#i do disagree with her on quite some points also like her political silence and environment and i can admire her as a singer songwriter

[fridayiminlcve]

seeing u slowly become a taylor swift hater is the biggest character development in the history of this planet not going to lie to you fam

😭😭😭😭 thank you ig

[faroreswinds]

I’m sure sending you an ask off anon will probably get me put on a list of some kind but fuck it, I’ve already got one unhinged stalker, what’s another one in the mix lmao, and i want to make it extremely clear that I support you in this.

Like it really says something that these stannies absolutely do not quit after four damn years of the same thing. Doesn’t matter how factual you are (correctly citing art history in its original intent and context, canon game dialogue and timelines, interviews, etc), how polite you are, how straightforward you and others are because none of that matters at all to these chumps. This is a straight up gamergate-style sealioning campaign that in the end isn’t really about edelgard at all—she’s just the convenient platform for these people to expound their insane maximalist fandom-as-politics viewpoint that has irreparably damaged houses’ reputation for fans and has conflated videogame communities as a testing ground for in-group loyalty metrics.

Aside from what you and others have already said, it’s telling that they always follow a set script: Church Evil and Fascist, Edelgard Revolutionary and Morally Good, alongside truly reprehensible weaponisation of identity politics and socjus buzzwords. It’s not enough to assert that Edelgard is a pure lesbian hero (biphobia what), it must mean that by diametrically opposing her, Dimitri has to be evil, straight (but when they grudgingly acknowledge his queerness, it’s then asserting that said queerness can only exist within him being repressed and tamping it down because of evil Faerghian misogynist politics, never mind that Adrestia is the biggest misogynist of the continent lol), and singularly obsessed with targeting what she represents; Rhea, the chief architect of all that is evil in Fódlan and directly responsible for its misogyny, homophobia, and whatever else alongside with lobbing assertions of her being a “groomer” (which anyone with half a brain cell not dedicated to being chronically online know is now a popular right-wing argot used to directly target the lgbt community with truly heinous accusations equating them to paedophilia), among other things.

Only extreme statements and buzzwords for the characters, all the time: Edelgard as a hero, Dimitri and Rhea as representatives of ontological evil that Edelgard must defeat with extreme prejudice.

Let’s also point out the fact that in a true debate—because they’re not really debating at all and I say this as a professional debater myself who has won medals for this shit and trained youth teams in my country—the onus on the opposing side has to accept neutral statements from their counterparts. They cannot seriously say that their statements on Edelgard must be taken as fact while simultaneously discounting yours as fiction, because at best that would obviously be called out as ad hoc attempt to muddy the waters; at worst, blatantly trying to control the debate solely with their own parameters as the only acceptable ones, and thus openly attempting to silence dissenting opinions. If they really want to try to convince others that they’re really presenting legitimate debate, they cannot seriously pretend that their actions support that claim when they:

Approach you first and then continue to hound you

Constantly repeat themselves in an attempt to wear you down and confuse you, which is absolutely something that can be penalised in formal debate

Get offended and then accuse you of abuse when you firmly disagree with them and draw boundaries

Let’s also not forget the fact that their actions as a community absolutely do constitute harassment when they’ve been caught gloating about running moonlitboar off tumblr, the revelation that they keep a list of Edelgard critics to monitor them, forcing vas to apologise for expressing negative opinions about Edelgard (note how Rhea gets called so much bad shit but you don’t see Rhea fans calling for her haters’ blood), and even prompting YouTubers to change entire videos to avoid backlash, if not to simply stay in their good graces (and milk them for views and ad cash)

Aside from absolutely garbage essentialist Pure Lesbian Women are from Venus, Evil Repressed Hettie Obsessed Men are from Mars viewpoints, it’s truly mind boggling that they’ve bought into the belief that f/f is somehow purer and “less problematic” than m/m solely because they’ve decided that the heavy mlm moments for the Lions must point to their inherent moral degeneracy, which I would again like to remind them that that is actually homophobic; hell, I’ve seen quite a few using fujoshi as an insult. Let me take the time to explain that fujoshi and mlm fandom in Asia (explained by Asian fans themselves!) has always been seen as a symptom of mostly women fans being disgusting and “rotten,” and that their interest in mlm relationships is not only a betrayal of their gender (and ofc fujoshi as an insult in the west is a popular argument with terfs), but a sign that they’re degenerate and that something is deeply wrong with them.

Never mind that across the world, ff in media has sadly mostly been used as porn fodder for straight, misogynist men, because lesbian sex titillates them while gay sex repulses them. Utena is the outlier in a sea of garbage and said ff garbage is mostly shown as porn anyways. Gengoroh Tagame, a popular gay mangaka, has spoken about how female fans of mlm in japan are often big supporters of lgbt rights. Let’s not even get into the fact that the demographics of most edelgard spaces (like r/edelgard) are of straight men.

I also really despise how they’ve discovered “antisemitic” as a new buzzword. I’m Jewish. I loathe how most people only seem to care about opposing antisemitism when it’s in a videogame or movie, instead of in real life when we get hatecrimed. But it’d be remiss of me not to mention the way my blood boils when edelstans seriously repeat church slander of the nabateans being fake humans, evil reptilians wearing human skins as a disguise for them to manipulate the world from the shadows and using a fake, evil religion as their cover (not to mention how they describe the tenets of said religion as evil and conveniently forge and misrepresent its texts to make it look worse…where have i seen that before), who impede societal development to keep themselves on top, and, as the cherry on the shit cake, as miserly hoarders who keep monumental wealth to themselves and refuse to use it to help others.

Really makes you think then that it doesn’t take much for them to admit they see the Nabatean genocide as a positive, that its completion is necessary for edelgard to succeed (even if they hem and haw about what they think would happen to byleth, Seteth, and flayn), and borrowing from blatant irl genocide denial rhetoric saying that the agarthans (who are literal moustache twirling evil villains) were the original inhabitants who actually got genocided by the nasty coloniser lizards and that their retribution is absolutely justified and understandable. I laugh to think what their though process will be like if they even play the jugdral games.

And finally, since it bears mentioning, they should keep byleths name out of their fucking mouths. As a huge self admitted Byleth stan, seeing them whinge and whine and bitch and moan about poor Edelgard getting criticised really grinds my gears when the last four years has been seeing me constantly trying to navigate a fandom space that relentlessly shits on byleth and says they ruin the games and are nothing but player pandering or when people fucking celebrated the scene of shez killing them in hopes. Edelstans don’t get to try and use them as a prop to prove how edelgard is so good to them (and is so pure as a whole) when we have quantifiable data showing that Byleth smiles the most in verdant wind, has an incredibly strong character arc in azure moon, and that for THREE ROUTES OUT OF FOUR in houses (two if you count hopes scenarios when they’re kept alive) they always end up opposing her, because that is their actual character. Let’s talk about how r/byleth is mostly populated by r/edelgard fans who mostly post porn of fem byleth but have admitted to actually hating her, but liking the fact that she’s got big tits and can be used for yuri fanservice. Or let’s talk about feh: all their alts so far show their loyalty and closeness TO THE NABATEANS. And fuck it, I’m of the opinion that actually the devs’ edelgard bias is what ruined byleth and what made them silent. Because when they’re separated from houses (and thus not in her immediate focus), they fucking shine!!!

Tldr: hi raxis, what’s good!!

Addendum: edelgard has the most 3h alts in feh, cipher card art showing her naked and/or with suggestive costumes, is the most attached to the avatar characters in 3h/hopes/feh of her roster, is named first in the dlc for 3h in engage, has the tea set paired with hreslveg blend, ETC. if that’s not obv favouritism by an obv mostly male dev team, then, well…

Hey, how are you? Hope things are well!

When thinking about that exchange from the other day, @butwhatifidothis had an excellent post that put into words more eloquently than I could about issue:

They are right - I never mentioned it myself because my brain didn't quite go there, but many of the arguments were basically "this character would do this hypothetically", which is nothing more than mere headcanon.

Full disclosure, but I am not a professional debater. I am not even trained. Back in school I famously hated debates because I always felt they relied on twisting facts rather than empirical data. I liked data, that's why I went into the Sciences.

The only debating in Science is whether your results are accurate and if your method is indisputable. Is this ethical? What are we basing our ethnics off of? Proper science doesn't care about your opinions, or how bad so and so was back in the 1700s. Science - and Math - liked numbers, and numbers are cold and inflexible.

So I must admit that debating (not discussions, but debating) do tend to make me nervous at times. I like to learn, and to be challenged on how I view the world. But debating is not a skill I am honestly good at. I can lost track of the original point. I can get discombobulated by the lexicon and factoids when they are rapid fired at me.

That's why I engage in them. It's practice. If I don't do it, I will never get better.

And my untrained eyes could see that this debate... was not really a debate, but a shake-down. I was curious to see where it would go.

If anyone else finds this in this situation, here is my unprofessional advice:

Do not insult or use language that could be misconstrued as aggressive. Remain polite and sincere. Remaining polite does not mean agreeing to everything they say. But, instead of saying something like "You are wrong!" re-word it as "I don't agree with your view" or "I do not believe that is correct".

Do not let yourself be bullied. If this means you wish to disengage, just disengage. Make it comfortable for yourself. In my case, I was comfortable to keep going, but that may not be true for you. They make take this as a win, but you aren't being graded on this and this isn't politics. It's video game stuff.

Use only facts, do not use headcanons or opinions. This makes it harder for the other person to fight you, because you are remaining neutral. If you wish to discuss or bring up something that is not based on text, be sure to make it clear.

Call out when they twist your words. One user claimed that I had once used their name in my post. I never did, so I asked them where I had said that. It forces the other user, if they wish to respond, to either acknowledge they made a mistake, or they risk making themselves look like liars.

Never take it personally. They don't really know you. They are just bored and angry.

Always try to get them to think. This one I am still trying to master. When they make a claim, ask them why they think that. Why are they drawing that conclusion? What if they thought about it this way? If they are regurgitating whatever they have heard from others, they may get tripped up by this. This does run the risk of irritating the other person, but I find it is a helpful tool to both learn and to challenge your opponent to explaining themselves better.

This is the hardest one of all. Do not lose sight of the topic. It is not uncommon for these discussions to go a million different directions. If you lose sight, you may end up on a path you don't want to be on. Stay on topic. I'm still working on this too.

It's really cool that you are a trained debater. If you have any other further advice, or if my advice is terrible, I would love to hear it!

Ultimately, I think many of these types of fans just want to use whatever buzzwords and language they can to not only guilt the other party into bending a knee to their opinions, but to also shame anyone who likes another fictional character.

It's really a shame that other fans feel the need to go to such lengths over someone who is not real.

But per your addenhem, it is true that Edelgard gets a lot of love and attention from IS. She is popular. She doesn't need someone to come sweeping in defending her fictional honor.

Poor Claude really gets the shortest end of the stick in all this. This guy doesn't even have the same number of alts as Dimitri in FEH.

The sexuality stuff confuses me the most. Perhaps it is because my particular sexuality makes up 1% of the population, but I usually don't see why it is such a big deal when it comes to FE. FE doesn't make statements about sexuality. It is not try to teach about sexuality. It is not trying to push an agenda of any kind except the Make Money Agenda.

This weird vilifying fans of who likes mlm content, often framed as disgusting straight fujos who fetishize men. I find this an odd statement. From my point of view, anything that has any sort of sex is fetishizing, period. Straight, gay, whatever.

Well, regardless, thank you for the nice ask. I hope I could give is an answer that gives it justice. :)

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

Cult Girl: Doctorate (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 8

Cult girl and Hannibal go through an exhaustive list of potential adoptive couples. 

@wisesandwichshark

Trigger warning: sexual harassment, christianity, discussion of pregnancy and family planning, adoption, murder and cannibalism 

Step two: find an adoptive family.

Some would say your list of expectations for potential adoptive parents was too extensive. Impossible for any human to reach. But it was really just the bare minimum.

Regardless of if they were two men, two women, one of each, or a few people, the parents had to be trustworthy. It wasn't easy to earn Hannibal's trust, but he could recognize those who had the capacity to right away. It was a little instinct you had dubbed 'friend or food'.

On paper, the apostolic pastor and his wife of 19 years seemed like the perfect candidates. The adoption agency tried to push them on you, as they had a great track record with adopting from them prior. Three boys, all of which were honors students.

Hannibal insisted on a formal introduction, during which you could conduct a proper, though surreptitious, interview. It was an invitation to dinner.

He invited the couple into his office, where a pot of tea and an interrogation was waiting for them. Then there was you. Barely-pregnant little [F/N], feeling entirely safe so long as your fiancé was beside you.

"You're doing the right thing, y'know." The woman, who introduced herself as Mrs. Landon, said upon meeting you.

"How do you mean?" You asked, already knowing the answer.

"All god's life is precious." She said, placing a hand on your not-even-remotely-showing-yet stomach. "You're walking in obedience to the lord by giving this child a shot at life."

Strike one: bringing up religion unprompted. Strike two: touching me without asking first.

You wanted to swat her hand away, but remembered that patience was a virtue. She and her husband took a seat across from you.

"Y'know," The man began, his mannerisms eerily similar to those of his wife. "I don't usually begin with the god talk, but I think a higher power had to have been involved in the conception of this- well, our child. I'd like to think the good lord brought us together today."

Strike three: already believes he is entitled to my child. You're outta here.

"Don't flatter the adoption agency like that, Jacob." Hannibal chuckled, placing his teacup on the side table.

"I'm serious, Dr. Lecter." Jacob interjected. "Faith and I really do believe that god put us on this earth to prepare his smallest soldiers for the spiritual war."

You shot Hannibal a side glance that said 'can we please just eat them now?'.

The answer was no. Hannibal liked to play with his food.

"And your adult children have all moved out?" He asked.

"That's right." Jacob nodded. "We have plenty of room in our five-bedroom house for the new little slugger to run around in."

"And if it's a girl!" The wife interrupted. "We have enough closet space for all the denim maxi-skirts money could buy."

Strike four: arbitrarily genders the behavior of a nine-week-old embryo.

The man then returned the teacup to the table, not bothering to use the saucer and instead leaving a nasty ring of condensation on the polished mahogany.

"Okay." Hannibal huffed, resignedly rising from his seat. He pulled two hypodermic needles from his back pocket and carefully, subtly stuck them onto the couples' necks. They couldn't even scream.

The tacos al pastor that followed (after a few days of marinating, of course) were exquisite.

The next week brought a new couple to your doorstep. Frank and Angela, they were named. Their claim to fame was that their oldest son played football for one of those big southern party schools. Either Auburn or Alabama. There was hardly a difference.

You sat for what felt like hours listening to the man speak in unintelligible football babble, waiting for him to take a breath. Surprisingly, it was the mom who got him to finally shut up.

"Frank, please." She said with more frustration than this one situation even remotely warranted. Either she had enough intuition to know she was being tested, or she’d spent the last decade putting up with this. Possibly both. "You're boring our hosts to death."

"What? No way! She loves it!" Frank replied, then turned to you. Not to Hannibal, just you. “Aren’t you having a great time, sweetheart?” 

Strike one: takes advantage of the female socialization to be passive and polite, allowing himself to take up the most space.

You shook your head. “I hate football.” 

His wife looked quite pleased with herself. 

“Angie, I just wanted her to know what good breeding her son is going to have.” He said, without a lick of irony or self-awareness. He eyed you up and down and licked his lips. “And it is mutual, I see.” 

The room went quiet as everyone tried to determine whether he was serious or if it was just a fucked-up joke. The longer the silence lingered, the more you realized he wasn’t kidding. Angela looked like she wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

“I don’t know what the agency told you, Mr. Wyatt,” Hannibal said, trying not to grit his teeth. “She isn’t a surrogate. She’s already pregnant.” 

Frank’s jaw hung dumbly open. “I thought you were looking for a sperm donor? I just-” 

“No.” You cut him off, raising your hand and covering your face. “I don’t want to know what you thought.” 

“Well, I would!” Angela interjected, righteous fury eclipsing what should have been crippling embarrassment. “What exactly did you think this was, Francis?” 

“The file said that he was over fifty, so I just assumed--” Frank rationalized, his voice far too loud for the room. “Y’know? That she wanted a baby that wouldn’t come out all funny-looking?” 

“You’re disgusting.” You blurted out. 

“Francis Howard Wyatt,” Angela scolded as if she were talking to her son. “You are forty-eight and the only increasing part of your body is your blood pressure. Why on Earth would any woman choose you over her smart, handsome doctor fiancé?”

This made Hannibal sit up a little straighter. He wanted Francis on the butcher’s block yesterday, but he momentarily considered letting Angela live. 

“They’re not married?” Frank whispered, or whatever the loud-aggressive-toxic-masculinity version of whispering was. He paused, as the dead hamster on the wheel powering his brain crept back to life. “That actually makes sense.” 

Angela loudly smacked her hand against her face. “Dr. Lecter, Ms. [L/N], I am so sorry.” 

“It’s quite alright, Mrs. Wyatt.” Hannibal stood up, readying the next batch of needles. “It just makes what I’m about to do easier.” 

It took quite a bit of restraint to not make their deaths hurt, but he made up for it when it came time to carve. He had fun running his fittingly small penis through a meat grinder. Not with any intent to cook it, though. Just because. 

Hannibal wanted to make Francis Wyatt into the least dignified meal imaginable. You quickly recalled going to a friend’s barbeque in Georgia and encountering a horrendously Southern delicacy known as Frito Pie. You proposed the idea to Hannibal, who, after reviling in abject horror at the notion of eating something out of a bag, agreed that it was the most fitting end. He could spare a few pounds of flesh to grind up and make into chili. 

The third week brought yet another couple. They seemed smart enough to realize your invitation wasn't the friendly olive branch the others had interpreted it as. Their healthy skepticism was refreshing, to say the least. Then, you met them: Max and Archie.

"You'll have to forgive my partner's paranoia." Max said upon entering the house. He tugged playfully at Archie's hand. "We watched Get Out recently, so an invitation to the suburbs sounded some alarms in his sleep-deprived brain."

"I love that movie." You chimed in. "It reminds me of my family."

"Oh no." Archie's eyes widened in only half-pretend fear. He shot an I-told-you-so look in his partner's direction. 

"But my favorite horror flick has to be Midsommar." You added. "My friends and I saw a midnight screening and we didn't sleep at all that night."

"But have you seen Hereditary?" Archie posited.

"Of course." You shrugged. "Aster is totally genius."

You made more than just polite conversation with the couple. Max, despite his young age, was a skilled data analyst and day trader. He attributed his success to the hard work of his immigrant parents. Archie was an environmental lawyer and land activist. He was also a bit of a thrill junkie, indulging in everything from scary movies to bungee jumping.

It didn't take long to realize that you wouldn't be eating them. They were far too pleasant of company to eat.

"So when is this baby planning to make its entrance?" Archie asked, gesturing to you. "You don’t look all that pregnant to me."

You put your hand over your slightly-protruding stomach. "Late August, I believe. If everything goes according to plan."

"You're not far along at all, aren’t you?" Max observed. "That gives us plenty of time to prove ourselves to you."

"Believe me." You put up your hand. "You're doing a great job so far."

“If you like horror stories, we might have to indulge you in the last two encounters we had.” Hannibal commented, leaning back comfortably in his chair. That was a good sign. “No blood was spilled, thank god. Would have ruined my carpets. But believe me when I tell you it came very close.” 

The couple laughed along. Archie leaned in like he was about to tell a life-shattering secret. “You wouldn’t believe the hoops we had to jump through to even have the chance to adopt. And I don’t want to say that it’s because we’re an interracial gay couple, but...” 

“Agencies aren’t exactly colorblind.” You finished, via his prompting. 

“She gets it.” Archie pointed to you. “See, Maxie? She agrees with me.” 

Max pushed his glasses up his nose. “I never said I disagreed.” 

You spent the rest of the afternoon waiting for the conversation to take a sharp left turn off a cliff, but it didn’t happen. They were wonderful company; polite, intelligent and articulate. Exactly the kind of people you’d want to see taking care of your child. 

You’d have to look for you next meal elsewhere. 

[ushidoux]

He, Hercules - Ushijima x Reader

Summary: What is Ushijima if not strong? (~2.0k words)

Warnings: accident, temporary disability, implied depression, some suggestive themes, hurt/comfort

A/N: I have limited experience with athletic injuries and mental illness so bear with me. If there is anything you find inaccurate or insensitive in my depiction, don’t hesitate to pm me! <3

---

“Mr. Ushijima?”

You perk up when you hear the secretary’s voice call out your husband’s name, only realizing now that in your long semi-long wait you’d ended up dozing off, resting your head against his shoulder. Clearly, you must have been exhausted, because it takes you a moment to remember where you are, and why you’re here.

There are very few others in this small office aside from the single middle-aged man in the corner who you realize is staring quite hard at you, and you wonder briefly if it’s because you somehow looked inappropriate or acted inappropriately while you were asleep. There shouldn’t be anything very noteworthy about a young couple inside a therapy practice.

You glance at Ushijima who is barely moving despite the fact that his name was just pronounced. He’s as still as a statue and his expression is neutral as is typical of him, but you still perceive the lack of intensity behind his eyes, a constant reminder that no matter how much he acts as though he’s fine, he’s not.

Why else would you be here in the first place?

You nudge him gently.

“Love, they called your name. It’s time for your session,” you whisper into his ear.

He had been staring off at a fixed point across from him, but he does still respond to your nudges. When he rises, it’s done slowly, and he walks besides you with a slight limp in his left leg. He doesn’t wince with any step but the arm you hold onto as you walk with him through the hallway down to the provider’s office is stiff. You wonder if he resents how clingy you’ve gotten since his injury, handling him with kid gloves as though he were the most fragile of glass. You can’t help it. You’d almost lost him.

The office is open when you arrive, and a man who looks only a few years older than Wakatoshi is seated in a cream armchair, waiting, a measured smile on his face. Ushijima doesn’t smile back but he doesn’t frown either. 

“Welcome! Please come in and make yourself comfortable,” the man says without missing a beat, rising to shake his hand. He also shoots a glance at you, but before he can ask you to introduce yourself before politely shooing you out of the room (this is not couples’ therapy after all, even if it will help the two of you), you squeeze your husband’s hand before quickly exiting.

“I’m his partner, I’ll see myself out, thank you!”

You worry slightly about leaving him alone in this stranger’s care, but Ushijima is not a child and this isn’t the first day of kindergarten, he’s a man recovering from a life-altering injury and has finally agreed to go to therapy. 

You’re not sure how optimistic to be, but you’ve done an extensive amount of research and this particular therapist boasted credentialing in sports psychology, was highly recommended and had worked with a lot of current and former athletes alike. 

Of course, this would all be meaningless if Ushijima refused to talk, but as you started your car to pass the next hour at a nearby mall, you gave yourself a little bit of hope.

---

“Tell me about yourself,” is the first question the therapist asks, after offering not much more than his own name, and Ushijima is slightly annoyed by the question.

He does not want to be here in the first place, he doesn’t need to be here, and now he’s asked a question as vague and audacious as ‘tell me about yourself’ like he’s expected to pour out his feelings to this stranger from the very second he sits in this admittedly comfortable couch.

He pauses. He’s not sure exactly what he would say. 

He’s nearing 30. He’s married, no kids. If it’s not obvious, he’s from Japan. He plays volleyball professionally… well, played, up until recently. 

He frowns. That’s why he’s here. Because you don’t think he is okay, even if all of his injuries have essentially healed aside from this annoying limp that makes it obvious that he’s in some way not in optimal shape, broken, vulnerable. This  limp is the reason why he can no longer play even if he feels fine otherwise, and why he’s not exactly sure what to do next. 

But that’s beyond the point. The question is about himself.

What else can he say? How would others describe him?

His friends call him serious, just as the media describes him. Quiet and serious. Dedicated. Strong. 

Maybe he’s not that last thing anymore, but that too is beyond the point.

You think he’s sweet; you say this repeatedly. You tell him that he’s kind and considerate.

