#i excuse none of his actions i just think hes neat

[doom-dreaming]

Halo 1-3 armor: Very nice. A technological marvel. Sleek. I love it. Iconic. I love it in the anniversary version of halo 2.

Halo 4-5 armor: slutty. Fashion icon. Jokes aside, I don't get the hate for this one. I like it. He looks pretty in it. Yes it is a tad impractical in some cases and a darker shade of green. It just means he's a dark green cicada instead of a leaf green one.

Infinite: Honestly, it's probably my favorite one. The design is heavily inspired from the halo trilogy with a modern touch to it. Very Green compared to halo 4 and 5. I love the marks and damage it has on it— the details.

Oh cool, an excuse to look at pictures of him. I do genuinely think it's neat to look at all the designs side-by-side and see what they kept and what they changed, so let's do that. :)

Original CE graphics next to the Anniversary remaster. Not a drastic change, same basic shape, just more detail, which makes sense. I do like the addition of the glowy bits (shield generator?) on his chest as well as the ones above his knees.

Halo 2 original graphics (top) vs. Anniversary (bottom; I would have put them side by side but they're not the same size and it decapitated him). Still the same general look as CE, but notably without any glowy/reflective bits (but it looks like whatever those are is still there, above his knees, just matte this time). The chest piece looks more like a breastplate than a roller coaster safety harness. It gives him tits. I love the scuffing and wear and tear they added, especially on his knees and boots. I agree that this is one of my favorite versions of it.

Halo 3 - it looks smoother than the iteration in 2, and that could be to graphical updates, but compare it to the CE look and it's similar, like they rounded off some of the sharp edges. They sanded my boy. Also, we see the return of the shiny above-knee strips. Still none on the chestplate though. Less noticeable scuffing and damage here, too.

Halo 4, where 343 Industries took over and things got wild. The undersuit has texture now. The fingers have actual plating on them. The shape is still roughly the same, it's the classic Mjolnir silhouette, but each section has a crazy amount of detail and kibble added to it. They really embellished - where a lot of the original trilogy designs had solid metal, they've added buckles and screws and things I don't know how to describe in writing that give it a lot more visual interest. Like you said, the designs in 1 - 3 were very sleek, the design here looks like a lot of moving parts. Also, the color is closer to the muted green in Halo 3 (or at least that specific picture), which is interesting. And note the removal of the Shiny Strips altogether. I'm like you, I don't get the hate for this one, I think it looks cool.

In Halo 5, we've gotten sleeker again! And a little greener. A lot of the gray parts of the Halo 4 design have been turned dark green for this one. The undersuit has also lost its very specific bumpy texture for something a little smoother? The coloring on this one is weird to me and I'm just now noticing it, but there are some places that look like they shouldn't be green or black. Like his shoulders? That looks like undersuit texture, shouldn't that be black? And it looks like they filled in the little crop top portion in the 4 design (not really visible in the photo I used here, oops) but it still looks more like undersuit than armor, so I'm not sure what the goal was here. I do think the random stripes of red are a fun touch and...do we have the return of Shiny Thigh Strips once again? Hard to say. Notably NO battle damage in this one, dude looks like a pristine action figure.

Halo Infinite - this is definitely a callback to the original trilogy design, they even brought the bolts/screws on the boots and hands back. To me, it looks VERY similar to the H2A design, which is a Good Thing. But oh god, they turned up the saturation on the green. This is the greenest he's ever been. And we have the Shiny Strips (even though they're not shiny?) on the legs again! Not on the chest, but they've added a pair to his lower legs. And we've got battle damage again! Yay! To me, this is a best-of-both-worlds compromise between the original design(s) and the level of detail in 4 and 5. I just wish they hadn't gone SO green with it. I also wish they'd kept the actual armor on his fingers. And I don't know if it's just this specific render, but it looks more like plastic than metal to me? Which is an interesting design choice if it was an intentional one.

[an-architect-of-words]

Rambling About Charles and Evil and Empathy.

I saw a sweet Charles quote. And to be honest, even though we were completely smacked in the face by how evil his behind-the-scenes actions were, I do have a soft spot for him. There are tons of moments where he just broke my heart. Of course, it’s hard to tell who anyone in this book truly was at the end of the day… But I felt pity for the guy, while hating his vices. I think he did have good streak in him that his addiction wrecked. The neat thing about this book is that fans will empathize on different levels with different characters.

It sounds weird to say but I think TSH made me a more empathetic person. Obviously, I have to be careful with what I say here because none of the crimes in this book were excusable. In fact, that’s a key part of the conflict! The characters are delusional and challenge moral boundaries, and there was no other way this could end but their actions destroying them. Richard is problematic precisely because he paints away the flaws of these characters— much like Julian does— until he’s forced to admit how evil everyone has become. Things just get too out-of-control. Besides, society would collapse if we didn’t draw hard lines and refuse to justify people. That said, it’s also important to understand the types of things that make people break and to take them seriously. No character in TSH was just born evil. And we get periodic glimpses of who they could have turned out to be.

I do believe Charles, had he not come to rely on alcohol and face multiple traumatic experiences, could have just been a sensitive and thoughtful man; he loves animals and we see this when he saves Frost from being put down and when he takes in the cat. He’s also the most reflective about what the group did to Bunny and to his family (Richard reflects a lot too, but we are in his head. Charles voices this aloud multiple times). And I have to admit I nearly broke down crying when he was sick in Richard’s room and said, “I’m scared.” That’s a feeling so raw that it just really hurt me. Francis’s flippant attitude about serious things, honestly, annoyed me. But I felt the same thing for him when he was having a panic attack and didn’t know what was happening to him. Genuine panic, fear, and loneliness are just tough to watch.

I don’t know. Tartt writes with so much nuance, bringing light to the fact that we have to admit some people are bad people and that aesthetic beauty has nothing to do with it. But her characters, despite their evil, are also humanized in a way that isn’t just a cheap “but his parents died” few sentences. The slow burn aspect of this book and the time Tartt takes to actually provide a full psychological picture is breathtaking. Human minds are just tricky things, especially when they’re damaged at young ages. Eh, I’m rambling now but these are tough topics and the line between justifying and empathizing is thin and hard to understand.

[brokebegginerartist]

I have a whole ass storyline featuring these two, spawned from that very okayish movie.

Also a spoiler review:

The sequel was pretty okay. I had a good time watching it. Obv it's very technically impressive and the way that the water ways is very good™️. The designs in general were very neat. Super pleasing from a guy who likes designs. I prefer looking at the human vehicles over the creatures but yknow, sucker for lower sci-fi stuff.

From what I remember of the first movie (which is almost next to none), I think I enjoyed the characters here a lot more. Super Memorable Main Character Jake Sully wasn't at all too interesting here. All he's really got is:

a) guerrilla leader, which the movie skips out a whole lot of potential in the prologue like seriously there was so much they could've done with that but they just didn't

And b) kinda strict father figure. Like I mean, it's something, for sure. But he never really does anything that a father figure wouldn't reasonably do. There was this bit in the beginning were his sons, uh. Noatok and Middle Child, mess up really bad and got a number of folks killed, but Jakesully kinda ignores that and berates Middle Child that he nearly got his brother killed. And his punishment for nearly screwing up a military mission? He's grounded. Around two thirds of what made this dynamic interesting was abandoned when the family bounced. Honestly though I can understand why his character takes a bit of a backseat as the film now has to devote screentime to his kids, which is more of an excuse than the previous film had.

Neytiri has largely the same issues too. I didn't really think of her as anything more than Scary Mom and Spicy Wife, but I don't rlly know what else they could've done with her.

That being said, I liked the kids a whole lot more even if the only ones who had an arc were Middle Child, Kiri, and Spider. Which is. More than ¾s. Anyways they were just kind of fun to be around even if I was getting a little tired of the discrimination aspect, though I understand why that exists. I'm especially happy with what they did with Kiri. Having that dynamic with Grace and Eywa was an amazing concept and I'm very interested to see what they do with it in the next one. I'm personally hoping we see Grace back in her Avatar.

Quaritch, compared to the last movie from what I remember, was way more interesting here than in the last movie (which is more than I can say for his squad. They weren't even particularly harder to kill than any of the human mercs. While the blue was flashy and cool, I'm disappointed with the lost potential here, even if it was only for better action scenes). It's good to see him with an attitude that isn't Military Man. He's also the main reason Spider exists, in and out of universe. At the beginning of the movie I was like "why does this kid exist besides the self inserts for young men" but during his scenes with Quaritch, I'm glad he does. I'm really into the esthetic of the military gear on the wyverns. Mega, Mega cool. Which is another thing.

I'm kind of disappointed with the treatment of the humans here. Very nearly none of them have any sympathetic qualities whatsoever. Even the ex-humans on the Naavi side were basically entirely useless. They only existed to paint a target on the Seal Naavi, telling Jakesully that, yknow, Kiri having seizures underwater could be bad (also it's very convenient that Naavi don't have the instinct to inhale when they suffocate like humans do. Very odd tbh) and to also claim that Kiris visions were caused by brain problems, which, while possible, they have actual, measurable proof that Eywa and her effects on the environment exist (I mean for fecks sake one of thems an Avatar too. Literally just stick him into a tree or some crap. I'm pretty sure they have recordings of Grace confirming this, no?). I sincerely hope this is improved in the next one, like Jesus this is a thing that took me out of the film for a bit

There's also this feeling that this whole conflict is really black and white, as in all the humans are bad guys and all the blue peeps are good guys. I'm no supremacist, and I understand that they're gonna do something with the concept with the introduction of the fire nation, but at least give us at least something to suggest that this conflict isn't that simple, like something more tangible than bullies for the blue side and, y’know, any sign at all that the humans are worried about the future of their people on the sky side.

Something besides all that, that I wish they did, was lean into the mixed esthetic like they did with Quaritch's wyverns. Something I think would've been cool for Jakesully's character. How, although he loves his wife and family and wants to separate himself from the worst parts of his heritage, he still mourns the things he lost. Even Especially if it was only the little things, like beer with friends or the general esthetics of Night City. Another thing that could've made the vibes more mixed. Like the weird coms gear that the Avatars use. I'd like some signs that both humans and Naavi have something to learn from each other, like some technical skills and even just an interest in cultural studies (if Eywa wasn't a force that solves damn well near all their problems and if they had a more open mind on anything that wasn't Eywa, although I could understand why they wouldn't considering the circumstances), and maybe, besides the incredible biology studies, a little bit of culture exchange on the humans side (if they weren't both desperate and assholes and led by a megacorp)

And besides that, some nitpicks

JakeSully's decision to leave when Avatars are targeting his family. Dumb, dumb on multiple levels. 1, You're like the only competent guerrilla leader of these people and you're leaving them high and dry. 2, You're leaving the hallelujah mountains, your most strongly defensible position, as on top of the general hostility of the entire planet, it has electro magnetic shenanigans that make the human instruments malfunction. And 3, if you decide to settle with anyone else, you'll be putting their community into danger by association because you cannot tell me you thought they were just gonna leave you alone if you disappeared from radar for a bit.

Everyone besides the kids lack of concern for Spider. JakeSully takes his family and bounces when he hears he's been captured (altho tbh what was he gonna do besides not leave, massive dumbdumb), and Neytiri takes him for hostage. She was emotional and they had Kiri, but still like wtf both of you. Butthole moves, you guys that was fucked

Why are the whales sapient? They don't seem to have admin privileges like the Naavi (or hands with which to create). What tf is the plan here Eywa

The mosasaur looking thing abandons the chase of a large fish out in open water, in favour of a much skinnier and more inconvenient Middle Child

The sea mercs plans rely nearly entirely on the whales refusal to retaliate in any meaningful way. I don't remember how much damage Middle Childs buddy did in his flashback, but his bros had all been killed. What was the difference between then and now? Where are all the high explosives that you dudes obviously need on standby?

The Sea Naavi dissappear in the middle of the climactic battle

Despite all that tho movie was pretty and I had fun, hoping the next one is better :)

[c0smiccom3t]

Sudden Kick-Out

[The Bandicoot sibs and Lani-Loli, after defeating N. Gin, run through the rift after Akano, the mask of Dark Matter. What they don't know is that somebody was watching them. And it was none other than Ryonna. Ryonna, surprised to see N. Gin was defeated, decides to quickly inform Dr. N. Tropy (mostly) and Dr. Neo Cortex about what happened]

Ryonna: Bad news, Tropes! It appears that the little furbabies have defeated N. Gin!

[N. Tropy, annoyed, face palms. He, of course, knew this was gonna happen. Considering how bumbling the other scientists are compared to him (in his own opinion)]

N. Tropy: Of course they defeated him that easily...

Ryonna: It's sad too since I did think that "Rawkit-hëd" concert was a neat idea from his part. That's not all though, it appears that the furballs are heading towards Salty... Waft or... whatever it's called.

N. Tropy: It's Salty Wharf, Ryonna.

Ryonna: Whatever. t'least that's still a long road ahead, which means that'll give us plenty of time.

N. Tropy: That's correct. In fact, that will give us more time to get the rift generator to be finalized. Though now that I think of it, we may need to think of a back-up strategy before they find a way to get to Tranquility Falls...

[Upon hearing that, Cortex stops whatever he's doing and clears his throat. N Tropy and Ryonna then turn around and pay attention to him, much to the clock-wise scientist's annoyance and the lemur's confusion]

Neo Cortex: And if i tell you about my plan that i've had in mind since 50 minutes ago?

[N. Tropy looks extremely not amused, not interested in whatever he's plotting, Ryonna however is thrilled to hear about his plan. N. Tropy of course, decides to say something which catches the lemur's attention]

N. Tropy: Absolutely No--

Ryonna: Shh! Let him speak, he's up to something!

N. Tropy: [long sigh] This better be good, Cortex.

[Neo Cortex, noticing that Ryonna and N. Tropy want to hear about whatever he's plotting, decides to explain it to them.]

Neo Cortex: I was thinking that I could set up into the 11th dimension, when i'm there i can set up a little base with the help of my lab assistants. Once the bandicoots get there, I'll tell them that i will meet them at the mountain. And since i'll bring in my blimp, I shall make a 'few' notifications to it so it will be impossible for those morons to beat me, and once they'll be out of the way, nothing will ever stop us from "dominating all of time and space" or whatever it is. You know, just so to do my part?

[As Cortex finishes his monologue, Ryonna looks surprised, N. Tropy however is not impressed. Which makes Cortex look annoyed about their reaction]

Neo Cortex: Ugh, do you even have anything to say about it?! Seriously, it's like you don't appreciate the hard work i--

Ryonna: Wai-Wai-Wait! I actually like this plan.

Neo Cortex: ..You do?

Ryonna: Yeah! Though it could need a few tweaks here and there, but hey, I think it's pretty good! Maybe I can help you develop it a little more so we have a much higher chance of winning, If... That's possible of course.

[N. Tropy then gets an idea. he decides to pull out his tuning fork and pushes Ryonna towards Cortex]

N. Tropy: In that case, listen up you two, I've had a slight change of plans. So, I will stay here and focus on completing the rift generator, while you, Cortex, will go to the 11th dimension and put in action... That potentially-failing plan of yours. Oh, and Ringtail is coming with you.

Neo Cortex/Ryonna: WHAT?! US?! WHY?!

N. Tropy: Well, it's simple, it's that you're both equally the most annoying people, except one is much more mature and capable on their job, and one is extremely short-tempered who will need to be accompanied and watched over so he doesn't mess up.

[Shocked by this news, Ryonna is extremely confused and angry, perhaps a mix of both emotions too. Cortex, on the other hand is being very stubborn due to hearing this]

Neo Cortex: EXCUSE ME?! I do NOT need her to accompany me in this! The great Neo Cortex is a lone wolf, a bald eagle, a burrowing hamster. Thus I dont want her to help me, nor watch me over!

Ryonna: Yeah, and I am a Professional Bounty Huntress (PBH for short), not a babysitter! And by the way, what happened to my initial task on watching over what the little furbabies are up to--

[N. Tropy then throws the monitor at her it hits her face a little but it didnt hurt that much, the object ends up in their hands, still extremely confused]

N. Tropy: Bring that with you, it still works in other places away from here, it's not like it needs wi-fi to work. Now you all know your task, so you better be off.

Neo Cortex: Alright, fine. I'll just have to activate my blaster's teleport function for us to get there. Just a single shot and--

N. Tropy: Actually, I got a better idea.

[The evil scientist and the Huntress look at eachother, confused on what idea he's got to get them to the 11th dimension. Cut to the latter, a quantum rift opens up, and the two hooligans yelp and fall into the snowy ground after getting their butts kicked by N. Tropy (literally). while their faces are planted in the snow, he looks at them with a smug smile in his face]

N. Tropy: Good luck, though i doubt you'll have it.

[he chuckles evilly and the rift closes. Cortex lifts his head up and coughs, he in rage, then slams his fist on the ground and grumbles under his breath]

Neo Cortex: Stupid, insolent, overbearing, egoistic, pretentious son of a-...

Ryonna: [muffled] Huh, this ground's actually pretty soft, Wonder if this is the 11th dimension!

[Ryonna then lifts her head up and sees that they're of course, in the 11th dimension]

Ryonna: Ohhhh, there we go. You know, I never witnessed or felt snow since forever. So, i think s'a breath of freezy air. Hahah! Get it, because, the air's fresh but its more cooler than it is--

Neo Cortex: One more pun, and i'll end you.

Ryonna: Okay, okay i'll stop. So, all we have to do is just build that base, right?

Neo Cortex: Ugh, yes of course, why?!

Ryonna: Well, because we got plenty of time to spare! Currently, the bandicoots are in Salty... What was it again? Wrath? Waft--

Neo Cortex: (annoyed) Salty Wharf?

Ryonna: Salty Wharf, thank you!

[Ryonna finger guns at Cortex, who is still annoyed he has to work with her, but he needs to focus on his current task anyway. Meanwhile, Ryonna turns on map mode for the monitor and it shows off all of the places of the 11th dimension, so they, of course, can focus on planning. Cortex then looks at the tablet while she's rambling]

Ryonna: Anyway, we got time until they get here. So, all we have to do is just build said base and get your blimp here. We can find out where we can put the latter and I think we can put iiitt... Right at the mountain's cliff, juuust a few miles away! Now how do we get your blimp and some metal here--

[suddenly two quantum rifts open and tons of pieces of metal and tools fall to the ground, and the blimp then flies through the rift and arrives in the 11th dimension, the two look extremely surprised]

Ryonna: What just happened??

Neo Cortex: Beats me. But you know how these rifts work. Now, to contact my assistants and get them her--

Ryonna: Uh, I don't think you have to, doc.

[Ryonna points at another Quantum rifts which various lab assistants fall out from. every single one of them fall into the ground, some are getting up, shivering from the cold. Cortex and Ryonna in the meantime are extremely surprised about all of this. they then look at eachother]

Ryonna: Well, heh, what do you know, the rift brought us exactly what you asked for!

[Cortex then gets annoyed and inhales, already done with all of this and just wants to get to work already. (and he's also done with Ryonna's nonsense, too.)]

Neo Cortex: Do you happen to have some snow clothing?

[Ryonna then gets tons of winter clothes out of her back belt pouch. When noticing that, Cortex was out of words, not to mention very confused]

Ryonna: Can't go anywhere without them!

Neo Cortex: WHA- H-how?????

Ryonna: My pouch is like a black hole if you think about it. Oh yeah, do you need something? I dont think staying in the cold weather like that is gonna help you.

Neo Cortex: Ugh, I do NOT need your help! I'm completely fine! Just stop wasting time and give them those!

Ryonna: Alright. Careful though, surviving this breeze-y isn't easy.

[She then walks out off-screen, Cortex just rolls his eyes in annoyance and facepalms, he then just looks very disappointed.]

Neo Cortex: Ugh. Why did I have to team up with her?

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 - You're here! Chapter 4 - Next month!

[moseslikellamas]

Lynx Chapter Two

The Red Lounge

Summary: Sad goes to the Red Lounge to discover the new owner is none other than Tayln Mage, CEO and founder of CHEMX.

Warnings: none.

Work count: 1.2k

Though I hated to admit it, the lounge did look different. Instead of a thick wall of smoke, dingy seating and suspicious looking clientele it was modern. The lighting was still low but I could see enough to navigate the room easily. The Red Lounge had a reputation for being a glorified criminal meet up spot, and despite the visible changes it still held an undercurrent of peril, waiting for the right moment to strike. 

   It was only after I seated myself in a booth, as close to the exit as possible, that I realized I had lost the holographic girl. While mentally congratulating myself, the real version appeared before me. She was just as bubbly and twice as annoying which seemed an impossible feat. But she managed just fine somehow.

“I told you it was different! It’s me! Xiana.” 

I was still mildly shocked she was real. It lit up the investigative part of my brain. 

“So you are. Who’s running this place now? Neat trick you’ve got there, must be cutting edge. I’ve certainly never seen anything like it.”

Unaffected by my obvious probing, or very good at pretending, she continued still upbeat. 

“Honestly, do you live under a rock? How do you not know who owns this place now?” 

There are more important things! I mentally screamed, desperately tired of the real Xiana already. 

“I told you I’m not their customer base, why would I care who runs it?”

She rolled her eyes, pushing me over so she could sit beside me in the booth. 

“It’s been posted everywhere in the city! You can’t walk down the street without their name hitting you in the face. It’s just ridiculous to think you’ve missed them all.” 

Annoyed by her slight against my observation skills, I still missed the point. Until she quite literally pointed up above us to the second floor. 

“You can’t miss it now. He’s right up there.” 

I felt my heart rate accelerating as I momentarily locked eyes with the man himself, Talyn Mage, Head of ChemX. I thought I might throw up when he tipped his drink in our direction. The feeling of peril amped up by a thousand, almost as if I had stepped on a live wire. That explained the ad technology, no one had better access to new tech than ChemX. 

 “Oh.”I simply replied, too busy formulating my excuse and subsequent escape. I needed to call Beau again. That slimy dog of a best friend had some explaining to do. She continued to excitedly prattle on about how wonderful the lounge was now and how I would just have to come back. 

“Look thats great and all but I really do have to get going.”

I began pushing her out of the booth so as to free myself from this nightmare. I knew I should’ve stayed home, nothing good ever comes of leaving.

Xiana though, was having none of it. “No! You just got here. The live entertainment hasn’t even started, come on!” 

    I cursed the universe and vowed to see the end of Talyn Mage in that instant. I very reluctantly agreed to wait a while. Which caused Xiana to beam at me and disappear, pledging to get me a drink. While held captive by the promise of live entertainment, I decided to study the new lounge. In addition to the new seating, there was a stage and a long hallway. I suspected private rooms were down it. The lounge might have changed hands and the clients might look a bit fancier but it was still the red lounge. Right in the middle of the entertainment sector where everyone came to escape the misery of real life. That’s exactly why I found myself in this predicament. 

  Xiana did briefly return and as promised, with a drink. Though I think it was more to ensure I hadn’t bolted at the first chance. She assured me again the wait was worth it before she bounded away again. Surely to go annoy some other poor and desperate looking person.  I brooded over the drink not bothering to drink it, just holding it as a prop. Sweat began to bead on my forehead and I pulled at my collar, looking around at the other patrons. What did Mage want with this place? Did he think he was above gossip now? His reputation was always shaky at best, it seemed a weird move to buy a known crime spot. But Beau would have more information on the situation than what I could glean from sitting here.

     Before I could resolve myself to leaving, the stage curtains opened.  A slow synth ballad began to ring through the building. The overhead lights got even dimmer and the air suddenly felt thicker. The current of the evening churned inside me growing worse by the second. It took everything inside me to remain seated. Holographic images floated around everyone, I couldn’t make out any of them except the ones floating around me. 

Twinkling green spiders. The rest of the patrons were silent, none of them were cheering. Instead they were all too busy looking at their own holographic images. My vision began to swim and a pulsing vibration was moving through my body. It was separate from the zinging lighting that was begging me to leave. Dulled and hypnotic.

   I was out the door before I could process the action. Running faster than I ever had in my life, I was out of the entertainment sector in seconds. Pausing I considered going back, whatever was about to happen was going to be national news. But the feeling of lightning radiating through me made that impossible. I decided to make a detour through the historic district, hoping no one from my work would notice me. I moved too quickly for a normal person but I knew how to avoid the streets cameras, slinking from blind spot to blind spot.  If I took the back way home I could spot the Red Lounge from the sun wire bridge. If I couldn’t be on the scene I could at least see it from afar. Winding through the back allies, I headed towards the bridge.

