#very glad the star-shaped clouds on the shoulders still fit in nicely too i was worried id have to scrap those. i even got more star clouds

[catgirlkirigiri]

Yaay new fursona design + finally a nice looking ref sheet for them :D Had a lot of fun reworking the colors and making their markings read a bit better for a clouded leopard :3

[fakeloveaskblog]

I do believe it would be for the best for you to have that nice day with Janus that you'd planned to have, Logan. Like you said, you shouldn't neglect your own wellbeing, and your emotional wellbeing looks like it could use the break.

(Words: 3431)

Logan let out a sigh "You're right. Worrying nonstop for Remy won't help them either way"

--

Two days later Janus had a devious smile on his lips as he sat in the passanger seat of Logan's car. His boyfriend had picked him up directly from his apartement. He hadn't said where they were going.

"Let me guess. You are taking me to the woods and surround me by your league of vampires so you can go through with your monthly blood sucking ritual” Janus guessed.

"Oh no dear. That I do with Patty the first thursday of every month" Logan replied druly.

His hands were shaking slightly as he held onto the steering wheel. Every time he looked over to his boyfriend all he could see was Remy passed out with the bruise all around their neck. He could hear every word they'd yelled. His throat tightened.

Logan hit the brake and the car slid to a stop. They were near a park. It was 9 pm and the sky had started to darken.

"We can- We can walk the rest of the way yes? Some fresh air has almost never hurt anyone and the cases where it has are very fascinating" He hoped it would distract him.

“Ah yes because I am so well known for enjoying long walks!” Jan replied sarcastically “Maybe I will if it’s with you”

Logan took out a bag from the backseat. Jan took his boyfriend's free hand and leaned his cheek against his shoulder as they went into the park.

"Is that the bag you're going to hide my body in?"

"I'm afraid the bag is too small for that"

Janus let out an incredibly dramatic gasp while gripping his chest "The rudeness!! Baffling rudeness!!!"

“Yes. I took you here to surprise you with my rudeness”

They went on a path lined with trees until they got to a hill. The trees all but surronded the hill. Aside from some teenagers playing music far away they seemed to be some of the only people in the park.

Once they got to the top Logan pressed a kiss to his boyfriend’s cheek “Close your eyes” He murmured into his ear.

His cheeks immediately turned bright red “Well darling since you will now most definitely murder me I am glad your face will be the last thing I see!”

He stood in blindness for at least 3 minutes. His chest was bubbling over with excitement. He didn’t even realize he was shimmying his shoulders to happy stim.

“Alright. My honeysnake you may open your eyes” Logan’s voice was also filled with excitement.

Janus let out a small gasp as he looked. Logan had laid out a star embroidered blanket and sat with his legs crossed on it. He held out a bottle of red wine, his boyfriend’s favorite kind of course. He’d brought several different pastries. Jam drops shaped like hearts, a lemon pie, strawberry bars, 2 cupcakes one with frosting made to look like a snake and one made to look like an owl.

“Oh....” Janus was speechless for a moment before getting a smug smirk on his lips “I see that you’re going in the route of poisoning me through romantic food”

“I am estimating that you will continue with that joke all night, yes?”

“Correct” 

Janus cuddled up to his side. Logan took his hand and pressed a kiss to the top of it before handing him a glass of wine. They clinked their glasses together. The stars had started to come out.

He inspected each and every dessert in an incredibly dramatic fashion before taking a strawberry bar. As soon as he took a bite his eyes went wide.

"Darling which overworked soccer mom did you rob these from???"

Logan triumphantly pointed at himself "This overworked soccer mom. I bake even more than on a regular basis when I am stressed, and I have been experiencing a lot of stress lately"

He held onto his hand harder "My boyfriend senses did go off before. Do you want to talk about it? Or shall I simply push whoever is causing you the stress down a flight of stairs?"

"Oh I wish you would throw him down many stairs" Logan mumbled to himself. ".....It is....quite alright dear. I want this night to be a sort of distraction...for now please dont ask about it"

"My lips are sealed then...but not for the food!"

They cuddled together, ate and drank while looking at the stars. There were no clouds out. No wind. It was like the universe had wanted them to have a good night.

Janus pointed at each and every star constellation he could make out and made an intentionally horrible guess on what it was so Logan could infodump. His eyes were glimmering as he explained it. He looked so beautiful Jan wanted to kiss him endleesly.

“Okay...so..Andromeda was your favorite right?” Janus asked. He had jam on his lips from the sweets (crofters obviously) “Which one is it?”

Logan leaned close to his side and laid his hand on his boyfriend’s chin to move his head to see it “Right there. It’s brightest star is alpha andromedea”

Janus nodded along “Darling what constellation do you think suits me best?”

His expression turned incredibly serious. This was a life or death answer! “Well Patty’s favorite is ursa major aka big bear but you hmmmm Lacerta is a quite obvious once since it’s a lizard...but I think Horologium fits you better"

"Honey all I heard there was you saying ancient latin to summon a demon"

"It’s a pendulum clock! It fits you since they’re mysterious and" He gazed into his boyfriends eyes "They're also very pretty to look at"

Janus let out a pff while shoving his hand in Logan’s face to make him look away "Dork" He chuckled out as his cheeks heated up.

"Oh yes that reminds me"

He pressed a quick kiss to Jan's nose before scrambling around in his bag. He took out a long yellow plush snake. It had a black hat and a red tounge sticking out.

"This was for some reason on my doorstep a few nights ago. It reminded me of you so I thought you should have it"

Janus looked at it with wide eyes "Wait"

He took out a big blue owl plushie from his bag. It had a tiny bow and square glasses. It was incredibly fluffy for an owl.

“This was by my door as well!”

“I am sure there is a logical explanation for this! I am also sure you deserve a snake present”

They switched the plushies. Janus held the snake plushie in his hands and looked down at it’s big kind eyes. He grimaced.

“Darling...I uh already have a snake at home...and  it’s totally not like that owl reminds me of you and I’ve already grown attached to having it in my bed and imagining it’s you or anything...totally not”

Logan let out a breathe of relief “Oh yes! Honey I have been hugging that snake as if it’s my second lung. So I technically don’t need it but it does help me live!”

Janus hugged the owl plushie close to his chest while Logan put the snake around his neck like a scarf. Lo looked over to his boyfriend and got a small smile on his face.

“But my sweet honeysnake you can....slither into my apartement and into my arms whenever the plushie isn’t enough” He moved his hand to his boyfriend’s chin and leaned in. 

Janus flinched away, for a moment there was fear in his eyes.

“I am very sorry” Logan said “I was not intending to kiss you on your lips. I am aware of your boundaries and will not do it until you tell me you’re ready. I was going for your cheek”

“Sorry” He hid his face in the owl’s soft fur so his boyfriend wouldn’t see his embarrassment “I’m sorry”

“There is no reason to apologize here but I will accept your aplogy nonetheless”

Logan gave his boyfriend some time to gather himself, he knew how easily overwhelmed he got. He munched on some of the leftover pie. Janus sunk in on himself. 

“Can I tell you something?” Janus quietly asked while fiddling with the owl’s wing to keep himself calm.

“Of course hun”

“...I contacted Picani..and I have been talking to him. It-it’s only been 3 or so sessions and they’re only like 15 or 30 minutes. It’s barely anything. But I’d thought I’d tell you”

He glanced back up to Logan and was taken aback by the big goofy grin on his lips. It was so unlike him.

“Janus that’s great!” He threw his arms around him and pulled him into a hug so sudden they both nearly tumbled over “I’m so proud of you!”

It took a moment before Janus took it in. He shone up into a smile and leaned into the hug. His nose pressed against the slope of his boyfriend’s neck and the plushies got crushed between them.

"You just sounded uncannily much like Patty" Jan chuckled out.

“I can accept that!” He took his boyfriend’s hand while stimming with the other “Is the therapy helping you progress emotionally? Of course it’s alright if you haven’t yet, asking for help is well enough”

Janus leaned away from him, just a bit so Logan’s arms were still around him but they weren’t pressed against each other. He looked away to the stars and bit the inside of his cheek.

“It’s doing wonders! I don’t have tentacles sprouting out of my back anymore” He tried to joke but it didn’t sound happy “..It is helping...genuinely..It’s just....I think my family might not have been the best. THey weren’t abusive! Not anywhere close! So I am unsure if they really were bad at all, even if Picani says so”

“Oh honey” Logan said it so very softly “They don’t have to have been abusive, or mean to treat you bad. If they hurt you they hurt you. That’s all that matters”

He nodded “Right....right. May I vent about it?”

“Of course”

He moved his hand through the owl’s fur to keep him calm “My mom would comment on what I ate constantly. Anything I ate was too much for her since I already looked disgusting-”

“You don’t. Objectivly so”

“I- I know. But I still think about it every time I eat. And I worry about eating around other people, what if they think I’m gross”

“Then they’re objectivly an asshole and I will kick my knee into their chin. Including your mother!” 

“Logan no!”

“Logan yes!”

Lo knew he had succeeded when Janus let up into a laugh. 