He thinks for a moment that maybe he was too kind. Kindness is what got him in this predicament in the first place, isn’t it?

A moment of compassion - a likely exhausted mother whose eyes leave her child for a split second to rummage through her purse, a little girl whose tiny legs take her just a bit too far out into an open intersection, a speeding car that shows no signs of stopping…

He remembers the exact moment he is no longer jogging but sprinting to take the child out of harm’s way, as well as the exact moment he hears his bones snap on impact, and he’s too shocked initially to feel pain, eyes frantically searching for the kid who now is standing on the opposite side of the street, looking at him in curiosity because the toddler is too young to understand what it means to see a body crumple. She’s unharmed, so he’s successful.

A woman screams and she sounds nothing like you. He’s not sure if that’s a good thing.

The car speeds on.

---

You sit in a food court, poking at some fries, but you’re not exactly hungry, just anxious. Is the session going okay? 

Even if the man is a professional at getting people to talk, Wakatoshi is a hard nut to crack. You could envision him sitting silently until the hour passed completely, before getting up to bow and exit stage left. It had taken you months to get him to agree to go to anything other than physical therapy.

You hope this is not an exercise in futility.

---

“I’m fine,” he grunted, just a couple days out of the hospital, once you’d started nagging him for weight-bearing on the leg that had just been operated on.

“Your leg was literally shattered!” You shouted. “You’re lucky they didn’t amputate!”

He gave you a mildly fatigued look. All he’d wanted to do was walk to the kitchen by himself, without crutches in his own house, and he’d barely made it a couple of steps before you were standing in the bedroom, looking all sorts of stressed and concerned. 

He figured your concern was temporary, so he attempted to quell his stubbornness. He had already been benched for the season, possibly to likely forever and pouring out his frustration on you wouldn’t be helpful.

“What do you need? I’ll get it for you.”

He frowned but he let you help him anyway.

---

“My name is Wakatoshi Ushijima. I moved here several years ago from Japan to play volleyball professionally. I was in a bad car accident a few months ago and my wife is concerned that I’m not adjusting well.”

The therapist offers a small smile again.

“Do you disagree with that assessment?”

Ushijima tilts his head slightly. He does disagree… he doesn’t? He’s not sure. He’s frustrated of course, who wouldn’t be, he had just been in the Olympics after all, but he’s fine. He’s strong.

He’s strong.

---

“We just wanted to thank you again.”

Wakatoshi glanced at the gifts the couple before them had brought,  a bouquet of flowers and stacks of cookies and pastries in boxes on the living room coffee table, before looking back at you. Your face remained polite and smiling but you were clearly uncomfortable from the way you were perched on the seat, nodding carefully as you listened to your visitors, your arms crossed over your midsection as you leaned forward in your chair.

He knew you wanted to be angry at them, well, her, the mother who looked at him pitifully initially then averted her eyes out of shame. But it wasn’t her fault but yet, it was her fault and still, it wasn’t. It was very complicated. No one was at fault. Her daughter was safe.

Everything was fine.

---

You’re back in your car again, ready to drive to pick up your husband from therapy. Things should get better from here on. 

Maybe he will no longer shut down like a brick wall when you suggest that now is a good time to start transitioning away from sports for the future. Maybe he’ll be less upset with small things like not being able to run as far, or lift as much or please you as much in the bedroom as he used to. 

They’re small things compared to losing his life.

---

“I would like to go back to playing but I’m told at every turn that it’s too dangerous, maybe even after a year of healing.”

The therapist nods, and scribbles something on a sheet of paper.

“How does that make you feel?”

The therapist notices even through Ushijima’s accented Polish that he’s naturally eloquent, but regardless he still lacks the words to appropriately talk about his feelings. 

His hands grip at his knees, the good and the bad one. The word ‘useless’ comes to mind but he can’t bring himself to say that to this stranger, even if these four walls come with the promise of understanding. 

For once, silence is uncomfortable for him, and the therapist is surprisingly good at staying quiet. They sit in silence for moments longer and surprisingly, Wakatoshi speaks up first.

“Weak,” he ekes out in a voice that is so small he barely recognizes it.

To that, the therapist leans just slightly forward, focusing his eyes on the man’s restricted range of motion and slightly hunched shoulders. It’s the posture of a man who’s normally stoic and confident, now made uncertain about the future.

“What’s wrong with weakness?” He says quickly, and Ushijima is somewhat stunned which then lends way to a small measure of anger.

Everything is wrong with being weak. Weakness was for other people. How could he protect himself, his livelihood, his team, you?

What is he if not strong?

---

“I love you.”

He says it less often than you do to him, but every time he does, he means every word. You shifted beneath him, weary from the lovemaking of just prior but still nevertheless craning your neck up to reach his lips. 

Your hands traveled down his shoulders and along the length of his bulky arms, playing with his biceps, drinking in the sight of his muscles flexing as he moved. He smiled and wrapped his arms tight around you, laying his head on your chest. 

“Aww, Toshi, you’ll crush me if you hold me so tight. You barely know your own strength,” you teased with a laugh, prompting him to loosen his grip ever so slightly, and lift up his head to show you the smallest of pouts.

“I love you more,” you added, giggling.

Pleased, he lay his head back down on the softness of your bosom, clinging to you more. He’d protect and take care of you forever.

---

You hold Ushijima’s hand tightly as you walked out of the building to your car, holding in your curiosity about the session the entire time. 

Would he go again?

He gives your hand a squeeze suddenly which surprises you, and when he turns to you, there’s a small upturn in the corner of his lips that approximates more of a smile than you’ve seen in recent weeks.

You’re elated enough that you immediately give him a hug, and maybe you’re a bit overzealous about it, but he stops and holds you close for just a moment.

“Thank you.”

There’s a lot in the thank you, and you shed a tear.

---

Strength is relative and inconstant, so our first task is to work on your definition of strength. 

But I would say, coming here in the first place is already evidence enough.

[lovingcorleone]

“The Deal That Never Happened” — Sonny Corleone x Reader x Tom Hagen

Summary: Tom and Sonny need Y/N's help to help them out.

Pairing: platonic!Sonny Corleone x Lawyer!Fem!Reader x ex!Tom Hagen

Author's note: (English is my second language.) ; First of all, I'm not a lawyer, I don't have any degree in area of law, I have no idea how these things work, but I had fun while writing it and doing some research! I don't know how did I come up with this plot ...but enjoy!

Author's note 2: Reader is Tom's ex girlfriend and events take place after Michael killed Sollozzo and McCluskey, but could not escape to Sicily. also, I was thinking about part. 2?

Warning: strong language, mentions of murder

THE DEAL THAT NEVER HAPPENED

The very original plan of the Corleone's revenge didn't turn out as one would expected. Michael Corleone did, in fact, kill both Sollozzo and McCluskey, but he was not able to catch a flight to Sicily. This was a key moment, which led to nothing but more trouble. While he was hiding, Tom and Sonny were thinking about the next step. The oldest Corleone boy wasn't entirely innocent either. Santino was guilty just as much as Michael, though he wasn't the one holding a gun. Michael, their brother was in grave danger, and that was the other reason they needed to react quickly. Violence was not an option anymore. The legal and diplomatical work of white-collared person was a necessity at that time. Luckily for them, Tom had this specific person in his mind. Y/N L/N. The greatest lawyer he ever met...and dated. When he told Sonny about his idea, he thought that Tom was joking, but eventually he changed his mind and was willing to ask her for help.

Y/N was always very busy, but never too busy to help her friend. Even though, she and Tom were not a couple anymore, she told him to always count on her when his world will fall apart. She was fully aware of an affair that recently happened with murdering Sollozzo and the police officer. She even knew that it had something to do with the Corleone family. In her field she was the best. That kind of person you really want to have on your side. Don Corleone himself once wanted to put her on his list of people he hoped that would help him one day. These people would get extra money and that was hell of a motivation. But Tom strongly disagreed with his adoptive father and said that he wanted Y/N keep far away from their family business. Don wasn't surprised by Tom's reaction, because he knew that Tom still cared about Y/N.

Their meeting held a place in their house, right in Don's office. When Y/N stepped out of a car, Sonny and Tom were already waiting for her. Tom was nervous as hell, but just like always he hid it quite nicely but not completely. Sonny smirked at Tom. „When was the last time you two saw each other?“ „Long time ago. Anyway. We're gonna talk business, so no unnecessary comments. Do you think you can do that, Sonny?“ Tom shot a glance to his brother and Sonny rolled eyes. „For a moment I thought I was hearing our father. I still don't like this idea, but it's the best thing we have now.“ When Tom saw Y/N coming to them, he immediately ran to welcome her. They politely shaked hands and Y/N gave him a faint smile. „Thank you for coming here so quickly. We- I appreciate it.“ Tom said a low voice and Y/N nodded. „Sure. No problem. I'm glad you called.“

Before falling in endless pit of awkwardness, Sonny jumped between them and welcomed her as well. „Let's go inside before this will get suspicious.“ he said with warm smile and all three disappeared behind the closed doors.

While Y/N was preparing her things, neither of Tom or Sonny dared to start a conversation. After 5 minutes, Y/N looked at Sonny, who suddenly started to feel not very cooperative. „Alright, Mr. Corleone. Take a chair and sit right in front of me. Don't ask, just do as I said. It will be more effective.“ Y/N stated as Sonny sat down with a grumpy look on his face. All of a sudden he felt less confident as usual. Their eyes met and both of them stared at each other more than it is appropriate. Y/N leaned back in big chair and put her hands on the desk in front of her. „If looks could kill.“ she smirked. Sonny frowned and Tom just quietly chuckled. „Let's take a look into your file, shall we?“ „Wait, I have a file? How's that possible?“ „Everyone who commited some kind of crime, has a file. But you have just one, because your father made sure that you have all your files destroyed. This one is considered as your first and only one, so let's act like it.“ Sonny's facial expression changed from being grumpy to being surprised to being a bit upset. He took out a cigarette from a little box and lit it. Y/N let out a sigh and opened the file. Then she looked at man in front of her with a sympathy, but it wasn't completely sincere. „You're upset, yeah, I get it. You are really someone– Don's first born.“ Sonny, well-known hothead, angrily pointed a finger at Y/N. „Watch your next words!“ „Sonny...“ Tom warned him.

After what happened to Don, Sonny was extra cautious what people were talking about his father. Y/N knew that Santino was kind of hard to work with, but she did not plan to give up on him. „Look, I'm just trying to do my job here.“ she smiled, „So..shall we get started?“ A smoke left Sonny's mouth as he nodded. Y/N started to pulling out bunch of papers from her bag and handed him a pen. „For the very start, please, uh, sign this...this..aaaand this.“ The oldest Don's son's jaw dropped a bit while looking at what he had to sign. He really thought that they are gonna just talk without doing the boring part. But still, without any more words, he signed everything. „Good, perfect! Such a nice handwriting you have.“ Y/N enthusiastically remarked while putting away signed papers. She could swear that Sonny's cheeks flushed with a pink color for a second. Tom watched them from his own desk in the office, and he felt so proud that Y/N agreed to take their case. Meanwhile, Sonny felt almost intimidated by her presence. „Ahh, sorry. I forgot about these papers...Here. I need another your signature. Just three more and we're done..for now.“ Sonny looked at Y/N like she was crazy, but signed it anyway. What else he could do. „You done? Perfect! You know, the bureaucrats...They always want their paperwork.“ Y/N giggled and shrugged her shoulders like it was normal thing. And for her it was. She loved doing her job, being a lawyer. Sonny finished his cigarette and after a few minutes of complete quietness, Y/N voice's echoed again. „Okay, listen. Let's get into your case..“ „Fucking finally.“ „Don't interupt me, Santino.“ „ ...Sorry.“ „I know what you are thinking. 'This is a mistake! I shouldn't be sitting here!' Well, they don't think that.“ she said that in high-pitched voice accompanied by wide smile on her face. Tom couldn't help but snorted and earned himself an annoyed look from Sonny, who certainly didn't find it amusing. „Thanks for the sympathy, but can we get into that case? We are kinda running out of time. I already signed those fucking papers, what more those dickheads want? I know this is a part of your job, I get it, but! Can we move on?“ the hothead miserably throwed hands into the air. Y/N eyes were fixed on him, not saying a word. She clicked her tongue and put her hands together. „Good. So you understand that I'm just doing my job here. The job you asked me to do.“ she whispered but her face was unreadable. „I was thinking. Your situation is pretty bad at the moment. But I think I have a solution of some kind. Listen, I'm here to strike a possible deal with you, but we will soon get to that part, okay?“ Sonny nodded and his eyes got a bit brighter when the part with a deal was mentioned. „Suddenly how excited you got. Wow.“ she chuckled for herself and shaked her head. „Uhm, so... How about take a look at your crime? You've been charged with Criminal Conspiracy with code 479. Okaaay. Let's see what it says here.. Yikes. Ordering and attempting a murder. But if I remember it correctly..You wanted to avenge your father, so you sent your brother, Michael Corleone, to kill Virgil Sollozzo and also police officer Mark McCluskey. Michael was supposed to make a deal. But that deal never happened. Are you following me?“ „ Yeah. I mean..all correct. So far. Continue.“ Y/N looked at Tom and he approvingly nodded. „You did what you did, and now we're having this conversation. But without Michael, because... we don't know his whereabouts. Too bad, because he was the one who killed them, not you. You only prepared it. Sounds like this is all your work. Oops.“ she raised her eyebrows, pulled her lips into a thin line and then let out a deep sigh. „Tom, are you familiar with criminal conspiracy, mostly when it comes to participation in it?“ she shot a quick glance at man sitting afar from them. He nodded. „In most states, those who have helped plan a crime but have not participated in the actual crime may be given the same sentence as the person who committed the crime himself.“ he responded and Y/N faintly smiled at his

correct answer. He did not forget these things and Y/N was genuinely happy about it. He may have been a consigliere at that time, but deep inside there was an amazing lawyer hidden in him. She stayed silent for a moment thinking about words what she was about to say and then quickly licked her lower lip. „I may or may have not a deal for you. It just depends on you. And on your cooperation.“ Sonny sat on the edge on his chair and looked into her eyes listening carefully. His anger disappeared. „Alright. What do I need to do then?“ A smug smile flashed on her lips and she shook her head. „This is not about you, Mr. Corleone.“

Silence. Sonny frowned at what she just said, but still confidently smiled like he understood. He was taken back. And Tom was too, but not as much as his brother. So far Sonny did not meet a woman that would have behavior like Y/N had. But in the end, it was her job. However, Sonny must have admitted that Y/N was super smart with lots of courage. Tom was right about her. However, Santino needed to think straight, he needed to focus. Y/N shrugged her shoulders. „Listen, if it was up to me, which is not up to me, it's up to the authorities above me, and they say that you are a criminal. But, if it was up to me...I would like your family to get out of this mess and continue living your lives.“

[writerofthecourt]

the rhyme and reason for lying

pairing: suna rintarou x reader

summary: when you and your husband are called to your daughter’s school for a meeting with the principal, the last thing you were expecting to hear was that she had punched a classmate

warning: time skip spoilers

a/n: here you go, anon. this was a request from my 200 followers event. thank you to my followers for your continued support of this blog and my writing!

“Rin, can you please stop scrolling on your phone and help me clean up the house?” you asked with an annoyed glare from across the living room.

It was a calm Monday morning. The sky was clear, and the weather was beautiful. Today also happened to be a rare day off from volleyball practice for your husband, so you thought it would be a great idea for the two of you to get some chores done around the house. However, the prospect of getting Suna to even help you was beginning to seem more arduous than the actual chores themselves.

“Rin,” you repeated with an unmistakable tone of diminishing patience.

Picking up on your anger, Suna silently placed his phone on the coffee table and got up from the couch to go wash the dishes from today’s breakfast. After being married to you for so long, he knew when to stop testing your patience.

“That’s what I thought,” you said to yourself, a victorious smirk now plastered on your face.

Turning your attention back to the shelf that you were cleaning, you made sure not to knock over any of the framed photos that were in your way. There were a few photos from high school, family vacations, and your wedding day.

You paused to smile before you picked up a particularly lovely photo. It was from two summers ago at a tanabata festival. Dressed in matching yukatas and standing under the glow of various paper lanterns, you thought it was a perfect family photo.

Your reminiscing was soon cut short, as the house phone started to ring. Putting the photo back down, you went to answer the phone.

“Suna residence,” you greeted with practised ease. “Yes…oh, well…all right, we’ll be there soon. Yes, goodbye.”

“Who was it?” Suna questioned as he exited the kitchen, finished with his task of washing the dishes.

“It was Suzune’s school,” you replied with a worried expression on your face. “Apparently, she got into a fight?”

“What?” Suna asked, his eyes easily giving away his disbelief. “No way. Not our Suzune.”

“Yes, well, the principal wants to see us now,” you explained as you hurried to get your purse and put on your shoes.

After grabbing his phone and the car keys, Suna joined you at the genkan to also put on his shoes. “Did she at least win?”

“Not now, Rin,” you said with an exasperated sigh before turning away with a proud and subtle smile. “…But yeah, I think so.”

Suna only smirked. “Nice.”

As the two of you drove down to Suzune’s school, a thousand questions ran through your head. What could have possibly happened to set off your mild-mannered Suzune? For the most part, she was a calm and quiet child, similar to her father in many ways. Nevertheless, after arriving at the school, you and your husband found yourselves sitting in the principal’s office, signalling the end to your peaceful Monday morning.

“For starters, thank you for being here this morning,” the principal said as he addressed the three parents in the room. “Now, I assume you’ve all been made aware of the current situation, yes?”

“I heard Suzune got into a fight with one of her classmates?” you asked with great trepidation in voice, casting a glance to your sulking daughter who sat next to you. Suna, who sat on the opposite end of the office couch, tried his best to not look bored with the whole situation.

“I’m afraid so,” the principal gravely responded before he gestured for the other mother in the room to speak. “Yamada-san, if you will.”

“Please, call me Karin-san,” Karin said with an all too polite smile on her face. “Now, my Satoshi-kun said that your daughter had punched him for no good reason. Clearly, your daughter was in the wrong because my son would never do anything to provoke someone.”

“That’s wrong!” Suzune shouted angrily before pointing to the quiet Satoshi who sat next to his mother on the opposing couch. “He kept bothering me and making fun of my height!”

“Are you calling my son a liar?” Karin scoffed.

Suzune frowned before looking away. “No, but it wasn’t completely my fault.”

“So you did punch him!”

In the midst of this argument, you and Suna both exchanged looks of disbelief with one another. While you didn’t condone Suzune’s choice of violence, it was quite obvious to you and your husband that there was more to this story.

“All right, no more arguing,” the principal announced as he quickly tried to defuse the situation. “In any case, Kagami-sensei informed me that you did indeed punch Yamada-kun, so please just apologize, Suna-chan.”

“I refuse,” Suzune responded plainly.

Not liking this answer, Karin raised her nose to the air with a haughty huff. “Well, you’re going to have to apologize if you want this matter to be resolved, little missy. I could easily sue you if I wanted to.”

“Don’t sue them, mom,” Satoshi mumbled.

“Hush, Satoshi. She is the one who is clearly at fault here,” Karin maintained with an unbelievable level of smug confidence.

No longer having the patience to deal with this woman’s behaviour, Suna was the next one to speak up. “Weren’t you listening? There’s obviously a reason why Suzune punched your son. Maybe if you stopped throwing out blame left and right, we could actually resolve this problem in a timely manner.”

“Suna Rintarou-san, yes?” Karin asked with disinterest in her voice. “My husband is a big fan of you and your team.”

“Thanks,” Suna drawled out, making no effort to pretend as if he actually cared for the compliment.

“In any case, I would have to disagree with you,” Karin replied before she sent you a patronizing smile. “Perhaps if your wife did a better job at raising her child, we wouldn’t be having this problem.”

The room fell silent as all of the other occupants inside the office stared at Karin in complete shock, unable to believe that she had said something so bold and uncalled for. You were about to shoot down her claims when your husband promptly stood up, his arms crossed as he glared down at the woman across from him.

“You apologize for that right now or else-”

“Or else what?” Karin challenged, immediately copying Suna’s defensive stance, crossed arms, and seething eyes. “Are you threatening me?”

You could do nothing but bite down on the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from swearing up a storm. If it weren’t for the current situation and anger that you felt towards Karin right now, you would have applauded her for being able to stand her ground against your professional athlete of a husband. She was strong-willed and unwavering in her determination, you’d give her that.

“Okay, it was my fault!” Satoshi proclaimed, fearfully staring at his mother and Suna. “It was my fault, so please stop fighting!”

“Satoshi? What are you talking about?” Karin asked in total surprise and bewilderment.

“I-I kept bothering Suna, so she punched me to make me go away,” Satoshi admitted. “I only told Kagami-sensei that she punched me first because I didn’t want to get in trouble…”

The room returned to silence once again. With the truth now revealed, Karin could only blink slowly before she realized her absolute mistake. Her face began to burn hot from all of the embarrassment and drama that she had stirred up, and while she was too busy trying to think of ways to save face, you and your husband only grinned in victory.

“I’m sorry for everything, Suna,” Satoshi quietly apologized.

“I accept your apology,” Suzune said with a smirk, only to stop once you gave a look that told her she also needed to apologize. “I-I’m sorry too. For punching you, I mean.”

With everything now resolved, the principal smiled, simply glad that a fight had not broken out in his office that day. “Well then, if there are no more problems, Yamada-kun and Suna-chan can go back to class. Thank you to both sets of parents for being here today. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”

“O-of course,” Karin answered nervously before both families quietly exited the principal’s office

Once out in the hallways, Satoshi turned around to happily chat with Suzune. “It’s almost lunchtime. Wanna play some volleyball later? My team could use your height.”

“Sure,” Suzune replied with a small grin, causing Satoshi to smile and look away with a faint blush on his face. Noticing this curious behaviour, you soon found yourself lightly chuckling as all of the puzzle pieces came together. It all made sense now.

After Suzune and Satoshi were dropped off at their classroom, you, Suna, and Karin all awkwardly walked together towards the entrance of the school. Clearing her throat, Karin stopped to look at you in the eyes.

“I’m sorry for what I said earlier,” Karin began mournfully. “It was ignorant and rude of me.”

“Yeah, it was,” Suna agreed harshly, making Karin flinch at his straightforward response.

You jabbed your husband in the ribs before you sent Karin a strained smile. “I accept your apology. I can understand why you were so protective.”

“T-thank you,” Karin said with a wobbly smile. “Well, I need to go buy some groceries for dinner tonight. It was, um, nice to meet you. Hopefully, our next encounter will be less…confrontational.”

Wishing Karin farewell, you and your husband silently made your way to the car. You couldn’t help but chuckle once again as you thought back to your new found discovery. It just made so much sense now.

Your husband gave you a strangle look as the both of you got into the car. “What’s so funny?”

“You mean you didn’t notice?” you asked with an amused raise of your eyebrow. “He obviously likes her.”

“Who?”

“Suzune and her classmate,” you clarified. “He likes her.”

Your answer only made Suna more confused. “I don’t see how you came to that conclusion.”

“Didn’t you hear Suzune? He kept bothering her, making fun of her height, and when she agreed to play volleyball with him, he blushed,” you said as you listed off your reasons out loud.

Your husband continued to flatly stare at you. “Yeah, so?”

“Well, if I remember correctly, there was a certain somebody back in high school who used to steal my lunches and bother me all the time because he had a crush on me and wanted to get my attention,” you explained. “Sound familiar to you?”

“I never did any of those things,” your husband defended with a frown. “I just asked you out like a normal person, remember?”

“I know. I was talking about Atsumu,” you casually threw out, causing Suna to freeze and stare at you in pure shock.

“What?! He never told me he liked you!”

“Well, it only lasted three days before I told him that I liked you,” you graced the corner of Suna’s mouth with a quick peck, “why are you even worried? I married you, didn’t I?”

Your husband made no effort to hide his blush, only starting up the car to drive back home. “Yeah, whatever…I need a nap. It’s only noon, and I’m already too tired for any of this.”