I stumbled around a few times, my head swimming and the image of tiny dancing spiders were floating around me. The dizziness grew to a peak the closer I drew to the bridge. Stopping for a moment, I crouched trying to regain my sense of balance. Whatever Mage was up to, it couldn’t be good. As I contemplated the possibilities, other questions popped up. The feeling of electricity must be a warning but of what? And why had Xiana invited me to a setup? Was she in on it or just an innocent worker? I felt weird the moment I stepped inside the lounge and it had only intensified after spotting Mage. I thought back to the feeling of the air thickening. Was he drugging patrons? And how could I test a sample of it if he was? As she approached began walking the bridge it was immediately clear something was wrong. People were stopped in their tracks staring in the direction of the lounge. She gasped when she saw the incomprehensible image before her. She stood rooted to the spot, gazing in horror like the rest of them.

[good-old-kooks]

Hi, I spent the entirety of last night drawing an entire a4 page’s worth of shitty Spade King doodles and I’m going to make that everyone elses problem. Incoherent ramblings about the drawings (that aren’t on the image already) under the cut.

I think it’s VERY telling that, out of all of the kings, this asshole’s the one wearing the most black. Like, come on, he’s such a moody bitch, staring off of the balcony of his castle before his battle and shit. And having his tits out 24/7? Dumbest motherfucker alive.

Spade yelling. I like his teef :)

I can bet my ass the only reason he doesn’t swear in-game is because he’s trying to look all cool and dignified. He’s such a fucking tryhard it’s embarrassing. 

This man eats soap you can’t convince me otherwise. There’s legit reasoning behind this headcanon of mine but no one cares lmao, so all you need to know is that Spade and Lancer can both digest just about anything and soap is just Spade’s personal favourite.

Greedy bastard. Again, teef are mostly the reason I drew this one. Also please for the love of god ignore the shitty cape. I gave -5 shits about drawing his cape in the smaller sketches. Also yeah all of these are just coloured sketches, I swear I usually draw better than this.

HE LISTENS TO BOOMER MUSIC YOU CAN’T CONVINCE ME OTHERWISE. THIS IS SINGLEHANDEDLY THE BEST ART I’VE EVER DRAWN IN MY LIFE-

Anyway here’s human Spade. Both my sister and best friend said he looks ugly and I think that means I did my job REALLY well.

Oh yeah, I also have full personality headcanons for all the other kings, I just happen to like Spade the best. I like seeing just how much I can stretch and pull an expression for exaggeration purposes. Spade is really useful for that because he has a REALLY weird and specific design, so he’s easally recognizable.

Seam and Jevil cameos. Again, you can’t convince me that Spade ISN’T the “no fun allowed” king. Also I JUST realised I didn’t draw a Rouxls cameo on this entire page... Good.

What else is there to say? Other than the fact that the proportions on this are the worst I’ve ever done. I had to re-scale Lancer TWICE. And it STILL looks bad.

Yeah I don’t know the context for this one, I just thought it was a cool pose, and gave him something in-character to say along to that. I’m considering actually making this a Real Finished Drawing but god only knows how long THAT will take.

Bonus Lancer for your patience in reading through all this.

Also, shameless plug, I made a playlist of songs I associate with/are about the Spade King, it’s called the Spadelist. Right now there’s not much on it, other than remixes of his theme and some other metal songs and metal adjacent songs I think fit him. Check it out if you want, it’s only 21 songs thus far, but I plan to keep updating it.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Twisted Tarot XIV — Temperance

“Moderation in temper is always a virtue; but moderation in principle is always a vice.”

Temperance, Upright: balance, moderation, patience, purpose

Temperance, Reversed: imbalance, excess, self-healing, re-alignment

He walks the middle road in a world that is otherwise topsy-turvy. To others, he is a patient mediator, and to himself, he is but a “normal” individual. Though not highly opinionated or controversial, he must shatter that balance and spur into action when the occasion calls—else, temperance may be his downfall.

Reveal the Shape of thy Soul...

... Trey Clover!

“Riddle?”

Trey hovered at the threshold to his dorm leader’s room, unable to bring himself to cross out of politeness. His hesitant voice rang out hauntingly in the quiet. But the wails of his collared dorm mates still echoed fresh in his mind.

“Riddle,” he tried again, slightly louder this time, “it’s Trey. Can I talk to you?”

“... You may enter.”

Turning the doorknob, Trey let himself in.

Perhaps a terrified first year might have expected a landscape straight out of hell—flames running along the walls, items angrily smashed on the floor, and red-haired monster dwelling deep within the fiery chamber. But Trey knew Riddle’s room would be tidy and organized, the same as it always was. Books stacked in neat rows, everything labelled snd put in a specific order.

Riddle glanced up from his desk, mouth poised in a little straight line and brows knitted together. “It’s a bit late to be calling for a conversation. I hope it’s something important.”

“Ah, well...” Trey scratched the back of his neck. “It’s some of the students. They have a few complai... er, comments they wanted me to pass alo—”

Riddle immediately cut him off. “Again? I’ve told them time and time again: if they wish to avoid the collars, then they should not break the rules in the first place—and if they wish for the collars to be removed, then they need only heed my instructions.”

“I know.”

This was a discussion more beaten than a rose bush—a topic that brought Trey no more joy to bring up than it did Riddle. The students had had the beg for days before he reluctantly headed for their dorm leader. If the dorm was a rock, then Riddle was the hard place, and Trey was squarely wedged between two fiercely opposed sides with no hope of escape.

“Please, Clover-senpai...! You’ve gotta talk some sense into the dorm leader! He’s collared so many people.”

“He’s totally insane. So out of control...”

“I don’t know what to do anymore! I’m at my wit’s end.”

“If he’s going to keep being such a tyrant, I want to transfer out of Heartslabyul!! I can’t take this for much longer!!”

Trey took a deep breath. “Riddle, look. Everyone knows you have the best interests of the dorm at heart. None of us are doubting that.”

“I’m glad we all agree.”

“Some people are just concerned that it’s a little too... overbearing,” Trey continued, wincing at the final world, “especially the first years. A lot of them haven’t been able to read up on the Queen of Hearts’ rules yet.”

“That is not a valid excuse. You know this as well as I do.”

“Yes, but...”

Riddle’s face transformed at once, his large eyes adopting a frosty look. “If a robber steals money from a bank, they are still considered a thief, even if they claim to not understand that theft is a crime. Ignorance of the law does not excuse one’s guilt.”

“That’s true, but... I don’t know. It still seems a bit harsh to put a collar on so many students. A little mercy would probably be appreciated.”

“Trey.” Riddle abruptly stood from his seat. His frigid gaze had turned fiery, mouth wrenched into a firm frown and face beginning to redden. “Am I hearing this correctly? Are you taking their side in this?”

“No, don’t be ridiculous! I’m just... trying my best to see it from both perspectives. I don’t think anyone’s wrong; you both have your points.”

“They are clearly in the wrong,” Riddle spat. “Rules and laws exist to govern us and drive us to success. Without them, we would be a lawless bunch—and as for the call for clemency... one exception, they’ll all expect the same of me. I cannot afford to dole out such a thing.

“It is just as Mother said.”

A brief sadness swallowed Riddle—in in that moment, Trey didn’t see his dorm leader, nor a classmate. He saw a scared, small child, forlornly staring at stacks of books beyond a window.

A child that loved tarts topped by strawberries that shone like jewels. A little boy capable of laughing and smiling and dreaming like any other.

How easily those halcyon days had been crushed.

All because of a simple breach of the rules.

Trey preemptively opened his mouth to protest, but he caught himself and closed it again. His tongue anxiously ran along the inside of his teeth, words struggling to get out.

You know what he’s been through, his thoughts hissed. You know why he’s like this. Just let him be—indulge him for a little longer.

Silence stilled the room.

“There is nothing more to discuss then,” Riddle murmured, waving a hand. “If we are done here, then you are dismissed. I have an exam tomorrow to prepare for.”

“... Yes, dorm leader.”

The response had come out automatically. Deferring felt so practiced, so natural. He didn’t fight it, or rein the phrase in as it was leaving his lips.

Trey bowed his head, allowing the brim of his hat to hide his shamed expression—the frown, the crease to his brow, the sadness in his eyes. Without another word, he turned on his heel and exited, arms firmly at his sides as he briskly walked down a twisting hallway.

Up, down, left, right, this way, that way, and every whichway inbetween. Many stairwells, and many more potential paths.

And, as Trey made his way long his current path, he wondered if the middle road was truly the best option for him.

A clock sounded in the distance, ringing in midnight. The dawn of a new day greeting him. Trey’s path, illuminated in silver moonlight, led into a shady expanse of darkness.

Great Seven, help me.

[jiminrings]

OKAY LISTEN idk if someone or you already planned sth like this but how about y/n finally decides to confess/tell jk but someone else claims to be her before she could do it so * cue to the angst bc y/n sees the whole thing/she hears from her friends * and ofc koo eventually finds out bc that b*tch doesn't even have the fucking lunchboxes 😑

cold senior!y/n x stem major!koo masterlist :D

stem koo's the three-peat king for having the best research papers, but he's the worst when it comes to believing the right person

"i think i'm gonna tell him."

you say it to no one in particular, really, but you hear yoongi rISING from his nap on the couch

it wasn't meant to wake him at all

it was just an epiphany of sorts that popped into your head

physically felt as if your head would just bursT if you didn't say it out loud to affirm your own thoughts lmao

"for real???" he's rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, very evident that he wouldn't wake up to finish his thirteen pending assignments but he 10/10 would wake up to hear your epiphany

yoongi is awake for the action!!!! lmao does professor roux from calculus think that he wakes up at the morning and doing shapes (or whatever they teach at calc) is the fIRST thing in his mind????

"interesting," he nods solemnly when you nod your head, reaching out for a fist bump before he plops to your shoulder, "i suggest dressing like a virgin wearing H&M when you confess. it would hit close to home."

yoongi's the touchy affectionate one between the two of you but you'll forgive him bc he's still sleepy

NOOOOOOO

jungkook doesn't look like a virgin wearing H&M :((((

his clothes aren't from there lol

"pass."

"say that you're a top verified contributor both in quora and brainly."

PLEAAAAAASE SJWHSHWHHWV

"nice idea," you snort as yoongs genuinely thinks that it'd get jungkook to propose on the spot, "but no cigar."

"pretend to love big bang theory."

"you're getting onto something here."

"your hobby is fact-checking rick and morty."

"yoongi wow you are on fIRE today-"

"your guilty pleasure is not wearing protective gear during experiments."

"where is this coming from??"

"OH!!!! i'll pretend to mug him or something and you can attack me!!!"

....

??????

yeah yoongi's train of thought just crashed

you were pretty sure he was going on a science theme there wHY DID IT DERAIL

yoongi looks confused because you look confused, as if he didn't just give you the mindblowing idea,, free of charge

lol but no he really didn't

"i'm not doing any of that shit, yoongs."

"oh yeah???" he squints at you and hollows his cheeks, taunting you entertainingly while he worms his way to your lap to nap again

"what are you planning to do?"

holy sHIT this is nerve-wracking

she feels like she's gonna pass out the whole time that she's been rehearsing this in her head

she's been waiting outside the classroom for twenty minutes now and the bell finally rang and she can't believe it!!!! omg is it game-time now

everyone's filing out of the room and she could just feel that jungkook would come out of the room last-

ALRIGHT FUCK THE BELL RANG

you could do this!!!!

everyone's filing out of the room and you know in your heart that jungkook would stay behind, his routine being to politely chat with the professor before he leaves

you're a lil nervous alright

you're scanning the room and there's only a few people left and your eyes instinctively go to the mini desk next to the door and-

FUCK

DID YOU FORGET TO BRING IT HOME YESTERDAY??????

goddamn it

yesterday was when coach jeong was mad because someone from your team just hAD to bring beer!!! and not even have the common sense to put it on a discreet thermos or sth and you know!!!! to not drink it in public or in front of the coach!!!!

doing laps on the oval field will now make you hurl on command just by thinking about it

you physically did not have the cognizance to go and fetch the lunchbox to wash it,,,, or like even move at all

FUCK IT

how are you gonna swipe the lunchbox now? now when the professor's packing up, jungkook's loitering around the classroom, and there's this girl who's-

wait

who's this girl??

who is she and wHY IS SHE EYEING THE LUNCHBOX

fuck it!!! here goes nothing

she's stepping completely into the room and making sure her block heels generate enough clacking,, hands already moving in practiced moments as she attempts in making it seem like she's rushedly putting the lunchbox bag into her tote — as if it's from there, and she's always done this

jungkook hears noises coming from the back of the room, eyes widening before he comes up the stairs in record time

"no. get your own."

he grips the girl's wrist, about to pry off her hands from his lunchbox

he hears her giggle sweetly, the melody being something he's heard before

"i did. after all, i did get you these."

:O

"hyeji?"

hyeji's a pretty girl!!! a nice girl in jungkook's year that wears fit dresses and cartier bangles :D

she stands out really, sometimes literally because she appears in the school's flyers and advertisements

"hyeji," jungkook breathlessly connects the dots including the fact that she looks caught in the act; holding his lunchbox, her tote bag open, and a peek of another completely different lunchbox in her other hand, "i-it's been you this whole time?"

hyeji blushes, sheepishly tucking her perfectly shiny and neat hair behind her ears, "you caught me then."

kook laughs both in nervousness and giddiness, pushing his glasses up and suddenly conscious that he should've worn contacts, "b-but how? we don't share this class."

:O

hyeji bursts into a giggle, blushed cheeks staining further than the five minutes she tried getting the perfect amount

"r-right! kinda amazing what depths you'd go for a person you like, hm?"

jungkook is about to pass out

HE'S PUT IN A SITUATION

a situation that he likes and is too giddy to find a reply for

he apparently doesn't need a reply, because a chair scrapes harshly against the floor and it brings him down to reality immediately

you cannot fucking believe what you just witnessed

you stand abruptly from the seat you've been frozen in with a great deal of urgency because you cAN'T stand to be in this room any longer

they actually forgot that the two of them aren't alone

that you're still here

little miss hyeji's just as shocked

you feel stupid and even more stupid that you're still holding a stupid notebook you even decorated

it has a doodle in the front and all the remaining pages are of the copies you've replicated on jungkook's sticky notes — the same ones you've been trying to make perfect just for him

"y/n!" he sputters when your backpack accidentally leans too much to your side and hits him on the way out

"move."

you’re feeling everything but fine and god you just hated that you always willed yourself to move oN

you’re beyond mad when you put on your jersey!!!

you’re irrevocably dejected when you put on your cleats!!!!

you feel cheated on when you zip up your duffel and walk all the way to the field!!!

it’s a combination of the type of frustration that makes you want to move plus the type that paralyzes you, the whole thing unlike anything you’ve ever felt before

you’re clearly in your head and frankly, you’re just too good

too good that there's no game at all because the only thing happening is you scoring

there's no passing going on or the sort

everyone is just :O looking at their captain to be in the most furiously determined state that they’ve ever seen you in

you don’t even realize that you’re the oNLY one moving in the whole field

“alright, alright — jesus christ! go to the bench and sort your head out, captain,” coach jeong literally has to JOG over to your spot to jolt you

oh there he is again

jaehyun just had to bench you didn’t he

sometimes it’s lost on you that jaehyun, just like seokjin, used to be your senior

he hated juniors with a burning passion and you’re the ONLY one he’s taken a tolerance for

((you lent him your umbrella and it coincidentially had to be a bad day for him tHEN that made him like you))

you’re having none of it though because this time, you’re the one who has the bad day and the captain title does nothing to appease you

“sure, coach.”

you mumble just as lively and walk to completely the fURTHEST side of the bleachers, being so far out that you could barely see your team

what are you supposed to do? simmer in the thoughts you so badly didn’t want to have in silence??????

"y/n?"

the voice you least expected to hear perks up right next to you

what the hell is jungkook doing here now??

he looks lost, two hands clinging onto his backpack straps before tentatively looking at you again

“did i do anything to upset you?”

so he wants to ask that?

you snort automatically, suddenly wishing that you didn’t walk this far because you can’t make an excuse that jaehyun’s calling for you

"because my bag accidentally hit you on the way out? no, jungkook."

jungkook knits his brows in question, seemingly take offense to what you’ve just said to hom

"we're not exactly associated for me to be mad at you, are we?" you emphasize even further, not caring the least bit that your words have an edge to them

he deadpans, pursing his lips before sarcastically smiling at you

".... so you're upset at me?"

://

jungkook takes your silence for him to delve further, not paying attention to how your eye is begging to twitch at him

"i asked if i did anything to upset you, and you said no. but that doesn't necessarily mean you aren't. you could be upset at me even if i didn't do anything to you."

wow

you sound like a real fucking nerd jungkook

"do you have any idea how condescending you sound right now?"

kook barely has a solid inch on you yet the nagging feeling that he’s belittling you makes you grip your fists tight, posture wavering

"so you do admit that you're upset at me?"

he’s not the most patient person either but something about you and the situation right now just makes him tick a little faster

your eyes narrow at what he’s aiming to get at, your hand on your hip feeling heavy at this point

"what does it matter to you if i'm upset or not? we are not-"

"i am associated to you!!! even to a degree!!! you walked me home!"

jungkook is the one who breaks first and he doesn’t look fazed to have opposed you so loudly, still standing by himself

"i would walk anyone home."

"no you wouldn't-"

"i would walk anyone who was as vulnerable and as anxious as you were, jungkook!!"

it is true

you’d walk anyone home within reason regardless if they were jungkook or not!!!

the guy in question only looks at you straightly, brows not stubborn but still just as unrelaxed

:((

"good to know. then you're not upset at me, and i didn't do anything to upset you."

"sure."

you only say just to spite him, about to turn your back and leave him completely to go back to your practice game

jungkook surprises you again and flips a switch just as quick as your mini argument of sorts escalated

"anyways!! i'm sorry for being a little off when i interviewed you that day. i got a 100 on that assignment, by the way :))"

what?

what’s he still doing here?

he’s talking about his grades and whatnot to you as if literally twenty seconds ago did nOT happen!!

"why are you still-"

"and the one who's been giving me my lunchboxes confessed to me today!! for hyeji to be the girl giving me them, it makes perfect sense."

you shrug away the weirdness that jungkook’s moved on from the argument as fast as this, trying a take two for a peaceful conversation

this time, you’re the one who unknowingly flips a switch at her name — something so foreign and sudden yet something you quickly grew to hate

"i wouldn't be so trusting if i were you."

that seems to hit a nerve on him again, making him scoff in reply

"good thing you aren't me then."

what is ON with him????

"watch it. i'm your senior, kid."

you’re more irritated than the first and second time around that you’ve been agitated this day

"why? are you normally this self-absorbed that you wouldn't trust a girl who's confessed??"

self-absorbed?

you aren’t the most selfless person ever but god do you know for a fact that you’re not vain as jungkook’s insisting you to be

you hate him.

you hate this version of him that isn’t the same jungkook you’ve known to like ever since the start of the semester

"same thing as polygraphs not being a hundred percent reliable. anyone could tell the truth as long as you ask the wrong questions," you detail on further because jungkook loves details, right? might as well give him several

"or did you even ask?"

jungkook scowls as if you’ve insulted his mother and his entire lineage, face contorting into everything but warm

"what does it matter to you? didn't you just tell me that we aren't associated? why are you projecting all your moaning on hyeji?"

WHAT

WHAT????

"you know what? maybe i am associated to you. i think i'd also tell this to everyone i'd walk home — maybe you shouldn't be too trusting, huh? maybe you shouldn't just let anyone walk you home."

the tears this time are more insistent to come out this time but you’d rather dIE than for jungkook to stain your pride like this

"no one should walk me home, besides you? is that what you're trying to say?"

no!!

for fuck's sake you aren't even finished with your point!!

before you could continue, jungkook shakes his head at you — the most disappointing shake of his head that it curses you soft

"what am i even doing? you wouldn't understand."

he closes the distance that’s been alarmingly shorter throughout the whole time, jungkook being the one to break it

"because no one gives you lunchboxes. no one exerts effort in making you cheerful — no one wants to go the extra mile for you, and no one wants to walk you home."

he's insulting you right to your face and that’s when your dam breaks, lips quivering impossibly as you stare him down with a genuinely pained gaze you didn’t know you carried

"you wouldn't know what i feel, because no one likes you."

jungkook gets the last word in.

he leaves you in the same field he's first approached you in nervousness.

today, he leaves it differently.

sweat isn't the only thing on your face but instead it’s the frustrating hot tears you haven’t had in awhile

your fists are balled but there's no power to the anger behind it

you’re almost always alone outside the company of the closest friends you’ve ever had — but this is the only time that you truly felt that you are alone.

today's a good day to give up on jungkook.

[inkykeiji]

bright light city gonna set my soul on fire

ace anon said: wanna suggest dabi taking you to a poker game as a good luck charm then betting you on a game and losing...or winning and bragging about it by fucking you on the table

genre: smut + implied crooked secret agent/spy AU set in the late 1950s???

notes: AH ace i loved this idea SO MUCH it ended up sparking an entire fic!! heavily inspired by ian fleming’s 1953 novel casino royale + martin campbell’s 2006 film casino royale. it is set in clari’s version of the 1950s and in no way historically accurate!! think of it as an AU of the 1950s, if that makes sense ehehe | title credit: viva las vegas by elvis | songs mentioned in the fic itself: don’t and i beg of you by elvis, rockin’ robin by bobby day

warnings: 18+, period typical use of the word Daddy (not with dabi), inappropriate use of the word Mister, slight degradation, mentioned somnophilia, slight dacryphilia, minimal prep, night terrors, blood, murder, generally toxic codependant relationship, one implied mention of drug use (morphine), mentions of tense family dynamics

words: 8.5k

synopsis:

Yes, as much as he’d like to deny it, it’s true; Dabi fell in love with you the moment he laid eyes on you.

Because Dabi saw more than just a pretty little thing when your gazes first met.

He saw the perfect weapon, a diamond in the rough just waiting—begging—to be cleaned and cut and formed into the most brilliant gem, into the most ideal accomplice for him—because, really, what’s more dangerous than a beautiful woman? Especially when she looks like innocence personified?

Sticky pink candy, translucent and gleaming with saliva, clacks against teeth as you roll the heart-shaped lollipop around in your mouth, twirling the stick between your index finger and your thumb.

Legs kick idly as you lean back on your other hand, seated on the edge of Tomura’s massive, pristine mahogany desk, watching as his personal tailor helps Dabi shrug on a navy tuxedo jacket, stitched and sown perfectly to his measurements.

“I dunno,” he’s saying as he pivots his body a little, making a face at himself in the mirror. “I still think the black looks better,”

Ruby eyes roll up towards the ceiling, a frustrated groan spilling from between Tomura’s lips.

“You always think the black looks better. We’re going with the navy, it brings out your eyes,” he gives the back of Dabi’s head a sharp look before strolling towards you, features softening as he observes—the perfect picture of innocence, legs swinging slowly in cute little motions, strawberry lollipop sucked against the roof of your mouth, sparkling eyes floating from your boyfriend’s broad shoulders to his—your—boss’s face as he advances.

“Gimme some,” he demands, large hands finding your knees and halting your movement, using his hipbones to push them wider, making a space for himself between them and sticking his tongue out. With a giggle, you place the now misshapen candy on his tongue, gasping loudly as he snatches the candy from you, movements too quick for you to catch, and jumps away with the grace of a cat.

“Daddy!”

Tomura snickers around the lollipop in his mouth, sucking it into his cheek as he speaks around it. “Aw, come now, don’t pout,” his bottom lip pushes out to mimic your expression, tilting his head in false sympathy. “I’m sure your Mister will buy you another,”

“He better,” you mumble through your pout, eyebrows knitting together as arms cross tightly over your chest, eyes flitting to Dabi.

“I will, dollface, I will,” he vows distractedly, gaze not straying from his fingers reflected in the mirror as they fiddle with his bowtie.

“Promise, Mister?”

“Promise, baby, promise,”

Dabi’s already been briefed on the specifics of this mission—something to do with playing a poker game with a bunch of other crooked hotshots at the Sahara hotel in Las Vegas, but that’s all you know. That’s all you’re authorized to know.

Despite being Dabi’s accomplice and working for Tomura’s underground organization, you’re rarely allowed to be in Tomura’s office while the briefing happens. It’s sensitive information, dollface, and the less you know the better, and don’t misbehave now, sit pretty and quiet like a good little girl until the big boys are finished, and then Daddy and Mister will give you a pretty reward.

But! you had protested with a bottom lip involuntarily jutted out. But maybe, if I know more, I can be of better help—

But Tomura had shut that idea down before it had even finished leaving your lips.

No. Absolutely not. It’s for your own good—your own safety, you little brat—why can’t you understand that? 