“Oh it was horrible” Janus continued through the last small chuckles “Every time she forced me to go buy clothes with her I would get panic attacks from what she said about my body and I always hid it because I was afraid of what she would say. And the one time she heard me literally sobbing in a dressing room all she said was that I was overreacting and to hurry up”

Logan was very quickly forgetting that the kicking in face thing was supposed to be a joke “Mhm yes that does indeed sound astronomically horrible yes”

Janus wiped his hand over his eye as if to rub memories away “It was....I thought so much of it was normal..I didn’t know-”

“You shouldn’t have had to think like that in the first place”

“I know....I know...They made me feel so much shame...Before I even knew...Just hearing my dad talk about...people like me on the tv made me feel shame before I even fathomed the idea that I could like men”

He let up into another laugh. The kind of laugh that came when he remembered something so bad the only thing he could do to not cry was to laugh.

“I- I’d never heard my mom say anything about it so I tried coming out to her” He chuckled “It didn’t go well! I used a youtube video because I couldn’t physically say the word gay. And then she outed me to my dad behind my back and never told me! I found out through my aunt!”

Logan was moving away from a knee kick and instead thinking of bringing a baseball bat.

“And- And I should have known because right after when- we were on vacation and my dad- I was 14 I think maybe it’s blurry- I-I saw two men hold hands in public and I’d never- I felt so happy- I wanted to run up to them- I couldn’t stop staring and then..and then my dad moved his arm around my shoulders and pointed at them and he looked into my eyes and his voice was so steady” Janus’ eyes had stopped moving, they were staring out into thin air as if he could see it happening again “He told me that what the men were doing was wrong. That We didn’t like that. That it was disgusting. And then he forced me to walk away”

Janus’ hand was shaking as he gripped onto the plushie to keep himself present. Logan gently took one of his hands and pressed a kiss to it.

“You shouldn’t have had to hear that, ever”

“It feels so good to finally tell someone” He sighed “Aside from Picani I’ve held that to myself for so so long....It’s...It’s been so many years. Shouldn’t I be over this. The shame has gotten a bit better...but it’s still there”

“Honey, For how long have you lived without being in contact with those...those wretched humans made out of boiled together pieces of maggot bones?” Logan asked in a straightforward tone.

“Around 14 months? I think? It’s all so blurry. Me before and after meeting you totally don’t feel like 2 different people or anything”

“Mhm. How many times have you gone to therapy?”

“3 times”

“No human being can be expected to recover from several years of trauma, because it is trauma, in such a short amount of time. Especially with such a small amount of professional help” Logan said in a very agressive but somehow also loving voice while smacking his hand to the top of his boyfriend’s head to pat him.

Janus looked at him. He looked at the way he was trying so hard to comfort him in his own lovely way. Looked around at the stars lighting up their date. Looked at the leftover food his boyfriend had spent time to make just to share between them, because he never saw him as disgusnting no matter what he ate.

He let up into a smile before leaning forward so his and Logan’s foreheads were pressing against each other. He intertwined their fingers. He felt his boyfriend’s breathe against his nose. 

Oh he was so alive. He was holding hands with his boyfriend and he was so alive.

“I love you” Janus murmured out.

Logan shone up into a soft smile “I love you too”

He cupped Janus’ cheeks and leaned even closer. Their eyes met so perfectly. Logan could see the stars mirroring in his boyfriend’s eyes, like a small galaxy.

“And honey- Janus, you’re not perfect because none of us are and you shouldn’t feel the need to be perfect, but there is not a goddamn part of you you should ever feel ashamed of”

A warm feeling filled Janus’ chest. He leaned forward and kissed Logan.

His boyfriend’s lips were so soft against his, he closed his eyes and melted into the kiss. For a moment he didn’t even realize what he’d done, all he could think about was Logan’s warm hands against his cheeks and his lips that tasted like strawberries and coffee.

BUT OH BOY THEN JANUS REALIZED WHAT THE FUCK HE WAS DOING.

He practically flung away from Logan just as suddenly as he’d kissed him. His chest was rapidly heaving up and down as he gasped for breathe. He clasped his hand over his mouth.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t- I’m sorry- I should have asked you before- Sorry” 

Logan was tracing his fingers over his lips, as if he could barely even believe what had just happened “Honey dear sweetheart beloved you” He let out a small happy sound “I think I’ve made it quite clear I was Very ready for you kissing me whenever you wanted to”

“Oh- Oh okay. Phew”

“Your lips taste like crofters! This is amazing! A scientific miracle! I have to study your lips! In multiple ways!!”

Janus let up into a light laugh “Darling there was crofters in the jam drops you made. Of course I taste like crofters”

“hmm. Seems logical. Your lips are still from here on out classified as a scientific miracle either way”

“Can we...” Janus was full on grinning as he nervously asked “Can we kiss again? Please?”

Logan didn’t answer. He simply squeezed his boyfriend’s cheeks and kissed him. And kissed him. And kissed him. 

He kissed so hard they both tumbled over. Janus fell down on his back and Logan used his arms to not fall down on top of him. They looked at each other for a moment, cheeks flushed, lips red, eyes wide, and smiled.

Janus tugged at his boyfriend’s tie to pull him into another kiss. His hand was in his hair, the other on his lower back. His thigh was somewhere pressed against Logan’s ribs. All he could focus on was the feeling of his lips. It felt like electricity was going up and down through his body at hyper speed.

This wasn’t exactly Logan’s first rodeo so he noticed very quickly when Janus opened his eyes and started looking unsure. He quickly moved away and laid himself down beside him. His arm was laid out across his boyfriend’s chest and their hands were still intertwined.

“Sorry. This is totally not at all a lot to take in” Janus panted out “I only need a second and a spa bath to process it”

“That is alright dear” Logan was still grinning. His cheeks started to hurt from it. He let up into happy flaps “I have been waiting for this for approximately 12 months and I will have you know it was very worth the wait. You are a natural my love. The first time I kissed Patty I fell off a swing and broke my glasses immediately afterwards”

Janus giggled at his story. He clasped his mouth shut. The giggles sounded so unlike him. They were so light and loud, but he couldn’t stop giggling. It was like millions of small butterflies were finally leaving his stomach and were transforming right into giggles. 

They laughed together, their bodies pressed close together, as they looked up at the night sky. The tree tops outlined the galaxy above them.

“Darling it was a great night to take me star-gayzing” Janus chuckled out.

Logan stared at him as if he’d just thrown a watermelon into his eye “Was that a pun I heard?! I automatically despise you!”

“You love me! You said it!!” He giggled back.

“How do I keep ending up with pun makers. This is highly ridicolous!"

"Muhahaha. It is all in the plan deary!” Janus moved his arms around mysteriously “The great evil pun plan!"

“I’ll kiss you until you tell me all about it”

“Hard bargain, but I’ll surely manage”

Logan pouted while moving to press a kiss to his boyfriends collar bones. He kept littering kisses to his neck and cheek and nose until kissing him on the lips again.

He wished they weren’t in a public space so he could kiss his wonderful thighs, his stomach rolls, his shoulders, every stretch mark on his chest. So he could give him all the love he'd daydreamed about.

Janus looked at him with a sneaky grin and red cheeks "Would it be acceptable to try with tounge now?"

"Incredibly acceptabe"

He gently moved Janus so he sat on top of his hips. His hands were leaned on either side of Logan’s face. 

"Are you sure I’m not too heavy?" Janus mumbled out.

"Honey Patty is about the same size as you. I am Very used to having my pelvic crushed. In multiple ways"

Janus nodded and let up into a nervous smile. Logan moved his boyfriend’s head close and parced his lips. His hand rested against his cheek.

"You're beautiful. You're so incredibly beautiful" Logan murmured before brining him in for another kiss.

[glimmerglanger]

Quiet Evenings

Written for Day #5 of @codywanweek: Fluff. Established relationship, somewhere during the Clone Wars. I don’t usually do fluff but oooooh, went teeth-rotting on this one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I don’t know, General, I have a hard time believing Grievous came through here,” Cody said, drawing to a stop as they reached an… intersection in the strange recreation area they’d come upon.

Obi-Wan sighed, gazing out across the crowds. He wasn’t entirely sure of the function of the event they were attending. It appeared to be some kind of festival, perhaps for the harvest. Most of the residents of the local towns had come out to wander through hastily set up tents and booths.

People were selling sweet foods and alcoholic beverages. There were… games of chance and skill, here and there. And there were mechanical contraptions that Obi-Wan did not understand. They seemed designed to either go very quickly or fling people up into the air. 

The locals all seemed intent to ride them, though they looked like death traps to Obi-Wan and brought back memories of Anakin’s flying.

Still, none of these locals - of a very primitive sort - looked as though they’d just seen a monstrosity like General Grievous. He would have been… wildly out of place. “I think you’re right,” Obi-Wan said, feeling a headache build in the back of his skull. He’d been so sure they’d managed to track Grievous. Running into another dead end was--

“But look,” Cody said, and Obi-Wan had a moment of rising hope along with a surge of adrenaline. He waited for screams, looking for Grievous, and Cody continued, gesturing, “it’s some kind of shooting game.”

He gestured at one of the game stalls lining the road. A very tall, very purple man was gesturing people forward, attempting to convince someone to take up the little toy gun lying on the counter. There were an array of targets within the stall.

Obi-Wan arched an eyebrow. “A shooting game,” he said, dry, and Cody looked over, straight-faced.