“Great! After your nap, you can help me with the chores. Right, honey?” you asked with a sickeningly sweet and innocent smile.

“Y-yes, dear.”

Later that day, in a totally different prefecture, Atsumu nervously approached his teammates with an uneasy smile on his face.

“Um, hypothetically speaking,” he began, looking to his teammates for help. “What does it mean when someone sends you a picture of a knife and tells you to stay away from their wife? Hypothetically speaking, of course.”

Bokuto and Hinata furrowed their eyebrows in confusion, while Sakusa simply shook his head.

“It means you’re going to die,” Sakusa answered bluntly.

“Maybe they sent it to the wrong person?” Bokuto suggested.

“Why do you ask, Atsumu-san?” Hinata inquired with a curious tilt of his head. “Did someone do that to you?”

“Of course not! Totally hypothetical,” Atsumu replied with a nervous laugh. Thinking back to Suna’s cryptic and ominous text from earlier, Atsumu reasoned that he would have to talk to his old teammate sometime soon, but perhaps not in person…

Yeah, definitely not in person.

fun fact: suzune’s name is written with the characters for ‘bell, sound’

[eleanore-delphinium]

The Gift: Chapter 2 (Childhood Arc)

Chapter One

Chapter Two: (you are here)

Jean & Diluc

Diluc and Jean became acquainted with one another at the age of ten and eight respectively. Diluc was a rather bright and happy child growing up and Jean was quiet and reserved. It came to a surprise to a lot of people how the pair got along so well.

In fact, Diluc could be considered rather rambunctious and reckless and Jean was cautious and critical. And because of that, the others who didn’t question how they got along, understood why they did. They were what they considered opposites attract, Yin and Yang.

“Diluc! Wait up for me!” A ten-year old Jean complained as she climbed up a rock with difficulty. She looked up from climbing and a hand was outstretched in front of her. It came from a boy with red hair and red eyes—Diluc Ragnvindr, heir to the Dawn Winery. Her silver eyes glittered under the sun with a hint of blue as she felt blinded and surprised by the presence of the boy in front of her as the sun right behind him.

She took his hand and he pulled her up. The wind blew her blonde hair around.

“Look, I told you that there were knights fighting some hilichurls!” The twelve-year-old Diluc said proudly. He had dragged Jean out so that they could look at some knights in action.

“I’m going to be one of them, Jean. And I will defend Mondstadt with everything I got!” His claymore faded behind him in gold dust, in her eyes it made him look like he was shining as he said those words. Her grey-blue eyes silently look at the claymore floating behind his back as it reappeared in gold dust again.

“You have been training hard.” She couldn’t help but remark, as it was after all the truth. He had been training very hard at swordsmanship at the age of eight, despite it being a skill he didn’t necessarily need. And when he got his vision at the age of ten, it was like the world was fully his, at least that was what he told Jean. But it was different for her, she had trained her posture and strikes with wooden swords since she was five and slowly changed into different kinds of swords as she grew and improved. Recently she had started using an actual sharp metal sword fitted for her. In her case, learning swordsmanship was a necessity. 

Jean is known to be the more responsible one between the two, it was a fact that Diluc had set his heart out to being a Knight of Favonius. And Jean wasn’t quite sure about her future, but it was already decided for her, as a Gunnhildr it is natural to be a Knight of Favonius.

She had just recently decided to take up the sword and try to follow her mother’s desires with a passion that should compete with Diluc, but she didn’t even know what her objective was after mastering the short sword. If it was something she even wanted to do.

“Don’t worry Jean, you’re going to be a great swordsman. I know it.” Diluc said, feeling that Jean was slightly upset. She looked at him with pressed lips, he has always known what he wanted to become.

“Says the heir to the Dawn Winery.” She mumbled, and he bumped onto her shoulder playfully.

“That is my Father’s legacy. Of course, I will keep that alive, but I also need to chase my own dreams.” He replied smoothly, she felt as though it must have been something he had known for a long time. 

She was envious of that certainty.

Diluc pulled her to hide behind a small bump on the ground. She quietly observed the Knights of Favonius by Diluc’s side and she was rather impressed with their fighting skills. She could only hope to be at that level soon. Jean looked at Diluc and she knew that the boy beside her would surpass the knights fighting right now.

“We should probably go.” Jean urged gently and Diluc looked at her with a slightly stern gaze.

“We just got here, Jean.” He responded quietly.

“But—” Jean said but was cut off.

“Don’t worry, if anything happens, I can protect you!” Diluc said confidently and in all honesty, Jean knew he could, he was rather capable for a twelve-year-old, but her innate nature wouldn’t allow it or perhaps it was her training.

“Diluc—” She tried again.

“They are over here!” A man called out pointing to the kids, and Diluc automatically grabbed Jean’s hand and ran away from the man.

“I can’t believe they found us.” Diluc said as he ran holding her hand firmly, Jean who was forced to follow him wanted to pull her hand away.

“Diluc, I think we should go back.” Jean tried to urge Diluc again.

“No, we just got out! Aren’t you tired of always studying?” He grabbed her and hid behind a tree as he silently observed if they were followed, and they saw no one behind them.

“C’mon, I think we can go to the Winery.” Diluc took a step forward but Jean remained planted on where she stood.

“That’s pretty far, Diluc.” Jean mumbled faintly.

“We’ve gone there many times before.” Diluc replied, keeping an eye for any movement around them.

“With permission.” She quietly added. “This time I ran away from training, you do realize that I will have to make-up for what happened today, some other day.”

“You’re just ten—they are overworking you.” He said sternly and she avoided his red eyes. Diluc was virtually perfect, he could be very good at something new and master it just as easily. And since he has a fiery passion for his claymore and combat, it was natural that he would more than just excel at it. He was at a level no one should be at—at the age of twelve, especially since he started late in training compared to her.

But the same thing could be said about Jean, she knew more than what a ten-year-old should know. But that was a result of the kind of upbringing she had. The sheer effort that she had to always display and give to please her mother, as the next heir of the Gunnhildr clan. And yet, she knew very clearly how Diluc had tried his very best to offer her a glimpse of a normal childhood.

Jean in a sense, aspired to be him in so many ways.

She was very much inspired by his capability. And his passion for justice. And his freedom.

“Alright.” She agreed quietly, even though in her head she disagreed completely. She will have to pay the price of what they are doing today, she knew it well. But looking at Diluc’s clear eyes, she couldn’t help but sigh in hushed tranquility. Diluc was always admirable.

And they carefully made their way to the Dawn Winery while Diluc kept an eye out for anyone following them. They arrived unfollowed, but they realized someone was at his villa’s front yard, Diluc’s father—Crepus was arguing with a blonde-haired woman, the same shade as Jean’s hair. Jean recognized the back of the woman before the woman’s voice could even register in Jean’s head.

Crepus' eyes glanced behind the woman, who had seen his eyes shift and turned around to see Jean and Diluc. The moment she finished her turn, Diluc automatically stood in front of Jean with a glare directed at the older woman.

“Diluc, you have been causing trouble.” Crepus said with crossed arms, but his eyes held the smallest hint of delight at his son’s antics.

“They are overworking Jean!” Diluc argued back with a stronger glare directed at the older woman.

“That is none of your business, kid.” The woman replied.

“She is just a kid; she should be playing around!” Diluc yelled and received a cold glare from the woman. It was cold enough to make him flinch.

“She is not just a kid; she will be the future leader of the Gunnhildr clan.” She said as she crossed her arms over her chest.

“Frederica,” Crepus called out to the woman in front of him and she tilted her head a bit to the right acknowledging him. “She should still be able to play around like a normal child.” There was a silence that passed by them.

“Jean, what do you think?” Her cold blue eyes landed on the girl behind Diluc who remained quiet in the presence of her mother.

“I do not dare to question my mother's upbringing. I am raised to be well equipped as the future leader of our clan.” Hearing Jean’s reply, Diluc could not help but clench his fists.

It is true that when Diluc was ten he had received his vision, and worked hard to do justice to it. He chose to not play around with children his age because he wanted to master his craft and join the Knights of Favonius even more now that he had a vision. But that was not the case for Jean and he was so aware of his privilege.

“Jean.” Diluc turned to look at her but her expression was steely as she stared back at him.

“When I went out with you today, I knew this would happen. It is inevitable. I thank you for the company Diluc, but sadly I will have to go now.” Jean gently touched Diluc’s shoulder whose face showed his guilt. “Do not feel bad, I wanted to join you.” She gave a faint smile. It was the truth that she wanted to go with him when he arrived under her windowsill earlier that day, even though she knew that there would be consequences that would follow.

“Mother, I apologize for my actions.” Jean stepped out from behind Diluc and approached her mother. “I will take responsibility for my actions.”

“Good, as it should be as the future head of the family.” Frederica said the cold stare from her blue eyes made Jean think her mother’s gaze was certainly made of ice.

“Jean, I—” Jean turned to look at Diluc and the sadness in her face made him pause.

“Till next time then.” Jean feigned a smile and did not wait for a reply from Diluc as she turned to look at her mother. “I am ready, mother.”

“Crepus.” Frederica said with a pointed look towards Crepus and a raised brow. “I would advise you to correct your son’s behavior, but I doubt you would.”

Crepus did not take Frederica’s words as offensive, instead he smiled and nodded to her pretending to take it into consideration. Frederica knew that he was just nodding out of politeness.

Jean followed behind her mother as the two went their way. Diluc’s gaze followed Jean until she was out of his sight and he thought that she looked so forlorn. But she never glanced back at him before she completely disappeared from his sight.

“I hope you had fun.” Crepus couldn’t help but say and Diluc finally turned his head to look at his father who appeared sad.

“I did… but-“ He looked back at the general direction of where he had last seen the mother and daughter pair. “Will she be in big trouble?” He added quietly.

“Frederica wouldn’t give her daughter a hard time, I’m sure of it.” Crepus replied but Diluc looked at his father with pressed lips. He knew his father was lying to comfort him, but Diluc nodded and slowly walked into the mansion with unhurried steps.

“Brother!” A blue haired boy called out to Diluc from atop the staircase, Diluc smiled when his eyes met the other boy’s periwinkle eyes.

“Kaeya.” Diluc said and his distress from what happened outside was completely forgotten after seeing his brother. He quickly walked up the stairs and Kaeya’s eyes widened with delight.

“Father, I will accept any punishment you decide to give me due to my actions!” Diluc said as he ran to his younger brother halfway through the stairs.

Kaeya was a year younger than Diluc and he was adopted over a year ago due to certain circumstances.  Kaeya used to be such a cold child, but with great effort, Diluc and Kaeya became close and Kaeya came to look up to his older brother Diluc with much love and respect.

When Diluc reached the top of the stairs Kaeya pulled his brother towards the library door. Diluc chuckled as he watched this playful child attempt to drag him away. He wasn’t always like this, it brought Diluc happiness seeing how joyful and playful Kaeya has become.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you two were up to!” Crepus replied as he watched his two sons with much love in his eyes.

“Kaeya, you seem way too excited.” Crepus laughed looking at his two sons, even though he is pleased in knowing how cheerful the blue haired boy has become after what has happened to him. Although he has to admit that he was very surprised to see that Kaeya developed a great respect for Diluc.

“This is for us boys only!” Kaeya yelled back to his father as he pushed Diluc into the library and shut the door behind him with a bang.

Crepus did not think that the slamming of the door was disrespectful, he knew that Kaeya was merely too excited and Crepus laughed wondering what the two boys could possibly be talking about.

“So, did you see her?” Kaeya asked instantly as he held his brother’s shoulder and Diluc laughed at his reaction.

“Yes, I did.” Diluc replied and his younger brother looked at him as he waited for more to be said. The joy in Diluc’s face slowly faded as he sighed and turned around.

“Based on your reaction, something bad happened?” Kaeya said as he followed behind Diluc who sat on a chair with another sigh.

“Her mother came here to pick her up.” Diluc said in an exasperated tone.

“Ah, that was what that was.” Kaeya mumbled as a frown formed on his lips. “So, you weren’t able to show her?” Kaeya sounded quite upset.

“Why do you sound more upset than me?” Diluc playfully retorted as he crossed his arms over his stomach.

“I went through all that trouble to distract our father.” Kaeya glared at his brother as he crossed his arms over his chest. “You weren’t even able to show her what this was all for. Jean’s mother is too much!”

Diluc stared at his brother who was obviously fuming in anger and laughed.

“It is alright, there are still more chances to see her.” Diluc looked at Kaeya, whose anger was slowly dissipating.

“Have you done your training for today?” Diluc inquired and Kaeya shook his head.

“Then, get your sword and let’s go out and train.” Diluc then stood up. “I will go and inform father.”

“Alright.” Kaeya replied as Diluc walked out. “I will follow in a bit.” Kaeya took a peek from the window and noticed the pair of blondes climbing onto a carriage with the Gunnhildr crest.

But on that day Diluc was gravely mistaken, he had thought he would see Jean again, unfortunately it would take three months to be able to see each other again. He had attempted to see her, but the security and Frederica would not let him through. He did not expect that she would go this far because he had forced Jean to ditch her lessons for a few hours.

Diluc’s mood had soured when he realized in the third week that Jean’s mother would drag this out. She might even use this opportunity to cut off ties. He was quite angry.

“Diluc,” Kaeya got no response. “Brother?” Kaeya called out a little louder in worry as he saw his brother’s expression turn dark.

“Brother!” Kaeya shook Diluc and the latter stared at his brother and sighed.

“I’m sorry I’m making you worry.” Diluc said, resting a hand on Kaeya’s shoulder.

“The Winery hasn’t hosted a party in a while. Your birthday is coming up.” Kaeya said matter-of-factly and Diluc raised a brow at Kaeya, catching on to what he was implying. “And a festival in Monstadt will soon follow, I’m sure something could be arranged.” A warm smile appeared on the red boy’s face.

“Yes. You are right.” Diluc agreed, recalling a memory from two years ago.

“A Party.” Diluc said and Kaeya couldn’t help but be charmed by his brother’s smile. One day, he too would have such charisma.

CHAPTER THREE

[whitehotharlots]

The point is control

Whenever we think or talk about censorship, we usually conceptualize it as certain types of speech being somehow disallowed: maybe (rarely) it's made formally illegal by the government, maybe it's banned in certain venues, maybe the FCC will fine you if you broadcast it, maybe your boss will fire you if she learns of it, maybe your friends will stop talking to you if they see what you've written, etc. etc. 

This understanding engenders a lot of mostly worthless discussion precisely because it's so broad. Pedants--usually arguing in favor of banning a certain work or idea--will often argue that speech protections only apply to direct, government bans. These bans, when they exist, are fairly narrow and apply only to those rare speech acts in which other people are put in danger by speech (yelling the N-word in a crowded theater, for example). This pedantry isn't correct even within its own terms, however, because plenty of people get in trouble for making threats. The FBI has an entire entrapment program dedicated to getting mentally ill muslims and rednecks to post stuff like "Death 2 the Super bowl!!" on twitter, arresting them, and the doing a press conference about how they heroically saved the world from terrorism. 

Another, more recent pedant's trend is claiming that, actually, you do have freedom of speech; you just don't have freedom from the consequences of speech. This logic is eerily dictatorial and ignores the entire purpose of speech protections. Like, even in the history's most repressive regimes, people still technically had freedom of speech but not from consequences. Those leftist kids who the nazis beheaded for speaking out against the war were, by this logic, merely being held accountable. 

The two conceptualizations of censorship I described above are, 99% of the time, deployed by people who are arguing in favor of a certain act of censorship but trying to exempt themselves from the moral implications of doing so. Censorship is rad when they get to do it, but they realize such a solipsism seems kinda icky so they need to explain how, actually, they're not censoring anybody, what they're doing is an act of righteous silencing that's a totally different matter. Maybe they associate censorship with groups they don't like, such as nazis or religious zealots. Maybe they have a vague dedication toward Enlightenment principles and don't want to be regarded as incurious dullards. Most typically, they're just afraid of the axe slicing both ways, and they want to make sure that the precedent they're establishing for others will not be applied to themselves.

Anyone who engages with this honestly for more than a few minutes will realize that censorship is much more complicated, especially in regards to its informal and social dimensions. We can all agree that society simply would not function if everyone said whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted. You might think your boss is a moron or your wife's dress doesn't look flattering, but you realize that such tidbits are probably best kept to yourself. 

Again, this is a two-way proposition that everyone is seeking to balance. Do you really want people to verbalize every time they dislike or disagree with you? I sure as hell don't. And so, as part of a social compact, we learn to self-censor. Sometimes this is to the detriment of ourselves and our communities. Most often, however, it's just a price we have to pay in order to keep things from collapsing. 

But as systems, large and small, grow increasingly more insane and untenable, so do the comportment standards of speech. The disconnect between America's reality and the image Americans have of themselves has never been more plainly obvious, and so striving for situational equanimity is no longer good enough. We can't just pretend cops aren't racist and the economy isn't run by venal retards or that the government places any value on the life of its citizens. There's too much evidence that contradicts all that, and the evidence is too omnipresent. There's too many damn internet videos, and only so many of them can be cast as Russian disinformation. So, sadly, we must abandon our old ways of communicating and embrace instead systems that are even more unstable, repressive, and insane than the ones that were previously in place.

Until very, very recently, nuance and big-picture, balanced thinking were considered signs of seriousness, if not intelligence. Such considerations were always exploited by shitheads to obfuscate things that otherwise would have seemed much less ambiguous, yes, but this fact alone does not mitigate the potential value of such an approach to understanding the world--especially since the stuff that's been offered up to replace it is, by every worthwhile metric, even worse.

So let's not pretend I'm Malcolm Gladwell or some similarly slimy asshole seeking to "both sides" a clearcut moral issue. Let's pretend I am me. Flash back to about a year ago, when there was real, widespread, and sustained support for police reform. Remember that? Seems like forever ago, man, but it was just last year... anyhow, now, remember what happened? Direct, issues-focused attempts to reform policing were knocked down. Blotted out. Instead, we were told two things: 1) we had to repeat the slogan ABOLISH THE POLICE, and 2) we had to say it was actually very good and beautiful and nonviolent and valid when rioters burned down poor neighborhoods.

Now, in a relatively healthy discourse, it might have been possible for someone to say something like "while I agree that American policing is heavily violent and racist and requires substantial reforms, I worry that taking such an absolutist point of demanding abolition and cheering on the destruction of city blocks will be a political non-starter." This statement would have been, in retrospect, 100000000% correct. But could you have said it, in any worthwhile manner? If you had said something along those lines, what would the fallout had been? Would you have lost friends? Your job? Would you have suffered something more minor, like getting yelled at, told your opinion did not matter? Would your acquaintances still now--a year later, after their political project has failed beyond all dispute--would they still defame you in "whisper networks," never quite articulating your verbal sins but nonetheless informing others that you are a dangerous and bad person because one time you tried to tell them how utterly fucking self-destructive they were being? It is undeniably clear that last year's most-elevated voices were demanding not reform but catharsis. I hope they really had fun watching those immigrant-owned bodegas burn down, because that’s it, that will forever be remembered as the most palpable and consequential aspect of their shitty, selfish movement. We ain't reforming shit. Instead, we gave everyone who's already in power a blank check to fortify that power to a degree you and I cannot fully fathom.

But, oh, these people knew what they were doing. They were good little boys and girls. They have been rewarded with near-total control of the national discourse, and they are all either too guilt-ridden or too stupid to realize how badly they played into the hands of the structures they were supposedly trying to upend.

And so left-liberalism is now controlled by people whose worldview is equal parts superficial and incoherent. This was the only possible outcome that would have let the system continue to sustain itself in light of such immense evidence of its unsustainability without resulting in reform, so that's what has happened.

But... okay, let's take a step back. Let's focus on what I wanted to talk about when I started this.

I came across a post today from a young man who claimed that his high school English department head had been removed from his position and had his tenure revoked for refusing to remove three books from classrooms. This was, of course, fallout from the ongoing debate about Critical Race Theory. Two of those books were Marjane Satropi's Persepolis and, oh boy, The Diary of Anne Frank. Fuck. Jesus christ, fuck.

Now, here's the thing... When Persepolis was named, I assumed the bannors were anti-CRT. The graphic novel does not deal with racism all that much, at least not as its discussed contemporarily, but it centers an Iranian girl protagonist and maybe that upset Republican types. But Anne Frank? I'm sorry, but the most likely censors there are liberal identiarians who believe that teaching her diary amounts to centering the suffering of a white woman instead of talking about the One Real Racism, which must always be understood in an American context. The super woke cult group Black Hammer made waves recently with their #FuckAnneFrank campaign... you'd be hard pressed to find anyone associated with the GOP taking a firm stance against the diary since, oh, about 1975 or so.

So which side was it? That doesn't matter. What matters is, I cannot find out.

Now, pro-CRT people always accuse anti-CRT people of not knowing what CRT is, and then after making such accusations they always define CRT in a way that absolutely is not what CRT is. Pro-CRTers default to "they don't want  students to read about slavery or racism." This is absolutely not true, and absolutely not what actual CRT concerns itself with. Slavery and racism have been mainstays of American history curriucla since before I was born. Even people who barely paid attention in school would admit this, if there were any more desire for honesty in our discourse. 

My high school history teacher was a southern "lost causer" who took the south's side in the Civil War but nonetheless provided us with the most descriptive and unapologetic understandings of slavery's brutalities I had heard up until that point. He also unambiguously referred to the nuclear attacks on Hiroshmia and Nagasaki as "genocidal." Why? Because most people's politics are idiosyncratic, and because you cannot genuinely infer a person to believe one thing based on their opinion of another, tangentially related thing. The totality of human understanding used to be something open-minded people prided themselves on being aware of, believe it or not...

This is the problem with CRT. This is is the motivation behind the majority of people who wish to ban it. It’s not because they are necessarily racist themselves. It’s because they recognize, correctly, that the now-ascendant frames for understanding social issues boils everything down to a superficial patina that denies not only the realities of the systems they seek to upend but the very humanity of the people who exist within them. There is no humanity without depth and nuance and complexities and contradictions. When you argue otherwise, people will get mad and fight back. 

And this is the most bitter irony of this idiotic debate: it was never about not wanting to teach the sinful or embarrassing parts of our history. That was a different debate, one that was settled and won long ago. It is instead an immense, embarrassing overreach on behalf of people who have bullied their way to complete dominance of their spheres of influence within media and academe assuming they could do the same to everyone else. Some of its purveyors may have convinced themselves that getting students to admit complicity in privilege will prevent police shootings, sure. But I know these people. I’ve spoken to them at length. I’ve read their work. The vast, vast majority of them aren’t that stupid. The point is to exert control. The point is to make sure they stay in charge and that nothing changes. The point is failure. 

[crispyjenkins]

A third part to the JangObi locked in a cell/ weapons courting if there isn’t one yet. Jango or Boba calling Obi Mandokar. At least I think that’s the word. A Mando’s wet dream basically.

(this one entirely got away from me and i didn't get to Boba actually using the word Mandokar, but both Obi-Wan and Satine know what he's getting at (ノ*゜▽゜*)

again, i do not hate Satine, but I also do not particularly like her! she's clearly got some stuff to work through here >.>

Thank you as always, Roxy!)

  When Jango had told Boba that he'd finally get to see the inside of the Senate Rotunda (legally, this time), Boba hadn't been particularly thrilled. Why should he care about the politics of a Republic neither he nor his buir are a part of?

  Well, Obi-Wan is a part of it, but he also clearly doesn't want to be.

  To put it shortly, Boba hadn't had high expectations for his afternoon, especially since it was preceded by Obi-Wan taking him to Dex's and letting Kote teach him how to use two vibroblades at once. Why couldn't they have just waited by the Slave I for Jango to finish his politicking? 

  He supposes Obi-Wan makes it bearable, taking him on a tour and telling him facts about the building itself, as well as stories from the Sacking of Coruscant, but Boba's good will ends rather abruptly when they run into Kryze and Padmé in one of the main corridors.