You do understand that, you’ve been told a thousand times—your specialty is distractions, used to keep enemies occupied before Dabi splatters their brains on marble floors, or to pry information out of men weak to the smile of a pretty girl.

And, to be fair, Tomura does reward you pretty generously, with glittering evening gowns and designer pumps and all the handbags a gal could ever want.

You turn back to face him, red lips spread into a cunning, mischievous smile, a smile he knows all too well, a smile Dabi loves—because he taught it to you—and Tomura hates—because it means you’re about to get what you want. “So. How much money are you giving me to play with this time, Daddy?”

Tomura’s face screws up, nose scrunching. “None,” he spits, removing the lollipop from his mouth. Tiny hands grab at the air, reaching for it like a child, Tomura swiping it just out of grasp as he continues his scolding. “Last time, you nearly bought the entire shopping complex,”

“Ah, c’mon, boss,” Dabi says around a cigar, still standing in front of the full-length mirror and smoothing down his clothing. “Give the lil lady a lil somethin’, will ya?”

“Yeah, boss, c’mon,” you plead, mimicking your boyfriend, adorning your face with your signature pout and award-winning puppy-dog eyes.

“Absolutely not.” His voice is stern as he speaks, facial features hard in finality and resolution, but his eyes—irises a crimson so brilliant, so beautiful it’s terrifying, almost looks as if it’s glowing—are beginning to waver.

“You know, if you don’t, then I’m sure I’ll get bored in that big city all by myself while Dabi’s working,” you begin in a singsong voice, eyebrows raising. “And you know what happens when I get bored, Daddy,”

“She gets int’a trouble,” Dabi grumbles, eyes catching yours through the mirror, though there’s a smirk forming around the cigar, held between sharp gleaming ivory teeth.

“S’true,” you nod simply, eyelashes fluttering as you gaze at Tomura. “Please, Daddy? Pretty please? I swear I won’t spend too much this time,”

“Jus’ give ‘er your credit card r’somethin’,” Dabi waves a hand in nonchalance before patting down his pockets. “I’ll keep a’eye on ‘er, promise,”

“Take that damn cigar out of your mouth and speak properly,” Tomura spits, and you and Dabi share another look, another smirk, through the mirror. “Fine, alright? Fine,” nimble fingers pull out a sleek leather wallet, flipping it open and searching through the card slots, grumbling to himself. “Christ, the two of you are insufferable, I swear to God,”

“Thank you, Daddy,” you giggle, soft and gentle and innocent, all of the things you weren’t mere moments ago. Platinum plastic gleams in your fingers as you tilt the card in the light, gaze captivated by the way it sparkles and glitters as you speak again. “Promise I’ll bring you back something neat,”

     ✰          ✰          ✰

It’s been a few years now since the two of you met, since the two of you became partners, and Dabi swears to high heaven and back that he had tried his hardest not to fall in love with you, cross his heart, hope to die.

At least, that’s what he likes to tell himself. In actuality, he fell for you the moment he laid eyes on you—it’s as cliché and cheesy as one of those Jimmy Dean flicks, but goddamn it, it’s true all the same.

Doesn’t help that that’s one of the first things you said to him, though.

You look like Jimmy Dean, Mister, you had giggled dainty behind your hand, batting those long, thick eyelashes as you gazed up at him, gracious and polite and all the things a good little girl like you should be. Is supposed to be.

It made him want to fucking ruin you. It sparked a white-hot fire deep in the pit of his stomach, a blaze that grew, and grew, and grew with each of your cute mannerisms. It procured an inferno full of pure desire, heady and intoxicating, that nearly engulfed him in an instant.

“Oh, yeah?” he had asked with a smirk, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest, tongue running along his front teeth as he steadily held your eyes. “‘N why’s that, little miss?”

Those eyes, the sparkling ones that had been so bold only a moment ago, bashfully flitted down to the teal typewriter sitting in front of you on a large oak desk, fiddling a little with your nails against the worn keys.

Baby pink. Cute.

“Oh I—I—” your gaze flashed up to his for a moment, intense cobalt burning into your very skull, before you averted your stare again. “Well, I-I don’t mean to be rude, Mister, it’s just that—your hair,”

Sapphire eyes flicked up, as if to gaze at his forehead, as if he were able to see his own hair from just that motion, eyebrows raising with the action.

“S’all messy like the way he wears his. You know, when he’s not doing a picture and all that,”

And you noticed your mistake immediately, eyes widening, tongue tripping over your words in your haste to correct yourself, to speak properly, like a lady. “I-It’s all messy, s-sorry, excuse me, it’s all messy like the way he wears his,”

A smirk, slow and dangerous, spread across his face as he observed you, tilting his head a little as his eyes travelled down your neck, to your shoulders and the sweetheart neckline of that pretty, pretty dress, and then back up again, narrowing slightly as they did so. It’s in that moment that Dabi first wondered what you’d sound like underneath him while sharp hipbones bruise his name into the tender flesh of your inner thighs, how you’d slur your words together then.

His voice was a touch huskier when he spoke again. “You like Jimmy, miss?”

“I sure do,” you nodded, painted lips morphing into a little melancholic smile as you looked down at the typewriter again. “It’s a real shame he passed,”

“Sure is,” Dabi mimicked your movement, giving a simple nod in agreement. “But thank you for the compliment, doll, I’ll take it,”

Your head snapped back up. “Oh, c’mon, m’not stupid y’know,” you huffed with a roll of your eyes and a light laugh.

“No?”

The traces of amusement that played in his azure eyes had your own narrowing a little in response, sitting up straighter as you rolled your shoulders back.

“No,” you shook your head. “I know who you are,”

“Yeah? And who’s that?”

“Touya.”

And it’s the way you said his birthname, the way your lips curled into a devious little smile around the word, the way one of your perfectly arched eyebrows raised in question, in challenge, that had confirmed it for him, right then and there, in that stupidly luxurious office.  

“Touya Todoroki.”

He was sure he had to have you. He was positive he had to make you his—forever.

“You’ve been compared to Jimmy since he debuted—”

“And you know this because—”

“—because I read Time and Vogue and all those other stupid magazines, just like all the other women in this country. And I’ve seen you,” you paused to point a manicured nail at him. “On or in every single one,”

Oh, and he was sure you had, sure you knew that he was notorious for stealing several of his father’s girlfriends when he was in his early twenties, infamous for fucking them and then selling the Polaroid’s and information to vying tabloids and the like. He always did like to spice up those stories a little, to fluff them and make them a hint more scandalous, glamorous—those ones always sold for more.

Not that he needed the money.

“It’s rude to point, baby,” he winked before he straightened up, pushed himself off the wall and stalked towards your desk, stopping in front of it as large hands splayed out on the wood, and leaned close to your face.

“And I don’t go by that name anymore, sweetheart,” he had told you, voice smooth as scotch over ice, though something dangerous glinted in his eyes as they carefully searched your face, something omnious etched into the sharp smile on his face

A shiver crawled up your spine, frosty and slow, fingers tiptoeing up each vertebra as you nodded your understanding. “Y-Yes, sir,”

The door to your boss’s office had swung open then, Dabi straightening up and spreading his arms out in a grand sweeping movement.

“David!” he greeted as if the two were old friends, large smile stretched too tight across his face as he walked forward and clapped a large hand on the smaller man’s shoulder. “How are you doing?”

He murdered your boss that day. You didn’t know, of course, didn’t have a goddamn clue until over a month later, Dabi had made sure of that. But by the time you found out, you were already in too deep; too enamoured by him, wholly captivated by him in every sense of the word, too dependant on him, to care at all.

He had made it quick—quiet and painless and looking as if it was an accident, strolling out of the office only a few moments later and asking you out on a date like nothing had happened, words flowing smoothly from his lips in that drawl that is so distinctly him, almost lazy in a way, glittering lidded sapphire scalding your skin with its intensity.

Yes, as much as he’d like to deny it, it’s true; Dabi fell in love with you the moment he laid eyes on you.

Because Dabi saw more than just a pretty little thing when your gazes first met.

He saw the perfect weapon, a diamond in the rough just waiting—begging—to be cleaned and cut and formed into the most brilliant gem, into the most ideal accomplice for him—because, really, what’s more dangerous than a beautiful woman? Especially when she looks like innocence personified?

Nothing, that’s what.

Honestly, he did you a favour—he swears he could see it in your eyes, sparkling as they gazed at him like he sculpted the moon himself, pleading for someone—for him—to come along and take care of you, to put you in your place, to keep you in line, absolutely desperate for someone to mold you, shape you, construct and arrange you into his most perfect creation.

Perfect, perfect, perfect, that’s what you are; so good for him, so obedient and compliant, always hanging on his every word and eagerly awaiting his next command, enthusiastic to submit to him, to please him, to receive the praise you crave so badly.

And Tomura had agreed, too, after only fifteen minutes of meeting you, of observing you, of assessing you, that you’d be a flawless addition to their operation.

So Dabi did what he does best.

He started slow, of course, enchanted you with strings of pearls and gorgeous dresses and expensive dinners, fed you tidbits about his mysterious lifestyle, about his family and his job and his past, just enough to keep you coming back for more, until you were practically begging him to let you in, to permit you to join his vocation, to accompany him on the wild ride that is his life.

And that was the best part of all—you didn’t care, you wanted it just as badly as he did; wanted to help him, to serve him, to be his, without ever requiring the full story. You readily gave everything up for him, accepted his orders, his wants and his needs without as much as a single question, never faltering in your honesty, in your pure devotion to your creator.

It’s love in its truest form, you’re both sure of it—possessed by one another, infatuated with one another, dedicated to one another—both consumed by the most potent drug, this love, a force to be reckoned with, the strongest pull either of you have ever felt before.

And, really, what more could you ask for?

     ✰          ✰          ✰

He took you under his wing, crafted you into a master of manipulation, pairing it perfectly with that innocent kitten demeanour you wear so well, and taught you everything he knew: all of the infiltration techniques and self-defence he had learned before he was ostracized from his father’s company—a privatized intelligence agency that works closely with the federal government—the very organization he’s been working so tirelessly to burn to the ground.

You still don’t exactly know what happened. He doesn’t like to talk about it, about where those scars decorating his body came from, about why he’s thrown away his old identity and constructed a new one, trading ivory hair and a high-fashion wardrobe for inky black and weathered Levi jeans with big black motorcycle boots.

But you do know a little.

He had been the favourite son, the chosen son, the one set to inherit the empire his father had built. That was, until he got himself into an accident—one that he still isn’t ready to disclose the full details of, and you never push. But you know it had involved a twelve year old Touya—always devious, crafty, and ever-so intelligent, even as a child—sneaking along on a mission he absolutely shouldn’t have. The silvery burns that adorn his skin, puckered and soft and shimmering like moonlight when they catch in the sun, scars tinged with the slightest hint of baby pink, are from this incident. Whatever had happened after had scarred his soul forever.

Because you’ve never encountered such intense hatred, burning bright blue flames that rage and roar inside of him, the words that are spit from between clenched teeth when he talks about his father, about his baby brother, positively scalding.

But it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter that you don’t know the full story, that you aren’t entirely aware of why this vendetta against his family exists. It doesn’t matter that his one goal in life, his only true desire aside from you, is to take down his father. It doesn’t matter that he’s willing to do anything and use everyone to achieve his objective.

Because he is letting you in; slowly, bit by bit and piece by piece, the most fascinating and tragically beautiful jigsaw you’ve ever put together. He may never be ready to tell the full story, and that’s alright with you, because as you’ve reassured him countless times in the dead of night, you’ll always love him anyway—you’ll always be by his side.

That’s when he’s most vulnerable, it seems—in the middle of the night, at two and three and four in the morning, when he wakes trembling and whimpering and soaked with his own sweat.

He never tells you what they’re about, the nightmares. Sometimes, they’re so violent that they wake you first. He doesn’t fuck you immediately on those days, doesn’t say a word as he finds solace in your warm bosom, little fingers pushing back sweaty strands of inky hair from his temples as your other arm wraps around him, holding him close to you as his shaky breathing calms, as his muscles stop quivering. On those nights, he says nothing as he spreads your legs and climbs on top of you, railing you into the mattress like it’s his last day on this earth.

That’s how he likes to be comforted; that’s what calms him down best. It’s standard procedure at this point—not that you mind waking up to his soft sniffles and him shoving himself into your barely prepped cunt, or rousing to feel the tip of his naked cock rubbing against your clit through thin cotton undies as he tells you in that wavering voice to stay sleeping and let your Mister take what he needs. You’re there to serve him—and you do, so perfectly. You just want to help, after all. You’ve always ever just wanted to help. You never know which nights he’ll gift you another little piece of himself, of his soul, for you to try and fit in somewhere in the puzzle that is DABI. You don’t know the triggers—as far as you’re concerned, they don’t seem to exist anywhere outside of the padlocked barricade of his own head, no rhyme or reason to them, more random than anything else. But you’ll readily accept anything and everything he’s willing to give, the very instant he’s willing to give it.

     ✰          ✰          ✰

Sprawled out on the hotel bed with his white t-shirt riding up and exposing your lacy panties, you watch, in an almost trancelike state, as Dabi does his hair in preparation for the game set to begin in an hour or so. He leaves it messy and ungreased when he isn’t working, all tousled and fluffy, a sea of half formed curls that flow into each other, akin to tremulous waves hours before a storm like an inky ocean atop his head. But he cleans up well, when it comes time to get down to business.

“Every little swallow, every chickadee, every little bird in the tall oak tree,”

Standing in front of the mirror clad in a white undershirt and his suit pants, he sings along to Bobby Day’s staticky voice as it flows through the small radio set on the bathroom counter, nimble fingers dipping into a tin of greasy pomade and gathering a generous glob, a responding giggle bubbling up in your chest.

“The wise old owl, the big black crow,” he catches your eye through the mirror, a devilish smile materializing on his face as he continues, lathering his hands together. “Flap-a their wings singin’ ‘go bird go’,”

“Should’a been a singer, I’m telling ya,” you say as you roll onto your stomach, chin resting in your palms and head propped up, eyes glittering. “Could’a rivalled Elvis,”

Huffing out a laugh accompanied by a roll of his eyes, his hands begin to rake through his hair, slathering it with the substance and slicking most of it back from his face, sure to leave a few curls at the start of his hairline untouched. “So sweet you’re gonna rot my teeth, baby,”

“M’serious!” you insist, blinking at him as your eyebrows raise, watching the teeth of the black comb run through the slicked-up strands, his palm following close behind as he smooths it over; crisscross, crisscross, crisscross, fluff, pat, crisscross.

 “Uh-huh, uh-huh,” he shakes his head in disbelief, though there’s the faintest pink tinting his stubbled cheeks. “I think I’m better at this job,”

What? Playing poker with a bunch of criminals and making deals with mafiosos and murdering those who wrong you? you swallow the words, letters stinging and scraping your throat as you force them back down, schooling your face into a neutral expression. “I respectfully disagree,”

“‘Course you do,” he mumbles to himself distractedly, leaning closer to the mirror to complete the look. “Elvis, you say?”

He begins belting out lyrics in an exaggerated deep voice as he adds the finishing touch—your favourite part—slender fingers shining with residual pomade as they twirl and coat the few stray curls left neglected, allowing them to hang artfully in the middle of his forehead. 

“When I feel like this and I want to kiss youuu,” pivoting on his heel, he gazes at you with that shit-eating grin and continues. “Baby, don’t say doooon’t,”

“Oh, God, no, not Don’t!” you groan, flopping onto your back dramatically, face screwed up as if you had just tasted something sour.

“Alright, alright, alright,” he’s chuckling as he advances towards you, a small towel in his hands as he cleans them. “How ‘bout…” trailing off, he hums a little as he thinks.

“Hold my hand and promise,” he begins in a low voice, smooth and sweet like the finest melted chocolate, depositing of the towel and crawling onto the bed.

“That you’ll always love me too,”

Large hands gently pry your legs part, signature crooked smirk spreading across his face when he’s met with zero resistance, rough palms caressing silky skin as they slide up, fingers gripping and grabbing and kneading.

“Make me know you love me,”

The words taper off into a whine, beginning to sound more like begging than singing, as his body settles between your thighs, hipbones digging into the soft flesh while he hovers above you, supporting his weight on his forearms.

“The same way I love you, little girl,”

Lips trail along your jaw, leaving tender kisses in their wake—unhurried, careful, and full of purpose—as he mumbles against your skin.

“You got me at your mercy, now that I'm in love with you,”

Calloused hands begin to ruck up his t-shirt, digits dipping into the lacy waistband of your panties, his voice starting to tremble ever so slightly.

“So please don't take advantage, cause you know my love is true,”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, sapphire eyes gleaming in the golden sunlight and he pauses, blistering gaze searching your face for something, muscles relaxing and head dipping a moment later to finally press his lips against yours, whispering into the kiss. “Darling please, please love me too, I beg of you,”

And despite all the glitz and glamour, all the extravagance and exhilaration, that comes with each mission, this will always be your favourite part—when it’s only you and him, lounging around in some luxurious five star hotel or some dingy roadside motel, exchanging lazy, messy kisses full of stringy shining saliva, goofing around and whispering stupid Elvis lyrics to each other, words that hold more weight than either of you care to admit.

     ✰          ✰          ✰

It was supposed to be a fairly simple operation—minimal violence, Tomura had instructed. No guns or casualties, if it can be avoided, if Dabi can keep his temper in check. It was supposed to be easy, straightforward, safe.

It was supposed to be. But Dabi gets bored easily, likes a little spike of adrenaline with his missions, rolling his broad shoulders and cracking his neck as he joins the rest of the men around the poker table, a sly smirk on his face as they name the bets and the prizes.

“And my little doll,”

It’s hard to resist rolling your eyes as those four words slip from between his lips, slow and smooth in that deep, lazy drawl, trademark smirk painted across his lips as his lidded eyes scan the faces sitting around the table, an eyebrow raised, daring any of them to protest. Several hungry eyes dart towards you for a moment, standing like the reward you are a few feet behind Dabi and leaning on a railing, a shy little smile briefly gracing your lips in greeting, elegant evening gown shimmering under the crystal lights.

This isn’t new—Dabi usually bets you when he plays. Keeps him sharp, he claims. Keeps him on his toes, keeps it fun when there’s something important at stake, something valuable to lose, he says. He plays better that way, he promises.

Except he’s always craved that thrill of danger, has always liked to push further and further simply to see how far he can go before he topples over the edge. It’s a rush, a blast, a high akin to the morphine that so often flows through his veins, and he fucking lives for it.

It’s been over an hour now, since those words were murmured in that velvet voice, floating across the table and cloaking the thoughts of the other men like a lethal haze, most of whom can’t seem to keep their eyes from wandering back to you every so often, leering gazes coating your skin with grime you itch to scrub off.

But that’s the point—or it’s supposed to be, anyway. That’s the whole reason you’re here in the first place. To act as a distraction, Tomura’s words drift through your mind, just whisps of his voice that tickle the walls of your skull.

And what a perfect distraction you are, in a Dior dress that looks like it was made only for you, tapered perfectly to every curve and edge of your body, silk flowing gracefully with every miniscule movement, with every rise and fall of your chest.

But it bores you to tears, this poker game, eyes dry and sticky, sick of staring at the back of your boyfriend’s immaculate, intricate hair as his nimble fingers play with the mountain of chips accumulating in front of him, plastic clacking together as he shuffles through them.

You had begged him to let you go shopping—just for the first half of the game, you swear!—but he refused. I need my good luck charm there with me the entire time, babydoll, he told you, brushing calloused fingers down your cheek then tracing along the line of your jaw, gazing at you with brilliant sapphire that glitters in the late afternoon sun, streaming in through the hotel’s floor-length windows. We can go shopping after the game is finished, he promised.

You regarded him with skepticism.

“And dancing?”

“Of course,” he responded with a playful scoff. “We can dance until our feet are bleeding, pinky promise,”

Keigo comes to join you just before the game passes the two-hour mark, large hands finding purchase on your hips and pulling you back against his chest as his head dips down, soft full lips against your skin.

“Lovely dress you’ve got on,” he murmurs, breath hot against your ear, tickling the shell. “You look stunning—breathtaking—I mean, gosh, look at me, I can barely breathe,” he gasps dramatically, chest heaving against your back as he does so, chuckling when you roll your eyes and giggle at him to shut up, Kei, the vibrations from his laugh a comforting sensation, a familiar sensation, a welcomed sensation, sending warmth spreading through your body. “I’m so happy you’re here,” you whine, leaning further into him and head tilting against his collarbone to gaze up at him. “I’m so bored,”

“Yeah, I bet,” he says, something unusual—unreadable—settling in his topaz eyes as he glances up at the table. “You aren’t used to games lasting this long, are you, baby,”

A little pout settles on your lips and you nod, playing right into his condescending cooing as you snuggle into him, eyes following his stare. Truthfully, you haven’t a clue what’s going on, and, really, you couldn’t care less. You aren’t entirely sure what the significance of this poker game is, or who most of these men are, and you aren’t allowed to. Just sit pretty and perfect like you always do; it’s the thing you do best.

Except tonight—tonight something is different, unsettling, off. It’s no big deal, though, of course—you can almost hear that deep, dark voice drawling the words out in your mind, phantom breath tickling your skin.

Because Dabi’s always been startlingly good at what he does. Because Dabi’s always been able to worm his way out of a difficult situation. Because there’s never really been a reason to worry about it before, anyway. But tonight—well, tonight you’re watching as his Balenciaga clad shoulders are getting tenser, and tenser, as his jaw is clenching tighter, and tighter, as his grip on that singular sparkly chip resting in his palm is becoming stronger, and stronger, thin skin stretching painfully over sharp bony knuckles.

Keigo’s breath is bated, his fingers digging into your hips as he observes the game unfolding in front of the both of you, pulling you closer to him, hushed curses falling from his lips every so often. And Keigo knows what’s happening, of course, but he refuses to tell you, promising you that you wouldn’t understand even if he tried to explain it. Creases form on your forehead as your eyebrows knit, eyes drifting back to the table. Whatever it is, it’s clear that it isn’t good, Keigo’s body tensing against yours as he sucks in a breath and holds it for a moment before blowing it out from his mouth, exasperated.   “Well, I’m positive it’s fine,” you say, trying to wave it off lightly, to whisk away the acrimonious dread that roots deep in the pit of your stomach and begins to spread, thick and dense as it slithers into your surrounding organs, to brush off the impending sense of foreboding that seems to lurk over you, getting heavier and heavier, darker and darker with each second that ticks by—though your voice sounds high to your ears, tinny and false. “Dabi’s never lost a game before, that’s why they send him to these things,” But Keigo doesn’t sound so sure, responding with a nervous breath of a laugh, lithe fingers flexing on your hips, rubbing little lopsided circles into the flesh. “First time for everything, songbird,”

The words send ice piercing through your veins, but you persevere, rolling your shoulders and standing up a little straighter, swallowing past the painful lump that’s lodged itself in your throat. It’s fine. It’s always fine. He’s always found a way to get out of messy, tight situations before. Why should tonight be any different?

It won’t be, it isn’t—you can already see Dabi collapsing on the cream sofa upstairs in your luxurious hotel room, tugging at his bowtie with a sigh as his head falls back, nimble fingers popping the first few buttons on his crisp white dress shirt, and had you scared for a moment there, didn’t I, kitten?

And you’ll playfully slap his shoulder as you crawl into his lap, roll your eyes as you straddle his hips and allow him to tilt the champagne flute to your lips, laugh it off as his hands begin to wander, rucking up your dress and kneading your ass, cock tenting his expensive trousers. Like always. You’re sure of it

It’s just past the three-hour mark when Keigo speaks again, all traces of teasing, of that easygoing lilt that is so distinctly him, gone from his voice. Golden locks stand in all directions, his hair having fallen out of its usual ducktail style, a curtesy of fingers raking through it nervously. His smile is tight as he looks down at you, front teeth nibbling at his cuticles as he speaks, muffled a little by his fingers. “Maybe we should get you out of here, sweetheart—”

“No,” you respond instantly with a firm shake of your head. “I’m not going anywhere,”

“Sunshine, listen—”

“I said, no, Kei,” you pull back a little to look at him, resolution sown into your voice, chest puffing out just a touch. “I won’t leave him,”

Honey eyes hold yours for a moment, and you can almost hear Keigo’s molars as they grind together. He exhales a deep sigh a moment later, shaking his head and tugging his fingers through golden strands again. “Alright, alright,” It finally comes to an end, a few minutes past the four-hour mark. Heavy lids start to lift as commotion begins to stir—soft murmurs among the men and chairs scraping against the floor, plastic chips clacking together and the sharp whisp that travels through the air as cards are shuffled—whining a little as you lean further into Keigo, who is now supporting most of your weight.