“We should take every opportunity to practice,” he said, mouth only just quirking, revealing the amusement Obi-Wan felt from him through the Force, that Obi-Wan had grown used to picking up through just his expressions, as they grew closer and closer.

“Oh, well, in that case,” Obi-Wan said, gesturing at the game stall, daring just a bit of flirting, since the threat of immediate danger seemed past. “You must sharper your skills. Grievous isn’t here anyway.”

The stall owner was happy enough to take a few credits, rattling off instructions as Cody looked over the weapon, making a few adjustments to it as he went. Obi-Wan scanned the crowd once more and then turned his attention to Cody, lifting the gun to sight down the barrel. He looked intent and calm, and Obi-Wan couldn’t help a smile, suddenly glad they hadn’t found Grievous.

It would be nice to just… spend five clicks watching Cody play this foolish game. They barely got any time just to themselves.

The stall owner was saying, “And don’t feel bad if you don’t hit anything on the first go, it’s very--” when Cody pulled the trigger for the first time. One of the targets tinged and fell over. The stall owner’s mouth fell open. Cody radiated pleased satisfaction, shifting his aim carefully, moving through targets with easy skill.

The last one he hit square on, but for a moment it only wobbled, snagging Obi-Wan’s attention. It was… weighted somehow. Oddly. Obi-Wan arched an eyebrow at such blatant cheating, leaned a hip against the stall, and pushed out with the Force, just a little.

Cody made a little sound in the back of his throat, pleased, setting down his weapon, and Obi-Wan turned his face to the side to hide a smile. “Excellent job,” he said, nodding at the still gaping stall owner. “Do you think we should--”

“Excuse me,” the stall owner said, as they made to step away. Obi-Wan looked back, wondering if there was going to be a protest about his… slight usage of the Force. It appeared not. The shop keeper had only collected himself. He gestured up at the large stuffed toys hanging around his stall and said, “You get to pick whatever you want, for winning.”

“Oh?” Cody asked, looking from the stall owner to the toys to Obi-Wan, a question in his expression. Obi-Wan shrugged, and watched Cody take a step forward, leaning against the counter and looking over his options.

He settled, finally, on something that appeared to be a very large loth-cat. He tucked his prize under one arm and his emotions shifted, moving to something like joy and pleasure, emotions he got to experience so rarely that it brought Obi-Wan up short. He watched Cody glance around the fair, could almost feel the movement of his thoughts and the slow consideration when he glanced back and said, “You know, maybe we should look for Grievous a little more. Possible over by the food.”

Obi-Wan snorted, a grin curving the corners of his mouth. He gestured Cody forward, finding he did not mind the idea of spending more time wandering around, not with Cody at his side, and said, “By all means, lead the way.”

#

They ate fruit covered in some kind of hard candy coating. They had some type of spun sugar that looked like clouds and melted on the tongue. They shared a plate of some type of vegetable cut into strips and fried, so hot that it burned the tips of Obi-Wan’s fingers. 

Somewhere in their sojourn through the food stalls, Cody put a hand on Obi-Wan’s back. It was startling, for a moment. They were forced to maintain their distance so often. Obi-Wan sometimes thought there were two versions of each of them. The General and the Commander could not walk down the halls of the Negotiator so close to one another. Touching.

But Obi-Wan and Cody could touch. And did. It was simply that they usually kept it behind closed doors.

Still. Grievous was not at this fair. Obi-Wan doubted, truly, that he’d ever been on this world. There was no immediate danger. He was not acting in his role as General or even Jedi, he was just…

Just eating food so sweet that it dissolved on his tongue, leaning his weight back against Cody’s hand, just a little. Cody tugged him a little closer, in response, and said, leaning his mouth close to Obi-Wan’s ear, “Should we go see what’s down that way?”

Obi-Wan grinned, swallowed the last of the food and reaching up, folding his fingers into the front of Cody’s armor and tugging him forward. “In a moment,” he said, quietly, just for Cody, and pressed the briefest of kisses to his mouth.

The second kiss was nowhere near so brief, but, then, it didn’t seem that the fair was going anywhere.

#

There were more games down the way Cody suggested. They played a few, spending their credits as they saw fit. One involved some type of unbalanced rope ladder, stretched from the ground to the top of a nearby wall. 

Obi-Wan watched people attempt to scale it, striving to hit a bell at the top. All of them ended up tumbled down onto the mats below, many of them less than halfway to the summit. That was all fine, except that the gentleman running the stall seemed incapable of keeping his mouth shut, ribbing everyone who fell.

Obi-Wan drew to a stop in front of it, frowning, and Cody nudged his shoulder. “Well, show them,” he said.

Obi-Wan snorted and would have moved on, had not a child slipped and the proprietor laughed. Cody snorted at the look on Obi-Wan’s face and stepped forward, exchanging payment with the proprietor as Obi-Wan walked to the base of the ladder, shrugged, and put his hands behind his back.

Using the Force would be, he thought, cheating. So he didn’t. He didn’t need it. Decades of katas and lightsaber practice and fighting for his life had given him balance and strength to spare. He walked up the ladder, rang the bell with one foot, turned, and walked back down.

The proprietor stared at him the entire way. Obi-Wan smiled at him, selected the largest, shiniest prize on offer for the winners, and gave it to the child who had last fallen off of the ladder. She gazed up at him with four wide eyes, her mouth partially agape, and Obi-Wan winked.

“Very nicely done,” Cody said, curling an arm around him, leaning close enough to brush a kiss against his cheek.

“Yes, well,” Obi-Wan said, with a shrug that aimed to seem unconcerned. “Let’s go see what all the delighted screaming coming from over there is all about.”

#

The delighted screaming, as it turned out, was from some crude mechanical structures. People were in lines to board them, typically climbing into little carts or enclosures. They were then, alternatively, flung up into the air or hurled around a track at some measure of speed.

Cody looked up at them, raised an eyebrow, and said, “Want to try?”

“They certainly don’t look very structurally sound,” Obi-Wan said, thinking of far too many flights with Anakin that ended in spirals and loops. Maybe Anakin had actually designed some of these machines, though, if he had, Obi-Wan felt certain they’d look safer.

Anakin might not have been able to fly in a straight line, but at least he knew how to construct things. These machines all had a slapped together look. He swore some of the braces were wobbling. Cody glanced over and said, “We could just do one.”

Obi-Wan listened to a cart of screaming people go by, and shrugged. “What would one hurt?” he said.

They ended up riding every one of the machines down the path, ending up, somehow, on one shaped like a giant ring standing upright. They were in a cart all of their own, open to the stars and sky above, with only a metal bar over their laps to keep them from leaping out.

The ring turned slowly, lifting them into the sky, with none of the spinning or jerking or flinging of the other rides. They just… rose above the entirety of the strange festival, until they were able to look out and view all the places they’d been before.

The ring stopped for a long moment when they reached the top. Their cart swung gently back and forth. The night had grown cool around him, and Obi-Wan, feeling strangely at peace, the way he usually felt after meditating, leaned sideways against Cody, who made a small, pleased sound and took his hand.

“This was nice,” Obi-Wan said, leaning his head to the side, until it rested against Cody’s, looking out across the people, the games, the food stalls. It was hard to imagine such a place existing, with the war raging so close by, but these people - this place - seemed almost untouched. 

“Yes,” Cody said, turned to brush a kiss to Obi-Wan’s temple. He radiated contentment out into the Force, easy and open with it, and Obi-Wan closed his eyes. The breeze blew across them. The stars shown overhead. Cody’s fingers fitted so perfectly between his.

“We should come back here,” he said, quietly, not wanting to disturb the moment. “Someday. When… everything is done.”

“Mm,” Cody hummed, touching Obi-Wan’s cheek with his other hand, shifting and causing their little cart to wobble. Obi-Wan barely noticed, not with the soft slide of his mouth and the glow of Cody’s joy all around them.

They kissed there, under the stars. Obi-Wan barely noticed when the ring started turning again.

[valaldrif]

Walking on the Sun | Drabble

Length: 4.2K words

Warning: Some crass language but otherwise very safe for 13+

Synopsis: Brunnhilde and Aldrif are sent to Midgard, and nonsense ensues. 

Aldrif wheezed a laugh still from the ground, and the pitiful sound had Brunn moving to extend her hand to help her up. “Still preferable to the chill of Hel and the dead,” the smaller woman informed her companion, dusting herself off, “though that could just be my newfound freedom talking.”

“Or a concussion.”

BLACK—the intermediary space between dimensions was black as pitch. No stars or cosmic light shone in this in-between, and the little light offered by Hel’s grey, misty skies was gone in a blink as the two women were pulled through space by what felt like tight, ether fingers squeezing around their ribcages and sucking them down, down, down this narrowing passage between worlds. One second passed, and then another, and just as the pressure began bearing down from above and the sides of them, a small portal of pale beige, brown, and blue glimmered below, and both women were sucked through the open pocket and spat out into another realm.

+++++++

MOJAVE DESERT

AUGUST 5

11:23 AM

“Oh, fuck!” Brunnhilde’s voice hissed as soon as air had filled her lungs again. Aldrif was still gasping for breath beside her, also having landed on her supplies, but was too winded to right herself just yet. Lain back, she brought a hand up to shield her eyes from the scorching light directly overhead. “You would think—” she took a long, rasping breath, “—they would give some warning.”