  Tense pleasantries are quickly exchanged, and Boba realises they haven't seen Kryze since Jango had helped Obi-Wan save her from Darth Maul; Boba still isn't sure of the details of what happened after, but his buir had been furious. 

  When it takes all of two minutes for Kryze to mockingly call Obi-Wan General Kenobi, Boba shares the kriffing sentiment. 

  Obi-Wan heaves a sigh, and Padmé looks wildly uncomfortable. "My lady, I do not know what you hope to achieve by reiterating your position on the Order’s involvement in the War; I am but one Jedi."

  "A Jedi on the High Council. You are just as implicit in its continuation as the rest," Kryze retorts, and Boba may be thirteen and a little out of his depth with the Politician Speak, but he knows this isn't about the Jedi, or the War. "Do not think you can absolve yourself from fault."

  Boba looks up at Obi-Wan, eager for his witty retort, but he just looks tired, and Boba has to remind himself that Obi-Wan had loved her, once. 

  Padmé smiles apologetically, trying to pull Kryze's focus. "The decisions of the High Council are not made by Obi-Wan alone," she says, even though they all know that isn't really the issue. 

  "You’re right," Kryze agrees, not sounding like she agrees at all, "individual Jedi have absolutely no control over their political participation in needless violence." Boba grinds his teeth as she gives up trying to hide her scowl.

  And Obi-Wan just stands there and takes it, like Boba hasn't seen him talk entire armies out of battle, or fight off both Savage and Maul at once. He hasn't seen Obi-Wan like this since Waxer's death on Cato Neimoidia.

  Obi-Wan sighs again, trying to offer Boba a little smile. "Individuals always have a choice," he says, more to Boba than Kryze. "But preventing the death of millions outweighs our personal beliefs, don't you think?"

  Boba nods firmly as Padmé shifts on her feet, but doesn't disagree; she's certainly seen more battle in this war than Kryze. 

  Kryze who scoffs to hide what must be genuine hurt. Anger is rarely about the thing you're angry with, Boba remembers Lama Su trying to teach him, and he reminds himself that Kryze had loved Obi-Wan once, too. That was the real problem, wasn't it?

  "Back then, you avoided conflict whenever you could," she says, flat and a little sad, "you would always rather go around than force your way through. It saddens me, Obi-Wan, to see what's left of your honor."

  "At least Obi-Wan hasn't murdered an entire half of his people!" Boba snarls, deciding he's quite done listening to this nonsense. 

  "Boba, it's alright," Obi-Wan says softly, but he's also keeping his left arm behind his back, keeping Jango's vambrace out of sight, and Boba is livid.

  "'Gar taldin ni jaonyc,'" he says, because he knows the "Duchess" still understands Mando'a, even if she pretends she doesn't.  Bloodline means nothing. "I don't care who your clan was, or what title you claim to have: until you are ready to die for your people, they are not yours."

  Kryze stares down at him, and Boba can feel Obi-Wan prodding at his mind in question, in an attempt to calm, but Boba shoves him back out. 

  "It's easy to call Obi-Wan a murderer when you're hiding in your glass palace, when you wouldn't know the first thing about defending it. Do not speak of honor until you even know what that is."

  There is a tense beat of silence before Kryze rounds a glare on Obi-Wan. "I would hope you could speak for yourself, if the Senate trusts a third of the Galactic Army in your hands."

  "Satine," Padmé murmurs, glancing at the passing senators who aren't even trying to hide their stares. 

  Obi-Wan’s eyes are colder than Boba has ever seen them, the hand behind him clenched into a fist, and Kryze had known him very well at one point, Boba knows she can read between the lines of Obi-Wan’s blank expression.

  "And I had hoped we had reached an understanding that there was nothing else for us to discuss, my lady. There are only so many times we can beat a dead bantha."

  Kryze sniffs. "You need not show me so much disdain, Obi-Wan: we are not sixteen and foolish anymore." Padmé tries to cut in, but Kryze waves for her silence. "But I agree, I do not think any new peace can be reached here, and you should be getting the child back to his progenitor, no?"

  "Jealous hag," Boba chirps, rocking on the balls of his feet and wondering if she had had dreams of having kids with Obi-Wan. "You didn't deserve Obi-Wan back then, and you certainly don't deserve him now. At the very least, he can separate his feelings from his politics."

  "Boba, please," Obi-Wan sighs, setting a gentle hand on the back of his neck, and Boba gets to watch with a vicious glee the exact moment Kryze sees Jango's vambrace, the only piece of armor Obi-Wan wears, and realises he is far past fraternising with her enemy.

  Padmé puts a hand on Kryze’s arm and gently starts to lead her away. "We should return to the committee, Duchess. And I'm sure Master Kenobi has his own business to attend to."

  "Of course," Kryze agrees icily, and actually returns Obi-Wan’s nod of farewell; she barely spares Boba a glance, though he smiles innocently up at her and mutters,

  "Demagulka," just loud enough for her to hear.

  Obi-Wan casts him a stern look, but luckily doesn't get the chance to scold him further, when Padmé quickly returns without Kryze and looks harried enough for all three of them. 

  "I'm sorry, Obi-Wan," she says, hushed in the still rather busy hall, "You did not deserve that."

  "That's quite alright, my dear," Obi-Wan is quick to say, and smiles at his friend. "I'm afraid I'm quite used to such treatment, though perhaps not so... publicly."

  "I don't know if I've ever seen you in the Rotunda without the council, and I highly doubt you came all this way just to butt heads with the Duchess. What are you doing here?"

  "Ah, that would be this one's fault," he says, Boba yelping as Obi-Wan sticks his hand into his curls and tousles them roughly. He only smiles down at him when Boba growls and grabs onto his arm, and though he knows Obi-Wan could easily lift him like this, the Jedi would never do so here.

  "It was Boba, yes?" Padmé asks kindly, folding her hands in front of her. "What brings you to the Rotunda?'

  "Buir said he was meeting someone," he scrunches up his face. "But we're leaving right after so Obi-Wan was watching me and brought me over to meet him."

  Padmé’s smile only slips a little, looking back to Obi-Wan. "Fett's meeting someone?" she asks, even quieter, "Here?"

  "It is perhaps not my place to speak of it, we are still in the very early stages," he says mysteriously, tugging Boba around to lean against his front, arms draped over Boba's shoulders as if trying to make up for Jango’s resistance to public displays of affection. Grumbling, Boba still lets himself be held there, and meets every stare from passing politicians with a glare. "When we get a little further along, I would very much like to speak with the Delegation of 2,000."

  Bemused but not particularly surprised, Padmé shakes her head. "Of course, Obi-Wan. Are we to see you on Coruscant more often, then?"

  Obi-Wan winces and holds Boba a little closer. "The 212th is coming off leave at the end of the tenday, I'm afraid. And of course Jango and Boba will be returning to Mandalorian space."

  Padmé looks over Obi-Wan’s shoulder, smile becoming strained but not quite unfriendly. "Speak the name of the Dianoga," she sighs.

  Boba wriggles to look behind them and immediately perks up. "Buir!"

  Jango pauses on his path for the elevators, turning instead towards Boba's voice; the lines of his face soften at the sight of them, joining them after an encouraging finger-flick from Obi-Wan. 

  "Senator Amidala," he greets with a nod, and Boba thinks his buir actually likes Padmé, but won't admit it because Obi-Wan would never let him hear the end of it.

  "Mr. Fett," she returns, shaking his hand firmly like any good Mando. "Although, if my suspicions about your presence here are correct, I will be adjusting my term of address in the near future?"

  Letting Boba latch onto his side like a Corellian limpet, Jango raises a brow at Obi-Wan. "Haat'ade do not change their clan names at marriage," he says, Boba rolling his eyes at his buir's failed attempt at humor, and Obi-Wan rubs his eyes with one hand. 

  "Jango," he sighs, Padmé looking like Lifeday came early. 

  "Obi-Wan, you hadn't told me the Council had approved your request," she plays along, "When can I expect an invitation?"

  "After I'm done with him, never."

  "Now, cyar’ika," Jango chides, "it's best not to publicly threaten your–" 

  "Finish that sentence, and I'll have Anakin steal the Slave I," Obi-Wan says it into his hand, but Boba can see the edges of a smile. "Padmé, please don't encourage him, he'll be insufferable after this."

  Padmé casts a quick wink down to Boba. "You best tell Anakin next, if he's the last to know, he'll be whining for weeks."

  Jango brushes his fingers over Obi-Wan’s back like a sap, and his smile is even worse. Maker, Boba loves the both of them, but no one should look as smitten as his buir does any time Obi-Wan threatens him. "I don't know how we're going to fit your entire family on Concord Dawn, or all the kids." 

  "You mean the vode? Buir, I think Obi has more people on the Negotiator than have ever even lived on Concord Dawn."

  "Why in Corellian Hells would I agree to have it on Concord Dawn?" Obi-Wan wants to know. "Maker, but this entire conversation is ridiculous."

  Padmé tilts her head with a small hum, expression entirely too innocent. "Didn't you agree to marry Anakin on Tatooine for the one mission with the three-lekku Twi'lek and their five footed goa–"

  "Yes, THANK YOU, my dear, that's quite enough of that."

  Jango looks put-out, just short of an actual pout, and Boba wriggles against him in embarrassment. "You didn't tell me about that mission," Jango says, feigning hurt.

  Obi-Wan side-eyes him, and only gets a smile for his trouble. "You know," Obi-Wan starts casually, but with a mischievous twinkle in his eye that has only ever meant great deals of fun for Boba, "by Stewjoni rites, we're already married."

 Jango chokes on nothing, and Boba wonders if he'd even known where Obi-Wan was from. He should probably tell his buir he's already met Obi-Wan's grandparents.

Mando’a: buir — “parent”, gender neutral Demagulka — (from mandoa.org) “someone who commits atrocties, a real-life monster, a war criminal - from the notorious Mandalorian scientist of the Old Republic, Demagol, known for his experiments on children, and a figure of hate and dread in the Mando psyche” Haat’ade — slang for Haat Mando’ade, lit. “true children of Mandalore”, True Mandalorians cyar’ika — “darling”, “sweetheart”

*“Gar taldin ni jaonyc” from the full phrase “Gar taldin ni jaonyc; gar sa buir, ori'wadaas'la,” lit. “Bloodline is not important, but you as a [parent] [is] the most valuable thing”,  used in the context of not judging someone by their lineage (blood or not) but by their own actions as a parent. I’ve used it here as Boba both calling Satine “dar’manda” and calling out her hypocrisy in criticising Obi-Wan/the Jedi from her ivory tower when she is a Kalevalen imperialist ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[realtacuardach]

Risk and Resolve

Here’s my entry for the final round of Obiyuki Trope Madness 2021, hosted by @snowwhite-andtheknight : Roaring Rampage of Rescue. And because I thought this would be clever, I decided to include the two tropes that didn’t make it out of the semi-finals, Anguished Declaration of Love and Almost Kiss. (Hopefully it worked...) It turned out a lot longer than I intended, 😅. I hope you enjoy!

...

Shirayuki kept her polite, professional smile firmly in place until the door closed with a distinct click behind her, then allowed herself to sag against the wood with an exhale.

A warm chuckle rumbled beside her. “Rough patient, Miss?” Obi was leaning against the wall with his usual coiled grace, smirking down at her.

Her smirk was ready as his, although probably a great deal more wearied. “No more than he has been for the past...month?”

“Five weeks, four days, and ten hours,” Obi replied glibly. “But who’s counting?”

He bent towards her to grab some sachets that were about to slip from her arms to the ground, and she took the chance to shove back the hair that had curved and matted against her sweaty forehead. “It shouldn’t be too much longer though, he’s through the worst of it.”

Not much could have wrested Shirayuki from her current work at Lyrias, but there was no way of refusing the summons of yet another minor lord who had insisted emphatically that his son needed the very best of care to recover from a sword wound that had nearly killed him twice - once from the initial blood loss, and then from the intense infection that had taken root in his exposed flesh. The infection had progressed to almost shutting down several of the young man’s organs, and Shirayuki had to admit that she had had intense pity for the man.

She would have had trouble refusing someone help in such a condition in any case, and Izana’s calculatedly casual comment that it would be good to keep this particular lord appeased sealed her decision.

“So far away, surrounded by dense forest, far from the cities,” he’d mused aloud. “It can be difficult to get decent medical care; it would be a shame to force Lord Shikaku to seek it elsewhere.”

Shirayuki’s sense of politics was developing, although a bit unpolished still, but she roughly translated that to mean, “He’s got a lot of land and he’s far from the capital where I can keep an eye on him. Better to have a favor binding me to him than risk him changing alliances.”

She’d mentioned that to Obi on their journey over, and he’d snorted and grinned at her. So she assumed that he agreed.

“How much more care do you think he’ll need, Miss?”

Shirayuki clicked her tongue in thought as she turned toward the wing where she and Obi had been given rooms. “Not more than a week, I’d say. Probably less. He’s able to walk now and his temperature has been mostly normal. He needs regular bouts of rest and exercise now, but probably not an herbalist.”

Obi glided into step beside her easily, and they made their way to their bedrooms in companionable silence. They were nearly at Shirayuki’s door when Obi spoke up. “Do you think they’ll let you leave without a fight?”

It was said almost as a joke, but Shirayuki heard the knowing tone in it and flushed. “Why wouldn’t they?”

Obi raised a brow, looking unimpressed and so similar to Kiki in that moment that Shirayuki wondered if he’d been taking lessons from her. “Miss,” he stated plainly, “you’ve seen how the...invalid...has reacted to you.”

Yes, she had. She wasn’t sure when the flushes of fever had begun to be replaced by blushes as she’d leaned over young Lord Gaki to check his pulse or examine his stitches. The glaze of fever in his eyes had given way to a more speculative glimmer that lingered too long where it shouldn’t. “It’s common enough,” she replied, almost more to herself than to Obi, “for patients to develop attachment-”

Obi coughed something that sounded a lot like attraction.

Shirayuki ignored it. “Attachments to the people who nurse them back to health. I’m sure it’s harmless.”

Obi exhaled heavily through his nose. “If you say so, Miss.” He popped his shoulder and groaned appreciatively.

“And I’m sure he won’t touch me ag-”

She had meant it to be a murmur under her breath, a simple release of frustration from having to keep a professional mask plastered on her face all day around a young lord who was getting increasingly tactile. She hadn’t meant for Obi to hear her, expecting her voice to be lost in the popping of joints and creaking of leather.

She should have known better.

“He did what?”

“He touched,” she swallowed hard. Now that he knew, it was better to just get it over with. Obi was not likely to be distracted or dissuaded once he was on the track of something, “my hair. And my cheek, a little bit? But mostly my hair.”

“With your permission?” Obi gritted out in the tone of someone who already knew the answer.

“No.” Shirayuki sighed. “But it was a little thing, Obi, nothing to worry about.”

“Respectfully disagree, Miss,” he growled in response. “And Master would agree-”

He froze, a sheepish look overtaking his righteous indignation.

“It’s been almost a year,” she soothed. “You don’t need to get defensive on my behalf, Obi. You know that we both agreed that it was for the best - Zen and I are better as friends.”

Obi snorted. “He still wouldn’t like it, Miss. And what’s more, you clearly don’t.”

Shirayuki glared down at where her hands trembled and stilled them. “I can handle it.”

It looked like Obi wanted to argue the point, but then she yawned despite herself and he seemed to settle for pinching the bridge of his nose instead. “You can, but you shouldn’t have to.”

“Just a week more, if not sooner.” She smiled, hoping to reassure him.

He didn’t smile back, but his eyes softened and she took what small victory she could from that. “Just promise to tell me if he tries anything else. Please.”

“Of course!”

In the end, she didn’t have to tell him anything. Because he was there to witness everything.

…

Since the young lord’s wound had completely healed, and she was only treating its aftereffects, Shirayuki had taken to bringing Obi along with her during treatments. The man hadn’t touched her again, although he had made several attempts that she’d managed to artfully dodge. She already felt uneasy around him, and when she found the hot water bottle he’d squirreled away beneath his pillow to simulate fever, she knew it was far past time to go.

Obi had been silent as a statue behind her during the sessions where he was present, only speaking when prompted. But his presence had been enough to curtail any more...impertinences...from the young lord. Gaki had originally protested at the inclusion of another person during his treatments, but something in Obi’s expression had stuck him and he had conceded with ill grace.

When she pushed open the door for what she had insisted was the final session before she and Obi needed to return to Lyrias, she expected to find Gaki lounging in bed, sulking and flushed with indignation, as had become his custom. She had not expected for him to be out of bed and seated at his desk. She had not expected the bouquet of flowers placed in front of him. 

His father being there was also a surprise.

After the triple shock, the marriage proposal came almost as an afterthought. 

The situation was so absurd, she would have laughed if it wouldn’t have incited some sort of incident.

“I’m honored by your proposal, my lord,” Shirayuki began, having learned that nobles found sweet lies more palatable than bitter truths, “but I’m afraid I cannot accept it. I am needed back home.”

“Nonsense.” Gaki waved his hand in a way that infuriated her. “What could be more important than finding a good match?”

“My work,” Shirayuki replied, more flatly than intended. “I have responsibilities and people who need me back home. I again thank you for your proposal but must decline. I can’t marry you.”

“Why?” Gaki nearly yelped. “It is not as though you have any better prospects, now that the prince has thrown you over.”

That struck at a rawness still healing within her, even if it had been a mutual agreement between them rather than her being simply rejected. She did not mourn the lack of romance, she was herself with or without a man, but she did grieve the friendship that had once been so easy that was now in the tentative stages of repair.

She had half a mind to retort that someone like him could hardly desire a prince’s discarded plaything, but he would probably mistake her contempt for agreement.

Obi loomed closer to her then, his presence at her shoulder grounding her; warming, steadying, assuring. He picked up the conversation with a practiced courtly air. “We must take our leave, my lords. We have much to prepare for tomorrow.” He leaned down towards her, and she could see the concern glinting through his eyes. “If we may, milady.”

And maybe it was the reminder that her attachment to Zen, an attachment that had developed from a sturdy string connecting them to a ball and chain before it eventually broke down into pieces that she was still picking up, was no more. Maybe it was the relief of having Obi close by, as always. Or maybe it was how her traitorous heart skipped a beat as Obi’s breath curled over her ear as he leaned towards Lord Gaki.

Shirayuki could not pinpoint the cause, she could only hear how her breath hitched in the stifling silence.

Gaki’s eyes narrowed over his steepled fingers. “I see.”

Shirayuki’s heart stuttered. She had a feeling that the lords had indeed both seen too much.

…

The moon gleamed through her bedroom window as she awoke to the heavy pounding on her door. Years of caring for sick and injured patients had made her a light sleeper, and she slid out of bed and grabbed for her robe even before she was fully awake.

“Yes?” She croaked, pushing the door open to see a stony-faced guard.

“You are needed, Lady Shirayuki. Lord Shikaku says it’s quite urgent.”

Shirayuki frowned. This wouldn’t be the first time that his son had needed tending late at night, but that had been much earlier in his recovery. He had seemed well earlier, albeit ill-tempered.

Still, the guard’s stance brooked no argument, and Shirayuki followed in step behind him. Her sleep-dazed mind wondered where Obi was.

She was still surreptitiously blinking sleep out of her eyes as they arrived at the lord’s quarters. She found the lord and his son much as they had been earlier that day, although their smiles were distinctly less friendly.

“Yes, Lord Gaki? How can I help you?”

“Marry me.”

So much for flowery courtship, then. He’d discarded the more eloquent language of court and civility to come down to brass tacks. Typically, she preferred a more straightforward approach, but this only irritated her.

“No, I can’t.” She bit back the instinctive sorry that she didn’t mean. If he was struggling this much with simple responses, she’d stick to monosyllables from here on out. 

They would probably have to leave immediately now. She would feel more guilty about rousing Obi out of bed and getting them going far earlier than they’d planned, but she knew he was as eager to leave as she was if not more so.

Her eyes swept to the side. Where was Obi?

The lordling looked sour, and on the brink of spitting at her, when his father brandished an imperious hand to silence him. “Enough,” Lord Shikaku rumbled, “this is going nowhere.”

Shirayuki’s heart leapt at the prospect of someone in this place being sensible, but it quickly sank as the lord looked to the side and snapped his fingers.

A group of four guards came in from a side door, bearing someone between them who, despite being bound hand and foot, was giving them a hard time. They forced the figure into a kneeling position on the ground, and Shirayuki winced at the sharp crack of knees on the marble floor.

“Now, now,” Lord Shikaku crooned as he stepped closer to the kneeling figure, “is that really how you want your mistress to see you? Are you trying to make this more difficult?”

He wrenched off the hood covering the figure’s head and sneered down at him.

Obi shot him a searing glare.

…

The ill feeling Obi had been experiencing over the past week had only intensified after their supposedly final meeting with the lord and his son. Miss already knew his misgivings, and had shared she had some as well, so he hadn’t seen the point in alarming her with how strong they had become. But his instincts had been honed by years on the streets among mercenaries, on the battlefield among knights, and through navigating the tenuous, poisonous affairs of the cutthroat nobles at court. He had only ever ignored them at his peril, and it would be a fool’s move to do so now.

Still, arousing suspicion by making his own suspicion obvious would do Miss no good. So he played along with the guards when they summoned him later that evening for an impromptu meeting to discuss security measures. They had had meetings of the like before, especially when the brat noble was too busy being unconscious to harass his Miss and he’d had nothing better to do than stand around looking intimidating. 

But, given the currently icy state of affairs, the timing of the meeting was...unfortunate.

So he decided to go, but with both eyes wide open.

That they were going to a different room than they had for previous meetings was bad news. The fact that he was being almost shepherded along by the soldiers behind him was worse. But when the door was opened to reveal nothing but blackness, Obi knew he was in trouble. His eyes swept from side to side to assess what he could see, and he was able to react in time to block the attack from the soldier to his right. But that left him exposed to the blow to the back of his neck from the soldier on his left, and he stumbled into the darkness.

He was a top notch hand in a fair fight. He was even better when it came to an unfair fight, because he wasn’t afraid to fight dirty. But the lord here clearly wasn’t afraid to fight dirty either.

Even if he could see it would have been difficult- there were too many bodies, too little space, and his weapons had been yanked away from him after the first blow. He knew he wasn’t making it out of the room in one piece, so he resolved to take out as many as he could in the meantime.

They swarmed him in one great mob, which was unoriginal but effective. He kicked and swung and ducked and darted, sneering with satisfaction at the cries of pain as he connected with faces and limbs. They were cowards, just as much as their boss was a coward, and he felt no remorse.

He put up a good enough fight, but the sheer numbers on the enemy’s side eventually overcame his superior but solitary skill. The captor leading the way lit a lamp once Obi had been thoroughly trussed up, and Obi noted with grim satisfaction those sprawled on the ground who were clutching their wounds and groaning, at least until they covered his head with the hood.

These nobles are idiots, he thought to himself. Everyone here is crazy. Miss was in a relationship with one prince, she has a title granted her personally by another, and her skill is openly acknowledged by a king; so that’s three reasons to assume that someone would come looking for Miss. Or for me, he added sardonically. But we are far from the castle out here, and it would take a while for us to go for help. Besides, who knows what could happen between now and then…

He was being dragged into another room, and he could hear what sounded like his Miss. She sounded exasperated and irritated, but not fearful or in distress, which was reassuring.

He heard a snap, and his captors trotted forward like the obedient dogs they were. His knees crashed into the marble floor hard as they forced him to kneel, and he felt the reverberations lance through his legs. At least the pain was a temporary distraction from the lord’s ramblings.

Lord Shikaku flung the hood off Obi’s head with an almost theatrical flair, which would have made him roll his eyes if he wasn’t so busy glaring. Who is all the theatrical posing for? There’s no one to applaud you, you pompous-

“Let him go!”

Ah, right. That’s who you’re performing for.

Obi looked over in Miss’ direction and almost wished that he hadn’t. She looked horrified and furious and desperate. That look didn’t bode well for her, or for his ability to focus on the situation at hand. He blinked down the surge of highly distracting apprehension and glared up at the windbag.