“Kei, feet hurt,”

“Shh, I know, songbird,” he hushes you, a large palm stroking your head. “But I need you to wake up, sweetheart,”

Rough, unfamiliar hands are wrapping around your arms only a moment later, yanking you from the warm sanctuary that is Keigo and hauling you against stiff muscle.

“I believe you’re mine now, darling,”

The words are gravelly, uttered in a low voice against the crown of your head. A vicious shiver crawls along your skin, whole body trembling with the force of it, as your lids snap open.

“Wait, what?” frantic eyes search the gaudy room for familiar cobalt, breath beginning to accelerate as you struggle a little in the grasp of a burly man with one eye. His grip tightens in retaliation and a pained yelp hitches in your throat, Dabi’s eye twitching at the sound. “Dabi? D-Dabi!”

Sapphire blazes into your skull, steadily holding your watery gaze as his jaw clenches, swallowing thickly at the sound of your pitiful little whimpers of his name, at the way you squirm and wiggle in your abductor's grasp, desperate to escape, to get back to him.

“H-Hold on, now,” Keigo begins, holding his hands up in surrender, a motion meant to signify peace, to signify that he isn’t a threat—even though you know he’s got the cold metal of his favourite pistol tucked into the waistband of his trousers and pressed against his warm skin. “Let’s talk this through, yeah? Just wait a minute—”

“Nope,” the man cuts Keigo off mid-sentence with a loud, harsh laugh, and you wince at the sound. “No way, a deal’s a deal, friend. I won her fair and square—she’s mine,”

A light chuckle, laced with irritation and dubiety, escapes Keigo’s lips as he shakes his head a little. “Come on, Dabi jokes around like that all the time,” and while his voice seems amicable on the surface, its ridden with cold undertones, phantom threats that are felt, not said. “And this little lady—as pretty as she is—is a person, not a prize. Taking her against her will is, in fact, kidnapping, and I’ll be forced to—”

“Let him go,”

“What?” the word falls from your lips and Keigo’s simultaneously—one incredulous and pitched high with distress, the other breathed out in disbelief, both equally as concerned—gazes snapping to Dabi, who sits quiet and brooding, dim lights casting shadows on the sharp planes of his face.

Azure drifts between your faces, features ridden with terror and alarm—furrowed brows and deep frowns tugging at the corners of lips, one pair of eyes wide with scepticism, the other pair glistening with tears. Dabi’s silent for another moment before he pushes on his knees and stands, squaring his shoulders and clearing his throat, voice ringing out loud and clear, dripping with admonition. “Let him go. He’s right; he won her, fair and square,”

He speaks slowly, annunciating each word with careful precision, sapphire glinting in the dim light has he holds the muscular man’s gaze. It holds something threatening, something menacing, something terrifying deep within the depths of his eyes, and you feel your captor pause for a second, tense, and then shiver.

“Uh, r-right,” he says, voice wavering a little as he nods to himself. “Fair and square,”

Dabi stalks towards you, shiny oxfords echoing against the pristine, freshly waxed marble floor, tutting his tongue and shaking his head, casual and relaxed as ever.

“Don’t struggle, you hear me?” he says, voice softer, gentler, as a calloused thumb swipes across your cheekbone, catching a stray tear. “Be a good girl for him,”

And I’ll see you soon.

The promise doesn’t need to be vocalized—you can see it, shining bright and true in his sapphire eyes, can sense it, in the air surrounding him, can feel it, at the very core of your soul.

A sudden sense of relief floods your body, pathetic little sobs getting caught in your chest as you exhale shakily and deflate in the burly man’s arms, tears finally spilling over your lashline and streaming down your cheeks.

“Okay,” you breathe.

Dabi gives you a simple nod, lips quirking up into a ghost of his signature lopsided smirk. Okay.

And just like that, all of the fear and trepidation and panic vanishes from your body, a serene calm chased by a sense of giddiness replacing it, scorching through your veins.

Because before the door to the man’s hotel room has even swung fully shut, Dabi’s barreling through, crystal handle smashing against the wall and cracking as skilled fingers tangle in short hair, yanking the man’s head back with a sickening crack and dragging the razor-sharp edge of his favourite switchblade across the man’s exposed throat.

He moves like a flash of light, a spark igniting a fire, so fast he’s merely a blur of black and navy and blazing sapphire. Thick crimson begins pouring from the wound immediately, a large splice spanning from one earlobe all the way to the other.

The man hits the shiny hardwood floor with a distinct thump, but you aren’t paying attention to him or the way he’s writhing as he tries to claw at his neck, coughing and gagging as he begins to choke on his own blood.

No, you’re captivated by sapphire, bright and burning as it surges towards you, calloused hands seizing your face roughly as chapped lips find yours, unforgiving and ferocious, bloody knife still in one hand, cool metal pressed against your cheek, smearing streaks of scarlet across your skin as you try to get closer to him, to get more, the stench of copper stinging your nose.

It’s eradicated in an instant though, Dabi’s heady scent—campfire and hickory wood and expensive cologne—filling your lungs, your mind, your entire being as it curls around you in the most intoxicating embrace, familiar and comforting and him, him, him. Stumbling backwards, you just about trip over your own feet as Dabi shoves forward, strong hands wrapped around your biceps keeping you steady. The sharp edge of the small rosewood dining table digs into your lower back, Dabi swallowing your resounding yelp as he sucks your bottom lip between his teeth and tugs, large hands finding your waist and squeezing before he hoists you onto its surface, using his hipbones to force your thighs open.

You nearly topple over from the power, from the urgency, hands flying out behind you and grappling against the table’s surface to keep you sitting upright as he heaves and pushes and leans against you, motions knocking sparkling crystal glasses and fine porcelain plates off the top.

The sound of shattering glass and cracking china mingles with the gurgling and garbling of the man who lay a few feet away on the floor, suffocating on his own blood. It creates such a beautiful symphony, intertwined with Dabi’s ragged breaths and your broken moans, with the ruffling of clothing and the screech of the table legs against the gleaming hardwood floor. And it’s desperate, and needy, and messy, teeth clashing and clacking together violently, saliva dripping down chins as tongues rub and glide and lick, hands pawing and gripping and tugging and ripping, the delicate material of your silk Dior dress practically turning to ash as his fingers materialize through it, tearing it to shreds.

“Off, off, off, I need this off,” he’s growling against your lips as his hands work, a low whine getting caught in your throat as you nod frenetically.

Yes, yes, yes, you’re whimpering, your own little fingers helping him destroy the silvery fabric, eager and anxious to rid your body of the bothersome garment.

A guttural groan, deep and dark and inducing a fluttering in your tummy rumbles in his chest as his eyes roam over your body, clad in the daintiest white lace.

“You’re fucking gorgeous, y’know that,” he’s mumbling between sharp bites to the flesh of your neck, fingers snapping the clasp of your bra, breaking it in one simple motion. “A fuckin’ angel, that’s what you are, baby. My very own angel,”

Rough palms slide down your torso, slow and purposeful as they trace, feel, knead the dips and curves, planes and contours of your body, slender fingers pausing to play with the elastic of the garter belt adorning your waist, holding up your lace-trimmed thigh-highs which have begun to tear, then hooking in the waistband of your thong.

His cock grinds against your inner thigh, hot and hard and throbbing as it strains against his trousers, digits toying with the lacy elastic, twirling it between his fingers before he lets it snap back against your skin, the harsh slap! echoing throughout the hotel room. 

“Oh, Mister, I want it,” the plead falls from your lips in a shameless moan, high and whiny as your hips press forward in an attempt to grind against him. Slender fingers untangle themselves from the lacy fabric in an instant, gripping your hips to still them, fingertips digging into your flesh. “I need it,”

“Need what, dollface?” his lips brush against your skin as he speaks, teeth sinking into your collarbone a moment later, hard enough to break the skin, a loud cry getting caught in your chest. He sucks on the wound, hard, tongue laving over it in soothing little circles, slowly dragging over the bite.

And it’s a compulsion, a sickness, a fucking disease surging through your veins, infecting your mind with thoughts of him and only him, entire body buzzing with the desperate, pathetic, urgent need for him, for his cock, for his cum.

“Need you, need you,” you’re whimpering out, squirming and struggling a little in his grasp, a warning hiss spit through his teeth as blunt nails nip your skin. “Please, Dabi, please, lemme have it,”

“Have what, baby?” lips curling up into a coy smirk, he pulls back just enough to look at you, finally pushing his hips into yours, a patronizing laugh spilling from his throat as you instantly grind against his cock, impatient and impetuous. “Use your words, Mister wants to hear you say it,”

Scalding heat seeps into your cheeks as you squeeze your eyes shut tightly, a broken whine of complaint sounding in the back of your throat as you shake your head. “Y-You know,” you mumble. “You know,”

“Oh, come on, baby,” he tuts with a disappointed shake of his head, voice overflowing with condescension. “You act like such a little slut, but as soon as I want you to say what you apparently need oh-so-badly, you can’t? You get all shy and bashful like you’re innocent, or something?”

An arrogant chuckle bubbles up in his chest, a rough palm colliding with the flesh of your ass a moment later. Scarred lips graze your ear as he leans back in, speaking low and smooth, words leaving his mouth in a huff of warm, sweet breath. “You’re being bad, y’know that?”

The huskiness in his tone sends chills pebbling across your skin, a delicate shiver dancing up your spine.

“Please,” you whisper, bottom lip beginning to tremble. “Please, Mister, please,”

“Tell me,” he rasps, taking the lobe of your ear between his teeth and sucking, bruising his name into the sensitive skin. “I know you can do it, doll. What is it that you want? Tell me,”

And, God, it’s so embarrassing, vision blurring with the sting of tears, entire body beginning to tremble from the combined humiliation and lust surging through your veins, his clothed cock still rutting against your core, poking and prodding and so close, you’re so close, two tiny words, just say them. “Your—Your cock,” you almost yelp, blinking back the tears in your eyes as you try to gaze levelly at him, teeth digging into your bottom lip to quell its pathetic quivering. “W-Want your cock, please, Mister, I-I need it,”

“Yeah?” he breathes while he rests his forehead against yours, butting forward a little as his glazed eyes rapidly search your face, pupils blown to hell and lips bitten red, shining with spit. “Where, huh? Down here?”

A finger tugs the flimsy soaked lace to the side, another dark chuckle slipping from his lips as he drags a knuckle up your dripping slit.

“Here?” it presses into your cute little hole, your hips eagerly bucking forward in response.

“Yes, yes, there, Mister, there, please,” you keen, head nodding in almost frantic movements, skull knocking against his. “Please, n-no fingers, want your cock, need your cock, stretch me out, fill me up, I need it,”

And it’s your senseless babbling that does it, bratty and needy and incessant in high broken whines, that snaps the final thread of patience holding him back, and a growl rips from his chest, so violent it vibrates through your own.

The heavy buckle of his belt clinks as hasty fingers fiddle with it, shoving his trousers down his thighs just enough to free his cock.

You can’t help the mortifying moan that escapes your throat the moment you see it, velvety and pink and oh-so-pretty, flushed tip glistening with precum and two thick veins snaking around the shaft like vines.

“Christ,” he groans as he pushes into your cunt, burying himself inside of you in one swift thrust, your nails biting into the hard muscles of his shoulder through the thin material of his shirt as your hole stretches around him, both of you exhaling simultaneous sighs of relief.

It burns and it stings and God, you need more, eyes rolling back in your skull as the sharp heels of your stilettos dig into his lower back, little fingers tangling in white cotton as you try to pull him closer, closer, closer.

“Greedy little brat,” he snarls out as his hips begin snapping, the movement sudden, unexpected, welcomed, a choked cry of his name catching in your throat.

And it’s brutal and relentless, primal and desperate, lacking most of his usual finesse as he pounds into you, cockhead slamming against your cervix with every harsh thrust of his hips, hard enough to move the entire table itself, legs scraping against the floor a little more with each pump.

Inky curls cling to his forehead and temples, the white cotton of his dress shirt becoming translucent as it sticks to his damp skin, highlighting the hard planes of defined muscle that flex with each ragged inhale.

Surging forward, his tongue runs along the inside of your teeth before it drags against yours, slow and heavy, depositing his taste and staining it with the flavour of him, fiery cinnamon gum and smoky Marlboros. Gorgeous, needy little whines break in his throat in time with each strong piston of his hips, muffled by your mouth, and you greedily swallow whatever he’ll afford you.

It’s total sensory overload—he’s all you can see, all you can hear, all you can taste, touch, breathe, hijacking all of your receptors and overwhelming you with him.

It’s building inside of you, deep in the pit of your stomach, scorching flames that glow as blue as his eyes as they rage, climbing higher and higher, licking at your insides and expanding further and further until they finally engulf you, consume you, with their blaze, and everything shatters, body convulsing almost violently around his cock as you cum with a strained cry of his name.

“Fill me, Mister,” you’re babbling, begging, swearing you’ll die if he doesn’t, the flames will burn you to ash if you don’t get his cum soon, voice absolutely wrecked. “Fill me, fill me,”

And he obeys, filling your cute little cunt to the brim with thick, hot cum as his cock pulses, a cracked whimper of f-fuck, slipping past his lips.

His chest heaves as he collapses against you, the two of you falling back against the table’s surface with a thump, his cock still buried inside of you. A soft whine sounds in the back of your throat as you carefully unlock your legs from around him, wincing a little at the stiffness in your thighs.

I love you.

The three words are murmured into your shoulder, so soft you barely hear them, so quiet you’re sure you’d have imagined them had you not felt his lips move against your flesh, not felt his hot breath on your skin, not felt the gentle vibrations in his chest as he spoke.

“I love you,” you respond, voice tender as tiny fingers comb through his dishevelled hair. “I love you,”

He’s silent for a moment, your combined pants the only sounds ringing out among the hotel room, and then he nods—once at first; just a quick, sharp motion, and then again a moment later, with more vigour, more purpose, more acceptance.

Little hands smooth down the damp cotton hugging his back and your head lolls to the side, cheek pressed against the cool wood of the table. A certain type of giddiness—a type that’s sick, that’s twisted, that’s stuffed full of love—floods your body as your eyes connect with those of a dead man, laying in a pool sticky crimson, and God, yes, you love him, you love him, you love him—more than anyone else ever could, more than you could ever love anything else.  

[thebeautyoffanfics]

Stargazing <3 ft. Muichiro, Shinobu, Rengoku, Giyuu, Mitsuri, and Obanai!

a/n: I’m literally just grabbing some of my favorite Hashira and throwing together something short (once again late on a school night,,),,, I just want softness, and stargazing is like,, love in its purest form <3 these however, are terrible cheesy. I’m so sorry.

warnings: none <3

word count: 969

Muichiro Tokito <3

Really really likes stargazing. It’s peaceful, beautiful, and romantic while not being over-the-top. He probably prefers cloud-watching over stargazing, but, at the same time, stargazing is much easier on the eyes, since there’s no worries about the sun being too bright. Plus, even when the clouds cover the stars, they’re still there.

He once pointed that out- that the stars are there no matter what- and you couldn’t help but smile, telling him that it was just like the two of you. “Even when you don’t see me, even when I’m not there, I’m going to be there for you. I’ll even be cheering you on,” You said, glancing over at the boy. “That’s weird, (Y/N),” He sighed, eyes not moving from the sky. “It’s still a nice thought though, so… I appreciate it.”

Shinobu Kocho <3

Stargazing isn’t her favorite thing in the world, but seeing how happy you are to stare at the night sky makes it very worth it. She’ll admire the stars from time to time, mainly when you’re pointing out certain constellations or planets to her, but her interest in the sky ends there. She’ll instead spend the time admiring you, and teasing you a bit.

“Hey, (Y/N), how come you never look at me like that?” She joked, poking you gently. “Shinobu, I don’t know if I can muster an expression for how much I admire you,” You replied, glancing over at her. “Mhmm, how very cheesy. You’re so lucky to be cute,” She replied, patting your shoulder fondly. “And you’re so lucky I think you’re better than the stars, or else you’d be inside.” “Now, now, you know you couldn’t force me. I’d simply follow you until I got to see that awestruck expression of yours.”

Rengoku Kyojuro <3

I feel like Rengoku is much more of a day person, but he doesn’t necessarily dislike stargazing. In fact, he enjoys learning things about stars with you, and sometimes shares things about stars that he finds neat. He doesn’t have much of an inside voice to start with, so his bold, loud voice may “ruin the peacefulness” a bit, but his enthusiasm makes up for it tenfold.

“Passion is typically compared to that of the burning sun!” He said, crossing his arms. “It sure is,” You replied, knowing that he wasn’t finished with his statement, but that he wanted to make sure you were listening instead of spacing out. “However, if the sun is a star, then there are stars out there burning many times brighter than our sun! That in mind, shouldn’t the passion burning in our hearts instead be compared to that?” “That’s true… I suppose it’s a bit too late to change a saying though.” “Fair point!!”

Giyuu Tomioka <3

He didn’t understand the appeal until you asked if he wanted to join you. If it was anyone else, he would have declined, but he couldn’t tell you no. After doing it several times, he found himself really enjoying it. Even on missions, he found himself glancing at the stars and feeling a gentle fondness and peace. Plus, any time he caught a glimpse of the stars sparkling above his head, he was now reminded of you.

“I’m glad to have something that reminds me of you,” Giyuu spoke, staring in the direction completely opposite of you. “Oh?” You remarked, noticing his shyness and smiling to yourself at how he was probably wearing an adorable blush. There was no point in hiding it, since he blushed fairly often, and it was dark, but his pride was probably getting the best of him. “Yes… now, I can’t help but think of you when I see the sky… it’s… reassuring. Especially on missions. Thank you.” “AHh, don’t thank me for something so trivial as that- for what it’s worth, I can’t help but think of you whenever I see the sky as well.”

Mitsuri Kanroji <3

You already knew this queen loves stargazing. She nearly beat you to asking if she wanted to stargaze- it’s just so sweet to her. It’s peaceful, and the coolness of the night air gives the perfect excuse to cuddle a bit closer. It’s practically perfect!

“The only downside to stargazing is how cold it gets,” You sighed, huddling closer to Mitsuri. “The only downside to stargazing alone,” She correctly, resting her head against yours. You nodded, smiling at the sweet action and warmth that she gave off. “This is really nice…” She whispered, and you saw through your peripheral the way she stared fondly at the sky. Such a happy look on her face only amplified the joy you felt in that moment as you agreed with her. “It really is…”

Obanai Iguro <3

He pretended to be extremely uninterested when you asked, but he actually had little to no opinion on it. While you pulled gently on his haori, asking him several more times if he’d please go out and stargaze with you, he’d roll his eyes, muttering about how boring it would be. In reality, he wasn’t actually planning on not going, he just didn’t want to give in so easily. After a few moments of pestering, he gave an annoyed huff and stepped outside with you.

“You see those stars? They’re-” “I can’t tell which star you’re pointing at. There’s a billion in that direction, you know.” You blinked for a moment, pondering how on earth you could describe the star any better. “Okay…” You whispered, moving closer to the bandaged boy, “in the direction I’m pointing, do you see that brightest star?” “They’re all pretty bright, but sure.” “It’s part of a constellation! See, if you connect it to-” Obanai once again cut you off by placing a firm hand on your shoulder. “I’ve already seen constellations. You’re explaining it won’t make it appear any clearer, so don’t bother... I’d rather have a normal conversation.”

[thelovelylolly]

Perfect

Summary : You were the perfect padawan and jedi knight. You had everything in line and under control, which may or may not have caused you to catch Obi-Wan Kenobi’s eye.

Warnings : None :) the only thing is the reader is depicted with having longer hair, or long enough hair to pull into a bun. (also not proofread bc im lazy)

Notes : instead of us simping, how about he simps for us? am i right guys? also the start isn’t my favorite and a lil weak. also pt 2, sorry i’ve been dead for over a month now, i havent had motivation to write that much and school is ending which meant testing :) hopefully ill get my motivation back so i can pump out more fics

Ever since you were a youngling and padawan, your master and other jedi praised you for being the perfect example of a new jedi. You got all the training forms down quickly, you were in control of your force abilities and you were always on time to everything.

It wasn’t even hard for you to do so, it was just natural for you. So that’s what stood out Obi-Wan Kenobi the most. You and him had classes together, bunked near each other and advanced around the same pace. You two were knighted around the same time as well.  

You even helped Obi-Wan out when his padawan, Anakin, caused him stress and trouble. Especially during the Clone Wars. You were a very put together general and your clone squadron was highly renowned, so you were ready to go help 501st and, if needed, the 212th. In Obi-Wan’s eyes, you were perfect 

Now, here you two were, working together again. You were on Obi-Wan’s star destroyer and the two of you, along with both of your clone squadrons, were tasked to go check in on a planet. The Republic had gotten reports of Separatist forces trying to turn the planet against the Republic. You and Obi-Wan were standing around a hologram of the planet with points highlighted where there were attacks.

“I saw we spread our forces out in order to reach all those areas quicker,” Obi-Wan commented, crossing his arms in front of his chest. 

You put your hands on your hips. “I agree with General Kenobi. Cody, go tell the men our plan. Once we get on planet, we’ll split into groups then and spread out,” you replied.

Cody saluted you and left, leaving you and Obi-Wan alone. Your gaze fell on Obi-Wan, who was avoiding it. “General Kenobi,” you said, breaking the silence.

His head flicked towards yours, a little bit of blush forming on his cheeks. “Yes General L/N?”

“I’ve been sensing your emotions shifting a lot lately, is everything alright?” You asked, your head titling to the side ever so slightly. Your question made Obi-Wan’s blush increase. 

“Uh,” he paused to clear his throat and think of a excuse, “it’s nothing, just some stress with Anakin is all.”

You hummed as a reply and nodded. “Well, we should go get to the transport ships.”

-----

The trip to planet was easy and so was splitting up. Your men, along with the 212th, were assigned a area of the planet to patrol. Once everything was evenly divided, there was still a little bit of land to cover. It was a flat plain of tall grass with a few tall mountain formations in it. You and Obi-Wan both volunteered to cover it with land speeders.

A transport ship dropped you and Obi-Wan off with two land speeders, once again leaving you two alone. You two prepped your bikes and small amount of supplies you had. The sun was close to setting on the planet and you two planned on only taking a few hours. You pulled your hair into a neat bun so it wouldn’t become a mess from riding your speeder. Obi-Wan watched you and how the late day sunlight made you look as if you were a golden goddess.

“Are you ready to go?” You asked, snapping him out of his thoughts as you mounted your speeder.

“Oh, yes,” he quickly replied, following your actions. The two of you set off towards the setting sun, scanners ready and eyes peeled for any separatist action.

A little while into your patrol, you were getting tired of being quiet. Twilight was setting in at that point. “Do you wanna talk about your stress with Anakin? I know you mentioned it earlier and it seems intense, at least from what I can sense,” you said louder than usual, since you were speeding through tall grass.

“Well, um,” Obi-Wan paused to think of a excuse again, “I think him and his padawan are pulling risky moves in their missions.”

“Don’t they complete their missions successfully?”

Obi-Wan mentally slapped himself. Anakin and Ahsoka were very successful their missions, of course you’ve heard about them. “Uh, yeah, well-”

“Bandits.”

“What?”

“Bandits, coming our way on speeders,” you said, switching the gears on your speeder so you could speed away. You turned right and Obi-Wan followed you. After a few moments, you two saw the bandits still on your tail. “We have to shake them!”

“Let’s split up! I see four, we can each take two,” Obi-Wan replied. You nodded and turned right again while Obi-Wan turned left.

You were doing fine until you looked behind you and saw one of the two bandits following had their blaster rifle out and aiming at your speeder. You gasped as they shot. You jumped right as your speeder exploded. Luckily there was tall grass beside you so you weren’t that hurt from the fall. You had to act dead though, you sensed the bandits coming to check that you were.

Obi-Wan heard an explosion behind him and looked, seeing your speeder blow up. His eyes widened as he thought he worse. He quickly made a sharp turn with his speeder and turned around, causing the two bandits following him to crash into each other in confusion. 

Obi-Wan sped over to where you were, seeing the two other bandits speeding over to him. He jumped off his speeder and grabbed his lightsaber, activating it. As the two speeders were barreling towards him, Obi-Wan simply inhaled and exhaled. Then raced towards them, slicing through both of them. The bandits jumped off their destroyed speeders and hopped onto Obi-Wan’s, stealing it and riding off. Obi-Wan stood their for a moment before deactivating his lightsaber and running to find you. 

You sat yourself up and rubbed your head. Obi-Wan quickly made his way over to you and crouched beside you. “Did they take your speeder?” You asked.