Beige dust was still swirling around the pair after their fall—and subsequent crash landing—from the sky. And as if choking in space and the hard earth breaking their fall weren’t enough, the dry dust they’d conjured both blew in their eyes and caught in their lungs, leaving the both of them sore, cranky, and hacking up clouds of the stuff.

“It was certainly no Bifrost trip,” Brunn grumbled out, attempting to turn on her side without grimacing. Shrugging off her supplies, she managed to pull herself upright off of the ground and sit herself on her knees with some effort. “Though I don’t think knowing how much it would hurt beforehand would at all have prevented the pain of directly hitting the ground.”

Aldrif still laid out on her back, breathing heavy and clenching her eyes closed beneath the direct light of the sun. “I suppose not,” she breathed, taking another moment before moving to prop herself up on her elbows in the dirt, “but it still would have been nice to know.”

Brunnhilde pushed herself from the ground and managed to stand, if slightly wobbly. She nodded a little at her friend’s comment before facing the beating sun with a hand over her brow. “Stars,” she huffed out the word, “it’s hotter than Surtur’s sack here.”

Aldrif wheezed a laugh still from the ground, and the pitiful sound had Brunn moving to extend her hand to help her up. “Still preferable to the chill of Hel and the dead,” the smaller woman informed her companion, dusting herself off, “though that could just be my newfound freedom talking.”

“Or a concussion,” Brunnhilde cut her glance sidelong to her friend’s smile in their strange situation before sighing out, her shoulders releasing her tension, and evaluating their supplies strewn across the desert floor. She knelt down to unlatch their bags and begin rifling through them.

“Anything damaged?” Aldrif loomed over her friend, not quite willing to fall back onto the ground just yet. Her shadow peered over to watch her work.

“You know,” Brunn began, “if you are certain you do not care to properly become a Valkyrie—formally rather than through mere upbringing—you would make the loveliest tree.” Her face tipped upward to appreciate the cool shade Aldrif’s shadow brought.

Aldrif made a scoffing noise, sidestepping out of her stance and letting blinding sunlight fall on her friend’s face.

“Agh!” Brunn’s serene expression immediately recoiled as bright, startling light shone through the thin skin of her eyelids. She blinked in a rapid succession, shaking her head to dispel the white bursting shapes flashing in her vision. “It was a compliment, you know!”

“You called me a tree!” Aldrif laughed out her incredulity.

Squinting, Brunnhilde spared a glance up to her friend. “No, I said that you would make a lovely tree, in terms of skill, not in appearance. You are very pleasantly woman-shaped,” she attempted to amend. “Besides, you are far too short to be an actual tree,” she turned back to inspecting their supply packs.

“‘Pleasantly woman-shaped?’” Aldrif shook her head, grinning, “Is anything damaged?” She tried again.

Brunn sorted through the first bag quickly—extra sets of clothes, waterskin and food, copious amounts of gold coin. All sat undisturbed for the most part, if slightly squished. Nimble fingers turned the second bag over next, the leather warm and smooth in her grasp, and its contents largely the same. Clothing, water, food, coin. All in decent condition.  

“Nothing broken or leaking to report,” Brunnhilde moved to stand, throwing a braid behind her back and hefting the first pack over her shoulder.  She dusted off the other before handing it Aldrif’s way.

“Wonderful, thank you,” her friend murmured, reluctantly taking the bag and adjusted it to fit somewhat comfortably at her back, though the weight of the coins had the strap digging into her skin no matter what.

Brunnhilde readjusted the pack on her own shoulder for what must have been the fifth time since leaving Folkvangr, Freyja’s personal hall. “Where did Freyja even get all of this Midgardian gold anyway?” she muttered under the strain.

Aldrif tried to shrug. “She claims the Midgardians offered it to her as a gift when last she was here. That would have been centuries and centuries ago on this realm, though.”

“And they just gave it to her?” Brunn gave a disbelieving look at that. This had not even been the extent of it all, merely what they had managed to carry with them. 

Aldrif could only shrug again. “Really, I am less worried about where it came from than if it is still used as some kind of viable currency today.” Her mother had not seemed to want it, at any rate.

“Even if it is antiquated and out of use, surely it must be worth something,” Brunn argued lightly. “Worth more, even, if it holds some historical significance for the people here,” she mused. “My only concern is how we will be able to sell centuries-old coins without drawing attention to ourselves.”

“Draw more attention than emerging from within a desert without proper supplies, you mean?” Aldrif quipped. 

Brunnhilde gave a sigh, long-suffering and deep. “Let’s start walking.”

+++++++

TRADER’S PAWN SHOP

AUGUST 5

2:57 PM

A bell chimed their entrance as they pushed open the door of the dusty brick shopfront. Brunnhilde and Aldrif all but fell inside, their rush to escape the scourge of heat that was the full afternoon sun was so desperate. Both looked about for the shopkeeper (for who else would the bell alert?) but found no one waiting—only shelves.

There must have been over a hundred shelves—lining the walls, stacked back to back, and wedged into any free space the small room that comprised the store had. With each stocked top to bottom with what could reasonably be considered junk, the shelves twined this way and that in a narrow, warren path that led further into the heart of the cluttered shop.

“I almost like it better outside,” Brunnhilde wiped at some of the sweat on her brow with her sleeve.

The two women exchanged a glance before Brunn removed one of the small bags of coin to loop around her waist and entered the nearest strait between two shelves holding some kind of mechanical equipment. Aldrif’s eyes followed the geometric lines of the devices as she passed, most of the rectangular things peppered with rounds dials and empty wire ports. Some were stamped with VCR or AM’s and FM’s, but all sat undisturbed beneath a coat of dust. A curious noise hummed at the back of her throat, but she continued on, keeping pace with her sword-sister as they forged ahead.

It was slower moving than they were used to in order to avoid knocking into the shelves, but it was steady. As the light from the front windows faded and withdrew their shadows, the humming fluorescent lights above head guided their path through the maze—an unfortunately apt description considering how many dead ends they had come across already in navigating the shop.

“Do you think all of Midgard’s shops are just as bestrewn as this?” Her gaze fell over a line of frayed boots, all of varying styles and colors and all inexplicably missing their match.

“Stars, I hope not,” Brunnhilde breathed, pulling in an elbow to keep from knocking it into a tower of kitchen pans leaning precariously over their ledge. “I’ll stack these damned shelves upon one another and climb my way back to Hel if they are.”

Aldrif huffed out a laugh. “And break the terms of your banishment?” she lowered her tone to something scandalized, “oh Brunn, when will this delinquent streak of yours end? Not that I am complaining, of course,” she was quick to follow up with, “for if you had not been banished for a cycle, I would not have had an excuse to leave Valhalla.”

“I am glad that one of us has found the light in this situation,” Brunnhilde glanced back to scoff at her friend’s teasing, only to have her smile drop as she turned and saw that they’d come to yet another dead end.

“Damn,” she sighed at the wall of dusty luggage. Dropping her pack to the floor with a hard clank, Brunn rolled her shoulder back, massaging at the tension built from the weight of her bag.

“I understand her reasoning,” she started, “and the purpose of the particular law. The Valkyrior are sisters bonded through trust; we train together, we fight together, and we are sworn to protect one another. To court a fellow Valkyrie, to elevate that romantic bond over those of your sworn sisters, potentially endangers the Valkyrior as a whole, especially during battle, if you are more concerned for your lover than your other sisters.” Brunn shook her shoulder out one more time before loading up her bag again and heading back out to retrace their steps.

“And to have a higher-ranking sister seen to be breaking the rules without punishment … that is chaos waiting to happen,” she shook her head, turning a corner where before they had traveled straight through. “I do not regret it, cannot regret what I have with Kàra … but I understand Freyja’s position and the precautions she took. It’s logical.”

“It’s hypocritical,” Aldrif pursed her lips. “She writes her own rules for others to follow but does not have a care to follow them herself—”

“Aldrif—” Brunn’s voice was soft but a warning.

“No, no, I know. Not the place or time,” she waved off the excuse with a roll of her eyes. “In any case, I argued against banishment on your behalf, to no avail. As per usual, Mother would not listen.”

Brunnhilde did not have to look behind her to picture the sour expression twisting the other woman’s mouth. Rather, she merely rounded the next corner and laughed lightly to herself, “I never had a doubt that you would,” she said, “however unnecessary it would be.”

Brunn’s paused at the next turn. Rather than another set of bookcases, the winding labyrinth had finally ended, and they came out to what must have been the back of the store. Cramped still, there was at least enough room for three people to walk shoulder-to-shoulder without knocking anything over, a welcome improvement over having to walk single-file. There were still bookcases lining the open space of the room, all stocked with the first books they had seen since first entering the shop, but while there was the odd loose-leaf parchment sheet or scroll, most were bound in leather and embossed at the spine with the work’s title.

More prominently, however, were the glass cases occupying the center of the space. Separate from those of the inhabitants lining the shelves behind them, these items were clearly being cared for, their cases carefully dusted and glass shined.