“Please!”

Don’t try appealing to his better nature, Miss. He doesn’t have one.

“I’m sorry, Lady Shirayuki,” Shikaku leered. “But I can’t. This guard of yours took out twelve of my personal soldiers-”

-That was gratifying, he thought it had only been nine-

“-and so I can do with him as I like.”

Obi was pretty sure that legally, the lord didn’t have much of a leg to stand on with that point, given that the soldiers had ambushed him. But the man didn’t seem too interested in bothering with legal quibbles. Here, his word was law.

At least until Elder Highness finds out what he’s been up to and rips him a new one.

Izana didn’t have any patience for lords who thought they were above their station. Especially when his Miss got involved, much as the king had endeavored to keep that out of public knowledge.

Miss’ eyes swept over him briefly before returning to the lord, her gaze steely. “What do you want?”

Shikaku laughed. “I would think that is obvious. Marry my son, and your knave goes free. Refuse and, well…” He shrugged delicately.

Don’t do it, Miss. I’m not worth it.

She had to know that the lord wasn’t going to let him go regardless. If he let him go and kicked him out of the fortress, Obi would be able to go for help or storm the castle himself. And if he was free and allowed to remain, he would not hesitate to wreck everything in his path.

In the long run, this would not work out for the lord. But the damage wreaked in the short term could be devastating.

Looking up towards Miss, he could see the gears spinning and turning in her mind as she deliberated what she should do. She had to know that the situation was ridiculously, hopelessly skewed in the lord’s favor, but she also wouldn’t take the risk of putting someone in harm’s way.

Obi stared into her emerald eyes with all his strength. They’re not going to let me go, Miss. No matter what you do. Say no - it’ll buy you some more time -

“Fine.”

He wanted to sag in his bonds, but didn’t want to give the lord any satisfaction.

I’m so sorry, Miss. I’m going to make my escape, and then I’m getting you out of here.

…

Brushing her hands down the ridiculously puffy, ornate skirt of her dress, Shirayuki looked at herself in the mirror and made a moue of distaste. She looked farcical, like a tiny red cherry amidst clouds of filmy fabric.

Surprisingly, forcing a woman who did not want to get married into a wedding dress did not instantly make her change her mind. Shirayuki glared at the veil anchored to her head as though it had personally offended her, before forcing herself to focus on the real mission at hand. Rescuing Obi.

She hadn’t seen him since the ultimatum she’d been given a week ago, but she knew he was still alive. She had insisted on getting daily messages from him to ensure that the lord kept his end of their bargain, and his dry comments that hid bits of crucial information about the situation as it stood brought her the only joy she’d felt the whole week.

He’d smeared a little dirt on the second letter, which smelled faintly of iron and rock and staleness - so he was probably in the dungeons. He’d taken to nicknaming the guards who stayed with him, so she was pretty sure he was only being flanked by two guards at a time. With only two, they clearly didn’t know who they were dealing with, but she wasn’t complaining.

Sitting down at her vanity, Shirayuki began to systematically tear her veil into strips and wad them up. There are three floors to this castle, she reminded herself, and then the dungeon. I’m in the tower, because of course I am. So that’s four floors to go down. He’s sent most of the guards away to drum up local attendance for the wedding, so there’s less of them to deal with.

She started tearing the surplus skirts from the dress, and her hands fell into an almost soothing rhythm as she strengthened her resolve. Tear, wad, tie, set aside. When the bundles of cloth on her vanity were stacked nearly to the top of the mirror, she opened the vanity drawer where she had stored the mixture of opium, lard and disinfectant she had been using on the lordling, now laced with a healthy dose of arsenic. Smearing the mixture on the bolts of cloth, she grinned to herself. Really, they should have confiscated her herbs and ointments - but they had been systematically underestimating her from the start. They had thought that she would sit like a pretty doll until the lordling came to retrieve his new ornament. They thought that they could restrain Obi with just a handful of thugs. They thought that she would just cry pitifully in her hands, having been thwarted by masculine minds.

It would be almost a pleasure to show them how wrong they were.

Footsteps clicked just outside her door as she stuffed the last of her bundles into her bag. Tying the bag securely around her waist, she crept behind her closet door and listened.

The footsteps were coming closer.

“Ow!” She cried piteously. “My ankle!”

There was an oath and a frantic jangling of keys. A guard flung himself into the room, his eyes scanning the area desperately for his charge that had somehow gotten injured under his watch.

Shirayuki allowed herself a smirk as he walked past the closet, looking for her.

And then she pounced.

…

The guard outside the dungeon fell to his knees with a muffled sound, snoring before he even hit the ground. Shirayuki took a quick glimpse of the rag in her hand. Finally, she’d hit upon the perfect amount of sedative; some of the knights she’d left snoozing behind her had taken more than one bundle to subdue them, and others she’d had to check to make sure she hadn’t sent them into more permanent sleep.

She wondered if the lordling would appreciate the hallways full of unconscious knights she’d left as a wedding present. She doubted it.

Creeping through the dungeon, she could see light spilling through the bars of only one cell. She closed her hands around the next bundle of cloth and moved to peek through the bars.

Only Obi could look so unperturbed while being held by two guards who were clearly out for blood. Heaven only knew what he’d been saying to them for the past week. Only his eyes, which were clearly calculating, assessing, and planning, gave him away, and only because she knew him so well. She suspected that his guards were too oblivious to notice anything.

She bit the corner of her mouth in thought. The guard on the left appeared to be favoring his ankle. If she threw herself into his knee, that would probably be enough to give Obi the opportunity he -

“Hello, my lady.”

Her blood ran cold at the croak in her ear, and then her arms were forced behind her. She cursed herself.

Missed one.

“Looks like you have a visitor,” her captor creaked as he forced her into the cell.

For the first time, Obi looked genuinely worried and Shirayuki flinched. Guilt flooded her for a moment, along with an apology to Obi for getting them into this mess when they should have left the moment he started having suspicions. But she shoved it down for later, and began struggling in her captor’s hold.

Obi followed suit, straining to get to her, his face shuttering into a professional blankness as he pulled at his guards’ grip.

This is our only chance, she reminded herself as she twisted desperately. They’re not going to fall for it a second ti-

She heard a muffled curse behind her before a dull pain exploded at the back of her head, and then there was no more.

…

Being a damsel in distress was overrated, Obi had decided. His minders were boring, although fun to mess with, and the accommodations left something to be desired. With nothing else to do, he amused himself over the week by setting personal challenges on how quickly he could irritate Dumb and Dumber into leaving him alone. Yesterday, he’d reached a personal best of five minutes.

Besides that he’d just been busy observing. The guard shift changes stayed consistent and predictable - if he’d been sincere during any of their security meetings, he would have raised the issue a long time ago. Now, however, it worked to his advantage.

There were less guards today. Thanks to his usual shadows being gossipy old hens, he knew that the guard was lighter today since they were sending men out to draw people in for the wedding. It figured that the lordling would have so few friends that they’d have to drum up stand-ins; he wondered if news had already got back to Wistal. Elder Highness did have ears everywhere.

Which explains why they’re rushing this so much. Lord has some sense, I guess.

He craned to gauge the brightness of the light streaming through the cracks of the dungeon wall. Judging by the light, it would be about an hour before the next shift change, and the one guard with the limited vision in his left eye would be in charge. It would be the best time to get away. Then there would be only four floors between he and his Miss - they could probably get out through the window before the others figured out what happened, giving them enough of a head start to -

Two sets of hands grabbed him by the arms and hoisted him up, jarring his old shoulder injury. “Really, boys,” he dryly remarked, “if you wanted to hold me, all you had to do was ask.”

“Shut up.” Dumb growled. “You talk too much.”

“Such sweet words,” Obi sighed, batting his eyes and placing a hand to his heart, the manacles dully clanking, “you’ll turn a man’s head talking like that.”

Dumber made a disgusted noise at the back of his throat. “Just come on.”

“Where?”

“Going to give your lady some encouragement,” he grunted. “She’s shown signs of not following through with the deal.”

Obi’s mind clicked into higher gear. “And you’ll carry me to my lady? How gallant of you!”

Dumber managed to look even more disgusted. “Carry you?”

“You think I can walk up there like this?” Obi tilted his head towards his bound legs. “I’m good, but not that good. I’m flattered that you think so, though.”

In all actuality, he was that good, but they didn’t need to know that.

Dumb looked skeptical, but Dumber shrugged. “Fine. Don’t try anything funny.”

“Perish the thought.”

He would probably be laughing, but he could pretty much guarantee that they wouldn’t find it funny.

The key clicked, and he could feel the manacles falling from his ankles. There. So far, so good-

All three men turned towards where there was a scuffling outside the cell door. Obi frowned, that didn’t sound like the next guard. It sounded like - 

“Looks like you have a visitor,” a new guard croaked, and Obi’s blood froze as the familiar form of his Miss was manhandled into the cell.

He let his blood run hot for a moment in rage for her before rapidly discarding Escape Plans A and B from his mind. At this rate, they would have probably have to run with Plan F, which hadn’t been nearly as planned out as he would have liked.

Miss looked apologetic for a moment and then began struggling in earnest to get loose. Her captor looked dumbfounded at the fight in his spitfire Miss, and Obi let his pride in her spur his own attempts to break free, coiling like a spring, looking for weaknesses in their grip, planning to use his leg to sweep Dumb off his feet…

But then Miss’ guard made a mistake. He grunted out a curse in exasperation, reached for his sheathed sword, and slammed the hilt into the back of her head.

She slumped to the ground in a heap, and Obi saw red.

“Should you have done that?” One of the idiots holding him said, he didn’t care which. “Lord Shikaku will be mad at you for damaging-”

Through the wind rushing through Obi’s ears, he could just make out the bastard scoffing, “Her hair will cover it, he won’t even see the bruise.”

He hadn’t thought he could have been more angry. He was wrong.

The redness engulfed everything, and he feel more than hear his own bellow of rage as he dropped all the skills he’d honed over the years in favor of pure feral, animalistic fury.

He slammed Dumber into the ground, elbowing him sharply in the nose and feeling the break with satisfaction. Dumb squawked as Obi’s legs swept underneath him, only going silent when Obi shoved him into the wall. Free of two problems, Obi turned with fire in his eyes to the worst offender, who looked like he was finally realizing what hell he had just brought upon himself.

Obi leapt onto him like a panther, not feeling or caring how his prey clawed and scraped at his arms and side. He brought his arms which they had so thoughtfully left shackled around the scum’s neck, twisted the chain around his throat, and pulled. It was gratifying to see the redness darken to purple as the bastard went slack beneath him. He almost wanted to see if it was more gratifying to see him to go pale and lifeless, but stopped himself. He had more important things to worry about.

He pulled the discarded sword from the scabbard and slammed the links of his shackles against the blade until they gave way. Placing two fingers that trembled traitorously against her throat, he nearly cried when he felt her pulse. He scooped her up, held her close, and allowed himself a moment of weakness to feel her breath against his neck. Then he shifted her over his shoulders and began running.

He would have to applaud his Miss later for how efficiently she’d disposed of all the knights, he thought as he ran past the huddled bodies lining the corridor. None showed signs of waking yet, which meant he didn’t have to waste time being sneaky and lurking in the shadows.

They remained uninterrupted all the way through the castle and even out to the stables. The stablemaster was snoring heavily, his customary bottle of liquor empty beside him, and Obi deliberated whether or not he should take his horse. It would make the trek faster, but there was a limit to how quiet one could be when a horse’s hooves were involved.

It’s a shame, he thought as he watched his horse ride off, spurred by the sharp slap he’d given its flank, I really liked that horse. But it was too recognizable to ride, and would serve them better as a wild goose chase rather than as a means of escape.

He shifted her into a more secure place on his back and started his trek into the forest.

…

Obi made his way steadily but slowly through the trees, passing every now and then to listen if anyone had followed them. He hadn’t lost the ability to step lightly through the underbrush, for all that he felt that the good life at the castle had softened him. Even so, he didn’t want to take any more chances than they already had.

He also stopped from time to time to lie Miss down and check on her, to scavenge sustenance that they would eventually need from the trees, or to unearth bundles of supplies he’d paused to squirrel away as they had traveled to the lord’s estate the month before. The memory of the streets and the constant apprehension of when an open handshake could become a knife in the back had never left him, and so he liked to be ready, even now.

Miss had sometimes looked somber when he’d done this, but she never questioned it.

The sunlight streaming through the branches faded steadily as he trekked along, finally succumbing to the silver glow of the moon above. He settled somewhat, feeling more attuned to the night than the day, and he let his muscles loosen and savored the warmth soaking into his back from where his Miss was resting.

The moon was high above them when he felt her begin to stir. He stopped to place her against a tree, using her bag to pillow her head against the trunk.

“Obi?” She groaned, her hand reaching back to her bruise and wincing.

“Good to see you, Miss.”

“How long have I been out?”

Obi clicked his tongue in thought, leaning back on his haunches. “Ten, twelve hours. I wondered if you were ever going to wake up.”

He’d meant the tone to be teasing but he failed, given that her gaze went liquid and sad and soft. His heart throbbed in a way that was not helpful when he needed to remain focused.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what, Miss?” Obi smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. “It’s not your fault that others find you so irresistible. Or that they don’t know the meaning of no.”

His jaw twinged in pain, and he’d realized his teeth were clenched. It never ceased to incense him how people would treat his Miss - like she was a trinket or a doll that didn’t have any feelings or dreams or desires of her own. She was more than that, so much more, so much that it made him hurt with awe, and -

The adrenaline was definitely fading, along with his focus.

“No,” Miss breathed, her fingers tracing the bruising along his wrists. “I’m sorry I got caught - I was so sure I’d done everything I could to pick the best time, but -”

“You did good, Miss,” he hastened to assure her. “I was thinking along the same lines - you just got a few hours’ lead on me. Don’t think I didn’t see your handiwork on the way out.”

She blushed, and he grinned. “That was impressive, Miss. That last guy was a surprise we both didn’t see coming.” He took a deep breath. “It’s not that much further to the main road, Miss, but we’re about to lose night cover. I don’t think we’ve been followed, but there’s a chance they’ll pick up the search in the morning.”

A look of determination spread across Miss’ face and she stood up, wobbling a little on her feet before bracing herself on the trunk. “We should get going, then.”

Obi popped his shoulders before standing up too. “Follow me, Miss.”

…

The dull pounding at the back of her neck didn’t show signs of going away soon, but Shirayuki didn’t have time to dwell on it. As they walked, she grew accustomed to how her vision would somehow double, twin Obis nearly colliding in front of her, and how the ground would occasionally tilt beneath her. She could steady herself, most of the time, and when she couldn’t, Obi would press an arm against her waist until she was ready once more. He’d asked her once if he wanted him to carry her, and saw enough in her expression to not ask again.

They were passing into a clearing as the sun rose over the trees, the light striking the river in front of them and dazzling her eyes almost painfully. She squinted and shielded her eyes, and nearly bumped into Obi, who had stopped in his tracks, tilting his head and narrowing his gaze.

She was about to ask what was the matter when he let out a low string of curses.

Then she heard it too, the sound growing louder and clearer.

Dogs.

“Of course, he’d be the kind of lord who has hunting dogs,” Obi gritted before indulging in another low oath. “Come on, Miss,” he said grimly. “We have to go.”

He scooped her up and ran along the banks of the river, craning his head in search of something. Shirayuki looked from side to side, ignoring how it made her head spin.

“What are you looking for?”

“Waterfall,” he grunted, preoccupied. “It should be right about -” He stopped, a satisfied smirk creasing his face. “There.”

Shirayuki followed his gaze to see the waterfall in question, a few hundred yards away. She held tight to his neck as he sprinted, nimbly avoiding the muddy parts of the bank. Once he got to the base of the waterfall, he splashed them both through the spray, Shirayuki only just managing to bite her lip to keep from yelping in shock from the cold water.

“Sorry, Miss,” he apologized, “but the water-”

She nodded. Will keep the dogs from following our scent. She remembered as much from his lessons.

Obi began making his way up the damp, rocky incline, shielded from view by the torrential spray of the water. Shirayuki gently pushed at his chest. “Put me down.”

Obi frowned at her as he obliged. “What?”

“It’ll be easier for you to lead the way if you don’t have to worry about dropping me.”

“I always worry about you, Miss.”

And if that didn’t just do things to her heart that she wished she had the luxury to savor, but were too distracting at the moment. She placed her hand on his elbow. “I’m fine, lead the way.”

Obi’s shoulders tensed, then released, before he started his way up the glistening rock face. They climbed higher and higher, hands and feet seeking purchase on the damp stone. The ache at the back of her neck grew, augmented by the brightness of the sun on the water, and the relentless pounding of the falls as they met the river.

Obi glanced back at her, his expression at once relieved and sympathetic. He tapped her shoulder twice, and then pointed to a wide shelf of rock jutting further out from the cliff face, although it was still shielded by the waterfall. He guided her up to the shelf before helping her ease down into a seated position leaning against the stone.

She must have looked like she was about to say something, because he placed a finger on his lips before curving his hand around his ear. Shirayuki leaned forward a little, straining to hear. With effort, she could hear the yells of men spurring the dogs on, the dogs barking and baying, the sounds of riding crops striking horseflesh.

Leaning against the rocks, she shivered despite herself, and Obi knelt beside her, craning to listen even as he dropped an arm around her and rubbed her shoulder. Shirayuki curled into the warmth bracing her, and felt Obi’s breath hitch as he continued to stare out beyond the water.

After what felt like eons, the sounds of the hunt faded into nothing and left the two of them with just the sound of plummeting water and the thrum of Obi’s heart beneath her fingers. More eons passed before Obi finally relaxed, smoothly sliding from kneeling to sitting without letting go of her shoulders.

They sat there together for a long time, until the sky began to darken. Obi let out a deep breath and stood up. “Come on, Miss,” he beckoned. “I think they’ve given up for now. And it’s going to get cold soon. The sooner we get to the shelter of the trees, the better it will be for you.”

Shirayuki took the proffered hand and pulled herself up. The world spun for a moment, and she grinned to hide it. “Lead the way.”

Obi gave her a reassuring smile and turned to lead the way.

What happened next happened in a blur. She couldn’t tell if it was the dizziness, her muscles still unknotting from sitting for so long, the muddiness of her boots, or the slickness of the stone.

But suddenly she was slipping, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

“No!”

One moment she was canting to the side, too close to the rush of the water and the brink of oblivion. The next she felt a vice-like grip on both of her shoulders before she was flung bodily away from the edge, just missing the rock face. Gasping to regain her breath, she looked around. Obi was gone.

“Obi!” She barely managed to keep from running to look over the side of the ledge. There Obi was, holding onto the rocks that were slippery with water and blood from his scraped palms. She looked into his eyes and saw a resignation there that terrified her to her core.

She flung herself onto the floor and seized both his wrists. Obi tried to pull himself up, but the week of malnutrition and injuries was finally catching up with him, along with the fatigue and lack of sleep since their escape. His grip faltered.

Hers tightened.

Obi tried to push up with his feet but any rocks that could have helped were too far away. He looked up at her. “You have to let go!”

“No!” The fall was too far, the impact of the water could kill him.

“Miss! Now!”

She squeezed his wrists.

He exhaled. “Miss, I left a bag by those gnarled rocks, the ones that look like Lord Haruka on a bad day - so, everyday.”

Shirayuki giggled despite herself, a traitorous giggle that dissolved into a sob.

“The bag has strips of cloth in it. When it’s safe, go to the north,” he craned his neck to the side, “that way. The road should be about a half-mile away from here. Put a stake in the ground-”

“Obi!” He was talking like he was saying goodbye.

He continued over her. “Tie three strips around it, braid them. Then come back into the forest. Tie a strip to the second lowest branch of every third tree until you stop where you want to rest. The royal guard will know what to do, they should be passing by soon."

“Obi!”

“Don’t move until the ripples stop. The lord’s men should be far away now, but don’t take risks. At least no more than you’ve already taken.” He began twisting his wrists in her grip.

She held tighter. “You’re one to talk.”

Obi’s grin was barely visible through her tears. “They were all worth it, Miss.” The twisting intensified.

“Why?” She was crying in earnest now, her whole world narrowed to her white-knuckling grip and the man she was holding onto. “Why do you think it’s worth risking your life?”

“Because,” he swallowed hard, his face crumpling into a rawness she had never seen before, “I love you, Miss. I think I always have.”

Shirayuki pushed herself forward, grip resolute, and ignored the growing burn in her muscles. “You...love me?”

Obi sighed almost as if in relief, lassitude making his body limp in her grip. “More than life itself.”

Her heart was full of terror and exhilaration and anxiety and joy and a feeling like coming home. She craned her head towards his, feeling his gasps of air across her face as she moved closer.

She could feel his breath across her lips now. She leaned towards him.

And then he slipped through her fingers and was gone.

Despite every instinct screaming in protest, Shirayuki followed Obi’s instructions and waited for the ripples to stop. She probably wouldn’t have managed to do so if his body hadn’t resurfaced almost immediately after plunging beneath the water, his face mercifully turned upwards towards the sky. She clambered down the rocks until she couldn’t bear it any longer and dove into the water.

She swam quickly towards him, snagging his belt loops with her hands and pulling him along with her. Her muscles screamed for rest, but she ignored them as she inched the two of them closer to shore. 

Eventually, her feet scraped against the riverbed, and she was able to stand up and drag him onto the muddy bank. She wanted nothing more than to flop down beside him and sleep for years, but she stooped over him to check his pulse.

No pulse. No breaths.

Shirayuki almost couldn’t breathe herself.

Mechanically, she started compressions, the rhythm even and deep and punctuated with the plea please let it not be too late please let it not be too late.

She gave two breaths, wondering how the lips that had breathed out such warmth could be so cold now.

Please don’t die, she begged as she pounded his chest. Not now. Not ever. Especially not before I can tell you-

“I love you too,” she grunted with desperation and exertion before leaning down for two more breaths.

She was halfway through the compressions when he jerked to the side, water pouring from his mouth before he started coughing himself hoarse.

“Miss?” He was looking at her in wonder.

“You’re alive.” It was simultaneously the most obvious and most wonderful thing she had ever said. She would have flung herself about him, but he was clearly struggling to breathe. She settled for simply holding him close but gently.

“Miss?” He whispered hoarsely.

“I’m here. We’re safe, for now.”

He coughed. “Ribbons?”

“In a moment.” She held him tighter.

“Miss.” He sounded exasperated and tired. “The royal guard can’t find you and get you to safety if they don’t know -”

“Is that any way to talk to the woman you love?”

It felt good to tease. His tanned skin blanched, then flushed with a fury, then blanched again. He looked puzzled.

“But...you need to be safe, Mi-”

She placed a finger to his lips. “I do have a name, you know.”

He looked even more confused. She took pity on him, it had been a rough day. “Is 'Miss' really the way you want to address the woman you love?” His expression became apologetic and alarmed, which would not do. She bent down and brushed a kiss to his brow. “The woman who loves you too?”

Obi’s body went even more lax, a whirlwind of emotions blurring through his unguarded gaze before resolving into something like wonder. He reached up a shaky hand to curve around her cheek, and she placed her hand over his, rejoicing in its warmth and the pulse beating steadily through his wrist.

“Shirayuki.” It was a whisper, a promise, a pledge. It was everything.

She kissed his forehead ahead, a longer, lingering kiss. He looked awed, although the mischief she loved to see started to creep into his gaze. “You missed.”

Brushing aside the damp hair dripping into his face, she grinned. “When you’ve caught your breath.”

“You always leave me,” he coughed, “breathless, Miss.”

She tapped his nose. “Obi.”

He smirked, eyes already drooping with fatigue. “Shirayuki.”

Shirayuki curled around him, supporting his head in her lap. “Later, Obi,” she promised. “We have all the time in the world.”

Stubborn man that he was, he looked as though he wanted to continue to playfully protest, even as sleep pulled relentlessly at him. She gave him an affectionate look. “I love you.”