“Yes, come on. I think I see a cave not to far from here. We can stay there for the night and you can contact Cody. My comm link was on my speeder,” Obi-Wan answered, helping you up. Your hair was messy now from the fight and your clothes were dirty from falling on the ground.

“My comm link is a little bit busted, but I think the tracker still works on it. We can activate that once we’re safe,” you replied, following Obi-Wan as he lead you to the cave that he had seen.

--

Obi-Wan was able to make a fire while you tried to fix your comm link’s tracker. You two sat in silence, the fire crackling every once in a while. Obi-Wan watched as you worked, so focused on what you were doing. Some of your hair had fallen out of it’s bun, framing your face. Obi-Wan smiled to himself.

“There, I think I fixed it,” you said, breaking Obi-Wan out of his trance. You pressed a button and moved over to the opening of the cave. “It may take a while to reach the ship since the signal isn’t that strong. I think setting it over here will give it a better chance to reach.”

You sighed and leaned your head against the cave wall, a wave of tiredness washing over you. 

“If you want, you can get some rest. I’ll take first watch,” Obi-Wan said, moving over to where you were so he could see outside. You smiled as a thank you then closed your eyes. 

You were making it harder for Obi-Wan to ignore his feelings for you. Attachments were forbidden by the jedi. With you being the perfect jedi, he didn’t want to be the reason you messed up. No matter how much a struggle it was for him.

Only a little bit in his watch, he felt something heavy fall on his shoulder. He looked over and saw your head there as quiet snores escaped your mouth. Obi-Wan smiled then went back to watching outside. Though, it wouldn’t be long until he got tired and leaned his against yours as he fell asleep.

--

The morning light shined through the cave entrance and woke you and Obi-Wan up. Your fire had died out a while ago, only the ashes and burnt ground left behind. Your comm link was right where you left it. You got up tiredly and picked it up to check on it. 

Obi-Wan stretched a little while you looked around outside. Moments later, you went back into the cave. “There’s a transport ship landing right now,” you said, taking Obi-Wan’s hand and leading him out.

He felt his face heat up at your touch. You didn’t let go of his hand as you two watched the transport ship land in the field below. “Obi-Wan, one last thing,” you started to say.

“What is it?” Obi-Wan replied.

You pressed a kiss to his cheek before letting go of his hand and making your way down to the transport ship. Obi-Wan smiled and touched where you kissed on his cheek. He watched as you met up with Cody in the field and started to explain what happened on your patrol together. Obi-Wan sighed happily before making his way down to you. You were so perfect to him.

[panda-noosh]

taste test {kaz brekker x reader}

   there are guests today.

    little information was given to you, but you don’t mind; you’re not here to entertain anyone. you’re here to do your job and move on. who the king associates with is honestly none of your concern. 

   you’ll leave the assassins to the royal guards.

    you wake on the day to witness the palace in hysterics. chefs bustle around like headless chickens, maids and butlers ironing uniforms that have not had a crinkle in them since the war. the scent of food - a cacophany of it - rises to the surface, making you crinkle your nose at the onslaught of different options. all you want is a slice of toast to prepare you for the day, but the thought of walking into that kitchen has you cuddling up in bed for a few minutes longer.

    you’ll have to eat that food pretty soon. just a small bite, just enough to get a taste. a hint. 

   you close your eyes.

    the peace doesn’t last long, because it never does. a knock sounds at your door, startling you from your reverie. you roll over, not even bothering to cover yourself when you call out, “come in!”

    a palace guard - rico - peaks his bald head round the door and raises a brow. “still sleeping?”

   “clearly not.”

    “good. you need to be up and at your post in thirty minutes; we have guests today.”

   you pull the quilt over your head. “don’t remind me.” you peak an eye over the top, raising a brow. “who are the guests?”

   rico narrows his eyes. “you haven’t been told?”

   “well, no. i never really asked.”

    “then i’ll leave it as a surprise.” he claps his hands, like you’re some kind of dog. “get ready. i don’t want to come back up here again.”

   “then don’t,” you reply, but he’s already disappeared.

    you drag yourself from bed to do as he ordered. there’s no point arguing with the palace guards - they seem to think they own the place, even though they live basically under the thumb of every other individual walking the grounds. even you, the lowest of the low, can manipulate them into doing what you want if you just try hard enough. a few sweet words and a confident tone, and they’re like putty in your hands.

    but the truth is, you don’t care enough about todays events to put on that confident tone. you pull your clothes on, fiddle with your bow tie, and head downstairs to see what the day has in store for you.

    breakfast, lunch, and dinner. 

    a risky day ahead.

    you’re required to be at the kings side long before the guests arrive. you’ve never questioned it. the rules of the palace have never made any sense to you, but you go along with them, because you don’t want to get into any more trouble than you already have. that’s why you find yourself stood by the kings side in silence, hands clasped in front of you, trays of delicious breakfast foods being delivered by hasty, sweaty porters.

    the dining room is swathed in beautiful decor. banners hang from the ceiling, red and gold colours matching the grand wallpaper all around. the fancy carpet has been rolled out, tucked beneath the long, mahogany dining table and stretching all the way to the double doors ready to greet the guests. 

   even the king is dressed well for the occasion, which is another surprise. though the king hardly looks like a peasant, he makes a point to put in as little effort with his appearance as possible, just to show people that he can get anyone to fear him from personality alone. his riches and fancy fabrics have nothing to do with his power.

    but today he wears his finest silk coat, the buttons straining against his round stomach. his beard has been freshly trimmed, and you watch his hand rock back and forth amongst the hairs. a few stray ones float from his chin to the table, and you quickly swipe them away. the king doesn’t even notice; he continues staring at the doors, one dark skinned knuckle tight around the arms of his throne-like chair. 

     finally, after what feels like forever, the double doors up ahead are pushed open. two palace guards dressed in red hold them in place, and a man is ushered in.

    a man you recognise immediately.

    he’s got a cane now, which is different. there’s those gloves on his hands, the sides of his head still shaved, with that shaggy, dark mess still perched on top, a school boys haircut that looks most out of place on someone with blood on his hands. he’s frowning, because that’s what kaz brekker does - the king shows his power through his booming voice and cruel choices. kaz brekker shows his power through his expressions. 

    you don’t meet his eyes, though you don’t look away. kaz has his gaze on the king, not even noticing you standing at his side, and for that you are thankful; you don’t think you want to look into those blue eyes again. you promised yourself you wouldn’t, not before the nightmares disappear.

    the king slowly stands. he rubs his beard one final time for good measure before saying, “you’re late, kaz.”

    “call me mr brekker,” kaz replies, before gesturing to an empty seat at the end of the table - the seat farthest from the king. “shall we sit?”

    you swallow; you’re familiar with this attitude from him, but you’ve been in the kings presence too long now to pretend kaz isn’t on thin ice. 

    the king, however, is clearly in a docile mood, as he nods and sits down. the food in the centre of the table goes unnoticed for a while as the two stare at each other, waiting for the other to crack and begin the conversation. you fiddle with your fingers, uncertain whether kaz has seen you, whether he recognises you, whether he’s just keeping a straight face because he’s kaz, and he’s a professional.

    finally, the king clicks his fingers at you. “stack my plate. you know the drill.”

   you burst into action, bustling round the table, scooping up different assortments of breakfast foods you know the king enjoys; he’s got his bacon, and his eggs, and the bread, pancakes on the side. you slather beans along the rim of his plate and place a single hash brown in the residue, just as he likes it.

   and then you sit down, and pick apart the entire thing.

    you can feel kaz’s eyes burning into you as you work, but you pay him no attention. you have to focus, because this is kind of a life or death situation. you sniff the food first, though this very rarely shows you anything you might need to worry about. it’s too fresh, still warm in your fingers when you lift it to your nose. you can smell only the warmth of it all, but you take the precaution anyway, just to show the king you know what you’re doing.

    and then you nibble the edges, heart thumping with nerves rather than poison entering your body. that’s what you’re looking for - poison, an assassination attempt. even in his own palace, the king is paranoid. his own staff have turned against him before. you’re not entirely surprised.

    you chew, swallow, pause, repeat.

    “all clear.”

   you hand the plate back, tuck your hands in your lap and look down at the table at kaz. he’s staring at you, an eyebrow raised, and you understand immediately that he recognises you, probably knew you worked here before he even entered the premise.

   was he here for you?

   you banish the thought and look away. you wait until the king has started digging in before excusing yourself and exiting, your job for the morning complete. at lunch, you will have to repeat the process, and again at dinner, but until then, you have the morning to yourself.

    you walk through the gardens, because fresh air is all you need right now. your heart is hammering, and you curse yourself for it - kaz brekker has not been in your life for months. he shouldn’t have a grip on you. he shouldn’t even know you are here, and yet he does, because of course he does. kaz doesn’t step foot anywhere until he knows the ins-and-outs of the entire place. he keeps his ducks all in a neat row, and you were a fool to believe you had escaped it.

    it’s not like kaz is a bad man. he’s evil, certainly, with horrible actions under his belt, but you can understand his reasoning. he kills a man, and maybe that’s an overexaggeration, but the man was also seconds away from traumatising a poor woman walking home from work. kaz takes a life, saving the day in the process. it’s how he works, how he’s always worked for as long as you’ve known him.

   and you’ve known him for a while.

   you haven’t been by his side in months, but someone like kaz brekker is someone you never forget. once you know kaz, you never stop knowing him, which is a curse more than anything else. oh, how you wish you could wipe the slate clean, pretend you never got involved with him and his gang in the first place. but that was your decision - your stupid, careless decision - and you need to face the consequences.

    having him here, at your place of work, was a consequence.

    you sit down by the stream just outside the palace grounds. a duckling struts past, paying you no attention whatsoever. a stray lilipad floats gently through the water, spurred on by the tiny breeze ketterdam has for you today.

     you like to come here sometimes, just to clear your head a little bit. nobody else bothers with the nice scenery and the nature; they think it’s a waste of time. if it wasn’t for the gardener, this place would be a wasteland, left to shrivel and disappear into shadow. you’re thankful it’s been kept pleasant, though - it’s a good place for someone who wants to have no thoughts for a little while.

    you lean down and run your fingertips along the water. it’s cold, and a weed gets tangled between your fingers. you lift it from the water with a wince, flicking your wrist to get it off-

    a cane clamps down on your fingers, shoving your hand into the grass.

   you inhale sharply, straightening up but not turning around.

    “so easy to startle,” kaz hums. “you’re losing your touch, y/n.”

    you twist your hand and catch the bottom of his cane, using it to pull yourself to your feet. kaz doesn’t stumble, but you never expected him to; kaz doesn’t stumble. he’s much too stubborn for that.

    you whirl around, and there he is, that frown on his face, his head tilted like he’s analysing you even before you’ve said two words. a heat festers in your belly. you don’t know if you want to hug him or slam your fist into his nose. 

    “so this is where you ended up, is it?” he glances at the grand gardens, the glistening lake, the ducklings swimming past. “you’ve surprised me, i gotta say. i never thought you’d be into such grandeur.”

   you fold your arms over your chest, cheeks heating up. you will admit, the palace is certainly not the place you thought to find yourself, either; after living in the barrel your entire life, you had grown used to dirt stained clothes, weeks without washing, hunger pains. this was different. this was a different type of hell, a hell in fancy clothes.

    “cat got your tongue?” kaz continues, swinging that stupid cane back and forth. “shame. i think we have a lot to talk about.”

   “why are you here?”

   “ah, asking the right questions now!”

   “just tell me, kaz. tell me, and then we can go our separate ways - just like you wanted.”

    his expression falters for a moment, so quick that it’s clear he doesn’t want you noticing the power you still have over him, even just a little. 

    “fine,” he says. “let’s walk.”

   you do just that, hands tucked into pockets, head tilted down. it’s easier to talk to him when you’re not subject to his facial expressions, too - handling both of them is too much. 

    “you want to know why i’m here,” he begins. “i’m here looking for you.”

    your stomach drops, even though that was kind of what you were expecting. 

    he pauses, giving you a chance to fill in the silence with your own thoughts, but you don’t even look up.

    he barrels on. “we had a tip-off from someone that you were working here now. no one else believed it, but me? i know you a little better than them. i was surprised, but i could picture it. you’ve always been irrational when you’re desperate.”

   you wince. “you don’t know me at all, kaz.”

    he smiled at the sky in response, like you had walked into his trap.

    “i hope you didn’t come here thinking you can coax me back to the barrel,” you continue. “that’s not going to happen.”

    his jaw clenches, head still tilted towards the sun. his skin is a little darker now, a little more tan. he’s probably been out and about, you think, causing havok in the sunshine, ruining people’s holidays because he can.

    “i thought you would say that,” he says. “so i’m bringing the problem to you.”

   you nearly stumble. “what?” freezing in the middle of the path, you grab his arm and whirl him around, forcing him to look at you. “what have you done, kaz? what problem?”

    “she asked for you.”

    “kaz-”

   “inej is sick.”

    your breath falters. those words, so simple, yet so . . . unexpected. inej ghafa - the wraith, your best friend, the girl designed to be indestructible. that’s why kaz picked her. that’s why she worked alongside you. that’s what made you the best damn crew in ketterdam.

    “sick.” 

    kaz nods, shrugging his arm from your grip. “sick. ill. not well. poorly. whatever you want to call it. she’s not doing good, and the only person she’s asking for is you.”

    “so where is she?” you whirl around. “is she here?”

   “not walking alongside us, no.”

   you scowl. “i mean at the palace, kaz. is she at the palace?”

   “she will be.” kaz pulls a golden watch from his pocket. “in about three hours. that should give your employer plenty of time to set my room up and make some space in the hospital wing, don’t you think?”

   you close your eyes, trying desperately to steady the thumping of your heart. he could be lying, and you know that, but what if he isn’t? what is inej really is on her death bed, and you never even got to say goodbye?

    the thought terrifies you to the point your hands begin to tremble. when you open your eyes, kaz is staring at them, and you’re almost certain there is something close to pity sparking there.

   you quickly snap your arms behind your back and nod. “fine. okay. i’ll see her. but once i’ve done what i can, you leave. both of you.”

    kaz studies your face. the fire in your stomach burns even brighter, forcing you to look away and keep walking.

    kaz follows, all soft footsteps. “i’m not here to bring up the past, y/n. i hope you know that.”

    “you can understand why i find that hard to believe.”

   “well, yes. but i’m serious. what we had, it means nothing now. you’re a different person, and so am i. we can let it go.”

    you swallow the lump in your throat, trying to pretend those words are exactly what you wanted to hear. but a knot twists in your heart, almost to the point of pain.

   you take a deep breath and glance at him over your shoulder. he’s only a few steps behind, but his presence is so large, so there that you nearly trip. 

   and then you say, “we never had anything, kaz. remember that.”

----

   it’s like you’re trying to hurt each other.

   that’s how it’s always been between you and kaz, but at one point, it felt natural. it was a bit of fun. a few snide remarks here and there, followed by kaz confessing he thinks your eyes are a very pretty colour. a bit of sparring, followed by you telling kaz he’s the most important person in your life. 

   this time, however, the mere sight of him is a torment, one you don’t find fun in the slightest.

    the king tasks you with leading kaz through the palace. this was a job you fully expected to be given, but it doesn’t make it any easier. kaz stops to examine every little thing, tracing his fingers along artefacts you would be murdered for touching.     

   you swat his hand away when he reaches for a bust of the kings father. “stop it. if you knock that over, he’ll have you hanged.”

    kaz raises a brow before touching a gloved fingertip to the stone. you groan and march off, trying to ignore the butterflies at the sound of his soft, hidden chuckle echoing behind you.   

   you show him his room, a beautifully decorated space much grander than any room the king has ever given you. kaz whistles when he walks in, looking at the wine bucket on his chest of drawers, and the freshly made bed with the thick linens, and a view to die for.

    “spoiled,” he says.

   you roll your eyes. “i’ll leave you to get comfortable.”

    “or.” he whirls, catching your arm. his fingers slot in the crook of your elbow, the leather of his gloves sparking unwanted familiarity within you. “you can stay, and we can talk some more.”

   “i have things to do, kaz.” you rip your arm from his grip. “the king will be having lunch soon, and i need to be there.”

    kaz scoffs, slowly sliding the knot out of his tie and slipping it from beneath his collar, like undressing in front of you is no big deal. “so you can do what? potentially die? you know, y/n, i once thought you were a tough son of a bitch, but the longer i’m here, the more i’m realising just how weak you are.”

    ouch.

   “we’ve all got to make a living somehow,” you reply. “you murder people, i keep the king safe.”

    “the same king you wanted to assassinate a few months ago?” he tilts his head, pursing his lips. “what a drastic change of heart.”

   “go to hell, kaz.”

    he raises a hand. “wait for me outside; i’ll come to lunch with you and your king.”

   you pause. “has he invited you?”

   “i don’t need an invite.”

    “you’re not permitted to be there-”

   “i’ll be there.” he starts unbuttoning his shirt. “i want to watch you in action. you’ve always been very good in action.” he smirks, and you know he’s just teasing you, trying to get a reaction. your cheeks heat up, but you quickly turn on your heel and scurry out before he can notice. 

    you don’t wait on him outside. instead, you hurry to the dining hall, where the king is already seated. he looks up when you enter, fingers already tangled in his beard. his wife sits beside him, grand and tall and everything a queen should be. she scowls when you enter, but you ignore her, immediately taking your seat by the king and fanning a napkin over your lap.

    “sorry,” you say. “kaz brekker kept me.”

    “it’s mr brekker,” the queen snaps. “have some respect for our guests.”

   “y/n can call me kaz.”

   you close your eyes, listening to the thump of his feet and cane against the carpet. 

   “y/n can call me kaz,” he repeats, lowering himself in the chair at the head of the table. “mr brekker is a little too formal for them.”

     “mr brekker,” the queen exclaims, fanning her reddening face. “i wasn’t aware you would be joining us for lunch!” 

   you nearly roll your eyes at her flustered state - okay, so kaz is attractive. he’s also half her age.

    kaz leans back in his seat, tapping his fingertips together. “oh, no, i’m not eating. i’m just here to observe.” at the confused silence, he shrugs. “i have nothing better to do, and i’ve always been fascinated with the hobbies y/n takes on. such a talented soul they are.”

    you’ve never heard kaz speak so formal before, and you have half a mind to laugh. instead, you glance over to see his own lips trembling in his attempts to keep a straight face - he finds this just as amusing as you do. messing with the royals, it’s all a game to him. they are the fools. 

    “do you two know each other?” the king asks, handing you his stacked plate.

   “no,” you snap. kaz grins behind his glove, staring at you over his fingers as you hasten to add, “no, we don’t. i just met him today.”

    the king nods slowly, not quite sure whether to believe you or not. you don’t give him a chance to doubt any further before picking up your knife and fork and cutting a small chunk from a slice of tofu. you go through the usual routine with everything on his plate, but all the while, kaz stares. you feel his eyes like a fire sinking into the side of your face, putting you off from paying proper attention. you pop the cut-off’s in your mouth and chew, turning to meet his gaze, as if making eye contact with him is some kind of power move. however, he actually looks a bit. . . worried? concerned? you’ve never seen that expression on his face before, and it makes your stomach flip as you swallow the food.

    you give a final nod, handing the plate back to the king. you repeat the process with the queen before standing, straightening your trousers and excusing yourself.

    kaz’s chair screeches as he stands.

    “mr brekker, would you not care for some lunch?” the queen asks.

    “no.” he turns and follows you out the dining room, catching your arm when you try and run. “what the hell?”

    you spin, snatching your arm away. “can you stop grabbing me?”

    “what happens if their food actually has been poisoned?”

    “then i get poisoned.”

   he raises a brow, skin paling. “and do they have someone on hand for if that happens?”

   “on hand to do what?”

   “don’t play stupid, y/n. on hand to save your fucking life.”

   you scowl; it’s been a long time since you’ve heard kaz curse, and it shames you to feel the same thrill run over you. 

    “i get sent to the infirmary,” you reply. “but it’s never happened before.”

    “never happened-” he shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “this is the kind of life you want to live? you left the barrel for this?”

    “no life is as bad as the barrel.”

    kaz’s lips tighten, eyes fluttering closed for the briefest moment before he opens them again and says, “you left the place where people loved you, cared about you, and you came here. to this shit hole. you’re risking your life for them, and you have the nerve to tell me this life isn’t as bad as the barrel?”

    even to you it sounds ridiculous, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing that. 

    “the barrel wasn’t a life,” you say. “the barrel was a beginning for me, but i’ve moved on.”

    “you don’t move on from that.”

   “maybe not mentally, but i can damn well get away physically.” you lean in, lowering your voice. “i just wish you’d let me.”

    his eyes scan your face, drawing attention to just how close you are to him. his breath fans your cheeks. you can make out every line on his lips, every crease in his face. you could lean forward if you wanted to, close that distance.

    you step back, once again straightening your trousers. “tell me when inej arrives and i’ll come meet her in the infirmary.”

    kaz doesn’t say anything. he watches you leave, and part of you - a retched, traitorous part - is disappointed he doesn’t follow. 

   ----

    inej really is sick.

   “so it’s true,” you say, sauntering into the infirmary. “the wraith has been beaten.”

    you’re trying to jest, but there’s little humour to be felt when she looks like that. her dark skin is pale and sickly, warm drops of sweat clinging to her forehead and rolling down her neck. she’s dressed in only a thin night gown, revealing collar bones and stretched skin where her muscles once were. 

   she looks up, bloodshot eyes meeting your own, and even in sickness, she manages a smile when she sees you. that’s enough to have you breaking. you rush to her bedside and bundle her in your arms, nearly sobbing with relief at the feel of her pressed against you, her hands in your hair, her mouth inches from your ear.

   she whispers, “it’s you.”

   you pull away, nodding. “yes. it’s me.”

    “what are you doing here?”

    you pull a chair over and sit down. “that’s not important.”

    “yes, it is.”

   “i’ll explain later.” you lean forward, pushing a strand of hair away from her face. “you talk first; what’s going on?”

   inej coughs into her elbow; something rattles in your throat, and you try desperately to hide your wince. “i just got sick. i fell in the brig a few days ago, and i don’t think the water was very healthy.”

   “of course it wasn’t,” you grumble. “it’s the barrel, you stupid girl. what did you expect?”

    “i cleaned myself pretty well afterwards,” she defends. 

   “clearly not well enough.” you place a hand to her cheek. “has anyone come to see you?”

   “some man in a coat,” she replies, nuzzling down in the pillows. “he checked my temperature and my blood pressure and all that stuff. said he’d be back soon.”

   “and he didn’t seem . . . concerned?”

   inej shrugs. “i didn’t look him in the eye. men like him don’t sit right with me, y/n. i let him do his job, but i’m not looking at him. i’m not giving him ideas.”

   you nod. there is a silence, but those are okay between you and inej. 

    finally, you reach over and take her hand. her palms are clammy, cold, but her grip is strong. 

    “i’m sorry i wasn’t there to help you.”

    her head snaps around, eyes widening. “y/n-”

   “i know you always say you understand why i left, but it’s just. . . i don’t know. i feel guilty about it. i feel selfish sometimes, and you’ve had to travel all the way here whilst you’re in this state all because i wasn’t there to-”

    “has kaz been making you feel guilty?”

   your mouth snaps closed. “i don’t. . . i don’t think so?”

    inej sighs, head dropping back into the pillows. “don’t listen to him. i understand why you left; i always have. kaz just. . . i don’t think he ever got over it when you disappeared. it was like a part of him went with you.” she shrugs. “a part of him did go - you.”

    silence again, because you have no idea how to respond to that. kaz was hurt when you left, and you know that, but he’s kaz. he’s tough. he’s been through everything a person should never have to go through. the thought of his final straw being you is almost laughable to think about.

    “he loved you,” inej continues, even though you don’t want her to. “he really, really loved you.”

    “past tense,” you whisper. “not any more.”

    inej smiles sadly, and that’s all you need to see to understand you’re right - he’s moved on. he’s here with you now, but that means nothing in the grand scheme of things. he’s here on business. he doesn’t care about you, and he said it himself - whatever the two of you had is gone, non-existent. you thought you had come to terms with that, but seeing the confirmation on inej’s face makes you feel suddenly exhausted.

    “well this isn’t about kaz and i,” you say, pulling your shoulders back. “come on. tell me what’s been going on since i left.”

