods as the aides and a Muun representative combined their efforts to explain the situation.

“Yes, yes,” Clovis interrupted impatiently, “absolutely free them, yes, and make sure they leave the system without delay.”

He would've of course gone with Padmé and personally made sure of this in the first place, had she allowed him to. The Muun representative was eyeing him curiously, as though he was coming to realize that the negotiations, before even starting, had long ago stopped being unprejudiced, or generally in a good place to begin. What should have been a quick swipe of hand on a holopad was turning into a convoluted farce involving a very public exes' spat and a pair of clueless Jedi Generals.

And he had been so close… or perhaps, he had told her just enough. Just enough to awaken her own doubts, to compel her to eventually come back to him. There was no changing the negotiator at this point. She knew now it had to be her. He just hoped his gut was right.

“But sir, you see,” the Muun representative rambled on, snapping Clovis back to reality, “technically there is no evidence that the negotiations were not underway. The 'witnesses' you refer to had left the room, remember? And whatever passed between you and Senator Amidala after that point could technically be interpreted as a form of negotiation, or negotiation strategy.”

“We were alone for five minutes…”

In reality… some very sensitive information had indeed been exchanged. Clovis supposed he could only blame himself. He had wanted to play the dangerous game of legal loopholes and sticking to protocol, and inevitable backfire was his just reward. Still – his frustration was deepening into anger – this could not possibly be that difficult. No harm had been done – that the bankers knew of, or that in any way involved the Generals. The Jedi had legs attached to them, didn't they? And a spaceship, and the ability to fly said spaceship. Why, exactly, were they still talking about this?

“Military presence on a neutral planet while an interplanetary negotiation is underway could be interpreted as a form of attempted coercion over–” the Muun representative babbled, as though having either memorized or eaten a holobook on useless law articles.

“Please don't tell me we have to conduct an investigation.”

“We have to conduct an investigation.”

-

Darth Sidious' cloaked figure appeared on the palm of Dooku's hand, his shriveled form almost dark enough in its essence to extinguish even the holographic blue glow.

“My Lord,” Dooku greeted.

Sidious did not return the greeting, and in fact remained oddly quiet for a fair while, before starting to mutter under his breath what Dooku soon identified as the word 'interesting'.

“What is, My Lord?”

“Many things are, Lord Tyranus, for these are interesting times,” he responded. “I must confess… if the information that your spies provided is accurate… there are a few variables in this situation I had not… foreseen.”

Dooku barely reacted to the admission – although he was surprised – none too eager to visibly show doubt of his master's strategic genius. Still – this had to be a first.

“Still, most of our pawns are in place, and the few surprise additions, I think we can still use to our advantage.”

“Naturally, My Lord. How would you have me proceed?”

-

After a few tries, Padmé finally gave up on the hologram projector, unable to contact even her associates, who were on the very same planet, presumably only at a few klicks' distance from wherever this detention… palace was located. He desperately wanted to climb to the top of the nearest reception tower and do some tinkering – but apparently he wasn't really wanted on the planet at all. Anakin could not for the life of him understand how anyone could put protocol and rules before all the help he could give, all the use he could be… Two battalion-less Generals did not a war make. It made no sense.

All the other detainees had been bailed out a fair while ago, and it was really getting late, but Padmé had nevertheless stayed by his side all evening.

The “receptionists” were sleeping at the desk, and the guards were sitting on the floor, resting their heads against the wall, absently munching on something that smelled. Obi-Wan had retreated into a corner, his eyes closed, engaged in another meditation session, and probably getting all sorts of bad feelings all over.

All of this combined amounted to at least a moment's privacy for the husband and wife, and soon enough they found themselves spending it accordingly. Anakin was the first to ever so slightly incline his head in a hopeful fashion, but Padmé just immediately plunged into the kiss and took charge all the way from there.

It was a fleeting moment in a different world, far away from the war looming around them and all this bureaucratic trouble they didn't need, but at the same time – worth it all, and more. Perhaps not worth the war itself – was anything, really? – but worth the wait, and worth the fight. Worth making it out alive.

Then he made the mistake of opening his eyes, only to witness a pair of guards glowering and whispering at them, and making a show of losing their appetite. He was right back in the real world – where there was only the wait. And somewhere down the line, probably another fight, too.

“Who were you trying to contact?” he suddenly asked Padmé, who didn't care about the guards, and would have much liked for their little voyage across an alternate reality to go on a little while longer. Anakin himself wasn't sure why he wanted to know – but sometimes, even when he didn't want to probe, he couldn't help his Force senses – and something about the air around Padmé just seemed a little off.