The first item to draw Aldrif’s gaze was a set of silver gauntlets. They appeared sturdy and, if she had to guess, Thanagarian. The distinctive nth metal barely glinted in the light but thrummed with trapped energy, as if in reaction to having been seen. She dragged her gaze down the line of cases, noting even more items of extraterrestrial origin: a rusted Tamaranian tiara, a ring-sized, intact Zamaron crystal, and a small, glowing cybernetic eye that blinked at irregular intervals. Aldrif gave a smile and wave to the blinking thing, and Pegas the Pirate King’s eye followed the pair of women as they continued past the case.

“How curious,” she mused lightly, “I wonder where they would have found these.” The Midgardians had not yet connected with other cosmic life that they were aware of.

Brunnhilde was more concerned, however, with the man behind the case, who had yet to speak but stared with dark, observant eyes at the two of them. His face was craggy, obviously weathered by time, but rather than grey hair, the wiry strands atop his head were a shocking, violent orange. He moved to offer a greeting, and Brunnhilde drew her dagger, a natural extension of her arm, and struck it out between them.

“Hello,” the man’s demeanor seemed unbothered, bemused even, as he eyed the patterns on the blade of her dagger still upraised. His eyes flicked from the Valkyrior blade to Brunn and Aldrif before flicking back to the patterns on the blade. His lips curved into a small smile. “Are we to exchange pleasantries, or had you planned on threatening me all afternoon?”

The women said nothing, and Brunnhilde’s blade never lowered.

“If not pleasantries, we should at least exchange names,” the man argued without concern. His demeanor relaxed, he folded his arms behind his back as he continued eyeing them up.

The motion had Brunn drawing another blade from her belt.

“All right, all right,” he brought his hands up in defense, “I shall start introductions then.” Small, pallid hands rose to straighten the fabric of his cape thrown over his shoulders. A preparatory breath, and another for drama’s sake. “My name … is Trader.”

Aldrif blinked, waiting for more of an explanation, and furrowed her brow as silence settled once more between the three of them without one. “Trader?” she scoffed, “Surely that is not a name but your occupation.”

“It is a name,” Trader defended. His hand fell from its delicate placement at his chest to drop by his side in annoyance, “and it is the name all of my clientele use.”

“What clientele?” It was Brunnhilde’s turn for disbelief. “All of your shelves are full and seemingly untouched—it doesn’t appear that you sell anything to anybody.”

“I think it’s because of the dust,” Aldrif muttered out, more to Brunn than to the man. “It really is unprofessional and doesn’t exactly inspire confidence in a buyer if you’re not committed to keeping your shop to at least the barest minimum level of hygiene.”

Brunnhilde nodded, knives still upraised.

Ire flashed in his dark eyes at their discourteous words, and both women noted the shaking of his hands and how the lights overhead seemed to flicker in unison as he balled his hands into pasty fists. His skin flushed purple until with a long, steadying breath, he smoothed his hands out over the glass.

“I believe I heard the unmistakable clinking of gold as you two tramped through my store, did I not? You’ll not find anyone that offers a better deal for historical artifacts in this city than myself—though I do not do business with those who will not reveal to me their names first.” He gave them a pointed look.

For a moment, all three of them were merely looking at one another—Trader to Brunnhilde’s blades with some interest, Brunnhilde to Aldrif with her suspicion, and finally Aldrif to Trader with impatience. Aldrif brought a hand to lower Brunn’s weapons herself.

“If introductions must be made then let us get them over and done with,” the girl huffed, “My name is Aldr—"

“Angela,” Brunnhilde cut in, sheathing her blades at last as she spoke again. “Angela and—” she cut a glance at the bookshelf behind them once more, “and Valerie.” Trader, as the man referred to himself, opened his mouth as if to dispute the validity of the names, but Brunn interrupted before he had the chance. “They are names,” she said, “the names that all of our friends use.”

Trader’s smile was small, a flash on his face before it disappeared, but genuine. “And we are to be friends now then?”

“If you can get us as good of a deal for this gold as you claim you can,” the first cloth bag clanked noisily on the glass-top counter as Brunnhilde tossed it before him, “we’ll be the best of friends.”

The glass had jumped beneath the weight of the bag being tossed down, jostling the items inside that segment of the glass cases and earning them a scowl from the small man. For a moment the bag sat untouched between the two of them, but as his eyes darted between them and the bag, Trader silently reached forwards to pull it toward him and untie the stays.

With the man preoccupied, his silver loupe and gold pieces in hand, Aldrif took the moment to turn back to Brunnhilde. “You brought your blades?” she mouthed to her, hardly even a whisper between the two of them.  Brunn merely shrugged, and Aldrif scanned over her friend, noting now more places on her person that stashed weapons. She herself hadn’t even though to bring Xiphos.

“These are very old—and genuine,” Trader’s smile beamed at the latter bit of information. “10th century Viking and in wonderful condition for their age; the detail of the coins is still very clear. They were obviously well-kept.” He nodded his approval at the two women. “They’ll be very easy to sell.”

Aldrif leaned into the counter absentmindedly as her attention shifted and she watched him examine the coins piece by piece. “You’re not curious at all as to how we came by these?”

Trader made a noise of disinterest low in his throat, waving a hand at the idea. “Not important.”

“Oh? It doesn’t bother you that they might be stolen?” Aldrif persisted, earning a sharp elbow and pointed look from her friend.

“Most valuable artifacts are,” he shrugged, looking up at them from his work, “but it doesn’t affect the resale value, so …” he made a face as he trailed off.

Aldrif breathed a laugh at that. “Money before morals then?”

“Now you’re getting it,” Trader offered a grin for her comment, before gesturing to the long line of artifacts enclosed in glass beneath their hands, “though I much prefer to have … things. Rare, one-of-a-kind things, rather than money.”

She nodded, “I can see that.”

Conversation stilled as Trader finished his examination of the coins, noting on a separate sheet the number of coins and their grade and condition. He piled the gold pieces back into their bag and tied off their stays with a delicate bow before stowing the whole thing beneath the glass case and out of their site. The soft shuttering of a cabinet door sounded, then a lock, and finally he was back above-counter.

“Did you have a preference for payment?” He asked them, his pencil steadily scritching away at the paper he was finishing. As he reached the bottom of the receipt, he wrote out a lengthy number before turning the page around for the women to see. “How is this? Seem fair enough?”

Both Aldrif and Brunnhilde glanced down at the number, unsure how exactly the exchange rate between Midgard’s system and their own compared, but trusted the confidence he held in the offer, especially in lieu of having any other option.

Brunnhilde nodded, checking with Aldrif before clearing her throat and confirming aloud. “Seems fair.”

“Wonderful,” Trader wrote out his signature at the bottom of the transaction’s receipt in a rich flourish before looking up once more. “And … payment preference?”

Brunn looked to Aldrif for an answer, who only mirrored back her own confusion at the question with a slight shake of her head.

“In … in currency?” Aldrif tried.

Trader paused, blinking once as he read the body language exchanged between the two. The woman’s answer had him sighing out, leaning back from the counter, and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You are not familiar with the various forms of currency here.” It was a statement, not a question. “Some of my more … foreign, non-existent clientele,” his eyes cut to Brunnhilde for her earlier comment, “are similarly ignorant … though—” he brought a hand to cover over his mouth as he thought, “—I really do not have the time now to offer a thorough breakdown of the current monetary system here, with an upcoming appointment arriving soon.”

Aldrif threw a cautious, sidelong glance back to the maze of bookshelves, the way they had come into the latter half of the store and the only clear exit should a stranger or strangers ambush them while they were unprepared. Brunnhilde, with similar thoughts, moved to rest her hands at the hilt of her blades at the mention of others arriving.

“You will not need those,” Trader removed his hand to say, catching the slight movement. “The kind I deal with are interested more in trades and profit than in battle, though draw a blade on them, and I cannot say they will react as well as I did.”

“The same kind that stole those cosmic relics for you?” Aldrif leveled a wary look at him.

Trader tapped his knuckles on the counter, seemingly ignoring the harsh accusation altogether. “I really do not want to have to trade one of my own things.” His voice hitched a small whine at the thought. “I like my things.”

“And believe me, we do not want anything of them,” Brunn assured the man for his worry.

Another round of finger tapping against glass, a disgruntled purse of his lips, and Trader was sighing out again. “I suppose, in the interim, I can lend you my card to use until you’ve been properly educated in cash.” His figure bent below the display cases once more, and the sound of cabinet doors sounded once more, before a lock unhitching, and another, and then a small, metallic card was slapped on the countertop with a plastic thwack.

“Do not lend it to anyone else,” he warned, his dark copper brows lowering seriously over his eyes as he slid the thing across to them, “and do not lose it.”

Aldrif took the card from the glass-top with some curiosity, turning it over in her hands and feeling the cool smoothness of it. “And this is money?” She looked back up to him.

“It’s for charging your purchase, like a running tab,” Trader nodded, “but it is connected to my own personal banking account and money, which is why you are going to take great care to ensure it remains in your possession and out of the hands of thieves.” He patronized.

The sharp singing of metal rang from Brunnhilde’s waist as she unsheathed a blade from her belt once more to flourish through the air in show. “It will be worse for the thief that attempts to steal from us, undoubtedly.”

“Fair enough,” he snorted his amusement before thinning his expression again. “Though, while on the subject of thievery, have you secured any kind of housing accommodation or hotel for your stay here already?”