He melted. “I love you, too.”

And then fell asleep.

Shirayuki remained curled around him until his snores became deep and even. She left him alone only long enough to retrieve the bag and to tie the ribbons as he had instructed. But then she returned to his side, cuddling him close through the night and the morning, and she didn’t let go even when the royal guard found them.

[writing-fanics]

[] Prince!Zuko x Fem!Reader [] Part I

[Swan Princess AU]

[Summary: Prince Zuko and Princess Y/n of the Earth Kingdom, was destined to marry the Prince of the Fire Nation []

<a/n: this is basically the swan princess movie I also copy and pasted this; from my Derek x reader over on quotev. So if it says Derek or the names of the characters in the movie then that’s why just let me know and I’ll fix it]

<—————————————————————->

‘Once upon a time there was a king named Kuei who ruled a large and mighty kingdom.’

‘And yet, he was sad for he was growing old and had no child to inherit the throne. Then, happily, a daughter was born, princess and he named her Y/n.’

‘Kings and Queens came from all around to offer their gifts to the child. Among them was the Firelord Ozai and his young son, Prince Zuko.’

Prince Zuko walked over to the infant [Y/n]’s crib and held a, gold and red necklace. She smiled and reached up for it,

‘It was then that Kuei and Ozai happened upon the same idea. Zuko and Y/n would be brought together each summer in hopes that they would fall in love and join their kingdoms forever.’

‘But unknown to all was another plan, that of the evil enchanter, Zhao. Y/n’s birth was of little concern to him, for he was preparing to take King Kuei’s kingdom by means of the Forbidden Arts.’

‘On the eve of his assault, Kuei attacked and Zhao’s powers were plunged into darkness. Despite calls for his death, the enchanter was only banished.’

“I’m not finished with you yet, Kuei.Someday I’ll get my power back. And when I do, everything you own, everything you love will be mine.” Zhao said, evilly, with a smile as he walked off. 

‘Many feared King Kuei too kind. But in time the threat was forgotten and all hopes turned to that not-too-distant summer, when Zuko and Y/n would meet.’

[Time Skip]

Ozai’s Palace

“Welcome to our kingdom, Kuei. And to you, young princess. Go on, Zuko.” Ozai says, laughing gently pushing Zuko towards them. 

“Son, go on…“ he says, but he doesn’t move at all.  

“Father!” Zuko says, in displeasure and annoyance obviously not wanting to meet the Princess. 

“Zuko!” Ozai shouts softly, pushing him even further towards the princess. 

“Hello, Princess y/n. I’m very pleased to meet you.” He says, annoyed and sarcastically. 

“Pleased to meet you, Prince Zuko.” Y/n says, as she curtsied, but Zuko runs away.  

“Ah-ah-ah-ah!” Ozai says, as he shakes a finger at Zuko, he then turns around and walks over to y/n, y/n holds; out her hand for him to kiss. 

Zuko reluctantly leans down and kisses it, “Yuck!” He exclaims in disgust. 

[Zuko]: I can’t believe I’m stuck with her all summer I’ll bet she doesn’t wrestle, hunt or box 

[Y/n]:He looks conceited 

[Zuko]: What a total bummer

[Both]: If I get lucky I’ll get chicken pox 

[Zuko]: So happy you could come 

[Y/n]: So happy to be here

[Both]: How I’d like to run 

[Y/n]: This is not my idea

[Zuko]: This isn’t my idea 

[Both]: Of fun

Ozai castle, inside

[Ozai]: The children seem to get along quite nicely 

[Kuei]: We’ll join our lands if this arrangement clicks 

[Ozai]: King Kuei, that’s my point precisely 

[Kuei]: It’s such good parenting

[Ozai]:: And politics So happy we agree 

[Kuei]: I think we’ve got a deal 

[Ozai]: Zuko quite a catch

[Kuei]: This is my idea 

[Ozai]: This is my idea 

[Both]: Of a match

[Ozai]: And so much fun! 

a few years later Kuei castle 

[kuei]: Good heavens, child, don’t dawdle We can’t keep Zuko waiting 

[Y/n]: I haven’t packed or washed my hair And father, I get seasick 

Zuko’s room

[Ozai]: She soon will be arriving Is that respect you’re showing? 

[Zuko]: To make me kiss her hand again I swear I’m gonna be sick 

Ozai Castle 

[Kuei ]: One day Prince Zuko will be her intended 

[Ozai]: Splendid

Ozai castle 

[Zuko]: We’ve tried all summer but we just can’t lose her 

[Y/n]: Hey fellas, wait up! 

[Brumi]: Quick, put on some speed

[Zuko]: When picking teams 

[Brumi]: Or friends

[Zuko]: I never choose her 

[Brumi]: You’d think she’d take a hint and learn to read 

[Y/n]: This really isn’t fair 

[Z and B]: We really couldn’t care

[Y/n]: Boys, it’s all or none This is not my idea 

[Z and B] This isn’t my idea

[Y/n,Zuko, and Brumi]: Of fun 

Ozai kingdom

[Villagers]: Long before they met Zuko and Y/n  Were destined to be wedded

Ozai castle and Kuei castle

[Servants]: However anyone could see The only point on which they didn’t disagree Was that the very thought of summertime Was dreaded 

they sang, as y/n sat in a chair reading a book. 

Ozai castle

[Zuko] :She tries to talk me into playing dress-up She’s always flirting with the castle guards 

[Brumi]: I think you really sorta like her, fess-up 

[Zuko]: I’d like her better if she’d lose at cards Four sevens and a ten 

[Y/n]: I think I’ve won again 

[Zuko and B] Every time she’s won 

[Y/n]: This is my idea

[Zuko and B] This isn’t my idea 

[Y/n, Z, B]: Of fun 

Ozai kingdom 

[Villagers]: We need a royal wedding I’d love to be invited At least we’d get a holiday to rest our ploughs and axes Someday these two will marry Two lands will be united And with some luck their marriage may result in lower taxes 

Ozai to Kuei

[Kuei]: What if Y/n doesn’t go for the merger? 

[Ozai]: Urge her!

[Y/n & Zuko]  For as long as I remember We’ve been told we’d someday wed Every June until September 

[Zuko]: All their pushing and annoying hints

[Y/n]:  I’ve got bruises with their fingerprints

[Zuko]: I can do much better, I am sure

[Y/n]: He’s so immature I see him smiling and my knees start buckling I see inside him and my doubts are gone

[Zuko]: She started out as such an ugly duckling And somehow suddenly became a swan

Zuko says, in awe looking at how beautiful y/n has become.

[Y/n]: So happy to be here

y/n says, as she looks at Zuko in awe.  

[Zuko]: ‘Til now I never knew 

[y/n & Zuko]: It is you I’ve been dreaming of 

[Zuko]: This is my idea 

[Y/n]:  This is my idea 

[Kuei, Ozai & Chours]: What a good idea, such a charming and romantic notion This is my idea (This is my idea) Such a good idea (Such a good idea) What a good idea, such a powerful and magic potion This is exactly my idea Of love 

[Y/n]: This is my idea 

[Zuko]: This is my idea 

[Y/n&Zuko] :This is my idea Of

[Chorus]: Love

they sang, as y/n and Zuko kiss. 

Arrange the marriage!” Zuko says, right after they pull apart from the kiss. And everyone began to cheer, and applause. Everything was going too fast for y/n. 

“Wait!” y/n says, and everyone stopped and looked towards Y/n and Zuko.

“What? You’re all I ever wanted. You’re beautiful!” He says, in shock to Y/n. 

“Thank you. But what else?” Y/n asks, hoping that he just doesn’t want to marry her because she beautiful.  

“What else?” Zuko says, confused not knowing why she’s asking this. 

“Is beauty all that matters to you?” She asked, hoping it’s not true, she looks at him waiting for a answer. 

Kuei coughs, and looks over at y/n and shakes her head, y/n looks at her sister who was also waiting for Zuko to answer the question.

“Zuko… What else?” Ozai says, trying to break the silence but Zuko was confused. 

“I, uh… What else is there?” Zuko says, confused not knowing what to say. And y/n, looks at him in shock and looks to the side. It was true all he thought about was her beauty. 

Rumi who orchestrated the orchestra made a buzzing noise. 

Ozai shakes his head, knowing now Y/n wouldn’t want to marry Zuko, seeing that the only reason he loves her is because of her beauty.

Ozai castle, day.)

”We tried, Ozai. No one can say we didn’t try.” Kuei says, to Ozai.

“Say goodbye, Y/n.” Kuei says, to his daughter and she looks at Zuko.

“Goodbye.” y/n says, looking away quickly from Zuko heartbroken to say goodbye. 

”Goodbye…?” Kuei says, letting it hang in the air so y/n could finish the sentence.  

“Prince Zuko.” She says, in sadness.  

”Father.” Zuko says, too upset and embarrassed to say anything to the y/n. 

“Zuko!” Ozai says, gently nudging him to say something. 

”Goodbye, Princess.” Zuko says, sadly as he watched Y/n leave the castle on her horse with her father. 

[the-last-kenobi]

reread Master & Apprentice (Claudia Gray) and now we’re here

Unwoven -

Qui-Gon discovers Obi-Wan in the middle of contacting the Jedi Council. Things spiral drastically from there.

Obi-Wan Kenobi centric

tags: AU (canon divergence from mid-book), Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Suspense

Spoilers!! for Master & Apprentice

Part One

Obi-Wan’s hand lay heavy on the switch, his breath tight in his lungs as he watched the assembled High Council exchange glances.

His news of his Master’s troubling beliefs and actions had certainly caused a stir, as had his presumptuous but welcomed decision to go behind his back to inform the Temple.

The conversation was almost at an end, he knew. And then a decision would be made.

Several decisions.

It was clear that the invitation to Qui-Gon to join their honored ranks would not be withdrawn, but what would change? Their trust in the maverick Jedi had been strained to the breaking point this time, and Obi-Wan of all people knew how his Master disdained people who did not listen to him - or simply disagreed with him, a quiet voice murmured inside, a voice that the Padawan tried swiftly to crush.

Yoda informed him that the Council would return later with a decision, but Obi-Wan wasn’t listening anymore, or watching as the holo flickered and shrank away to nothingness.

Framed in the doorway stood his Master, watching the scene with his arms folded and his expression utterly blank.

It was hardly the first time Obi-Wan had found the man impossible to read.

But it was the first that he had felt such a cold, prickling emptiness in the depths of him where their training bond normally dwelled.

The first time that he had felt such disquiet and uncertainty in the face of Qui-Gon’s judgement.

What more can he do to me? Obi-Wan asked himself inwardly as he slipped his hands into his sleeves and waited, heart stuttering, for the inevitable argument. He’s already made it clear I am not worthy of a place at his side, not worthy of so much as being politely informed that our relationship is ending due to a promotion.

His heart continued to race as he waited in the billowing silence, feeling that cold prickle grow louder until it almost stung.

Then -

“Disappointing,” his Master said quietly.

The single word was as a seal on a winding document years in the making - a final approval on an ending that was written years ago when Jinn had refused and refused and refused again to take Obi-Wan as his apprentice.

The ginger-haired Padawan stood rooted to the spot.

It was like all of his efforts over the past four years, over all his life, really, had been evaluated by this man he so admired and returned to him with a dismissive sigh. A failing grade on his work.

A failing grade on him.

Obi-Wan opened his mouth to speak but only managed a startled breath that strangled all the explanations and excuses away; he waited for his Master to follow up to that cold accusation, waited for more, but...

Qui-Gon merely turned silently on his heel and left without so much as a backward glance or a gesture.

Ah, Obi-Wan registered dimly. So that’s what he can do.

••

The Master and Apprentice had not set foot in the same room for two days now.

Obi-Wan knew that the older Jedi was occupied with his clashes with Rael Aveross, with scrutinizing the court, and tracking the perpetrators of the attacks.

But he also knew when he was avoided, especially when he was also doing plenty of avoiding himself.

After the Chancellor had inadvertently revealed that Qui-Gon was in line for a Council seat - and therefore to giving up his Padawan - the already unbalanced air between them had become like a pane of glass - fragile and strange, dividing them, but the idea of breaking it was frightening. It felt as if breaking the tension would break their team for good.

And now they were broken anyway, with no possible solution in sight.

Obi-Wan wanted to be the Padawan of Qui-Gon Jinn.

He wanted them to fix this, to fix everything.

But he also wanted a Master who expressed his thoughts instead of always withholding, always judging without words.

And he wanted to see Qui-Gon elevated to the Council. He deserved it.

But he couldn’t decide which path was best - letting things stand as they were until the promotion divided them, or trying to heal things so they could part on good terms (how? how, how, how?), or confronting the infuriating man and making him listen to Obi-Wan for once.

What would Qui-Gon prefer?

Given that they weren’t speaking, and that the Council had gotten back to them with the instruction that Obi-Wan was to handle the treaty...

An idea began to form.

Obi-Wan pushed it away at first, horrified - then reminded himself that silencing thoughts was not the Jedi way, and pulled it back to the forefront to examine it.

...Oh.

••

Qui-Gon stormed down the hallway, trying to press his anger out of him with every firm step.

Rael was being bullheaded and absurd.

Everyone was behaving that way these days, it seemed, completely incapable of listening to the Force or common sense when coming through the mouth of Master Jinn.

Dooku, completely unreachable.

Rael, stubborn and so focused on Fanry that he was willing to ruin entire systems to keep her safe and in power.

Fanry, so focused on her culture that she was unwilling to face the danger over her head.

And Obi-Wan.

That boy. That stubborn, arrogant, hide bound boy. He had talent, to be sure, but no drive except duty and no beliefs except those that had been given to him as rote.

Perhaps that was not quite fair.

The apprentice was brave, and capable. And clearly he had some form of self-possession, given that he had completely undermined his Master in an attempt to prove Qui-Gon wrong.

But once again he was criticizing his apprentice without regard for his own failings as a teacher. Hadn’t it just been days ago that he had watched Obi-Wan clinging for dear life above a seething sinkhole and thought to himself how unfair it was for the boy to have to endure a Master like himself?

I still don’t deserve him, Qui-Gon thought dully.

The Jedi ran a weary hand over his face, trying to calm himself. It was unacceptable for him to sulk about these things - not to mention dangerous for the mission.

The mission, that Obi-Wan had knocked sideways.

Worry gnawed at Qui-Gon.

He did not wish to see his vision come true; with nobody listening to his warnings, the coronation ceremony could only end in disaster, and now Fanry, Rael, and his Padawan were all set to be directly in the middle of things when it inevitably happened.

When he closed his eyes, Qui-Gon could see the flash of light and hear the screams his vision had shown him - he could not pick out the voices. The princess? The minister? Obi-Wan?

Qui-Gon sighed and drew his cloak a little more tightly around himself.

He could only do as the Force prompted.

The actions of others were outside his control.

He would do as he needed.

••

Obi-Wan was at the call again, standing in shadows and the blue light of the hologram just as he had been days before when everything had gone so wrong.

This time, however, he was not interrupted.

And this time, he spoke only with Masters Windu and Yoda.

Yoda’s large ears were drooping as he gazed watchfully at the apprentice. Made Windu looked grave, a deep curve lining his forehead as he too studied Obi-Wan.

“And you’re certain this is the correct path?” he asked.

Obi-Wan drew a breath.

“...As sure as I can be, Masters. I don’t... I don’t have your experience, I don’t have whatever beliefs or Force-granted visions Master Jinn thinks he is following. I only...”

A beat.

“I only know what I must do,” Obi-Wan finished. “This is the solution that has come to me.”

Master Yoda said nothing.

Windu sighed. “Very well. After the treaty, this will all be formalized. As things stand, Master Jinn holds little authority over you. Act as you must. In this instance, you rank as a Knight.”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes rather than flinch.

“Yes, Masters.”

He opened his eyes again in time to see Master Windu lean forward, his eyes shadowed, and say, “May the Force be with you.”

The transmission cut.

Obi-Wan stood alone in the dark, feeling just as cold, just as helpless before the silence of the empty room as he had before the silence of Qui-Gon’s judgement and betrayal.

With only his conscience to guide him.

Four years as a Padawan had taught him that it was not enough - he was not enough.

But that wouldn’t be a problem much longer.

tbc

Part Two

[hrtiu]

Worthy of Devotion Chapter 6

Yeah so... obviously I didn’t stick to my weekly update schedule 😅 But hey, Chapter 7 is already halfway done!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28259979/chapters/72995721

Kaminoan breakfast was not to Riyo’s taste. It was all raw fish, squid, and shellfish chopped up and mixed together with some kind of acidic syrup and, as a native of a marshy moon with no oceans, Riyo found it disagreeable. Still, she dutifully slurped down the food and nodded along to Prime Minister Lama Su’s unhurried conversation.

“As you can see, our facilities are state-of-the-art, and the Republic is reaping the benefits of our skilled army,” he said.

Riyo nodded and picked up the last spoonful of her breakfast, hesitating only a moment before putting the tentacled mystery in her mouth. The food they fed the clones at the cafeteria had looked different, like a nutritional paste or some kind of fortified starch. This seafood hash was no doubt a delicacy meant to honor her visit, but she’d honestly prefer the paste.

“This is quite an impressive operation you have here, Prime Minister,” she said. “I look forward to discussing the future of the Republic’s relationship with Kamino at the summit.”

She set her spoon down and left her napkin on top of her plate, signalling that she was done with the meal—finally. She’d spent most of the previous night making last-minute preparations with Maja, and she didn’t think she could handle another moment of small talk and crustaceans.

Lama Su inclined his long neck. “Shall we?”

He rose to his feet and Riyo, flanked by Maja, Captain Rex, and Commander Fox, followed him out of the dining hall and into a spare, white conference room. Nala Se, Senator Burtoni and several other Kaminoan dignitaries were already seated inside, and the Prime Minister showed Riyo to her seat at the head of the table. Rex and Maja found their own spots at the far end of the group, and Fox stationed himself at the door.

Lama Su took the chair next to Riyo and cleared his throat, drawing the eyes of all the attendees to him. “I want to thank Chancellor Chuchi for visiting with us today. I am eager to discuss Kamino’s role in the Republic’s military moving forward, and to build upon the foundation of goodwill and trust that we have already established.”

“Thank you for having me, Prime Minister,” Riyo said. She waited for him to extend his welcome to Rex and Maja, too, but he moved right on to business.

“I’ll begin with the basics. As we on Kamino have provided the Republic with an excellent military in the past, no doubt contributing  greatly to the Republic’s victory in the war, we believe the Republic would be amenable to extending our contracts. Perhaps the Republic no longer has need of such a large army, but surely some standing military force is necessary for the defense of our systems, and we are also in the process of developing new technologies and personnel specializing in peacekeeping and violence deterrence.”

Riyo’s mouth twisted. The phrase “peacekeeping” had been too-often used throughout the war to justify acts of aggression, and was he really going to completely ignore the clone legislation the Senate had just passed? Senator Burtoni had to have told him. 

“The Republic does indeed owe a large debt of gratitude to its clone army,” she said, gesturing to Rex, “who protected citizens and defended our sovereignty at the risk and often expense of their own lives. However, you must understand that, given recent legislation involving the legality of pressing clones into military service, we cannot continue to use your services in the same way.”

Lama Su leaned over the table and laced his long fingers together. “Yes, Senator Burtoni informed us of this legislation. I fail to see why a practice that ensured the Republic’s victory in the war could so conveniently be deemed illegal after the fact.”

“The criticism is valid, Prime Minister, but unfortunately we cannot change the past. We can only try to move forward in a way that is consistent with our values, and creating sentient life only for it to be forced into military service is not consistent with our values.”

Lama Su’s giant eyes narrowed ‘til only a thin slice of grey iris peeked through. “What are you proposing, Chancellor?”

Riyo inclined her head towards Rex.

“All production of clone soldiers needs to end immediately,” Rex said. “The Republic has already paid, so it’s no harm to you. The Republic won’t commission any clone soldiers in the future, either.”

“This is outrageous!” Senator Burtoni said, addressing Riyo and ignoring Rex. “It is an insult to our relationship with the Republic!”

“The Senate’s vote is final,” Rex said. “Kamino is free to do what they wish, but all member systems of the Republic have to abide by Republic laws, which now prohibit the enslavement of any sentient beings for any reason.”

“Where was all this talk of slavery when the Republic ordered the army?” Senator Burtoni demanded. “I must say, Chancellor, this law feels rather pointed. If Kamino is to be singled out like this, perhaps we would not wish to remain-”

Lama Su held up a hand and Senator Burtoni closed her mouth, nodding in deference to the Prime Minister. “Chancellor Chuchi, we of course would wish to remain in the Republic, but you must understand how much our economy is tied to the cloning industry. We have invested decades of education, technology, and infrastructure into this endeavor. What you are asking is not so simple as turning a switch from on to off.”

Riyo nodded sympathetically, though it irked her to no end the way they continued to ignore Rex. “I understand your concern, Prime Minister, which is why I have already negotiated several agricultural contracts on your behalf. The nerf industry is very interested in your work isolating desirable genetic traits. Etrat Industries is also willing to hire Kaminoan geneticists to develop more drought-resistant grains.” Riyo passed a datapad to Lama Su and gave him a moment to look it over. “The current value of these contracts is about 75% of what the clone army generated for Kamino, but I believe these contracts can grow into a sustained economy that does not rely on one product, and no longer requires widespread war to be profitable.”

Lama Su’s dark eyes darted across the screen and he nodded thoughtfully. “We will need time to consider and speak with these contacts of yours before formally agreeing, but I find your proposal to be a compelling one, Chancellor.”

Riyo held back a sigh of relief. Maja had insisted that Kamino valued membership in the Republic enough to play hardball, but Riyo still hadn’t been sure the agricultural contracts would be tempting enough to soothe any hurt feelings. And as abhorrent as she found the Human factory here on Kamino, Riyo still didn’t want the Kaminoans to leave the Republic. For one thing, leaving the Republic would leave them free to create clone armies for other people. 

The summit moved on and they first went through the new clone legislation and what exactly it meant. No, cloning wasn’t entirely illegal. Yes, cloning sentient beings for servitude was illegal. Then they went through each of the agricultural contracts line by line and Lama Su and his advisors discussed which ones they could easily take on with minimal capital expense. Lama Su was difficult to read, but Riyo thought she could see a pleased glimmer in his eye as he examined the proposed quotes for each contract. She made a mental note to throw a party for Maja later for pulling so much of that together.

“Well,” Lama Su said after several hours of debate, “You are our customer, so of course we will halt production as you requested. We are tentatively willing to commit to never producing clone soldiers again, but it will take some time before we can formalize the agreement. This was, as you know, the foundation of our economy for some time. We wish to remain in the Republic, but leaving is an option if we feel we are not being treated fairly.”

“I can assure you, Prime Minister, we will do everything we can to ensure that all citizens of the Republic—Kaminoan and Clone alike—will be treated fairly,” Riyo said.

“Excellent. That brings our summit to a close-”

“One more thing, if I may,” Riyo interjected. 

Lama Su looked up at her, a frown of mild indifference on his face. “Yes, Chancellor Chuchi?”

Riyo’s eyes darted quickly to Rex at the end of the table, then over to Fox. She hadn’t had a chance to consult them about this part, but she was reasonably sure they’d approve. “As the price for the clones’ production and cultivation until adulthood has already been paid for, the Republic is willing to assume responsibility for the care and raising of all clones aged zero to three effective immediately, and for only half the cost the Kaminoan facility would have spent on their training.”

The grey brows above Lama Su’s eyes rose. “What do you mean, for only half the cost?”

“Your people would pay the Republic to take over the raising of these clones half of the estimated cost of training them here on Kamino. You would still come out ahead, financially.”

Lama Su’s nostril slits flared slightly and his eyes turned over to Senator Burtoni.

“They were created for the Republic. I suppose the Republic can claim them at any time,” Senator Burtoni said.