   ---

    you’re trying to sleep when you hear the bang.

    trying being the key word. always. every night, you put your best efforts into drifting to sleep, but it never seems to work how you want it to. you toss and turn for hours on end, drifting in and out of your associative state, but not really falling asleep. time just passes, and then it’s day time, and you’re working again.

   tonight is no different.

   the bang is loud, just next door to your room. your ears immediately prick - the palace guards aren’t moving towards it. you’re already awake, so you may as well see to it yourself.

   you swing your legs out of bed, grab your dressing gown and walk into the hallway. glancing back and forth, you see nothing out of the ordinary.

   the bang sounds again.

   you narrow your eyes, walking further down the hallway. turning a corner, the bang sounds one final time before a pair of shoes flies at the wall and crashes to the floor in a heap.

   you rush forward, eyes wide. “what the-”

   kaz spins, another pair of expensive shoes already in his hand. “oh. did i wake you?”

    dazed, you snatch the shoes into your possession and toss them to the floor. “what the fuck are you doing, kaz? people are trying to sleep!”

    “i was also trying to sleep,” kaz replies. “i am one of those people, so why are you yelling at me?”

   you rub your eyes in frustration - sometimes talking to him is like pulling teeth.

   “oh, come on,” kaz says. “i was just doing a bit of late night cleaning. this room is a fucking shit hole.”

    you raise a brow, sighing. “what are you on about? this room was pristine when you came.”

    “yeah, well, i thought so too. and then i found this.” he motions for you to enter the room, and though you know it’s a bad idea, you do so. he hooks his foot around something beneath his bed, and pulls out a box overflowing with expensive shoes.

   you narrow your eyes. “what’s the problem?”

   “rich men shoes,” he says, like that explains everything. after knowing kaz as deeply as you do, it kind of does make sense.

   you sigh again, kicking the box back beneath the bed. “go to sleep, kaz.”

    “i can’t.”

    “try.”

   “you know i can’t.”

   you pause, overcome with a sudden chill. you wrap the dressing gown tighter around your body, trying to refrain from looking at him - he’s still dressed in the fancy clothes he wore this morning, but the top button is pulled loose, and his hair is a mess. his eyes droop a little, evidence that he really wants to sleep, but genuinely just can’t.

   and you know why.

   “i’m not asking you to stay with me,” he continues, grabbing a pair of socks from the floor. “i’m just saying - you have no right telling me to sleep when you know what it’s like.”

    “are they bad again?”

    kaz purses his lips. “they’ve been bad for a while.”

   a while. that’s how he always phrases it. when he says it’s been a while, he means it’s been a while since you left the crows, left him. 

    you swallow, looking to the ceiling like the intricate design will give you clarity. “i can get you tea or something. a fresh blanket. whiskey.”

    “trying to get me drunk?”

   “kaz, i’m serious.” you meet his eyes. “you look terrible.”

    he laughs, a sly sound that reeks more of danger than amusement. “thank you.”

    “let me get you something.” you turn, but he catches your elbow. you glance back just as he drops his hand like your flesh has burned him, an uncharacteristic redness adorning his cheeks.

   “didn’t mean to touch you,” he mumbles, scratching the back of his neck. “but i’m serious; i don’t need anything. it’s useless anyway.”

    everything is useless. every remedy he’s ever been given has never worked. the only remedy for insomnia that has worked for kaz brekker is you.

   but you can’t do that to him. you can’t do that to yourself. 

    “okay,” you mumble. “just. . . stop making so much noise, alright?”

   “did i really wake you?”

    “i couldn’t sleep either.”

    you stare at each other. it’s like you’re waiting for the other to break. you hate that you kind of want him to break.

    his adams apple bobs. “make yourself some tea, then. i’ll be a bit quieter.”

    you nod. “thanks.”

   “how’s inej, by the way? did you see her?”

    “i did. she seems. . . okay.” you shrug. “the doctors are going to do everything they can to help her get back to normal. then you can go back to the barrel.”

    kaz nods, though his movements are slower this time around, shoulders a little more slumped. neither of you say anything else as you walk out, tugging your dressing gown a little tighter around your body. 

   you don’t take his advice. you don’t need tea, or whiskey, or a fresh blanket; with kaz’s words and his expressions and him, you know there is no way you’re getting to sleep any time soon, no matter what remedy you use.

    ----

     “good morning, royalty.”

    the king looks up from his breakfast, the very breakfast you have just tested for poison. it sits weirdly in your stomach this morning; after a sleepless night, your appetite has deserted you, but you have no choice besides eating.

   kaz strolls into the room, dressed in a suit. his white shirt sits against his chest, and his sleeves are rolled up to reveal the crow tattoo on his arm. you awkwardly rub your own crow tattoo, suddenly very aware of how permanent it is.

    “good morning, mr brekker,” the king says. “again, you surprise me with your presence. we weren’t expecting you for breakfast.”

    “i am just full of surprises.” he sits down in his usual seat and meets your eyes. “how are you this morning, y/n?”

    “y/n was just about to leave,” the king replies, as you knew he would; he likes hearing your voice as little as possible. 

    kaz, however, keeps his eyes on you. “i asked y/n. not you.”

    you stare straight at him, a silent warning. “i’m good, mr brekker. well-rested.”

    “you can call me kaz.” he leans back, grinning. “i’m glad to hear it. maybe you and i can take a walk amongst the duck pond again later on.”

   there he goes, putting on that god awful formal accent that he thinks is so funny. 

    you scowl. “i’m a bit busy today, mr brekker.”

   “kaz.”

   “he asked you to call him kaz, y/n,” the king snaps.

   kaz nods. “i asked you to call me kaz, y/n.”

   you bite your lip, pushing back the retort that so desperately wants to rise. he’s just sat there, grinning with no shame. the king is looking straight at him, and he doesn’t even care.

    “any duties you’ve been given today can be postponed until later,” the king says. “mr brekker is our guest, and if he wants your company, your company he shall receive.”

    kaz’s grin gets wider, and oh, you want so desperately to punch him square in the face. instead, you force a smile, turning to the king to tell him just how honoured you would be to give kaz brekker your company on this fine morning.

   and that’s how you find yourself strolling through the gardens with kaz, yet again.

    “you’re unbelieable,” you mumble, arms folded over your chest like a school kid having a tantrum. 

    “i’m good,” he replies. “you know i’m good, y/n. i don’t know why you act surprised.”

    “he’s the king, kaz,” you hiss. “can you not tone it down a little?”

   “tone what down?”

   “the-” you gesture vaguely, though the only word you can conjure is flirting, and there’s no way in hell you’re letting that slip into the conversation. “the shit. tone down the shit!”

   “i’m not scared of him. i know you want me to be, but i’m not.”

    “oh yes. how could i forget? kaz brekker isn’t scared of anything.”

    kaz scoffs. “kaz brekker is scared of plenty of things - men aren’t one of them.”

   such a kaz thing to say. the most frustrating bit about it was that he was telling the truth.

    “i told inej what your job is here,” he continues after a moment of tense silence.  

   “oh?”

   “she understands. says you’ve always been one to do anything to survive.”

   you shrug. she’s right. 

    “that worries me, you know.”

    “nothing worries you, kaz.”

   “the thought of you in danger does.”

   you shake your head. “don’t start this now. you said it yourself; what we had was nothing.”

    “why can’t i worry about you without it having to mean something bigger?”

    “because everything you say means something bigger.”

   kaz falls silent. he knows it’s true, and so do you. kaz has never been able to speak his full extent, always letting people think less of him so he can take them by surprise when the time is right. you have learned first hand how frustrating that can be, but it was also a part of him you grew to love. it was what made him so intelligent, so cunning. it was what made him kaz. 

 “are you not ever worried you’re going to get unlucky one day?”

   you glance over. he keeps his head ducked down, one hand curled around the head of his cane, the other tucked into his pocket. “i know what i signed up for. getting poisoned was kind of part of the risk.”

    “since when did you even know how to identify poisons?”

   your lips twitch. “jesper taught me.”

   kaz rolls his eyes skyward, running a hand through his hair; the sun glows against his tan skin. “of course he did. honestly, the shit you two got up to when i wasn’t around-”

    “we had fun,” you say. “we could only do that when you weren’t hovering over our shoulders.”

   kaz glares. 

   you look to the floor, afraid to smile at him, afraid to open this conversation into something even mildly pleasant; if you can get through this entire visit without thinking of kaz fondly, maybe it will make all of it a bit easier. maybe you’ll be able to trick yourself into thinking you’ve moved on, grown stronger since your time in the barrel.

        “how is jesper?” you ask, because you suddenly feel like you can’t help it.

   kaz shrugs. “how jesper always is.”

    “worse?”

    “for a while. he didn’t take you leaving very well, but he straightened himself out.” kaz tugs on his lapels. “he always does.”

    “yeah. he does.”    

    you wonder about jesper sometimes. it hurts to know he took your leave badly, though you should have known; jesper has never been one to handle his feelings well. that was your job on his behalf. you would often sit with him at night, just to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid. you once handcuffed him to his bed post to stop him heading out into the gambling hall of the hotel you were staying in.

    he was the only one you could ever really properly speak to about what was going on between you and kaz. inej understood kaz, but jesper was kaz’s right-hand man. he was the one kaz would go to about things like that.

    “does jesper know how to make your brew?”

    there is no moment of confusion, like he was expecting the question. “i’m sure he does. i never ask him to make it, though.”

    your nostrils flare. “kaz-”

   “listen, the nightmares aren’t going to disappear,” he says, raising a silencing hand that you swat away before he can think it works. “i don’t need some special brew helping me sleep.”

   “no, you’ll just stay awake until you drop dead.”

   kaz grins, sharp as knives. “that’ll be the way to go, won’t it?”

   you shove his shoulder, suddenly furious. he looks over, still grinning, because kaz has always found your frustration amusing. he used to say you looked like a chipmunk who just got their nuts stolen.

    “for someone so smart,” you hiss, “you’re pretty stupid.”

   “because i won’t indulge in your famous sleep remedy?”

   “because you’ll let yourself suffer before asking for help.”

    his smile fades. “i only ask certain people for help, y/n. it’s not my fault those people keep leaving.”

    your heart drops; there he goes again with the impersonal little jabs, knowing he’s cutting you so, so deep. you don’t even humour him with a response, instead quickening your pace until you begin to feel like he isn’t even there.

    but that’s impossible, because he’s kaz brekker. he’s yours. even when he truly isn’t there, it’s like he’s walking right beside you, and you’re beginning to get very annoyed by the attachment. it’s not fair on you, and it’s not fair on kaz, but neither of you seem able to help it.

   you continue walking until the cold gets a little too much. then you head back to the palace in silence. 

----

    final meal of the day. you will make sure it’s not poisoned, and then you will go to bed.

    kaz is there, as per usual. the king and queen don’t even act shocked any more, simply welcoming him into the dining hall. oftentimes, he’ll stroll in by your side, his cane clicking against the marble and that smug little smile playing on his face. you always ignore him, even though the king says it’s disrespectful to do so. 

   tonight, you do just that. you take your seat beside the king, gather up his food and start the process. the beef is smothered in gravy, making the scent test a little difficult, but you give it a go anyway, because it’s protocol by now. 

   kaz watches from afar, one finger pressed to his lips. he’s lounging back like he’s comfortable, like sitting in a palace is what he does every day. his eyes are narrowed, focused.

    you pop the beef into your mouth and chew; nothing.

   you move onto the potatoes. nothing.

    finally, you dip your fork into the sweetcorn and raise it to your lips.

    kaz slaps the fork from your hand. he makes no noise. one minute he is sat at the head of the table, and the next he is by your side, grabbing your shoulders and pulling you from your seat.

   the queen shrieks as the fork flies directly at her, sweetcorn and all. a glass of wine tips over when kaz pulls you to your feet, your knee slamming against the underside of the table. palace guards run inside, but none of them know what to do - nobody in the room shouldn’t be there, and so they stand by the door, glancing at each other.

   your eyes, however, are trained on kaz.

   “what. the. fuck?” you hiss under your breath as the king tends to his startled wife.

   kaz meets your eyes dead on. “you really need to get better at your job.” he grabs your arm and starts for the door. the king hollers after him, demanding to know what is going on, but kaz pays him no attention, and you have no idea why you’re not fighting any of this. your heart is hammering in your chest at a million miles per hour, and you have so many questions, but it’s just reflex by now to trust kaz. 

    he drags you through the halls until reaching his room, where he pushes open the door and leads you inside. it is only then, when it is just the two of you, that you come to your senses, replaying that scene over and over in your head.

   you whirl around, yanking your arm from his grip so harshly that you stumble back. “what the hell was that, kaz?”

    “how much training did they actually give you before throwing you in to risk your life everyday?”

   “why do you care?”

   he starts pulling his tie loose, not even looking at you. “just tell me.”

   you fold your arms over your chest, trying desperately to keep your attention away from the way his gloved fingers tug and pull at the knot on his tie. “i did a course at the start where i could identify all the different types of poisons.”

   he quirks an eyebrow. “that all?”

   “it was enough.”

   “if it was enough, y/n, you would have noticed the soft spots in the sweetcorn.”

    your head snaps up. soft spots?

   he hums, despite you saying nothing in response. “wilde yolk makes food go soft in certain places. it also kills people in about ten seconds if consumed in even the tiniest amount.” he looks up, flicking his tie off completely. “did you not learn that in your course?”

   you bite your lip and look away. you were so distracted at that dinner table these days, focusing mostly on kaz brekker at the end of the table. you had no idea he was examining your food just as much as you should have been. you had no idea he was keeping an eye out for you.

    “so is this experience enough to get you to move back to the barrel?”

   your eyes snap up. he’s staring right at you. he doesn’t even look fazed by his question.

   and that makes you so, so angry. in seconds, you have gone from grateful to furious; only kaz can elicit that response from you.

   you step back, glaring. “so that’s what this is then? you came all the way here to drag me back to the barrel?”

     “well, no. i came here to get inej help, but she seems to be healing up pretty well with all the goods your people are giving her.” he shrugs, bottom lip protruding. “so i thought i’d try my hand at this.”

     “you are unbelievable.”

   kaz raises a brow. “are you getting mad at me?”

   “you are unbelievable!” you want to throw something at him. you want to break down and cry. you kind of want to go with him. “it’s like you haven’t listened to a word i’ve said. are you that self-centred, kaz?”

    “you know i am.”

    you close your eyes, trying to steady your breathing. maybe you’re overreacting. maybe you really are better off in the barrel, where you were born and raised, where you learned everything you ever knew. but here, with kaz being the one to drag you back - it reminds you so harshly that you’re his. you are his, and that is all anyone will ever see you as, and that thought. . . you don’t know how to feel about that thought.

     “this isn’t the life for you, y/n,” he continues. “you know it isn’t. once the barrel has you, it doesn’t let you go. we’ve all learned that the hard way.”

   “is that what you are?” you spit. “the hard way?”

   he shrugs. “you should be grateful it’s me and not someone worse.”

   “there is no one worse, kaz.”

   his lips twitch, the only sign that your words have actually struck a nerve. “you mean that, do you?”

   “don’t act like you’re the good guy. you know you’re evil. you’re proud of it! that’s why i had to leave. that’s why i’m in here risking my life every single fucking day! i wanted to get away from you!”

   and oh, saints, this isn’t going how you wanted it to go. the words are spilling from your mouth before you can stop them, mind racing too quick for your mouth to catch up. his face continues falling with every word, but you don’t stop. 

    “saints, kaz, when are you ever going to grow the fuck up? you walk around pretending you have everything under control, that you own the place, but you’re nothing - nothing - without the rest of us. you would be dead twenty times over if it wasn’t for that little crew of yours, the people you have under your god damn thumb.” you step forward, teeth gritted. “kaz dirtyhands brekker can’t even take his own fucking gloves off.”

    “is that what you want?” he steps closer, so close your chests are almost touching. his face is red, a line of sweat glittering upon his upper lip that only ever shows itself when he’s furious, out of his mind with anger. “you want the gloves to come off? fine.”

   and then he plucks the gloves from his hands and throws them on the floor.

    his hands. the hands you have seen only twice in the years you have known him, the hands that have never touched your bare skin. suddenly they are in full view, free reign to do whatever you want with them, but all you can do is step back, one hand covering your mouth as you try and process what you’ve said, what kaz has done, how the situation could have taken such a harsh, grim turn.

    but kaz isn’t finished. kaz is never finished. 

    “is this what you want, y/n?” he demands. “you need me to bear myself completely for you to believe i’m in love with you? or is this not enough?”

   “kaz-”

    “what else is it going to take, huh? tell me.”

   “kaz, i’m-”

   “what about this?”

   he’s crazy. he’s crazy, and making mistakes, and you know this because he reaches forward and cups your face in his bare hands, flesh against flesh. shock ricochets through you, eyes widening as kaz lets out an anguished groan, his own eyes slipping closed. you feel his fingers trembling upon your skin.

   you wrench away from him, gasping.

    he immediately spins around, clutching his hands to his chest. he groans low in his throat, pressing his head against the wall. sweat trickles down the back of his neck, disappearing beneath his collar. you catch a single tear run down his cheek that he can’t wipe away because then his fingers will be touching his skin, and he hates that. it kills him. you know it does.

    you rush forward, placing a hand safely on his jacket-covered shoulder. his breathing is ragged and shaky.

   “kaz,” you pant. “oh god, kaz, i’m so sorry. i’m so, so sorry. why did you do that?” you whirl around frantically. “your gloves. where are your gloves?”

   he doesn’t reply. you’re talking to yourself at this point. you spot his gloves on the floor and grab them, immediately handing them back without so much as a brush of your fingertips against his. he’s hurried and distressed when he tugs them back on, clenching his fist over and over again, as if to ensure his hands are safely hidden beneath the leather.

   he doesn’t turn around. you stand behind him, one hand pressed to your chest, eyes swimming in tears you didn’t even feel rising to the surface.

   “kaz,” you whisper. “i’m. . . i didn’t mean. . .”

   “you got what you wanted, didn’t you?” he mumbles, straightening up. “i’m not asking you to return to the barrel with me so you can serve me, or whatever you think this is. i’m asking you to return so i can have you there. so we can be together again.” he glances over his shoulder. “as it should be.”

   you stare at him, wanting to respond, wanting to tell him to go to hell, but you can’t lie. never before have you been able to look kaz in the eye and lie, and maybe that’s why you say nothing. he’s right in every sense - you and him are meant to be by each other’s side, no matter what. barrel born and raised, nobody understands you quite like he does.

   but admitting that, throwing away every barrier you have worked so hard to put up . . . you can’t do it.

    kaz waits a moment longer before laughing half-heartedly, sounding more exhausted than anything else. he lowers his head, black hair falling in his face before he swipes it out of the way, looks at you and says, “get out.”

     “kaz-”

   “stop saying my name.” he turns, tossing his tie onto the bed. “get. out. inej and i will be gone tomorrow.”

    you swallow thickly, pushing away the tears. and then you do as he said, because standing in his presence for much longer is going to send you into a spiral you don’t think you’ll be able to crawl out of again. you’ve been down that road before, and it took everything in you not to be consumed.

    ----

    “why do you look like you’ve been crying?” inej asks. she’s sat up now, a tray of soup perched on her lap. the colouring has come back to her skin, and she stands up whenever she wants to. whatever the palace medics did for her is working wonders, which you suppose is one thing you should be grateful for.

    you lean over and dip a slice of bread in her soup. 

   “are you checking if it’s been poisoned?” inej jokes, and when you don’t respond, she sighs. “you and kaz have a fight?”

    you wince, which is answer enough.

   “what about this time?”

   “he wants me to go back to the barrel with you.”

    inej pauses, eyes still cast to her soup. you look at her, stomach curling in sudden realisation.

   “wait,” you say. “did you know that was his plan this entire time?”

   “no,” she replies, though she looks sheepish. “i genuinely was sick. kaz just. . . came along for the ride when he heard you were here.” she looks up and groans. “you can’t act surprised, y/n. what were you expecting? for him to just walk out and leave you here?”

   “that would have been the right thing to do, yes.”

   “well,  you know kaz better than that. use your brain.” she waves a hand in your direction. “pass me another slice of bread and tell me about this argument.”

   you don’t want to. all day you have been thinking about the feel of his hands on your face, his flesh against your own, the anguished groan ripped from his throat. he put himself through that to prove - what? that he loves you? that’s what he said, but it was only a few days prior he was claiming what you and him had was nothing. it was forgotten, and you were happy about that for the briefest moment. if kaz moved on, you could too. 

    but then he took the gloves off, and it was just. . . messed up again. you were left confused and guilty and pining, and you hated yourself for it. it was as if all that hard work you had put in to forget about kaz had been thrown out the window - trust kaz to come in and ruin everything.

    “i can see what you’re thinking, you know,” says inej suddenly.

   “can you?”

     “take it from me,” she says. “kaz is never going to get over you. he’s never going to let you go. he’s never going to stop trying for you. he’s a stubborn bastard, and a stubborn bastard is even worse when they’re in love - which kaz is. disastrously, madly in love.”

    “he said we were nothing.”

    “he’s a stubborn and prideful bastard.”

    you close your eyes, heart thumping. “i don’t know what to do, inej.”

   “well, do you love him back?”

   your eyes fly open. “what kind of question is that?”

   she shrugs. “an obvious one, but i want to know the answer.”

    you know the answer. your brain screams it at you. you have felt the answer in your bones every day since you left the barrel, and yet speaking it aloud feels like a betrayal of yourself from yourself.

    so you look away, and as inej always claims, she can see exactly what you’re thinking.

    a soft chuckle slips past her lips. “the barrel never leaves a person, y/n. and apparently, neither does kaz brekker.”

    “what are you suggesting?”

   inej shrugs. “kaz and i are leaving for ketterdam in the morning. there’s definitely room for a third person.”

----

   you don’t sleep that night. neither does kaz.

   you can hear him pacing back and forth in his room, no doubt replaying the days events over and over in his mind in the same way you are. his hands against your skin, his eyes piercing your own, those words he spoke that left you tingling all over.

    even now, laying in bed, you can’t get over what he said. i love you. that was the jidst of it, and though you had heard that confession from him a few times in the past, it was different this time around. it was kaz trying to prove himself, which he never did before. if someone didn’t take kaz at face value, he wouldn’t bother. 

    and you have to admit, hearing him say those words was like a shot to the chest. they are the very words that have been on the tip of your tongue for months now, spoken only in dreams when you finally allow yourself to sleep. you can say them to no one else - just kaz. always, always just kaz.

   and maybe this realisation is the reason you find yourself getting dressed at six in the morning. maybe this realisation is the reason you pack all your things into the ruck sack you came to the palace with. maybe this realisation is the reason you tip-toe to the courtyard, avoiding the eyes of the staff who all look at you like you’re some kind of prisoner escaping your cell.

    it’s still dark. the grass is wet beneath your thin shoes, the jacket you have pulled on doing little to protect you from the icy winds coming from the ocean just feet away from the palace’s front door. hovering on the banks is a boat, a boat you recognise as The Mast, one of the many boats kaz has won from different people around ketterdam.

   you nearly cry at the sight of it.

   you don’t waste time waiting on kaz and inej - you don’t want to have this discussion with either of them until you’re safely on the water, until you can’t change your mind. 

   you clamber onto the boat, giving a sheepish smile to the stunned crew member - Daryl, you think he’s called - as he stares at you approaching. he offers you a hand when you finally reach the deck, his eyes never leaving your own.

    “morning,” you say. “i’m y/n.”

   “i know,” daryl replies, before tipping his hat. “it’s wonderful to have you back on board.”

    you smile awkwardly, unsure how to respond; how much do the crew actually know about what happened between you and the crows? how many people bore witness to that god awful aftermath?

   you decide not to wait around to hear the answer. instead, you tell daryl you’re going down to the cabins, and he doesn’t argue. you disappear beneath the deck, finding the first room with a bed and immediately claiming it as your own; despite the lack of sleep, you are not tired in the slightest. you can’t get kaz out of your head, how he is going to react when the boat eventually docks and he sees you strolling off of it, greeted by that rancid ketterdam air. back in the barrel.

    you lay down on the bed and stare at the ceiling. you will fall asleep eventually. you’ll trick yourself into it.

    and then the door opens.

    your eyes snap open with it; you must have fallen asleep eventually. groggily, you lift your head and look at the intruder - and your heart immediately falls.

   “kaz.”

    he looks crazed, hair stuck up, eyes wild. behind him stands inej, grinning from ear to ear, though the minute kaz steps into the room, she disappears into the shadows, leaving you and dirtyhands alone.

    his eyes never leave yours as he approaches. he marches to your bedside, grabs your hand and pulls you up.

   “kaz-”

    he shoves you against the wall, gun pressed to your temple. you inhale sharply, though you can’t claim to be surprised or scared. you stare into his eyes, watching his own trace your features, looking for any sign that you are here in bad company.