“Well, no,” Aldrif answered, “though now with the means—” she held up the card, but Trader was already raising his hand to interrupt her before she could continue further.

“I’ll not have you two running off to the first flea-bitten motel you come across to offer up my information on a golden platter to some thieving rogue. No, no,” with a shake of his head, Trader was moving again, bending over and rifling through an extraordinarily cluttered drawer for a pen and paper. “I keep an open room on-hand at a luxury hotel on the Strip,” he glanced up as he shook the ink pen a moment. “It’s convenient for lodging new, affluent clientele I want to make a point to impress, though you two are free to squat there until any clients of that nature come along.” He grinned.

Brunnhilde could not contain the roll of her eyes to the back of her head. “We are ever grateful,” her tone was dry, “for trusting us with both your money and property.”

“Oh, it’s a rented room,” Trader’s smile bared his teeth a little at her reaction. “Better for collecting collateral, too, should you fail to safeguard my card and allow my information to fall into another’s lap.”

Aldrif furrowed her brow. “Collateral?”

“The other bags of gold coin,” he gestured to their packs resting farther back behind them. “I know I heard the clinking of many, many more like the bag you sold me today. So long as my account is safe from thieves, your coin is safe from myself—unless you decide to sell off more of it, of course.” He looked between the two of them. “Fair?”

“Fair enough,” Brunnhilde gave a short nod.

“Good,” he finished writing out the address and directions, sliding the paper across the countertop. “Angela, Valerie—I do think you might recognize the place.”

[sugatsby]

Caught in a Storm

Group: BTS

Pairing: Kim Namjoon X Reader

Rating: Fluff

Prompt: “We’re in the middle of a thunderstorm and you wanna stop and feel the rain?”

Word count: 1,131

Warnings: none

Requested by: @coolenouki-blog | Here you go, love!

“I’m glad your nieces liked me so much,” the boy besides you laughs wholeheartedly.

You turn to look at him, a smile adorning your features at the memory. “I’m sure they were very glad I brought you,” you giggle, reaching out to place your hand on his knee.

His muscles are relaxed underneath your touch, the total opposite from the way his muscles tensed up when you were on your way to visit your family. Once a year, your family would take the time to come together and spend the weekend with each other. It was always a lot of fun. You would plan it in the summer, go to the lake, where your family owned a couple of cabins, and hang out. There would be all kinds of activities for the little ones, and plenty of food and drinks for the adults. And at the end, you would have one giant cookout. It was an event you always looked forward to.

This year, was no different, but this time you had brought Namjoon with you. You had been dating for almost a year, but he had never really met any of your extended family. But while you had been looking forward to seeing your family again and introduce them to your beau, he had been a nervous wreck. You had told him that he didn’t need to worry, that they would welcome him with open arms, but he didn’t believe you. He wanted to, but his nerves got the better of him every time he thought of all the things that could go wrong.

Turns out, you were right. Everything went fine and everyone had been nothing but welcoming and nice to him. Your cousin had visibly looked him over and gave you his stamp of approval, and even though your grandmother seemed a bit sceptical at first, she also fell in love with him over the weekend.

Your annual cookout was a big success. Especially when your two little nieces found out that the tall, intimidating male turned out to be a lovable, dimpled klutz and tried to drag him everywhere they wanted him to be. Eventually, you had to actually steal him away from them sneakily for both his and your sake.

But unfortunately, all good things come to an end and after two full days of family activities, childhood stories and sunshine at the lake, you were on your way back home. The sun just went down, leaving strokes of pinks and orange on the horizon. The first stars started to appear, but the heat of the day’s rays of sunshine still lingered.

You let out a content sigh. “I had fun.”

“Hm,” Namjoon confirms, his gaze fixed on the road in front of him but a smile appearing on his features nonetheless. “Me too.”

You sit back and look out of the window. Some grey clouds are already starting to form along the way, the shapes of cotton starting to block the sunset.

It’s probably going to rain soon, you think. Thankfully you’re in the car and the road ahead is as good as empty.

About half an hour later, your assumptions get reality. The first drops are small, but soon enough the sound of splashes on the windows are deafening. Namjoon curses when it seems like the windshield wipers don’t even seem to be doing anything. He slows the car down, your current speed too dangerous for your compromised sight.

You end up driving at a slow pace for the next ten minutes, until Namjoon slows down completely and parks the car at the side of the road.

You don’t notice until the sound of the handbrake pulls you out of your reverie. You look up, confused, and you’re met with one of his brilliant dimpled smiles. “What? Why are we standing still?”

Namjoon doesn’t respond, only looking at you expectantly while the thunder rumbles in the distance.

“Joon, no,” you warn. You should have seen this coming. If there is one thing you know about your boyfriend, it’s that he loves storms.

His smile turns even brighter. “We’re almost home anyway,” he shrugs, reaching for the door handle.

“Joon,” you whine. “Are you serious? We’re in the middle of a thunderstorm and you wanna stop and feel the rain?”

“Yeah,” he beams. And before you can say anything else, he’s out the door.

You sigh. This could actually get very dangerous. You shake your head. Why is he like this? But then again, you can’t help but smile.

There’s a knock on the windshield. Behind the blur of rain streaming down the glass you can see the headlights lighting up the figure of Namjoon waving for you to come outside. Despite the rain you can almost see the shit-eating grin plastered on his face. You sigh again, incredulous to what Namjoon can make you do. And before you know it, your hand reaches for the door.

Climbing out of the car you find that the sound of the rain crashing onto the roof is almost as deafening as the thunder roaring overhead. The water is cold, and it’s a matter of seconds for you to get drenched from head to toe. You welcome the cold drops on your shoulders, a nice contrast to the sun they���d been exposed to earlier today. Then there’s a hand on your upper arm, the delicious feeling of its warmth on your cooling skin causing bumps to erupt from your skin.

Namjoon is just as drenched as you are, looking up at you behind the dark bangs sticking onto his forehead. As you predicted, his dimpled smile is on full display. His eyes are slightly squinted, forming wrinkles around the corners. God, how you love this man.

You don’t even know who moves first. All that matters is the hand running through your hair and the plump lips meeting yours in a soft kiss. It starts off slow and tantalising, but soon enough your hands are around his neck, grabbing at the wet strands of hair.

Lightning flashes in the distance, followed by a deafening rumble. But you don’t make any move to break it off. At some point your tongue slips past his lips, caressing his. You’re shivering, but you don’t care, the feeling of his lips moving against yours fuelling the fire burning in the pit of your stomach.

The honk of a passing car finally causes you to break apart and you can’t help but burst into a fit of giggles at the scene. Namjoon still has that dazzling smile on his face. His eyes are sparkling in the beam of the car’s headlights. He lets out a childlike giggle before grabbing your hand, entwining his fingers with yours and pulling you close.

“Let’s go home.”

[xswestallen]

CinderIris: Chapter 7

WestAllen Cinderella AU

Summary: With his mother death looming, King Henry holds a ball and invites all the eligible maidens in the kingdom, hoping his son, Prince Barry, will finally find a bride. Iris West is a bar maiden, who would love to attend, but, she is very poor and can’t afford a nice dress or a ride to the castle.

Chapter 1 

Archive of Our Own version

Just one day after the royal guard announced that it would be searching for the girl from the ball by having maidens try on the glass slipper, the Prince was informed they had found a girl whom the slipper fit.

Barry’s heart leapt from his chest. That meant his dream girl was on her way to the Palace right now. He apologized to his tutor and ran out of the lesson. He changed into his best suit, having to retie the tie a few times because his hands were shaking with anticipation.

One his way down to the entry hall, the Prince decided to go to the garden and pick flowers for his beloved. A reminder of their intimate conversation from that night in the garden and a classic romantic gesture. Barry couldn’t decide which flowers to bring her. Would she like daisies or would she like tulips? He thought about roses, but they seemed too cliche.

The Prince paced around the flower bed. A terrible but wonderful anxiety made even a simple choice like this feel impossible. None of the flowers were beautiful enough to be worthy of giving her. Then, a patch of irises caught his eye.

The flowers stood tall and proud. Pink, yellow, white, blue, but mostly purple in color, the irises were all unique and intricate. Barry picked his favorites among them and arrange a makeshift bouquet in his hands.

He went to the entry hall, feeling closer to destiny with each step he took. When the doors were in sight, Barry ran towards them. He stopped abruptly just in front of them. On the other side of the door was his love. The thought of seeing her again made his nerves tingle. He took a deep breath, telling himself to be charming.

One of the guards posted at the side of the door smiled, a rare deviation from their typical stone faced stare.

“Am I that desperate looking?” The Prince asked.

“By the way you look, Your Highness, it must be true love.”

Barry smiled.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes.” Barry answered.

The guards opened the doors to the entry hall. The guard on the other side announced the Prince’s entrance. Barry wasn’t listening. His eyes widened as he looked over the people standing in the room.

Captain Singh and several other guards were there. A girl stood in the center of them. Barry’s eyes kept scanning, searching for the maiden who stole his heart.

But, she was not among them.

“Where is she?” Barry asked, rather rudely in hindsight.

The girl stepped forward and curtseyed.

Captain Singh held out his arms. “Your Royal Highness, may I present to you, Miss Patricia Spivot.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness. Please, call me Patty.” The girl said.