Lama Su’s expression remained impassive, but years of experience in politics told Riyo what he was thinking. He didn’t like the idea of capitulating to yet another Republic demand, but he was counting credits, and she knew the calculus would end up in her favor.

“If you insist, then of course we are willing to oblige our loyal customer,” he said. “It will take time to sort out logistics, so let’s say tentatively the handover will take place in six months-”

“I’ve already worked out most of the logistics on my end. We should be able to pick up the children in one month.”

A brief silence filled the conference room at her words, and Lama Su stared down at her. “As you wish, Chancellor.”

They closed the summit with all the necessary formalities, and Riyo walked from the room, her shoulders tucked back and her chin held high all the way until they reached the safety of her rooms. Then she let the tension of the negotiations go and her placid expression dropped.

“Oh my goodness, I wasn’t at all sure that was going to work, Maja.”

Maja patted her shoulder. “I told you they’re desperate to stay in the Republic. As an extragalactic planet, the Republic is vital in connecting them to trade and the political life of the rest of the galaxy.”

“Yes, but I really thought demanding all that, plus the younger clones—I was worried they’d reject us just out of spite.”

Maja smirked. “Pride is one thing, but credits are king.”

“You, my friend, are a genius.”

“Who am I to contradict the Chancellor?”

Riyo laughed, but her laugh quickly morphed into a sigh. “And now the work begins. Can you call back our contact with the Child Services Agency on Coruscant? And get in touch with those other agricultural conglomerates we haven’t heard back from yet.”

“On it, boss.”

Riyo started for the office near the back of her quarters, but a low cough turned her attention behind her. Commander Fox was standing there, helmet on and blaster still in hand, his posture stiff and formal. Next to him was Rex, helmetless, with a warm smile on his face.

“Yes, Commander? Captain? I’m sorry, I probably should have asked your opinion on this, first. I just had so many holo calls to make to work things out, and I couldn’t find either of you anywhere-”

“It’s not a problem, Madam Chancellor,” Rex said. “Thank you for caring. I know it means a lot to the boys.”

Riyo smiled at him. “Of course, Captain,” she said, then her smile fell. “After coming here, I couldn’t do nothing. I… I had some idea what it would be like here, but nothing prepared me for actually seeing it.”

“We’re clones. How else do you think we were raised?” Rex said.

“I know, it’s just… different when you actually see the trichbasa stuffed.”

“The what?”

“Oh, it’s a Pantoran phrase. Sometimes you don’t want to see the messy details of how something gets made. It’s… easier not knowing.”

“I’m glad you were willing to stomach it for us, ma’am,” Rex said.

“Ma’am?” Maja said, poking her head back into the hallway from the study. “The Chief Administrator of the Child Services Agency is on the holo.”

“I’ll be right there!”

She bade the two clones a hasty farewell and threw herself right into work. Committing to finding safe and nurturing permanent homes for thousands of young clones had meant taking on a huge amount of logistics in a short time, but she was determined to succeed. The clones deserved nothing less.

---

Riyo and Maja toiled late into the night and hardly slept before their scheduled departure the next morning. Riyo spent almost the entire flight back to Coruscant drafting up letters looking for donations and support for the child clones. She’d found enough backers the night before the summit to make the ask, but there were still so many more details to work out and more funding never hurt.

About halfway through composing a letter to a wealthy philanthropist from Bespin, Riyo’s eyes began to droop. She was so tired, if she just rested her eyes a moment she could finish this up. Yes… Just a moment was all she needed...

“Ma’am?” A gloved hand gently tapped Riyo on the shoulder, and she opened her eyes only to find her face smooshed up against the transparisteel of the observation window. She blinked blearily up at Fox, identifying him as the tapper.

“Yes, Fox?”

“We’re starting the landing sequence, Madam Chancellor.”

“Oh…” She sat up and rubbed at her eyes, then hastily swiped at the puddle of drool that had collected on her datapad. “Why didn’t anyone wake me!”

“We were informed that it would be unwise…” Rex said.

“I told them if they did I’d murder them,” Maja said from where she sat in the corner, her gaze never budging from the datapad in her hand.

Riyo laughed, then buckled herself in for landing. “And that’s why I picked you as my assistant.”

Maja raised the stylus she was holding and tipped it in Riyo’s direction. “Exactly.”

They landed and Rex offered to escort Maja to her apartment, which Riyo appreciated. Maja didn’t get the same security detail that Riyo did, but she could just as easily be targeted by political enemies. 

Fox and Riyo took the high-speed lift up to Riyo’s secure apartment in Coruscant’s upper levels, and Riyo’s focus wavered as the lights of the city blurred by through the lift’s transparisteel windows.

“...Madam Chancellor?”

Riyo shook her head to rouse herself and looked to Fox, concentrating hard to make sure she wasn’t dreaming up his sudden desire to talk. “Yes?”

Fox’s helmet was clipped to his belt, but his expression was as opaque as ever. “Thank you,” he said. Then he spread his arms to the side, letting them hover awkwardly away from his hips.

Riyo furrowed her brow at him. She’d had way too little sleep in the past 48 hours to believe she was interpreting this correctly. “Fox?”

Fox cleared his throat, a ruddy flush spreading across his cheeks. “You can hug me, if you want.”

“Oh. Oh!” 

That certainly woke Riyo up. She stood dumbfounded for a moment, then saw in the twitch under Fox’s eye that if she didn’t do something quick he might break the lift open and jump out. She fell forward into what she now recognized as open arms and wrapped herself around his torso. Her fingers barely met around the bulky backplate, but she would not be deterred.

Fox’s gloved hands rested uncertainly on Riyo’s shoulders, and she smiled into his chestplate. Not too long ago Fox had been alone and untouched in one of those awful nurseries on Kamino, just like all of his other brothers. She wasn’t about to let that travesty continue.

“I only wish I could have done more,” she said, her voice muffled by his chest.

He didn’t respond for a beat. Riyo was glad he didn’t lie to her, didn’t tell her that she’d done more than enough. There was still so much to do, so many wrongs to right. And she’d only been able to rescue the youngest clones.

“There’s still time,” he said eventually.

She squeezed him tight, her arms full of unyielding plastoid. Through all the armor, though, she thought she could feel a beating heart. 

---

“But where are we going to get the money? This is the question nobody seems interested in but me,” Senator Taam said.

“Maybe because we are more concerned with sentient lives than with credits,” Senator Organa snapped.

Fox suppressed a sigh behind his helmet. These Armed Services Committee meetings got things done, but the process was painfully slow. Palpatine had been one evil piece of Sithspit, but at least he’d been able to move quickly. If he’d wanted a fully-funded clone retirement program he’d have just called a meeting, made a few benevolent threats, and been done with it.

“Concern doesn’t pay for programs! The budget does, and I want to get this bill funded as much as any of you. So we can actually provide something to these clones.”

“Whenever we needed new flagships we managed to find the money from somewhere-” Senator Organa said.

“Ok, ok, we’re not getting anywhere arguing,” Chancellor Chuchi said. “Senator Taam is right—it doesn’t matter how great our ideas are if we can’t fund them.”

“Exactly-” Senator Taam said.

“But Senator Organa is right that we can’t use that as an excuse for inaction. This is going to cost major credits, and the budget is going to feel it. So we need to make sure that the public sees it as the necessity it is.”

The table fell silent and the committee exchanged apologetic glances. The corner of Fox’s mouth turned up. Palpatine may have been more efficient, but moments like these reminded him of why he preferred Chancellor Chuchi’s methods. Aside from the obvious fact that she didn’t abuse his brothers and send them to their deaths.

“In my experience, the more civilians know about us the more they’re willing to support us,” Rex said. 

Senator Organa nodded. “That’s an excellent point. Up until now the GAR has been used for propaganda, but soldiers have mostly been portrayed as distant, heroic figures. We can run a publicity campaign that highlights your individuality.”

“As well as your practical skills,” Senator Paulness said. “Clones should find more employers willing to hire them and invest in their training if they understand the clones’ unique qualifications.”

Chancellor Chuchi tapped her stylus in her assistant’s direction. “Maja, have Talia Tantipani draw up preliminary ideas for a publicity campaign, would you?”

“On it, ma’am.”

“That’s all well and good, but publicity alone won’t be enough,” said Senator Taam.

“You’re right. We need to also demonstrate the ways in which a retired clone army can benefit the populace,” Senator Paulness said.

“Plenty of the systems we fought on are in desperate need of reconstruction. The locals already know us and most are friendly to us—they might be open to clone workers coming to help rebuild,” Rex said.

“Hmm…” Senator Taam said. “We could expand the Relief and Recovery Agency and have it give hiring precedence to former clone soldiers.”

“I can work on incorporating more job training into the Relief and Recovery Agency, too,” said Senator Organa.

The senators began talking excitedly amongst themself and the energy in the room lifted. Fox recognized a breakthrough when he saw it, and he found himself tuning the chatter out. A twinge of guilt nudged at his conscience, that he wasn’t paying more attention to legislation that would affect the livelihoods of so many of his brothers, but there was only so much of this endless talk he could force himself to focus through. Besides, he had other things to worry about.

Like Daw Saetang. He was an agricultural lobbyist, and though he’d attended several meetings with the Chancellor already, he was slated for a one-on-one right after the Armed Services Committee finished up. One-on-one meetings called for more thorough background checks, and though Saetang’s check hadn’t raised any red flags, something about him still bugged Fox. Was it his smarmy smile? Or maybe the way he didn’t have face tattoos like all the other Pantorans Fox had met. Not that he’d met that many…

“Ok then, Senator Taam will reach out to the Relief and Recovery Agency, Senator Organa will focus on the publicity campaign, and Senator Paulness will head up our contacts in various employment and job training organizations.” Captain Rex said.

The senators all nodded their agreement, and Chancellor Chuchi started gathering up her datapads. “Excellent. I know progress can seem slow, but we need to give our veterans support as soon as possible.”

The meeting adjourned and Fox waited while Maja and Chancellor Chuchi chatted and collected their supplies together. The Chancellor was close enough to her assistant that Maja must be able to smell her perfume—a citrusy scent that Fox only knew because his damned helmet filter didn’t work very well any more. He’d have to request a new one, which would be a royal pain now that his position fell outside of typical command structures.

Yes, he’d have to get it replaced. That way, if the Chancellor ever wanted to hug him again, he wouldn’t be cursed with the memory of her perfume following him around all day. Though, who was he kidding? Why on earth would she ever want to hug him again? He’d been as stiff as a clanker. He’d heard the Kaminoans describe the clones as “droids but better,” before, and thinking back to his painfully awkward hug, he believed there might be some truth to it.

Maja and the Chancellor left the conference room and Fox trailed them a few steps behind. They followed the well-trod path to the Chancellor’s office, where Saetang was already waiting outside for them.

“Madam Chancellor! An honor to see you again,” the tall Pantoran man said, holding his hand out towards Chancellor Chuchi with confidence.

“It’s good to see you, too, Mr. Saetang,” the Chancellor said.

“Please, it’s Daw. And Ms. Joyo, always a pleasure,” he said to Maja.

“Likewise,” Maja said.

Saetang ignored Fox, which suited Fox just fine.

They stepped into the Chancellor’s office and Fox stationed himself by the door. He prepared himself to tune out yet another circular policy argument, but Saetang and his skeezy smile drew his attention. He kept his eyes locked on the Pantoran man and scanned for unusual traits that might signal some sinister motive.

Saetang’s eyes flitted to Fox, and for a moment Fox could swear the man could see his gaze through the tinted visor. But that was impossible.

The negotiations continued, and Saetang had a way of getting what he wanted while making it seem like he was losing that got under Fox’s skin. Still, he trusted Chancellor Chuchi to be able to deal with snakes like Saetang. She’d been around the Senate long enough to recognize the type.

“I’ll be sure to communicate your terms to my colleagues,” Saetang said smoothly. “We’ve had our eyes on that Kaminoan gene selection technology for some time now, and I’m sure we can strike a mutually beneficial deal with them.”

“Thank you, Daw. I very much appreciate your time,” Chancellor Chuchi said, rising to her feet to signal the end of the meeting.

“The pleasure was all mine,” he said. He stood, but made no move towards the door.

“...Is there something else, Mr. Saetang?” Chancellor Chuchi said.

“My apologies, Madam Chancellor, I was working up the nerve to ask you… I nabbed a reservation at Pantiat Ichi for tomorrow and was hoping you might accompany me.”

Fox’s hands held his blaster a little too tightly, and he had to make a conscious effort to loosen his grip. It was just an invitation. Why did it feel like a threat?

Chancellor Chuchi’s eyebrows rose. “Oh! I’m afraid I’ll be busy tomorrow evening. It’s such a shame, I’ve heard they have the best Pantoran food on the planet.”

Saetang offered her a rueful smile. “I understand, it’s so last minute. If your evening frees up, though, please let me know.”

“Of course.”

She walked him to the door of her office and he bowed over her hand before he left, bringing a bluish blush to her cheeks. Then he left and the door finally shut on the bastard.

When the Chancellor turned back to her desk, Maja was grinning at her like a tooka with a convor. 

“Stop it!” Chancellor Chuchi said, and she shoved Maja playfully.

“Stop what?” Maja asked, eyes wide with innocence.

“He’s just a smooth-talking lobbyist. It’s not a big deal.”

“You know I actually could carve out time for dinner for you tomorrow night.”

The Chancellor eyed her friend doubtfully. “Are you serious?”

“Why not? He seems nice enough, and I’ve heard Pantiat Ichi is to die for.”

“He’s a lobbyist!”

“Yes, there are rules you’d have to follow, but I can make sure everything is square. Really, Riyo, why not get out and have a little fun? You haven’t taken a single personal day since taking office.”

“I… I suppose I could…”

Maja’s smile grew. “You want me to send him a message?”

Chancellor Chuchi threw up her hands. “Fine. Why not?”

“That’s the spirit!” Maja said, rushing the Chancellor for a surprise hug. 

Chancellor Chuchi laughed and pushed at her friend, and soon Fox could no longer make out exactly what they were saying. He sighed and commed Thorn through his helmet’s built-in system. His helmet might be old and falling apart, but at least it was still soundproof with the dampers on.

“Thorn? Can we get another background check on Daw Saetang? Dig a bit deeper this time.”

---

The first human Bacara ever killed couldn’t have been much older than he was. At least, biologically. If he just went by years then Bacara was likely at least a decade younger. Regardless, the Twi’lek man Bacara shot in the chest was too thinking, too breathing, too sentient for comfort.

Bacara had never before thought to be grateful to be fighting droids, but he had to admit it was much easier to blow a clanker’s head off than a Twi’lek’s.

“Sir, the remaining Separatists have been cleared out,” Solus told him over the comms.

“Do a thorough sweep of the area. I don’t want any stragglers to catch us off guard,” Bacara said.

General Mundi joined Bacara at the top of the ridge overlooking the wooded battlefield. “Excellent work, Commander.”

“Just doing our jobs, sir.”

“Still, I know fighting against sentients isn’t quite that same. You’ve adapted well.”

Bacara nodded and put his hands behind his back. “What’s our next move, sir?”

“Once everything’s sorted here, we only have one more assignment before returning to Coruscant.”

Bacara smiled. He’d get to see his batchmates for the first time in months. And more importantly, he’d be able to tell them what he’d learned about their inhibitor chips.

“It is difficult to be away from the ones we love, isn’t it?” General Mundi said.

Bacara’s smile faded. He didn’t like when the General said things that seemed to respond to the thoughts in his head, especially not when his thoughts strayed too close to the inhibitor chips. “Captain Peke’s waiting to report in the command center,” he said, ignoring the General’s question. It had been rhetorical, anyway.

“Excellent,” General Mundi said, and together they headed for the command center, a collapsible durasteel bunker that had seen plenty of wear in all different kinds of terrain and atmospheres.

They stepped through the automatic doors and Bacara immediately sensed something was wrong. The doors slammed shut behind them and the lights extinguished. When they turned on again the General was surrounded by insurgents, one of them with a blaster held to his head.

“Don’t move! Or the Jedi gets it!” the man said, dirt and blood on his face and desperation in his eyes.

“Let’s just stay calm…” Bacara said, slowly setting his blaster on the ground.

“I tried to warn you, sir!” Captain Peke said from across the room. He was tied up to a chair, and another one of the insurgents held him at blaster-point.

“Everybody quiet!” the man with his blaster to Mundi’s head said.

Peke shut his mouth and Bacara slowly rose from his crouch, his hands held high with his palms open.

“We don’t want trouble with the Republic,” the lead insurgent said. “And we aren’t with the Separatists, either. We just want our planet to be in peace, we just want to live free without Republic interference.”

Bacara’s eyes darted to General Mundi’s, but the General seemed unconcerned. “This is not something you want to do, son.”

“Shut up!” the man shouted. “I know all about your Jedi tricks, and that won’t work on us!”

“This is not going to end well for you. If you leave now we won’t follow you,” Mundi said.

“We’re not leaving until you order all Republic forces out of this system!”

“This is your last warning.”

“Kriff you and your warnings! I’m the one with the blaster!”

With a sudden whoosh of power, General Mundi pushed outward from himself, knocking everything away from him in a perfect wave of energy. Bacara fell backwards and scrambled to grab his blaster before any of the rebels could get to it first. He grabbed the grip and rolled onto his back, aiming up at whoever might have followed his movements. But there was no one there.

General Mundi stood in the middle of the room, the blue glow of his lightsaber illuminating the carnage around him. The insurgents were dead. All of them. Eight bodies lay scattered around the room, burning wounds bearing testament to their singular cause of death. General Mundi looked down at their prone bodies, his mouth turned downwards and his eyes sad.

“...General? Are you alright?” Bacara asked.

General Mundi turned yellow eyes to Bacara. “Yes, Bacara, thank you. It’s just a shame.”

“...Yes, sir.”

“Well then. Let’s free Captain Peke, shall we?”

Bacara got to his feet and he and General Mundi untied Captain Peke from the chair. Bacara called for help with cleanup through his comm, and in only a half hour they were debriefing in that very same command center as if nothing had happened. All throughout the debrief, though, Bacara could see the shadows of the bodies around the room.

[draco-kasai]

Hero Collaboration Program

Chapter 2 pt. 2 of 2: Welcome to The Program -->

Chapter 2 pt. 1 --> Chapter 1

Miss. Frizzle turned on her heel and walked over to a rack of dodgeballs that Mr. Jones hid from view behind him. Taking a few balls, she began placing them on the white chalked line on the grass. The field was marked out for them to play almost any sport. The ends were marked out as makeshift nets and the edge of the middle had poles protruding out the ground with the volleyball net tied snugly to one, in case they decided to play. The storage room contains the actual soccer nets and all the sports balls as well as chairs, and foldable tables. 

“The rules are pretty simple. You’ll be placed into two teams and are allowed to use your quirks in any way to help you. You are not allowed to step over the line to the other team's side. You can't leave the court unless you grab stray balls, at least until you have 'dead' players to retrieve them for you. If you attempt to catch a ball only to drop it, you are out. No headshots, you'll be eliminated if you do. If you are hit by a fly ball, you are out, even if it wasn't intended for you."

"The point of this activity is to get you all used to one another’s abilities right off the bat. You’ll have to remain as coordinated as possible and have faith that your teammates will work with you. As far as I know, just about none of you have a proper understanding of each other's abilities. Heroes fight alongside heroes they’ve never worked with, this is how you learn to adjust to that.” He bounced the ball in his hand a few times as he spoke, his eyes scanning the crowd of students before him. The moment he was done talking, he threw the ball at a girl with dark hair that shines blue in the sunlight. She squeaked at this sudden action, but caught the ball with no problem. 

“Marinette, come on up.” A little nervously, the girl walked around the crowd and made her way to stand next to Mr. Jones. Her free hand fiddled with the base of her loose over the shoulder pink top, dark pink sweatpants shifted as she moved to face the students. Her dark hair was tied back into a neat bun. Before she could ask Mr. Jones a question, a ball flew in between them. Turning her head, she spotted the moment a dark skinned male with braids caught the ball. 

“Very good Virgil! Please, make your way up.” Miss. Frizzle giggled, suddenly standing on Mr. Jones’s other side. The male shrugged his shoulders and made his way over. He wore a loose white tank top that showed off his toned arms and khaki sweatpants. “Ladies and Gentlemen, meet your team captains.” 

Mr. Jones pulled out a quarter, “Heads or tails?” he asked the two teens. 

“Heads/Tails” they responded in unison. Looking over to one another, they laughed softly. 

“Great! Virgil will be heads and Marinette, tails.” He flipped the coin in the air. In a fluid motion, he caught it and flipped it to rest on the back of his other hand, “And the person to choose their teammates first is…” He moved his hand to reveal the coin. “Tai-” Before he could even say the word, the coin flipped itself over. 

“Heads.” Virgil smirked smugly as he brought his hand back down into his pocket. Marinette’s eyes widened in realization at what had just occurred. “He said we could use our quirks to help us. He never said it had to be during the game, so I’m taking advantage to get the first pick.” The young girl’s eyes narrowed slightly. So he’s going to take the game seriously, fine, she will too. Virgil has just unlocked her competitive side, and from the fact that his smug smirk widened, that would mean he was hoping for that. 

Oh, game on.

“It’s good to know you know how to read between the lines and find loopholes.” Many of the students straightened up at his words, Mr Jones grinned widely, “Virgil gets first pick! Take turns, you two!”

“Cool, I pick,” He looked over at everyone. He spoke with some of the guys during foosball, they seemed pretty skilled, “Manny.” A boy with curly hair, wearing a loose gray T-shirt and cargo shorts, let go of his girlfriend's hand and walked over to his new team captain. 

Marinette’s eyes scanned the crowd, “Um…” Her eyes landed on a boy with messy black hair. His brown eyes were busy scanning each of the students. She recalls him speaking to her in French as she sat outside sketching, a rather pleasant surprise and conversation. When he had left she had noticed that he was making his rounds speaking to everyone, even during breakfast he bounced around. Maybe it’s just her competitive side hoping, but he just might know what everyone's skills are, he just might be useful. “Hiro.” She said, pointing to the boy with a red graphic T-shirt and knee-length shorts. He gave her a sly smirk and casually made his way over.

“Whatcha think man?” Virgil asked Manny as they both scanned the crowd.

“I don’t really know anybody’s quirks or skills… Frida is quirkless but has killer parkour experience.” Manny spoke with a pretty heavy accent. He crossed his arms over his chest,  “Um, Billy seemed pretty cool too. So did Gar.” Virgil nods to what his partner said.

“Then we’ll just have to get all three of them.” He spoke up louder, “Gar.”

“Glad I was a first choice.” Hiro spoke quite fluently in French as he walked over to her. Marinette smiled kindly. 

“I noticed that you were going around speaking to everyone this morning and during breakfast. Quite the social butterfly, aren’t you?” 

Hiro chuckled softly, “Ah, and here I thought you realized I was actually gathering information on everyone.” 

“No, but I was hoping you’d have some to help us. Good to know I wasn’t completely off."

“Right! Well, I suggest the Possible duo. Kim is quirkless but has cheerleading and acrobatics skills. That will definitely be useful for us. Her partner, Ron, has a quirk that turns any of his bad luck around into good luck. That would be useful to us, oh! And Damian would be useful too, I’m pretty sure he also noticed me gathering information. He seems smart and observant, don’t know what he can do though, I couldn't get anything out of him.”

“Still impressed, you gathered a lot of information.”

“Of course I did. Just ask people about themselves, and they’ll reveal information without realizing it.” Now that she thinks about it, Marinette does recall being the one to do most of the talking. Oh, this guy is cunning. She smirked.

“Oh, I like you. Glad to have you on board.” They exchanged a handshake and a mischievous smirk before the female turned to call out a name, “Kim.”

Virgil’s eyes narrowed slightly as his opponent’s gave one another a handshake. “Whatcha guys think? Frida, or Billy next?” 

“Oh! Actually, before we choose one of them, I suggest Damian. He’s quirkless, but he’s a force to be reckoned with!” Garfield eagerly put in his opinion, “He’s really smart and calculating. He’s skillful in fights, too.”