    “kaz,” you whisper, because it’s always his name that fights past your lips. “it’s me. i’m going home.”

    his grip slackens. the gun crashes to the floor, and before you can say anything, he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you into him. you are careful to rest your head upon his shoulder, not touching his flesh, but feeling him nonetheless. tears spring to your eyes, dribbling down the bridge of your nose and soaking the shoulder of his fancy suede jacket - one he stole from the kings wardrobe, you notice.

    but you don’t pull away, afraid to go without his touch for another second.

    “is this what you want?” he asks, voice muffled by your hair. “is this really what you’ve decided?”

    “yes.” you pull away, hands sliding down his arms. “you’re right, kaz. the barrel is . . . it’s a shit hole, but it’s where i belong. it’s all i know. and you and me. . . we have to do this thing together.”

    he narrows his eyes. “what thing?”

   “everything.”

   the corners of his mouth twitch. you can imagine kissing those lips, drawing him close and embracing in that way lovers often do. however, you’re content, happy even, with the way things are. you hold his gloved hands, and he says he loves you. you confide in him, and he confides in you, and sometimes you fight like children, but in the end, he will have your back no matter what.

    “everything,” he repeats. “yeah.” he slips his gloved hands into the sleeve of your jacket, tracing his fingers along your crow tattoo, the one he matched, the one everyone matched when they decided to let the barrel take them over. you shiver, biting your lower lip. “you still have it.”

    “i could hardly get rid of it,” you reply. kaz looks up, and you sigh. “i would never get rid of it, kaz. no matter what.”

     he nods, rolling your sleeve back down. he pulls it over your wrist, covering your fingers before leaning down and pressing a kiss to the soft, rain soaked fabric. 

    he looks up at you again. “yes. no matter what.” 

[thgreatestblue]

cold as you [part l]

➜ pairing: douma x fem!reader ➜ warnings: murder, blood, religious fanaticism, gore. ➜ words: 5.2k ➜ a/n: hello everyone, i’m back! this time with a character that i thought i would never write for, but here we are. you can also read and leave a comment on my ao3, i would really appreciate it! <3 ➜ ao3

summary: You always believed the best course of action was infiltrating; little by little gaining their trust, and when they would less expect, you would bolt out of that place with all the information you could gather. Not wasting one more day of your life inside that covil of madness and cruelty — of twisted faith and demonic rituals.

I.

The chill of the night crept into your bones as you walked down the dirty path alongside the followers of the Paradise Faith Cult. The only sound you could hear with your sensitive ears was coming from nocturnal animals and cicadas singing their creep melody all together with the cries from the crickets; blended together in a harmonic haunting song. 

The soundless steps from the Cult’s members were almost unnatural, as if you were surrounded by ghosts; a phantom presence of what once were people with their own ideas and beliefs — now transformed into shells of indifference and fanaticism. 

It took a couple of years, a lot of hard work and blatant lies for you to be finally accepted for the trial of the Paradise Faith Cult. You have been investigating their whereabouts since the day the Insect Pillar died. Since the day Kanae lost her life in a bloody fight against their Leader, a Demon called Douma.

The smell of the chemicals from the laboratory was all you knew for a long time, working together with Shinobu to find a way to win against one of the strongest Demon in all Japan — trying to find a way to win without using an absurd amount of strength, something both of you lack.

However, by the end of the first year, you were fed up with the scent that had impregnated even your skin; no matter how much you scrubbed it. And, although Shinobu never made any effort to convince you to stay, she still said between cold words how stupid you were being for dropping something safe. Even though she was right, the nagging feeling of annoyance wouldn't leave your mind — you needed to go out and find his trail by yourself. 

Once you packed your things to leave, she appeared at the doorstep of your room, watching you with her big, purple eyes. You were already used to her trying to control her anger inside her tiny body by smiling too forcefully. After Kanae’s death, she became another girl, more mature. Angrier, though. 

“I wonder who’s going to die first,” You said bitterly between your teeths, the silence from her part isn't totally unwelcomed, there was nothing left to say anyway, “You, with all those poisons. Or me, with my desire for danger.”

She clapped her hands together, the smile never reaching her eyes, “Let’s make a bet, then.” 

You squint your lips together in an effort to not let an ironic laugh escape your mouth, wondering if Shinobu was at least slightly happy with your achievement — how close you were to finally win the bet. 

As you walked with your hands tied in front of you, the dark welcomed you as an old friend. If it wasn't for the blindfold, you could try to excuse the need to have a hand on your shoulder. However, the path pulled some tricks and you were afraid of falling on your knees. But the heavy weight of their palm and the touch of the member’s stained fingers on your skin made your insides turn in disgust. 

Despite the taste of acid on your tongue, you needed to keep the composure you fought to be seen for so long. A noble and pure candidate for the Paradise Faith Cult; with no bruises or scars, hair as silky as satin, a skin so delicate that even the followers that came to escort you chose to not tie the ropes too tight, afraid of accidentally making a single bruise. The Leader would not be happy to see his next servant with a bruise — at least one not caused by him anyway.

Once you were accepted for the selection, you knew you had to prepare yourself to be someone else completely. All those years training under the harsh sun now were almost like memories from another life; stacked up in a corner of your mind. However, inside you were still a Demon Slayer. So, you straightened your back, walking proudly with your chin up; even if the blindfold would leave your senses in a disarray of red flags. 

In order to be selected for the Paradise Faith Cult, you had to let go of your old life. Although, sometimes you would miss the blisters, the fresh wounds after a tough mission, the scent of chemicals coming from Shinobu’s laboratory and even the way your body ached after training alongside with the Sound Pillar; building a new life from scratch in order to have at least a single advantage against the Demon was your top priority since day one.

“We are almost there, my lady. I’m sorry for the barbarian way we are escorting you,” The man holding your shoulder apologies, his tone never faltering. You could almost believe he meant no harm, “But we have to make sure to keep the place a secret, we already had cases of assassins coming and trying to steal our Leader from us.”

You had heard about those cases; after all, they were once your friends. Fearless and so confident with their skills, they would brag about how easy it was to spot their hideout, how weak the people inside were compared to their sharp katanas. What they seemed to never take into consideration was that, between masses of devotion, lived a King — who was, apparently, hungry all the time. 

You always believed the best course of action was by infiltration; little by little gaining their trust. And when they would less expect, you would bolt out of that place with all the information you could gather. Not wasting one more day of your life inside that covil of madness and cruelty — of twisted faith and demonic rituals. 

“Thank you for your concern, I understand wholeheartedly your methods,” You say with the softest tone you could managed it, trying your best to not spill the acid boiling on your tongue, “All I wish is to serve your Leader, nothing more.” You bow just a little, touching your heart. The rope brushes against your skin uncomfortably.

At first, those lies were hard to formulate — hard to accept that you were talking down your own family. However, one day, they stopped tangling your tongue; stopped making your lips tremble as you pictured your friends judging your behavior. It was all for a purpose, Shinobu never judged you for choosing this way of action. 

So, when your squad left you all by yourself in the middle of the mission, you said nothing. And when none of them came back, there were no tears left for them. Only the purpose of keeping moving forward, anything to make this mission worth it; to honor the name of those who failed to see the bigger picture. 

“We appreciate your compromise with the Paradise Faith Cult,” The man continued, seeming pleased with your answer. His scent was too sweet and the grip on your shoulder was too tight for your liking, “It’s not everyday that someone so well mannered and royal seeks for us. The Leader is going to be very happy to have you.”

“I’m flattered that you think so well of me,” Swallowing down the bitter words that always threaten to escape, you gently smile instead, “I hope your Leader will think the same.” 

By now, the lies that came out of your mouth were second nature. So easy to come up with, that most of the time you had to ground yourself in your past, remembering all those horrifying things you saw when it was part of your daily life taking down Demons. And even though the Corps itself agreed to let you live this fake life, it still pained you to sit down and do nothing. It had to be worth it in the end. 

Suddenly, your ears picked up a few voices in the distance, the quiet steps of shoes on wood, the rustling of clothes. Even with the blindfold, you could sense the lights coming to view, warming your skin from afar. And with that, the sensation of being caged in a twisted universe finally settled down in your stomach — a universe where a Demon was worshipped. 

There was a sudden stop, a few whispered words you didn't make any effort to listen to. You were too occupied thinking that the moment you have been working on for years was finally happening. You were here, right at the entrance of the Demon’s domain, and none of those members around you suspected that you were working undercover. 

Just keep the facade and you will be fine. 

“We are here,” The heavy touch of the man finally leaves your shoulder, making you involuntary sigh in relief. It was starting to be unbearable the feeling of his sticky fingers moistened in lotion to cover the smell of blood he must clean off the floors everyday. 

“I’ll be taking off the blindfold now, excuse me.”

As the darkness was lifted from your eyes, the lights coming from the huge temple blind you immediately. They shone so bright against the dark blue of the sky, that for the first few minutes you blinked helplessly, adjusting your vision to the sight in front of you. 

The temple seemed to glow on the top of the mountain, lights reflecting the intrinsic details of pure gold on the walls; like a savior beacon on the coast, guiding ships towards safe land. Or, like a flame to a moth, the warmth not only blinding, but also cruelly burning it till the bone — for you, it was definitely the latter. 

It was no wonder why this place was easy to spot if you were really looking for it, it screamed royalty and fortune as the outside walls were decorated with beautifully handmade flags. The few people walking around the entrance were also wearing neat and clean clothes, without a single hair out of place. 

“Please, follow me.”

Although the blindfold was gone, the rope that tied your hands together was still wrapped around your wrist. The rough material was starting to leave red marks on your skin, but what bothered you the most wasn't the prickling material bruising the delicate flesh you had always taken good care of. 

No, what bothered you the most was the way all eyes turned to look at you as you walked inside the temple. 

You were being judged, examined — just like a caged animal, ready for the slaughter. Those eyes bore down your body; crawling under your skin, making the blood underneath it boil with the intensity of the stares you were receiving. Despite the amount of mental preparation you did for this moment, being judged by them was still an outrage. I should be the one doing the judging! You wanted to scream; shout at them, try to put some sense on their empty heads. 

Instead, you held your head higher, smiling down to those who dare whispering about you. 

Arriving at the main room, you could see how large the temple was on the inside as well. But of course, for someone surrounded by his own food and adoration, the place had to be as big as his appetite. The walls were filled with fancy tapestry, adornments of gold decorated the pillars, all together with expensive rugs and pillows — it was all too much to take in.

This was more than a simple home for a Demon, it was a heaven to its God. And the massive throne sitting at the top of the stairs, was a proof of that power. 

The whispering and stares never stopped. Actually, they intensified as the crowd grew bigger, you could almost hear their words behind those filthy hands, questioning if you were worth being in his presence. And again, you had to hold the smile on your lips, hold your hands in place — even though your fingers would twitch from now and then, wanting nothing but to punch a whole in their faces.

The man who was escorting you comes to a stop right in the middle of the room. He doesn't say anything else, only unties the rope around your wrists, letting you go finally. You bow respectfully as you were trained. He offers the same treatment, leaving you alone to the eyes of the crowd. Involuntarily, you reach for your wrist, rubbing it to release the tension that was starting to bottle up inside you.

Staring straight ahead, you analyze the indentations on the throne. The sounds of their voices are muffled by your thoughts as your mind drifts away, remembering every moment that led you to this instant. All those years trying your best to be the perfect example of a woman, learning all the aspects that were needed to be selected by the Cult. Years spent behind closed doors only to serve a purpose many people thought was hopeless. 

Shinobu was right, she always is anyway — you were crazy for danger. How far would you go, now that your life was at risk? Now that you were in his domain, at his mercy? What if they asked for something you just couldn't give?

For now, just smile.

When their empty eyes finally left your face, you turned your head slightly to see what was happening. Caught by the corner of your vision, the commotion was caused by the arrival of another three candidates. They were well dressed just like you, but there was something different in the way their eyes were gleaming with adoration, looking at the place as if they were arriving at heaven's gate. 

It turned your stomach, leaving a bad taste on your mouth. Even after everything you had heard about this place, victimizing the way people around here acted was frightening. The amount of blind faith scared you to the bone, at the same time that it left you pitting them. They slowly approached the center of the room, amazed with the amount of fortune the place oozed. 

For a moment, you wondered if you should have interpreted the role of a fanatic — if it would've been more convincing. However, the way they were so baffled by those around them, speaking excitedly about the Cult, showed thet it would’ve been impossible to replicate then — not even years training your smile would’ve been enough to tell such a lie. 

Suddenly, like a lighting announcing the arrival of the rain, the musicians started to pound the drums. The heavy sound spreaded throughout the room, and the conversations abruptly came to a stop. There was only the sound of the synchronizing beat enveloping the place, announcing the arrival of the Leader. 

You pinch the back of your hand to stay calm; a terrible habit you developed after the time you spent at the etiquette school. This way, the teachers could never tell if you were inflicting anything to stay grounded. After all, it was highly rude to show signs of anxiety to the person you would serve. However, being in the middle of the room, so out in the open, with all those eyes watching you as a hawk watches its prey before the fatal attack; it was definitely maddening. 

You hear the sound of a door opening, the sound of people crying, shouting praises, excited to see their Leader. Holding your breath, you prepare yourself to see the Demon that has taken over the course of your life for the first time ever.

You had only heard rumours about his appearance, about his habits. But they were only speculations, no one really knew how the Upper Moon Two really looked like. And hopefully, you would be able to fill in those gaps with the discoveries you were going to find here. 

As the star of a play, he enters your view. And it is definitely not what you were expecting. 

His hair was long, falling like a waterfall down his back. Flawless and elegant, it swung around as if it weighed nothing, the pale golden color of it matched perfectly with his skin that was in a shade of white that reminds you of snow. The strands framed his face perfectly, giving him an almost angelic appearance that if you didn't know better, you could be so easily fooled.

The black cloak around his shoulders sways as the Demon waves to his followers, basquing himself with their screams of adoration. Douma was a young man, tall and well built, his clothes were perfectly tailored to his strong body, the red garment he was wearing underneath contrasted with the pale of his skin, but you couldn't say it wasn't a good look on him. He gracefully smiles at the crowd, and a slight shiver ran down your spine when you spotted the obvious fangs on his demonic grin.

But then, something made you stare for longer than you should’ve. Your eyes grew slightly bigger as you watched him from the ground. An array of colors filled his iris like the rainbow, they blurred into each other so smoothly that if you haven't seen it for yourself, there was no way you would believe it to be true. 

They were so… Beautiful. 

You didn't know that something so extraordinary was even able to exist — and maybe that’s why you were standing in a room full of worshippers right now. For a moment, you lose control of the beating of your heart, making goosebumps break throughout your entire body. The blood flushed through your veins faster than they were supposed to. It was a miracle to have such a distinctive eye color like that. Almost like a cruel joke that someone blessed with such beauty was actually a monster underneath. 

As his eyes scan the crowd, you can hear your own heartbeat, beating so loud in your ears that the screamings of devotion are muffled; it all becomes a blur as you watch him move around, examining every inch of his face — that carries a facade you unfortunately knew too well. 

The first thing you realize is that Douma is too perfect. The corners of his lips are frozen in an impeccable smile; but it's not the kind of stiffness you would find in someone who's lying. It’s the type of crooked smile that only manipulators wear on their faces. The oddness of his being is contradictory.

He’s faking it. 

But for what reason? Isn't he satisfied with the way he manipulated entire masses of people for his own sake? Free food walking straight into his claws, he doesn't need to move a single finger to have whatever he wants. Isn't it enough for him?

In a moment of carelessness, your eyes met. And, immediately, a piercing feeling hits your heart, like a dagger cutting through flash. The moment shifts, and the current of air suddenly hits the exposed skin of your arms and you shiver. Something heavy settles down on your heart, corroding it to a forceful stop as he holds your stare in an open invitation for defiance.

Not being able to hold still, your personality splashes into the blank canvas you had put in front of you. And maybe you should’ve painted the fanatic role for yourself instead of forcing a white canvas to stay white. It was too easy for him to spot patterns after decades looking at the same hopeless faces of those who wanted nothing but to bring him down. 

It slowly suffocates you as his eyes take a little bit too long to leave yours. Those mere seconds of being under such a dangerous, yet extraordinary combination of colors is enough for you to rethink everything you thought about this mission. Were you being too naive to think that you would come out without one or two scars? If you were to ever come back. 

“Ladies and Gentlemen, we are reunited here today to celebrate another successful selection,” The man announces to the crowd, seeming so full of ecstasy that it contaminates the other candidates, making them smile and clap in excitement. And you have to force yourself to keep smiling, holding it with a tight grip that almost hurts your face.

“Today, our benevolent Leader will choose another fortunate member for the Paradise Faith Cult, who is going to serve and adore him for the rest of their lives!” The way he says those words is so oddly normal that you have to stop your mind before it goes to a darker place, a place where not a single light ever survived. Do not think of those who came before. What’s done, it's done. 

Douma moves gracefully as he steps down from the high podium, the gold around him shines against his paleness, making his skin glow in different tones of yellow. Each time that his feet move to step down the stairs, your heart skips a beat or two. They were bringing him closer to you — closer to your facade. You wonder which lie was going to crumble first, he had decades to refine his, after all.

However, before he could reach the center of the room, a woman breaks down running in his direction. She’s clumsy and desperate, and even though you could see the tragery forming right in front of you, you don't make a move. Right now, your life's was on the line, if you made a single movement outside of the character, it was highly possible you wouldn't have the privilege to try the scene again. 

“Douma-sama, I love you!” The woman cries, getting on her knees as soon as he reaches the end of the stairs. 

She holds the fabric of his tunic for dear life as tears start to run down her face. The disgust that crosses his face is frightening for those who were paying close attention. And for your, oh so lucky, you couldn't stop analyzing every single wrinkle on his face. 

“You're a blessing to this world! You’re the chosen one! Please let me —”

The sickening sound of bone crushing fills your ears when her head is cut in half, so fast you couldn't follow his movements. Staring ahead, you could see the blood pooling down the clean wooden floor underneath his feet. No one moves. No one even bats an eye to the headless body on the floor. It’s so sickening that the taste of blood fills your mouth while you watch people around him apologizing for her behavior.

You wonder if your friends found the same faith by his hands, or maybe even worse.

“If someone is disrespectful on that level, they don't deserve to be here. Don't you agree?” Douma raises his voice to the crowd, running a hand through his clothes. For everyone else, it seems he was composing himself after such a dangerous attack. For you, he was clearly disgusted to be touched by the hands of someone so insignificant.

Not a second later, everyone is agreeing with him, nodding their heads collectively. Bowing until their noses touch the ground, almost kissing the place where his feets once were. They offer him gold jewelry, fancy fabrics and relics of an ancient era. The devotion was suffocating, and you feel extremely sick to the sight. How could people live like that? 

Douma carries on, finally reaching the first one of the line. He bows a little, analyzing the young man in front of him. The long nails are painted purple and well trimmed, they are long against his smooth face, dangerously sharp. The boy was paralized, you didn't know if it was for fear or adoration. You can see his mouth opening, but there’s no sound coming out of it. The boy’s head is sent flying across the room. 

The amount of unrestrained violence in an environment where there should exist a benevolent God is a cruel joke. If a God really did exist, would they be like that too? So cruel in the name of power. In a world where Demons existed, where hundreds of people were killed in cold blood in a nonstop night of horrors, then yes, they would be just like Douma. 

You can feel sweat running down your nape as he approaches the woman by your side. She’s visibly shaking, eyes wide open in a display of fear. The trembling of her hands are so strong you wish you could just hold them in place, for your own sanity. However, what you did not predict was that her voice never faltered through.

“You're a monster!” She screams in his face, as the reality of what the Paradise Faith Cult truly was, rapidly comes crashing down, and dreams of a better life are shattered by the Demon in front of her. 

You could choke on the silence that followed soon after those words left her mouth, the amount of predatory eyes that fell into her small frame could burn holes on her skin. Yet, Douma’s expression never changed. That sinyal smile still stood proudly on his demonic face. However, the crack on the smooth glass appeared for a fraction of time, the twitch of irritation in his eyebrow gave away the ending of the poor girl. 

“You're a monster! And everyone here is bewitched by—”

If you thought you had heard terrible sounds coming from someone when they were dying, the sound of someone being sliced in half was nothing in comparison. Her body splits in the middle as the halves fall apart on the floor. It’s gruesome, hideous. It was good that you didn't eat anything before the mission, the nausea was almost unbearable even when you weren't looking at the sliced body right next to your feet. 

“I’m getting impatient,” Douma says, too sweetly for your liking, as if he was trying to show emotions even when he seemed unfazed. He throws a glance to a man standing next to the stairs, “I thought you said it would be a successful selection, huh?” 

You can see the man shaking on the spot, already kneeling for forgiveness. And even though the blood, thick and hot against your face, disgusts you to the bone, you don't dare to blink. Don't dare to move. Even when all you wanted was to scrub that dirty blood off your face until you could see the rawness of your own skin. It turns your stomach again, painfully aware of the place you got yourself into. 

Douma then switches his attention to you, the last one standing in a room full of dead bodies of what once were believers at heart. Hawk eyes start to scoop every inch of you, from the dirty garment he himself got stained, to the still well tidy hair. Walking around your body as if he’s evaluating a new piece of art that was just acquired. 

Although there were so many things to analize, why the red of your lips was the one thing his eyes stayed for longer was beyond your imagination.

“And what about you?” Douma says, almost in a singing tone, “I hope you can give me an acceptable answer, this batch of servants they brought me is showing to be the worst until now.”

The air becomes colder as each word pierces little daggers in your heart. You were sure it was midsummer, it wasn't supposed to be so freezing. Not inside a place where so many people were crammed together nonetheless. You could even swear there was a little snowflake floating in between you and him, but it was gone as soon as Douma stepped closer, wrapping his hand around your neck.

It isn't the weather, you come to a conclusion then. It’s him. He’s the one who’s freezing. How fitting, you think. Just like the dead Demon he is, inside and out. 

“I’ve always wanted to be here, Douma-dono,” You don't falter, holding your head high with a slight defiance in your stare, which you couldn't help show in full display. There was something in submitting completely to him that makes your skin crawl in despair. His nails dig a little on your smooth neck. 

“And why’s that?” Douma leans closer, still holding your neck in a tight grip, nails starting to dig deeper on your skin. But you don't budge, not even when his face was so close that you could see each color of his eye bleeding into themselves, in a rainbow dance that left you almost speechless. Almost. 

“I believe I’m right where I'm supposed to be,” You answer, the rehearsed script you had prepared thrown out of the window. However, your tongue was still sharp enough to give him an acceptable answer — It wasn't like you were lying anyway. “There’s no place in this world where I would rather be.”

Douma’s smile sends shivers down your spine, one that you couldn't hold to yourself. He could probably feel the trembling of your body through his touch on your neck, and you hated that you could tell how much he was enjoying this just by the sadistic way he still held the fragile part of your body in such a tight grip. 

He represented the kind of cold that only the harshest winter would bring. First, it was your face, then the tip of your fingers. Slowly bringing you closer to death, painfully slow to those who don't have a place to stay, to those who are out in the open without any cover. Just like you were right now. 

It seems a long time has passed before he releases your neck from his freezing touch, it’s carved in such a cold grip, that it burns instead. Douma does not spare a second glance in your direction before motioning to one of his servants. The relief on their faces is palpable, it's disgusting.

Two servants come quickly towards you, pulling back the sleeves of your kimono, exposing the skin of your forearm into the air, that surprisingly enough, is hot again. As you watch Douma going up the stairs again, they bring a golden goblet in your direction. You don't understand what is happening, you can't even begin to process their hands on you; but it doesn't take too long for you to find out. 

Another one brings a very sharp knife, and there’s not even time for you to protest. The cut isn't deep, but stings all the same. You watch your blood fall into the goblet, slowly filling it. And for your surprise, you catch the moment Douma’s eyes grow a little wider from his place on the throne. It’s not a good sign. 

It takes some time to fill, but once it's enough for at least a satisfied sip, they let go of your arm. While one is taking care of the cut, wrapping around bandages, the other offers the goblet to the Demon. You nervously watch Douma take a long sniff at the content inside it, before drinking it all in a single sip. 

The creep smile that spreads through his face is enough to make your heart skip one or two beats faster than it was supposed to be, you were so nervous, that at this rate you were going to collapse from anxiety. Doumas’s eyes shine with a different type of malice and suddenly it's impossible to control the beat of your heart, it breaks down in a frenetic beat that has your head spinning. 

“Aren't you something else?” He licks his lips, stanned with the red of your own blood.

A long time ago, Shinobu had said something about the power that it carried. But after so long, you had forgotten the Marechi blood running through your veins.

Today was the day you would never forget about that simple fact.