Barry barely looked at her. He was still clinging to the hope that the girl would emerge from behind one of the guards.

An awkward silence fell. It was broken when Captain Singh cleared his throat.

The Prince finally greeted Miss Spivot, though ee forwent the common practice of kissing her hand. “The pleasure is all mine.”

Captain Singh continued the introduction. “Miss Spivot is the top of her class in the forensic science program at Royal University. She is also the daughter of a the great and fallen guard, Patrick Spivot. May he rest in peace.”

“Thank you for your father’s service.” Barry said to Patty.

She smiled. “Thank you, Your Highness. I hear you have an interest in forensics as well?”

“Yes.” Barry acknowledged, but he didn’t continue the conversation with Patty. He approached Captain Singh instead.

“Captain,” The Prince whispered. “This is not her!”

“Her foot fit the glass slipper.” Captain Singh informed him. “Are you sure this is not the girl from the ball?”

“Certain. She is too tall, too pale. Her hair is too light and too short. Her eyes aren’t as soft and warm.”

“We were instructed to bring any maiden whom the slipper fit to the Palace.”

“Thank you, Captain. But, it must be coincidence the slipper fit her. She’s not the one I’m looking for.” The Prince sighed.

“Seven is very common shoe size.”

“I know.” Barry admitted. “But, it’s all I have to go on.”

He turned to the girl called Patty. “I am so sorry, genuinely, Miss. But, I’m afraid-”

“I’m not the mystery girl you fell in love with.” Patty finished the sentence for him.

Barry looked at her apologetically.

“I understand.” Patty said.

“I sorry for the inconvenience of traveling here.”

“I should have known better than to come. Of course, I knew I wasn’t the girl you’re looking for. I just thought it might be nice to meet you.”

Patty curtseyed and turned to leave.

Barry felt like a terrible person. This nice girl came to see him, and he brushed her off. Even though she wasn’t the person he was looking for, she was still a person.

“Wait, Miss.” The Prince said, halting her. “I’d like you to have these.” He gave her the flowers.

Patty smiled. “Thank you. They’re lovely.”

“So are you.” Barry told her. “Patty, you are very pretty, and you must be quite brilliant too. It sounds as though we also have common interest. But………”

“I’m not her.” Patty said.

“You will be someone else’s her. A very lucky someone.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.”

The Prince took her hand and placed a soft kiss on it. “Call me Barry.”

Patty smiled somberly. “Goodbye, Barry.”

♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥

“Iris! Iris!” Cecile repeated. She banged her hand on the bar. “Iris West!”

That snapped Iris out of her daydream. She was imaging what it would be like when she was brought to the Palace after having fit into the glass slipper. Trepidation was fading and Iris was starting to feel eager to try on the shoe.

She’d decided not to tell anyone that she was the mystery girl. For one, she wasn’t sure they’d believe. Another, she wanted to wait until the guard came to her cottage and requested she try on the slipper. It would take them a while to get there, as they’d have to fit every maiden in the most affluent parts of the Kingdom before making their way to the South side. Iris wanted to be sure that Barry would not change his mind about this endeavor to find her. She needed to know that he was serious, not just going after her because she was a mystery.

“I’m sorry, Cecile.” Iris said, coming back to reality. “What were you saying?”

“Honey, you’ve been drying that same flask for twenty minutes.”

“Oh….”

Cecile smirked. “Iris, what’s gotten into you? For the past three days you’ve been acting out of character. Head in the clouds and stars in your eyes.”

Iris shrugged. “I’ve been in a pleasant mood.”

“You’ve been walking on air since the ball.” Cecile noted.

“Which reminds me, I am so sorry about your daughter’s gown!” Iris apologized for the hundredth time.

Cecile put  finger over Iris’ lips. “Enough. It’s alright, dear. My daughter was never going to wear that dress again anyway. I’m glad you had a good time in it. And don’t you dare try to give me money. I will throw it back in your face. You work too hard for it, you keep it.”

“You’re too kind.”

Cecile patted herself on the back, making Iris laugh. She then took a long look at Iris, as if x-raying her.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Iris asked.

“Your mood has been more than ‘pleasant’ recently. In fact, I think there’s only one thing that could have you so giddy.”

Iris raised an eyebrow. “What, pray tell, is that?”

“You’ve met someone!” Cecile said in a sing-song voice.

Iris bit her lip. Her cheeks were warm and her stomach did a slip. She felt shy, like a school girl asked about a crush.

“Oh, come on! Tell me about him!” Cecile pleaded.

Iris looked at the floor, Barry’s face swimming in her mind. The past few nights, she lay awake in bed, counting the freckles she remember on his face. The feeling just thinking of him gave Iris was overwhelming. She loved and hated it. He made her feel like she was flying and drowning in the ocean at the same time. Iris wasn’t sure if she wanted fawn over his memory in serenity or scream in desperation due to their distance.

“Please!” Cecile cried again. “You haven’t said anything about the ball. I’ve been dying to hear.

“It was a very nice ball.” Iris said.

“And?” Cecile urged her.

“And…… They have far too much food!”

“And?”

“And…… The orchestra was very talented.”

“And the Prince?”

“Oh, the Prince.” Iris whispered. She’d been avoiding the subject.

“Yes, the Prince!” Cecile insisted.

“Well, he’s tall.” Iris said, truthfully.

“Did you dance? Is he charming as they say?”

“I only danced two dances, both with the same man.” Iris reported, leaving out the detail that the man was the Prince.

“And him?” Cecile pried.

Iris’ heart swelled. “I’d never felt anything like being with him.”

Cecile sipped her drink and looked teasingly at Iris. “Mmmm.”

“I was so anxious when I’d first arrived. Breathless with a wild anticipation of adventure, excitement, and romance. I felt so out of place. I was seriously considering running home, when he asked me to dance.”

“Was he handsome?”

Iris giggled. “Really handsome.”

“I need details!”

“He was tall, very tall. His eyes a mixture of emerald green and soft blue. He was slim but in shape. His hair was dark and wavy. He looked good in his red suit.”

“Red? Bold choice.”

“The Palace was so extravagant, making me feel so humble in comparison. I didn’t recognize a face in the crowd of people. It was scary. But, when I was with him, he made me feel like... I was home.”

Cecile looked on Iris in awe, hanging onto her every word.

“That sounds silly, doesn’t it?” Iris asked.

Cecile put her hand on Iris’ shoulder. “That sounds like love.”

Iris felt embarrassed. She leaned over the bary to hug Cecile.

“Thank you for talking to me. I didn’t realize how much I wanted to tell someone about him until I started. Now, I don’t want to stop.”

“Of course.” Cecile said. “You can always talk to me.”

“I’m lucky to have someone like you in my life.” Iris said appreciatively.

“Iris, I know it may sound strange. Forgive me if I’m overstepping my bounds, but I feel a maternal connection to you. I don’t get to see my daughter as often as I like, so I take extra enjoyment out of spending time with you.”

Iris was touched. She had long looked up to Cecile as a maternal figure, since she lost her own mother at such a young age. “That means so much to me. I don’t remember much about her, but my father tells me how beautiful and kind she was. It reminds me of you.”

The women embraced again.

“I never knew your mother, but I think she would be proud of you. Any mother would.” Cecile said.

A tear escaped Iris’ eye. “Thank you.”

“And any mother would want you to be happy. To find true love and have your happily ever after.”

[soriseerakyra]

Nice to Meet You -10-

 The police hadn’t arrived until almost midnight. In their defense, you hadn’t called about Camille’s kidnapping until about hour after you got there and enough time for the masked man to catalogue whatever he needed to in order to help find Camille. Still, the man had left at around a quarter to eleven and it shouldn’t have taken the police more than a half an hour to get here, with traffic. If this was the response this city had, it was no wonder that they needed vigilantes to do the cops work for them.

 Pulling the blanket tighter against your frame you stared out into the night air and looking at what should have been a beautiful night. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and the stars sparkled like jewels. This place suited Camille, a city girl who still liked to enjoy the stars. Now you can’t help but wonder if she’ll be able to enjoy the sight again.

 You turned your head to look back through the sliding glass doors of the porch watching the police work to find all the clues that had been left.

 ‘I’m glad I didn’t call them when I wanted to,’ you note with an exhausted roll of your eyes.

 It seems that the red man had been right. From what you could see, there was a bevy of mistakes already being made. Officers touching various objects at the crime scene, with no gloves on. Picking up and placing objects in their incorrect places. The entire thing was irritating to watch, but you wanted to wait until they were done, in case they had more questions about Camille.

 Turning your gaze to back to the view of the backyard you find yourself staring at an object. You can’t tell what it is, despite the lights from the inside, the inky black of night seemed to be wrapped around the figure. Taller than the hedges that surrounded it part of it seemed to sway in time with the leaves while the majority of it stood planted, rooted like a tree.

 It only takes a second for your keen eyes to realize that the object is not an it but a whom as they decide to move toward you.

 Your heart pounds slightly when their foot hits the first bit of light coming from inside of the house. Almost instantly the figure is completely illuminated and you understand instantly why Camille had been so fascinated when spoke about him. And seeing him now compared to the way he usually is when you meet him as Bruce Wayne is startling.