“Whatcha think?” Virgil looked to Manny.

“I don’t really got a problem with it.” Manny shrugged, “If he’s that good, he should not go to the other team.” 

“Gotcha. Damian.” 

Marinette almost cursed. There goes one of their choices. Oh well, they still have other players to choose from.

“Hey I think we should get Ron on our team, his quirk would probably come in handy for this, its-”

“Karmic Luck. Any of his bad luck is countered with a burst of good luck.”  Hiro cut Kim off, catching her off guard.

“Yeah, how did you…?”

“He’s quite the social butterfly.” Marinette smiled before calling for Ron. It took a moment before Kim realized what she meant by that. He had come up to them while they were playing 8ball and got Ron talking and talking. 

A smirk crossed her lips as she cocked her hip out and placed her hands on them, “Oh, you are sneaky. This will definitely make things interesting.” Hiro gave her a thanks in response.

Damian wanted to roll his eyes at the current conversation happening in front of him. The idiots seem to just be gathering people they have spoken too. He does not want to be on a team of incompetent players. Finally, having enough on rather or not Frida or Billy would be a good fit he butts in. “Why not select Lee. She seems fairly competent and skilled. She also seems to have quick reflexes, from the way she easily caught Parr’s tray when she slipped this morning.” Garfield, Manny and Virgil all stared at Damian in silence. 

“What?”

“I mean, like, I don’t disagree with what you said and all, they sound like a good fit but like…”

“Maldita sea, no sé ni la mitad de lo que dijo.” Manny mumbled under his breath as he ran a hand down his face. As if knowing his struggle, Garfield pats his back reassuringly.

“Dude, who’s Lee and Parr?” Garfield asked for them. Damian almost rolled his eyes.

“Juniper and Violet. It’s their last names.” he stated as if it were obvious.

“Dude… you call people by their last names? I mean, like no offense, but like… why?”

“It’s just a thing he does to people he doesn’t really know.” Garfield shrugs, “It's weird, but it’s his thing.”

“It’s simply polite to call an individual I am not close to by their last names,” Damian crossed his arms over his chest.

“Alright Mr. Fancy, but I would prefer it if you just went by our given names, you dig?” Virgil gave him a half smile  

“I do not, but very well. I shall compromise, when I mention someone to you, I’ll use given names, however I will not do so when I speak to people directly.”

“I mean… that works?” 

“On that note. We should be vigilant with the other team. Hama - Hiro has gone around to speak with everyone in the group. He has information on everyone. It will make it easier for them to choose worthy opponents.” 

“What!? Hiro? But he was so nice!” Garfield frowned, his pointed ears drooping.

“Yes, well do tell, what did you talk about with him?”

“Oh! I told him about my diet, my girlfriend, my quirk, and what hero training is like in my school!” 

Virgil clicked his tongue when he realized he just about spoke about the same things with the guy, “Oh man,… he knows our quirks and experience level.”

“And he went around speaking to everyone.” Manny added with a sigh

“If we wish to win, we have to take into consideration what we know of everyone and choose wisely.” 

“Gotcha. So, Juniper right?” Virgil calls out her name the moment Damian confirms it.  

“Zachary”

“Jenny.”

“Danny” 

“Frida”

“Violet”

“Miles”

“Betty”

“Rudy”

“Fiona”

“Billy” Marinette mentally fist pumped as Jake walked over to her team. Virgil took some of the people she wanted, but she got some of the players she was hoping for. Miss. Frizzle gave them all a ten-minute period where they could discuss. Going on their own side of the field, the teams began explaining their skill set to one another, as well as coming up with possible strategies.

______

Teams: 10 v. 10

Virgil(electromagnetism), Manny(Tigre), Garfield(shape shift), Damian(quirkless), Juniper(Detect), Jenny(Cyborg), Frida(quirkless), Miles(spider), Rudy(Chalk Art), Billy(Shazam)

Marinette(lucky Charm), Hiro(Prodigy), Kim(quirkless), Ron(Karmic Luck), Zachary(Magic), Danny(Ghost), Violet(Flyrogensis), Betty(Self Gravity), Fiona(Hair Manipulation), Jake(Dragon)

[thejostenator]

The Foxhole Cinema: Chapter Eight

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Neil slotted the dustpan and brush back where they had been at the beginning of the day, which already felt like it had been years ago. If working at The Foxhole was like this every day, he might actually start sleeping well again. He’d never gotten a good night’s sleep whilst on the run, but then again, he hadn’t at his Father’s house either. The last time he got a good night’s sleep was probably the one night he and his Mother spent at Uncle Stuart’s house in England after fleeing.

Even though Uncle Stuart was nice enough, his job as a lawyer was just a cover for gang work. It seemed like everyone in Neil’s life was embroiled with criminals somehow- Neil's Father had been a shady man playing at the big leagues by kidnapping Kevin, but Stuart was a genuine gangster. Neil’s mother hadn’t wanted them to go from one crime family to another so that had been a temporary stay, and even though he had Stuart’s number memorized, he had never called it.

Wymack watched him in stony silence before beckoning him closer. “Alright Josten, get a move on. We need to reach Abby’s before midnight so I can stop Kevin from doing something stupid whilst drunk.”

Neil nodded. “Sounds like a difficult task.”

“Don’t I know it,” Wymack sighed, and turned to leave the Cinema. Neil followed him out, close enough to look polite, but also far enough to avoid any malevolent hands or feet.

They were the last two to leave, so Wymack locked the door behind him. Everyone else had left earlier in the day, as their shifts ended, but Neil was forced to wait for Wymack to finish up whatever he was doing so they could leave together. Nicky had left first, wishing him a teary farewell as if they weren’t going to see each other tomorrow. Kevin and Aaron had ignored him as they took their leave, and Andrew had given him a two-fingered salute. Allison had been preoccupied with Seth, but Renee had flashed Neil another of her sugar-sweet smiles and offered to stay with him whilst he waited, but he had turned her down- he didn’t want to spend any more time with her than he had to.

She had accepted that without question.

Unfortunately for Neil, he couldn’t keep up the safe distance from Wymack once he was in his car, which was a two-seater and far too small for a man Wymack’s height. He had to stoop to fit through the driver’s seat door, but luckily Neil had no such issue. His issue lay with Wymack’s hands, and tracking their every move has he adjusted the rear-view mirror and shoved some fluffy dice dangling from it out of the way.

“Abby’s car,” Wymack said as an explanation.

“That explains a lot,” Neil said drily.

“Look,” Wymack said slowly, “You’ve only been here for one day, but you’re still a member of the team, got it?”

Neil nodded, despite the fact he disagreed. He may work at The Foxhole, but he was not part of the team.

“So,” Wymack continued, “Don’t let Minyard push you around. If he starts some shit, you come to me. Christ, if anyone starts some shit, you come to me.”

“Do we need a heart to heart right now, Coach?” Neil huffed, borrowing Andrew’s nickname for Wymack, who groaned in frustration at its use.

The rest of the drive passed in tense silence, and when they reached Abby’s house Neil clambered out of the car as fast as he could, unwilling to be trapped in an enclosed space with a grown man for any longer than possible. Wymack was not as oblivious as he had seemed when they first met, so he placed himself resolutely out of Neil’s personal space now that the option had arisen, holding out that little olive branch.

Neil took it as the peace offering it was and rung the doorbell. The front door swung open within seconds as if the woman inside had been sitting by the door waiting. She had a motherly smile and she looked Neil up and down with a gaze that was somehow both critical and comforting.

“You must be Neil,” she said, moving aside to let him in. “Please make yourself at home.”

Neil slipped off his shoes, and although he was wearing socks, they had enough holes that he could feel the cool floor against his feet. Running away from assailants constantly hadn’t left any of his clothes in the best shape (although these were the only ones he had left now, courtesy of Lola- he was starting to regret not taking the few seconds to kill her). Abby took in his threadbare socks with something akin to pity in her eyes and ushered him into the kitchen, Wymack following at a safe distance.

“We’ll get something in your stomach and then show you to the guest room,” Abby said, pulling a tray of steaming Mac n’ Cheese from the oven and heaping a serving of it into a pastel pink bowl- Neil wondered if she was the one who had chosen the Break Room’s colour scheme.

“Thank you,” Neil said, digging in.

Wymack and Abby both scooped out their own servings and sat down together, opposite Neil.

If there was one thing Neil didn’t miss from before being on the run, it was small talk at his Father’s dinners. Abby seemed determined to draw him out into conversation, commenting on her favorite popcorn flavor (salted caramel) while Wymack grumbled about Allison dumping her job on Neil since it was his first day. At that, Abby sweetly pointed out that Allison was under a lot of stress, and although it wasn’t the right thing to do, she was only doing it to go help Seth.

Neil zoned out at that point- he’d never met Seth, and if even his girlfriend called him ‘the dick’, he probably wasn’t that good of a person.

“Neil?” Abby asked, and it sounded like it wasn’t the first time she’d said his name. Neil snapped back out of his head. “You seem tired. Do you want to head to the guest room now?”

Neil nodded, edging away from Wymack as the older man rose from the table. Wymack noticed the action and sent a meaningful look to Abby, who shot one right back before leading Neil from the table.

The Guest Room had a dark colour scheme, in stark contrast to the rest of the house, with steel-grey curtains that hung down over the windows and coal-black bedspreads, but the walls were covered in movie posters and star decals that matched the gold highlights on the sheets and pillows. A door in the side lead to a conjoined bathroom. It was clear they’d put a lot of thought into it. Abby sat down on the bed and patted the spot next to her. Neil sat down next to her, just out of the reach of her hands. He automatically trusted her more than Wymack, but his Mother hadn’t been afraid to raise a hand to him if it was necessary for his safety.

“Neil,” she said slowly, “You’ve only known Wymack for just over a day, and me for about half an hour, so you have no reason to trust us yet.”

Neil nodded. That was something he understood- not trusting anyone, always being ready for a betrayal. Maybe Abby understood that too.

“But,” she continued, “I hope you give us a chance to earn that trust. I don’t know what you’ve been through in the past, except that it probably wasn’t good.”

“An understatement,” Neil said wryly before he could stop himself.

Abby fixed him with a gaze Neil couldn’t quite interpret, somewhere in the thin realm between pity and compassion. “As soon as you started working at the Foxhole, you became a valued part of the team. But, that also means you will have to spend time around Wymack. I want you to understand that you are in no danger from him.”

Neil sighed. “It’s instinct.”

Abby nodded, some semblance of understanding in her eyes. “I may not know exactly what you’ve gone through, but everyone at the Foxhole has a had a hard past, and this is all about giving people chances. But that’s not just for teenagers. You need to give us adults chances too- chances to show you we won’t be like the people from your past. That’s all we ask of you.”

Neil sighed. “I’ll try.”

That seemed to be enough for Abby, as she rose from the bed and made her way towards the edge of the room.

“Thank you. There are pyjamas on the bedside table, and toothpaste and toothbrush in the connected bathroom,” she paused in the doorway. “Goodnight Neil.”

“Goodnight Abby.”

[please-buckme]

You Belong with Me. - Anakin Skywalker x reader

Unisex.

⚠️Warnings: the reader says goddamn.

3113 words

This day started the same as any other day. You woke from your small room that was very high up in the Jedi Temple. You got out of bed and got ready for the monotonous day a head of you. You took a quick shower, got out and dried off. The only thing you took extra time on was your Padawan braid. You wore it with pride no matter how bad you hated it and couldn't wait to become a master to chop it off. Throwing your robes on quickly, you headed for the door. You only had an hour before your meeting with your master and the council. You wouldn't dare be late but you had gotten back from a mission very late the night before and hadn't eaten in days, so you headed to the dining hall to grab something quick like a meiloorun and some juice.

You had hoped to run into some friends along the way since you hadn't been home in a while. Your two best friends were Anakin and Makenna. Both extraordinary Jedi and your most favorite people in the world. But to no avail that's not who you ran into.

"(Y/N)! Oh I am so glad to see you've made it back safely!" Padmé says running up and embracing you in a rather tight hug. "When did you get in?"

"We got back last night. I would've told you but it was very late." You say breaking the hug and awkwardly crossing your arm to hold the other. You had known Padmé for a long time. You once had to escort her back to her home planet on Naboo for a mission, so you had gotten to know much about her. But it seemed no matter how polite and gentle she was a part of you was always a little intimidated by her. After all she was one of the most beautiful women in the galaxy and to top it off, a senator. You couldn't help but stare at the floor when talking to her, almost as if her beauty was blinding.

"Ani will be so glad to hear you're back." She said rubbing the arm you were holding. You suddenly sensed the feeling of worry coming from Padmé. You look up into her sorrrow felled eyes.

"What is it?" You ask. She makes a you-already-know face towards you and you bring your hand up to pinch the bridge of your nose. "The dreams again?"

"Unfortunately. But you know he won't tell me about them." She now puts her head down shaking it side to side. "It's just- I don't know why he can't talk to me, I'm his-" she smiled down at the floor shaking her head, "Apart from that I'm glad he has you! You are his best friend!" You cringe at her last sentence. You loved being Anakin's best friend but an even bigger part of you wants so much more. You've never felt in competition with Padmé because there's no contest. He would pick her every time and you couldn't blame him. She wore the most extravagant dresses credit could buy and you were in your tolerable, baggy Jedi attire.

"Okay well just tell him to come find me later." Your mind was being overcome with ill-mannered comments about how she didn't deserve him but you kept quiet. "Shall I escort you to the dining hall?" You hold your arm out to walk Padmé down the long corridor to the dining hall.

"Oh this is perfect! I was just heading that way to speak with Ani. You may join us." Padmé says as if you had no choice, but you didn't like being around them when they were together. You were consumed with jealousy when he, or she, made advances towards one another. Anakin would always look at her so lovingly as he caressed Padmé face, she'd blush and reveal her bewitching smile. Neither of them knew your feeling a towards Anakin. You pushed your feelings deep deep down but you were afraid if you got too jealous you wouldn't be able to stop Anakin from sensing your emotions.

"Thank you for the offer, Padmé. But I'm going to be in a bit of a rush seeing as though I have a meeting with the council in just a few minutes, so I'm just gonna sit by myself to not distract myself." What you said didn't make sense in your head and it didn't sound any better coming out. You didn't know what else to tell her though. Hey Padmé I can't sit with you because I'm madly in love with your boyfriend. Absolutely not.

"Oh, okay! That's fine. I'll just have him find you later." You could sense something was off about Padmé again but this time you weren't sure what.

Once you got into the dining hall your eyes overtly go to Anakin sitting by himself. Your breath hitched in your throat at the mere sight of him. You started to feel your cheeks warm up as you blush. You then clear your throat and tell Padmé goodbye before she makes her way to Anakin. You grabbed your breakfast and sat just behind them at another table. You didn't want to sit with them but you wanted to hear their conversation.

Padmé was upset with him, that much you knew. She kept saying things like; you always do this, how dare you and even sometimes I question our alliance.

She was talking about their marriage. She doesn't know you know about their marriage but you did. When Anakin told you he was so happy. You faked it for hours then finally excused yourself to your room and almost drown in your own tears. He talked about wanting to marry her but that's not the Jedi way so you thought nothing of it. You didn't talk to either of them for weeks. Your master knew of your feelings for Anakin, so she helped you out by telling them you were on a mission when in reality you were so emotionally weak you could barely move a muscle.

"Hey you're back!" You heard your friend Makenna from over your shoulder. You shushed her still trying to ease drop on Anakin and Padmé. "Oh shit what'd I miss?" She asked trying to get the dirt on their relationship. Makenna also knew about their marriage because you told her. You had to tell her. You weren't eating, you weren't sleeping and her being your best friend you couldn't keep it from her any longer.

"They're fighting." You say in a hushed tone.

"Oh yeah. They've been fighting for weeks now. Ever since you left actually." Makenna said.

"Do you know why?" You ask out of curiosity.

"Just Anakin being Anakin. I heard that he has been disagreeing with the council again and," she got closer to your ear to whisper a little softer, "he's been disappearing randomly. Like he's supposed to be on a mission right now with Obi-Wan, but no one could find him. He's in a lot of trouble right now and Padmé has been livid. They're constantly at each other's throats."  Makenna took a sip of your juice after telling you the recent gossip. Your stomach twisted at the emotions you could feel coming from Anakin. He was stressed, anxious, tired and furious all at the same time. The tension made you feel sick.  You turned your focus back to Makenna to distract yourself from getting sick.

"Doesn't help that he's having the dreams again." You say making her eyes grow huge.

"Again?! What of this time?" She asked.

"I don't know yet. Padmé just filled me in on it. She says he won't talk to her about them, as usual. If he can't even open up to her then why is he with her? Can't he see that I'm the one who understands him?" You say putting your head down now starring at the table. You start to think back to the nights when Anakin would cry himself to sleep in your bed. How you'd comb through is hair with your fingers and watch him sleep. He never slept peacefully but there were those few seconds in between his conscious and unconscious state. Where his head was filled with nothing but the peace of silence, before the dreaming and after the breakdown. Those were the little moments you lived for with Anakin. I wondered if Padmé had every really looked at him the way you do. You doubted it though. Seeing as their relationship is so hidden it's almost like they keep it a secret from each other as well. They always asked for you to join them in whatever they were doing because they didn't like being alone together. And Anakin isn't the only one who keeps secrets in that toxic relationship. He tells you all the time about the secrets she keeps in her head. He, sometimes, even reads her mind because the deceitfulness becomes too much to bare. At this point you're starring at them. They're still fighting but they're covering it up with fake smiles.

"Hey?" Makenna says nudging your arm, "He's a boy. Chosen one or not. And boys are stupid. They see one pretty girl and think they're in love. You and I clearly know that he should be with you but he's not because he's a stupid boy. So, get over him, move on. Stop letting him hold you back from living your life, (Y/N)." Makenna started rubbing your back soothingly and you nodded towards her. She was right. Anakin never showed interest in you and only came to you for his problems. No more.

"You know what? You're right." You say standing up now. "I- I have been living in Padmé's shadow trying to compete and for what? He has never looked at me twice. I'm done. You say angrily in a hushed tone trying not to draw attention. "Thank you, my friend. I have to go now. I have a stupid council meeting." You rub her shoulder in gratitude and head out of the dining hall. When you open the doors to the corridor it almost felt as though you were walking into your new life. A life of no Anakin. It definitely scarred you but it also felt like something you should've done a long time ago.

—————— Night Time

After the council meeting you had a very good day. Your master gave you the day to do as you pleased sense you had been on your last mission for so long. So you just did stuff to kill time and to avoid Padmé and Anakin. Neither of them ever really went to the training arena so that's where you spent most of the day. You trained along side a fellow Padawan, Kham. Kham was a couple inches taller than you but not quite as tall as Anakin. He had darker hair and blue eyes that went with his beautiful dark complexion. It had been rumored for a while that he had a crush on you but you never got that vibe from him. To you you guys were nothing more than just friends.

After training and hanging out for a while he asked if he could walk you back to your apartment. You said yes not wanting to be rude and to also not walk alone. You guys were telling corny jokes and making each other laugh until you got to your front door. There sat Anakin against the wall awaiting your arrival. When he looked up to see you walking with Kham you saw his face contort into a rage. Was he jealous? No he couldn't be. What was there to be jealous of? You were you and nothing more than a best friend to him.

"Anakin." You say greeting him with a nod. For once you weren't happy to see him. At this point you wouldn't mind if you never saw him again. Just the sight of him enraged you.

"(Y/N)." he said back to you in an angered tone, "Kham." He greeted Kham as well. "I've been waiting here for well over an hour." He spat at you as if to make you feel bad. Kham felt the tension between the two of you.

"Okay, I'm gonna go. Anakin," he nodded. "Good to see you and (Y/N) I'll see you tomorrow." He says giving you a sweet smile. You smile back in response and he leaves you with Anakin. Great.

"Why didn't you tell me you were home. I had to find out from Padmé." He says jumping right into an argument.

"Sorry dad we got back late." You say.

"What's tomorrow?" Anakin asked. In reference to what Kham had said to you.

"A word to describe the upcoming day." You say sarcastically knowing exactly how he'd respond. You didn't care though. You simply walked past him and into your apartment.

"You know exactly what I mean. What is wrong with you?" He asks annoyed with your new attitude towards him.

"Are you really here to find out what's wrong with me or for me to be your emotional support blanket? Come here Ani let me soak up every ounce of frustration and anger you feel so you can feel better about yourself." You're tone had gotten louder. You didn't care if the entire temple could hear you. You were just glad that you were finally sticking up for yourself.

"Oh, so now my emotions annoy you?" He says way too dramatically for your taste.

"No Anakin that's not what I'm saying. I'm annoyed that that's all we talk about now. Ever sense Padmé came into the picture all I get from you is your emotional, sad, depressed state and the second you feel better you run right back to her. I'm exhausted Ani. I'm exhausted. I can't do this anymore." You say turning your back to him to not show him the tears you're holding back.

"Well, if that's how you feel then fine. I'll go." You could hear him head to the door but you wanted him to hear everything you had to say because you didn't know if you'd have the guts to say it again.

"You know- I used to think you hung the goddamn moon and all the stars, Ani. I so obviously loved you and you couldn't careless. For years I have been by your side through all your ups and downs and I got nothing in return. You never greet me when I come home from missions but oh- I didn't show up one time when you came home and you didn't talk to me for a week. So you go Anakin because I'm done. I can't take it anymore of this emotional abuse. I- I can't." You could feel the pooling tears in your eyes start to full. The tears you wept were not for him but for you. They symbolized everything you held back from him all these years. You were overwhelmed but relieved to finally be done with the charade and excited to be your own person again, if you ever were to begin with.

Anakin was frozen in his tracks still looking at the door. You cried silently not wanting him to stay and comfort you. You also knew he needed time to process everything you just told him. You'd never talked to Anakin that way and you wish you didn't have to. You wondered if he would indeed just leave. You wondered if he'd say absolutely nothing and walk out the door. But he didn't. All Anakin did was turn swiftly on his feet. Now starring at you he puts one foot in front of the other as if he was going to walk over to you. He stops as if he were still numb by your words.

"You think after all this time I didn't know you loved me? If you didn't love me why would you stay up with me all those nights just to talk? I've always known." He pauses for a moment. You just stare at him in confusion. Were your feelings a game to him? You wondered unto he spoke again. "Even after all this time and all those late nights you never once realized how crazy an- and insanely in love I am with you?" You gasped at his words throwing your hand over your mouth. "I never show up when you come home because I get too nerves to see you and when you come home hurt I- I lose my mind. When you didn't show up that one time I thought you needed space. When I saw you with Kham I almost lost it." Everything he said was music to your ears except the last part. He's jealous of a guy you're not even dating?

"Your jealous of Kham? That's funny, um, how about your wife? How do you think that makes me feel? I have to see you guys together constantly. If you love me so much then why do you torture me? Why did you marry her?" You wipe a tear away aggressively trying to appear stronger than you feel.

"Because I don't have to worry about her as much. Before her you're all I thought about day and night, which I still do. I thought being with her would help me get over you. Every time you go on a mission I'm scarred it'll be your last. I can't think straight or concentrate on anything when you're gone. You're my rock." He walked towards you now at a steady pace. Your tempted to take a step back but you don't. You just stare at Anakin until he fills in the empty space between you.

"I love you, (Y/N). I have always loved you."

You say nothing in response. You just do the one thing you'd been dying to do since you met. You kissed him. You kissed him in a way that cannot be described with words. Butterflies ran all through your body. Your head now feeling dizzy from all the passion and emotion that seeped from your mouth into his. He did not hesitate to kiss you back in this long awaited kiss either. You felt him smile on your lips which made you giggle. You nuzzled you're head into his chest and he enveloped his arms around your lower back. You were over come with joy now knowing that your best friend, Anakin Skywalker, the chosen one, was in love with you. You picked your head up to stare into his beautiful blue orbs.

"I love you, Ani." He just smirked down at you and kissed you ones again.

xMasterlist.x