[eyeballjazz]

gosh I LOVE whenever you talk about the crews (midnight or problem sleuth) because your ideas are always so unique and detailed but in a realistic way? like they're all very specific but also mundane so it all feels so natural and REAL, it's always so fun! Plus your writing is very pleasant so seeing that "read more" under your replies always makes me go FUCK YES

You said you had fun with the last ask so here's me asking you to share more headcanons you have! Could be domestic, silly, sad, whatever, I'm just giving you an excuse to talk about them whever you feel like it!

#1 and first of all THANK YOU SO MUCH! I’ve delayed replying to this not only because I wanted to cook up a good answer but because your words are so sweet and I wanted to spend longer just reading and rereading them. Thank you thank you thank you!

I got a few little ones and then some big ones for ya:

Problem Sleuth and Hysterical Dame both are from Brooklyn and have harsh Brooklyn accents, though Dame’s is much more pronounced. She sounds like a slightly less congested Fran Drescher. Sleuth, additionally, loves the Beastie Boys and thinks he could’ve been one if he’d had half a chance at it.

Droog loves Sting. That’s it, that’s the headcanon.

Droog is native Italian, from part of Tuscany that is just 1 kilometer from the official bounds for the Chianti region. The fact that he’s not actually, truly, from Chianti haunts him and makes me laugh a great deal.

Now for a big one:

What war did they all serve in?

This one I’ve gone back and forth on. While I love studying war I’m not any kind of expert nor do I have any relation to military culture. But, because I write Intermission stuff as period pieces (the adults all live in a pseudo 40s and 70s mash up, all the kids live in the early oughts and that’s why none of the StabDads knows how to work a computer despite all their kids being online constantly) the setting of mid-20th century America requires there to be some war that people are living during/living through the aftermath of. I have a whole thing about the 20th century being one long war but anyway.

There was a large scale global conflict that Team Sleuth and the Crew all experienced. The Crew saw more intense, violent conflict while much of Team Sleuth saw less direct action and often sunnier outcomes.

Hearts, Slick and Droog were all infantry men whose issues with authority prevented any of them from moving up the ranks. Clubs was a technician and occasional mechanic, he learned everything he knows about bombs between his years as a soldier and a few jobs working in plastic factories back home.

Hearts was a cook as well as a renowned fighter in his unit. Slick came in and went out buck private despite some award winning violence in the field. Droog was considered for a promotion to officer because of his neat habits and efficient performance but later denied when his more anti-social and unstable qualities showed through.

For both Slick and Droog The War is much more like WW1. They met and became friends/fell in love in the trenches and saw the intensity of suffering and combat on an almost daily basis. For Hearts and Clubs The War is a little more like Korean, they were stationed far from home and were effectively playing cat and mouse with the enemy. Clubs experienced and learned from chemical warfare, while Hearts saw much more guerrilla warfare.

On the Sleuth side, Ace Dick is the only person to have served in as intense a fashion as the Crew. He enlisted young and made the rank of sergeant before retiring to become a detective. Of all of them his time was the most like WW2, in the European theater. Though he maintains his rank in retirement, Ace has relaxed out of the rigidness that made him a good officer. His hard disposition however has not degraded even one iota.

Problem Sleuth had a gay li’l stint in the Navy where he mostly ferried trade vessels along the coast. The action he did see was at the distance of sea battles, so while it was intense it was not as close and personal as the Crew or Ace.

Hysterical Dame did not serve but instead worked as a riveter and community organizer back home to get more women into the workforce as well as to provide for the families of soldiers who had been lost. That picture of Rosy the Riveter eating a sandwich with her piston driver in her lap? That was Dame, just with much more buoyant and gorgeous hair.

Nervous Broad was a nurse and was stationed abroad for most of The War. She saw a lot of very bad and only very occasionally some good. While she was in the medical corps she met Pickle Inspector, who was a contentious objector and refused to serve when drafted. Because of this, he was dumped into the medical corps at the front lines and like Broad saw some very awful things. They both don’t like to talk about what they saw more intensely than the others.

Post war they all assume the roles we’re already familiar with, most of them using the combat training they already received to do their work as detectives and/or mobsters. Broad, Dame and Pickle Inspector all learned to handle firearms (and in a Pickle Inspector’s case a whole sniper rifle) post-war. As a treat.

And, while I really don’t come to fandom spaces for sad things (the world itself is hexing enough) I do have a sad headcanon for Hearts:

His parents had an awful marriage and his father was often abusive to both him and his mother. She, in turn, eventually did away with him but not before long years of hard times for herself and her son. Once Hearts was big enough to help with the manual labor of running their small farm she took his father out during a particularly bad fight. It was a brutal night that would have seen one or the other of his parents gone from the world, but his mother won out in the end and she and Hearts lived better and better once his father was out of the picture. Hearts, to this day, sends money to his mother and believes she is the strongest woman on the face of the Earth. And he’s probably right. She still lives up in the hills of Georgia with her gun.

Momma Boxcars loves Tavros and insists that he and the other kids come spend part of their summer with her out on the farm.

Like Hearts’s mom, Droog’s parents also love their grandbabies. They immigrated to America after Droog put together enough money to bring them over from Italy and keep them living in style in the city. They were not good parents to him, in fact they have a very fraught and often vicious relationship, but they are wonderful to their grandkids and often tell Droog how much more they love Karkat and Arabia than they ever loved him. Again, I find Droog’s pain and inconvenience hilarious, and he’s fine despite all this. He actually thinks of them as ideal parents, being as he is an ideal sort of person by his own metrics.

Again, thank you for your lovely words and for the excuse to gab away about all these clowns, this was so fun!!!

[luvdsc]

let’s play pretend.

what if we’re in love? haha, just kidding... unless?

pairing :: na jaemin x reader genre :: fluff / best friend + college au word count :: 1,552 words warnings :: none playlist :: talk too much (coin) ⋆ face (woosung) ⋆ pretend (bad suns) ⋆ la belle femme (hunny) ⋆ love you like crazy (taeyeon) author’s note :: best f2l is the ultimate trope sorry i don’t make the rules

Persistent fratboys at parties are the absolute worst. Already early into the night, you find yourself unable to shake off the latest leech in all his snapback and rayban glory. Why is it that they never back off until you’re forced to lie about a significant other? If you’re lucky, they’ll stop there. It’s quite stupid how they’ll let you go only if you suddenly have a boyfriend, rather than simply understanding that you aren’t interested. Perhaps, they’re too scared to confront how undesirable they actually are.

Literally, nobody wants someone who owns salmon shorts and more button up shirts with palm trees than necessary. Never mind the fact that you’ve seen this guy participate in more forties at four than actually attend his classes sober if he even makes it to your shared A.I. ethics lecture at eight in the morning. And he’s wearing those god awful sperry boat shoes with no socks. Inwardly, you shiver.

Eyes flitting around, you desperately try to see if you can find any one of your friends nearby who can take you out of your misery, but Yeji and Yerim are already mixed in the drunken dancing crowd, and you can’t find Donghyuck or Jeno anywhere. Renjun had been standing with you prior, but he already went home a few minutes ago because he had midterms early tomorrow morning. However, perhaps Lady Luck understands your woes because you spot your best friend coming out of the kitchen.

You quickly grab his arm, pulling Jaemin over. “Sorry, I’m here with him already.”

“This is your boyfriend?” the guy asks skeptically, unabashedly staring at your friend in question.

“Yep. Yes, that’s him. My boyfriend. Love of my life. My other half. His name is Jaemin.”

Jaemin turns to look at you, somewhat confused. You try to send some sort of telepathic message to him, and to your relief, it seems that he understands when you shoot him a look of mixed panic and desperation.

“Yeah, that’s me. I’m the boyfriend. The super significant other.” He reconfirms your answer and returns the male’s stare, giving him an enthusiastic thumbs up.

Great. Nothing says “I love you” more than a common hand signal found on YouTube videos. Maybe you should tell fratboy to hit the subscribe button, too. Subscribe to see more daily mishaps in the life of Y/N and watch as she digs an even deeper hole for herself.

The boy scoffs, crossing his arms across his chest, as he shakes his head in disbelief. You are temporarily distracted, almost impressed even, at how his styled hair doesn’t even move. You really need to know where he gets his hair products.

“Really? It doesn’t seem like it.”

 Slipping his arm around your waist smoothly, Jaemin tugs you closer, and you freeze, pressed up snugly against his side. You really didn’t think this one through. Swallowing hard, you force your body to relax. It’s no big deal, it’s not like you’ve been harboring a crush on your best friend for months and have been trying to get over him for the sake of friendship.

“I don’t know what to tell you, but I’ve been in love with her ever since she fell asleep on me in our macroeconomics class.”

You smile sheepishly as you remember your first meeting, pretending that his words didn’t affect your heart as much as it actually did whilst simultaneously thanking the stars that he was always a quick thinker. His lips quirk up in the corners into that sweet smile you always adore before he presses a tender kiss to your temple that has you going dizzy. Your cheeks warm up as you duck your head, attempting to hide the bashful expression on your face.

“She had on this pale blue fluffy sweater, and she reminded me of a cute baby blue jay. She had a green notebook decorated with corgi stickers and always took really neat notes with this pen that had a flower chain attached to the top and had the prettiest handwriting. I remember thinking to myself, I better take good notes even though I never took notes before, just so I could give them to her as an excuse to talk to her afterwards.”

He absentmindedly draws circles on your hip, making you even more flustered not only from his actions, but also shocked that he remembers all of that even down to the outfit you were wearing. Heck, you didn’t even remember what you wore that day. He gazes at you, smiling fondly, and your breath hitches in your throat. His eyes look so sincere, sparkling under the harsh strobe lights, and if you didn’t know any better, you really thought he may have loved you back. A dull ache starts to form in your chest at that silly daydream. “She looked really cute, leaning against my shoulder like that, and even her snoring was adorable.”

You gasp at that, looking at him indignantly. “I don’t snore!”

“You’re right, I’m sorry, angel. Forgive me?”

He pauses and leans down, his lips millimeters away from yours, before hesitating and lingering there, so close yet so far away. Your heart nearly skips a beat from how naturally the sweet term of endearment slips from his lips and from the close proximity between you and him. From the corner of your eye, you can still see that fratboy standing there. You had almost forgotten he even existed: the sole, annoying cause of your current predicament. To seal the deal and perhaps for a little bit of a selfish reason, you lean forward, closing the distance and grazing your lips against his.

Your hands are on his chest, nervously tugging on the lapels of his jacket, and his are placed on your waist, gently tugging you impossibly closer. You’re quite certain Jaemin can feel how fast your heart is beating with how tight your bodies are now pressed together, but that’s the least of your worries right now. The only thoughts that pop up in your mind is that one, his lips are slightly chapped, yet incredibly soft; two, he’s a very good kisser; and three, mission: “how to get over having a crush on your best friend” is a complete and utter failure.

When you reluctantly pull away from him, his nose nudges yours softly, and your eyes flutter open. He is looking at you with parted lips, hazy eyes, and an indiscernible gaze that causes you to feel a whole colony of butterflies in your stomach. Any words that had come to mind have now flown out the window, and you can’t tear your eyes away from the radiant boy in front of you.

“Maybe we should do that again. Just in case, you know? To really send a message to that douche,” he mutters quietly, his eyes searching yours for confirmation. You give him an almost imperceptible nod, relenting to your heart this time instead of your mind.

It feels as if it’s simply the two of you standing there, the rest of your surroundings fading away and the music slowing down in the background. You look up at him from under your lashes, eyes fluttering close once more. Jaemin presses his mouth against yours firmly this time, with certainty, almost as if he meant it, as if his lips are made solely for kissing yours. And in that moment, you truly believe that he’s in love with you. 

You are dazed, absolutely starstruck, until the two of you break apart, until you remember why this all came to be, and your heart comes crashing back to earth. Those seven minutes in heaven were utterly heavenly in your little bubble of make-believe universe with only you and him. You almost don’t want to open your eyes, but you do, and you find yourself staring back at him.

And just as you’ve always known, Jaemin looks absolutely breath taking, impossibly ethereal, and one hundred percent devastatingly heart wrenching: a modern day Adonis in the flesh. He gives you a shy smile, pretty eyes glimmering as if he stole from the night sky himself. You’re so close that you can count every single long dark lash framing his starry eyes and feel the warmth radiating from his blushing cheeks. His lips are red and slightly swollen, and you feel as if you had just ruined a masterpiece from the Louvre.

Your cherry lip gloss has been smudged onto his lips, and you reach out to carefully wipe it off. He gently catches your hand when you move it away and intertwines his fingers with yours. Your breath hitches in your throat once more, and you admire the way your hand fits perfectly in his for a few stolen moments until the dream is shattered once more and you’re pulled back to reality.

“Thanks, Jaemin. He’s gone now, so you don’t have to pretend to be in love with me anymore,” you mumble softly, slowly pulling your hand away and giving him an apologetic smile.

He reaches out to gently brush his finger tips against the apples of your cheeks before delicately tucking a stray strand of your hair behind your ear. When you finally dare to meet his eyes, Jaemin is gazing at you with the most tender expression imaginable.

“Who says I was pretending?”

[bluesfortheredj]

A little extra to love.

Smut ahead.

A/N: Here we are; the last ever request. What an odd thing to type! Anyway, I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

The towel you’d wrapped around yourself in the bathroom gapes open at your stomach and you can feel the cool air on your skin before you quickly grab both sides of it and hold it together to preserve some sort of dignity as you rush across the landing to your bedroom. Ben was downstairs watching the telly while you were getting ready after a long day at work, and the thought of him catching a glimpse of you in this sorry state was stomach churning. You sit down on your bed and the towel opens up completely with absolutely no hope of bringing the two ends together across your protruding belly and a for a moment you sit there with tears stinging the back of your eyes at how disgusting you felt. It had been a tough year thanks to the pandemic, but what was even tougher for you was the weight you’d gained throughout your time at home; you were already big enough at the beginning of the year but now that you were two stone heavier you felt completely defeated. All you wore these days were men’s XXL t-shirts with jogging bottoms or leggings, and most of your wardrobe had been chucked out as soon as a charity bag had been posted through your door due to half of it not even fitting any more.

“You alright up there?” Ben calls out after a few minutes of you wallowing.

“Yeah… um, I don’t think I can go tonight though… I’m not feeling very well.”

“Oh love, is there anything I can do?” he asks as you hear him ascending the stairs.

“Uh, no, no, it’s okay. I’ll be down in a minute.”

“How about I make you a cup of tea?” he offers.

“That would be perfect.”

His footsteps retreat back down the few steps he’d climbed and you breathe a long sigh of relief as you look down at your excess paunch that had grown significantly the last few months. You’d been both jubilant and hesitant at reuniting with Ben after such a long time apart, especially as you could hide your extra chins on a video call, but he’d been as sweet as he was the day he asked if you wanted to be with him, and he somehow didn’t flinch at the sight of you. You quickly get dressed into your oversized pyjamas and head downstairs to find Ben already settled into the sofa with a steaming cup of tea waiting for you on the coffee table.

“How are you feeling?”

You hold your hand out flat and shake it from side to side to indicate you were feeling a little dodgy, then he reaches out a hand to your face and gently tucks your hair behind your ear.

“You do look a little pale,” he worries.

“Think it might be a migraine coming on,” you shrug, “I don’t know.”

“Well then I guess we’ll just be staying here and cuddling on the sofa,” he smiles, “and after months of not being able to do that with you, I’m certainly not complaining.”

A hesitant smile from you greets his excited grin, and he frowns a little at your underwhelmed reaction to the fact you’d be snuggled up with your boyfriend all evening but he lets it go and puts it down to you not feeling your best. You lean forward to the table to pick up your mug and adjust your top by pulling it away from your body as you sit back up again, making sure that none of the fabric got caught in your folds. The steam from your tea wafts up into your face when you lightly blow on the liquid and you keep your eyes focused on the television in front of you as Ben shuffles a little closer so he can drape his arm around your shoulders. He was a naturally tactile person whereas you were quite the opposite, but it still didn’t excuse the times you’d rejected his intimate advances purely for the reason that you didn’t want him to see what was lurking beneath your clothes.

“Relax babe,” he says quietly before kissing the side of your head, “I can feel how tense you are, it can’t be helping your head.”

You put your now empty mug back on the coaster on the table and lean back against his arm then purposely drop your shoulders to try and relax into the side of his body, and he brings his other arm over so his hand can rest on your thigh. His touch is soft, as if a blanket had just been placed across your lap, and it’s just as comforting too after being deprived of it for so very long. His fingers begin to tap a little before he gives your leg a purposely slow squeeze then he moves up just an inch and repeats the action but adds a kiss to your temple this time, and your eyes close at the feel of his hand moving higher while his kisses move lower until his lips press against yours while his fingers squeeze down between your thighs and rub along the outside of your pyjamas.

“Ben,” you moan involuntarily against his mouth.

“Mhmm,” he hums.

Your eyes fly open as you finally recognise the situation and you gasp as you pull away from him, “sorry, I can’t… sorry.”

You rise from the couch to take your mug into the kitchen as Ben looks on with a baffled frown; this wasn’t the first time you’d rejected his advances and after such a long time apart the only conclusion that made sense to him was that you must have completely gone off the idea of being with him during lockdown. He quietly follows you out to find you standing at the sink staring out of the window listlessly, and he clears his throat to gain your attention.

“If, uh, if you’re feelings have changed then you just need to say,” he mumbles, avoiding eye contact and choosing to look around the room instead, “I can leave if you want me-”

“Ben, I’m fat,” you interrupt him.

“What?” he scoffs.

“I don’t like you touching me because I’m… overweight, fat, obese, whatever you wanna call it. I’m that. And I don’t want you to feel all… this. Not before lockdown, and especially not now.”

“I… wait… are you serious?”

“Yes of course I am.”

“So… wait a minute… why do you think I asked you out in the first place then?”

“I really have no idea,” you sigh.

“Oh my god, (Y/N), come on! I fancy the pants off you! That’s why.”

You shake your head and scoff at his comment then attempt to walk past him but he blocks your path quite defiantly and wraps his arms around your body no matter how much you fight against the comforting embrace.

“Hey, would you please stop trying to wriggle away?!” he says, his muscular arms tightening a little more around you.

A defeated sigh is breathed into his t-shirt as you finally give up on trying to escape his cuddle, but you keep your arms by your sides in one last attempt at trying to show him you weren’t completely giving in yet, and he laughs a little as he rocks you from side to side.

“So this is why you keep pushing me away, huh?” he mutters into your hair, “well I’m relieved that it’s not because you’ve gone off me, and I’m also pretty glad that you didn’t succeed in trying to get rid of me.”

He leans back and holds you at arms length before moving the hair back from your face so he could see you properly, and you avert your eyes from his intense gaze in embarrassment. His hands leave your body and you look up at him just as he lifts his top up and pulls it over his head to then throw it onto a kitchen chair behind you, then your eyes move leisurely over his torso from his stomach until they reach his plump lips.

“Everyone seems to think I have a constant six pack,” he sighs, turning sideways and placing a hand on his small tummy, “as you can see, that is very much not true. I just really love food,” he shrugs with a wobble of his stomach.

“But that’s cute… mine is bleurgh.”

“Bleurgh?” he questions with a single raised eyebrow, “can I at least judge for myself?”

“I really don’t want you seeing my stretch marks Ben.”

“Then blindfold me.”

“What?!” you half laugh.

“If you don’t want me to see them then cover my eyes, but please let me touch you.”

Your mouth opens, then closes, then opens again as you try to get your head around what he’s suggesting, and he gently takes your hands before leading you upstairs to your bedroom.

“Ah!” he exclaims excitedly when he sees a silk scarf hanging from the door of your wardrobe, “perfect. Here; blindfold me,” he winks, handing you the scarf.

“Uh… right...”

He sits down on the bed and you kneel behind him before holding the piece of soft fabric between your hands and lowering it over his face to cover his eyes then eventually secure it at the back of his head.

“I’m gonna say this now before it actually happens; if I get an erection during this then please feel free to ignore it,” he forewarns.

“Do you think you will?”

“My hands on your body… yeah, I’m pretty sure I will.”

“Oh,” you giggle, startling yourself at the fact that a girlish laugh just escaped your lips.

Your weight shifts on the bed as you move to stand up again, then you quickly switch the light off and take your position in front of Ben who now has his legs wide open for you to stand in between, and your heart rate quickens as he tentatively lifts his arms for you to take his hands. There’s a few seconds as you hesitate, but you guide his hands to the waist band of your pyjama trousers and he hooks his finger tips inside the elastic so he can pull them down slowly. They drop to the floor then you step out of them as Ben’s feather light touch glides over your legs; up and down your calves the around your thighs where he massages your skin, and he leans forward to press gentle kisses along the dimpled surface. His hands blindly feel their way up over your underwear and swiftly pull that down out of the way, then continue their journey under the cover of your top while his lips caress the skin you were so ashamed of as it hangs down above your thighs with nothing covering it for once.

“Can I take off my blindfold?” Ben whispers; his lips tickling your tummy.

You look around the room and how much light from the landing is coming through the gap in the door, then carefully pull one end of the neat little bow you’d made with the scarf so that it slips from his face, and he’s left blinking into the dim light as his eyes adjust.

“Wow,” he exhales as his hands run up and down your sides to lift your top and give him just a glimpse of your flabby pouch; this was not the reaction you were expecting.

He lets go of you briefly to wriggle out of his jeans without moving you away too much, then he pushes himself up the bed so that he’s leaning his back on the headboard with only his boxers covering his growing bulge.

“Do you want to come and sit?” he asks, patting the thigh that was nearest to you.

You nod in response and pull your top down to cover the bottom of your stomach then get on the bed and crawl up to where Ben sits with a knee either side of his leg.

“You’re so beautiful,” he sighs as one hand slides up your thigh and the other caresses your face, “you don’t even realise how beautiful you are do you?”

“I’m not,” you reply shyly as you lean into his touch.

“But you are,” he insists, “I love these,” he pauses to look down at your thigh as he squeezes it, “and this,” he strokes the part of your stomach that hangs lower than the rest, “and everything about this,” he smiles as he looks up at your face; his thumb sweeping across your cheek gently, “and I’ve been dreaming about the day I can show you just how much when mere words are not enough.”

“Ben,” you chuckle self consciously.

“It’s true! Now come closer,” he invites, dropping his hand from your face to your hip and guiding you forwards as far as you can go, “do you want to keep that on?” he asks, tugging at the hem of your top.

He’s met with a nod and gives you a warm smile in return, then he weaves his fingers through your hair and pulls you in for a kiss as he bends his knee slightly to press his thigh against your exposed lips. You hum with pleasure at the feel of some pressure against you, then he allows one hand to travel down your back and come to a rest on your cheeks so he can encourage you to move back and forth along his leg; your slit naturally opening up wider and allowing your sweet spot to rub against the skin. Your hands are resting on his shoulders for stability but you take one away and drag it down his torso until your fingers are able to pull the waistband of his boxers away from his body and release his erection; your hand immediately wrapping around his length once it’s free and working its way up and down the shaft with your thumb circling his tip at every opportunity it gets.

“Mhmm,” Ben purrs into your mouth as his hips twitch.

Everything feels so natural with him and even though this was your first time being intimate with one another it felt as if you knew each other’s bodies already, and when Ben diverts his kisses down along your jaw and onto your neck where he gently nibbles at your skin you can’t help but allow a moan to erupt from your throat. You can feel his finger tips digging into the soft flesh of your backside as he motivates you to move a little faster and your body responds to his touch almost instantaneously with your hand sliding along his member to match the pace that you’ve set. Pants, moans and whines fill the room along with a warm, damp atmosphere thanks to the heat your bodies were creating, and you’re soon both completely lost in the moment without a thought for anything else until Ben rests his head on your shoulder and stills as his excitement drips over your hand. You carry on stroking him slowly while your own climax builds inside but soon you have rest your hand on his stomach as your core tightens like a spring, then releases with a series of pulsations that cause a short moan to escape with each one.

“Wow,” he repeats once more.

“Yeah,” you agree breathlessly.

The two of you clean up before sinking down onto the bed in a sleepy, tangled mess and the glow of the bliss you’d just both experienced seems to add more light to the room as Ben kisses your head between strokes of your hair. His other hand slips underneath your top and rests on your stomach where his thumb runs small, comforting circles right over one of your stretch marks, and a smile spreads across your lips at the meaningful gesture.

could you do a fic where Ben and the reader have been dating but she is very insecure about being overweight and they haven't been physical yet because of it. But Ben won't give up on her and finally convinces her that he really loves her and it ends in smut when they finally sleep together and its super fluffy, passionate and romantic?

@lv7867 @aynsleywalker @pink-lemo @itisjustmethistime @mamaskillerqueen @queenslandlover-93