Padmé sighed, and reached to scratch her head, and potentially ruin her perfect hairstyle, which she only ever did when she was reluctant to talk about something. She looked at him, seemingly bracing herself a moment, and causing Anakin to conjure up all kinds of awful and ridiculous scenarios, before she drew a deep breath and responded calmly, “The representative from the Banking Clan. I'm sure you remember Rush Clovis.”

Anakin gaped at her, unable to prevent his mouth from comically falling open. “Rush… Clovis?!” Before he knew it, or could in any way stop himself, he had already jolted up from the chair they shared, his voice risen to an alarming pitch and volume. Padmé followed the example, albeit in a more composed fashion.

“Let me rack my brain… oh yeah, Rush Clovis. Almost got you poisoned, conspired with the Separatists–”

“Anakin–”

“Thinks no means yes–”

“Anakin–”

“Nice fella! So, he's… back, huh?”

He couldn't help himself. Before he had even fully processed what, why or at whom he was angry, the rage was already there. All it took was a trigger. Be it a past trauma, something threatening his loved ones, or the thought of losing Padmé… or common jealousy. And somehow, all of these came together and took an ugly, tangible form in the cursed name of Rush Clovis, someone he had hoped to never see or hear of again. Sure, he remembered him.

But the rage had been there before the recall. Why was it always there, and where did it all come from?

“Anakin, whether you like it or not – whether I like it or not,” she placed a pacifying hand on his chest. “He's the assigned representative for these negotiations, and he...” Padmé hesitated.

There was so much of it. It almost seemed to require a designated target.

“And he what?”

“Anakin, we barely even got to begin the negotiations at all, before…”

“We arrived, and–”

“And messed things up, yes,” she shot back without blinking. Only now withdrawing her hand, she reached up to rub her temples and stopped to sort out her thoughts. “I know this is difficult to understand, but it is very important I hear him out. It is imperative that I do this, specifically.”

Anakin worked hard to compose himself.

“Why is that?”

Padmé lowered her voice to a whisper. The guards had fallen asleep, and, amazingly, Obi-Wan was still deep in meditation, or, again, skillfully faking.

“He made a very bold claim at dinner today. If it's true, the implications are huge… the potential consequences for this war massive. He said the–”

She gestured for Anakin to lower his head so she could whisper into his ear. For a moment, her soft voice and the tingly warm feeling on his ear sent him right back into the parallel universe. What she actually said, on the other hand, brought him right back.

“What? That's–”

“Not only that, but–”

There it was again, her warmth and her patience and her kindness, all trapped and taken advantage of in these convoluted circumstances.

Circumstances that she could maybe, just maybe sort out – if only he would let her. Or rather, accept that she was not his to let.

“Padmé, I don't trust that man.”

“I don't trust him, either,” she assured him. “But I might just believe him. The economics of this war have not been adding up for some time, hence the need to make this new loan agreement in the first place. Something is definitely up, and I want to get to the bottom of this.”

Anakin gave a vague nod. At this point, he mostly just wanted the argument to be over. He cherished these precious few moments with his wife, and would have liked for them all to be like little time capsules of utter bliss and perfection, that he could take with him to the battlefield and turn even rosier in his memory. He didn't want to fight – he already did enough of that and some more with the Separatists.

But the problem was, he didn't like that “something was up”. He was worried – afraid – that even if Padmé could handle this, he just wouldn't be able to.

“Okay,” he finally managed to say.

-

It was not until the next morning that Rush Clovis saw fit to arrive, along with an ever-growing cluster of Muun bankers.

”Pardon me, I'm confused,” Clovis said, a sardonic smile playing about his lips as he walked up to the pair, and a finally reinvigorated Obi-Wan; eyes decidedly fixed on Anakin. ”Is he a Jedi General or your personal bodyguard?”

”I'm a person – and I'm here, in person, to guard her,” Anakin responded before Padmé had a chance to. ”From, I don't know, persons.” ¨ Padmé shook her head, none too happy with either Clovis or Anakin's idea of a polite greeting.

”Yes… I do personally believe we left off on bad terms last time,” Clovis suddenly switched to diplomat mode. “I am sorry, and eager to rectify the situation. Speaking of situations…”

He proceeded to explain at length why the Generals were not to leave the planet at the earliest opportunity after all, while also being absolutely prohibited to take part in any business proceedings that involved himself and Senator Amidala. And why, in fact, they would soon be moved to a slightly smaller and less comfortable room.