 Stern blue eyes stare down at you examining your features as you rub at an itchy tear swollen eye. His lips pull down into a frown as his eyes flicker back to the living room watching as the officers repeatedly make routine mistake after mistake. He clenches his jaw in irritation that he hadn’t arrived before they did and the fact that Jason had deemed it fit enough to send him a taunting message about the crime but not to share the information. He also hadn’t mentioned that anyone, let alone you, were still here.

 “They took Camille,” you say absently voice slightly hollow and hoarse from the crying you’d been doing while waiting for the police to arrive.

 He doesn’t turn to look at you immediately and you can’t tell if he reacts. You’d noted earlier that Bruce was a stone and the cover of night seemed to do nothing but highlight this fact. The dark gray expanse of his suit heaved with him as he took a deep breath and let out an irritated huff through his nose. His cape flew back over his shoulders as he walked into the house.

 You watch as majority of the officers in the room seem to be thankful for his presence. If not in some way reverent of him in general, more happy because it is one more crime they won’t have to worry about solving if he is the one in the case. The head officer seems to shoo away majority of the people, and like rats they scatter back out to their cars for a break.

 He moves around the room in a practiced fashion, his step light for a man so large. Like the red masked man, he stops and cocks his head every so often, examining certain objects, almost like he is scanning them into his memory. What’s different is that he touches very little. Like he can see more than what’s there. A few touches to push something out of the way, but other than that he is almost completely hands off the situation.

 He’s done examining the scene in about twenty minutes, but he doesn’t bother informing the officers that he’s done. He comes back outside to come and stand next to you. And from this position you’re left craning your neck up at him, admiring the jaw line that you’d found so handsome when the two of you first met.

 You realize that this is a different person. From the way, cool blue eyes seemed to examine you as if you were an inanimate object.

 “Who else was here?” his voice rumbles out. Stern and one note, you flush at the unfamiliarity with which he addresses you and how different he sounds from the Bruce Wayne you called for comfort the previous afternoon.

 “There was a man with a red mask,” you say honestly and watch as he blinks absently at you. He clearly knew that already and wanted to know if you’d be truthful with him.

 “Her husband?”

 “She said something about him being out of town, so I’m not sure where Eric is.”

 “You should have the officers take you home, it’s not safe.”

 “Obviously,” you scoff wiping another fallen tear. “I don’t understand though, Camille isn’t like the others, she’s born and raised in Gotham.”

 He watches as you with guarded eyes as your mind works through even the vaguest possibility why someone would kidnap a pregnant woman.

 “And why would someone be tracking her?”

 “What?” he asks.

 “The red mask,” you say gesturing to your face as if he would have no idea what the mask is, when he is wearing a very elaborate one of his own. “When he broke the radio earlier he pulled something out of it, it was small.”

 You make rectangular shape with your fingers showing him the approximate size of the object. Your eyes trace the portions of his face that aren’t covered by the mask and find his lips pulling down into and irritated frown and his eyes narrow in anger.

 “Did I say something wrong?” You question swollen tired eyes blinking up at him slowly.

 “No.”

 You pause and let the silence settle, “Do you think they are going to hurt her?”

 Batman stops and watches you for a moment. Being honest and hurting your feelings for no reason would gain him very little. Even behind the mask, he can’t bring himself to tell you that if he doesn’t find her soon she and he unborn child might be sold off and beyond even his reach.

 Larger tears well up in your eyes at his silence and Bruce has to keep his hand from moving to place his hand on your shoulder in some form of comfort.

 “I’ll try my best to find her,” the Bat responds.

 You nod and stand to your full height, still having to look up at the man, but not nearly at the angle that you’d been forced to before. However, even then he still feels bigger in a way that you cannot describe.

 You turn to fold the blanket that you’d been wearing and you hear the rustle of a cape. When you’re finished, you’re unsurprised to find the Batman gone and make your way to the front of the building to ask one of the officers to take you home.

 ***

You stare blankly at the phone in front of you as Eric’s name flashes on the screen. The vibration of the phone causes it to slide gently around the table.

 He’d been calling for the past half-hour and you couldn’t bear to pick up the phone. You didn’t know what to say to him. The impersonal text you’d sent about his wife being taken was bound to warrant this response, and you still remained unprepared.

 Hesitantly you slide your finger across the lock screen and hit the speaker button. The phone picks up with heavy breathing coming from the receiver.

 “WHAT HAPPENED!” Eric screams.

 “I don’t know,” you gasp out clutching the phone to your chest feeling a sob wrack its way through your body. “I talked to her yesterday afternoon and then when I got to your house she was gone.”

 “But why,” he moans and you can hear the mucus filling his knows as he starts to break down, trying to comprehend that both his wife and child were gone.

 “I think-,” you stop yourself, Eric was never your friend, he was her husband. Dropping your conspiracy theories in a time of grief on him might make him angrier. “Maybe it was a robbery gone wrong.”

 “They didn’t find any blood, right?” He begs.

 “No, they didn’t. They said she probably isn’t hurt.”

 “I fucking hate that town,” he says anger suddenly spewing through his tone. “I should have stayed in Seattle.”

 “What?”

 “Everyday it’s something, you know? It’s not like most cities, Gotham is cursed. No place for a family. Look what they did,” he pauses as a whine forces its way out of his mouth, “They took my wife.”

 “I’m sorry, Eric,” you say throat tightening, blinded by your own tears.

 He pauses for a moment, enough to wipe the tears from his face, “You should go home, before someone takes you too.”

 The beeping in your eye signifies that he’s hung up, leaving you to wallow in your sorrow alone.

 Your eyes hit the late afternoon sky and you wonder how many days that your bosses will let you stay home.

 ***

“It’s not much to go one Bruce, you know he’s not easy to find if he doesn’t want to be,” Barbara mutters, her voice distorted by the speaker.

 “Unfortunately, it's going to have to do for now,” he says as his large arms across his chest. “He has something that could crack this case wide open, and I’m not going to let his tantrum let lives be put in danger.”

 A sigh rolls through the speaker as Barbara relents, “All right, it’s no problem I’ve got this.”

 “Thank you, Barbara,” Bruce says with a smile as the call ends.

 The large tired man leans back in his chair and rubs the Bridge of his nose to relieve some of his stress.

 “Pardon me Master Bruce, but wouldn’t be easier to simply call him?” Alfred comments as he enters the room with a glass a water.

 Bruce takes it with a smile and takes a large gulp, “So he can spend time trying to taunt me and waste everyone's time? No, he’s going to want a fight, it’s just going to be on my terms instead of his, this time.”

 Alfred sighed and rocked himself back on his heels.

 “Have you spoken to your lady friend?”

 Bruce paused putting the glass down, “What about?”

 “You said she knows, I’m surprised that you haven’t you gone out of your way to speak with her.”

 “I don’t want to agitate the situation, Alfred. So far, she hasn’t said anything to anyone, and showing up could push her to reveal it. Plus, I’m not sure if I’m ready to answer any questions that she may have.”

 Alfred pauses and shakes his head at the man that he’d raised, “An awfully cruel thing to do.”

 “What?”

 “Imagine your best friend was kidnapped and the one person whom you know could help refuses to speak to you, despite the fact that you have a personal connection to him.”

 Bruce pauses and leans back letting the older man's words wash over him.

 “Besides, I’m sure she would want to see Bruce Wayne, not Batman. Especially if her mental state is a fragile as you claim.”

 Bruce pauses for a moment and mulls over the words. He certainty didn’t think that you’d have anything to do with the kidnappings now, especially after having watched you cry when you thought no one was looking. Perhaps Alfred was right, he usually is.

 “Thank you, Alfred.”

 “You’re Welcome, Master Wayne.”

 ***

 It’d been a week since Camille had been taken, and you are going out of your mind. The city seemed bigger more dangerous. You’d been avoiding taking the train to and from work like you usually had and been paying the far more expensive fee of taking a yellow cab. However, it was worth it, it brought you some sense of comfort.

 Some of your co-workers had stepped up to help you. They’d pick up some of the extra work that you’d either forget to do or choose not to do and it allowed you to leave a few minutes earlier and be home before the sun would be completely set, and you were more than grateful.

 Luckily for them they wouldn’t have to put up with your slack for too much longer, you’d requested to take a leave of absence for your mental health and so that you could be ready at a moment's notice whenever Camille was found.

 A warm hand on your shoulder caused you to jump and you look up in expressive hazel eyes of Ana who’s smiling at you worriedly.

 “Why don’t you head home for the day? I’ll pick up your things from the copy room.”

 Your eyes flashover to the clock and saw that it’d just turned five and you smile gratefully and stand to pack your things.

 “I really appreciate this,” you say.

 “We understand,” she says with a smile and nodding over to your fellow co-workers who nod at you. “We’ve all had to deal with strange things in Gotham, but you get used to it. When you’re born here its either to deal with, but I can’t imagine what's like for you.”

 “Yeah,” you mumble. “I’ll see you later.”

 “Bye.”

 You hurriedly make your down to the lobby of the building and make your way to the waiting area so you can call your usual cabby.

 However, when you get the lobby you find your breath caught in your chest and the cause of it turns to meet your gaze.

 He stands and smiles at you, the same heart stopping smile that you’re used to and he straightens out his suit.

 “Bruce, what are you doing here?”