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surplus-of-sarcasm · 8 months

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Number 30

TW: Blood, to some extent: gore, somewhat detailed description of injury, murder, angst, smoking, hero is a minor, knife usage, bruises, restraints, (I promise this is [hopefully] not as bad as it sounds)

Notes: No, I have not died. Apparently, I do not die easily. Enjoy tho < 3

Word count: 3.9 k

Today had been uncharacteristically dull for the villain so far. He wondered if he'd described it properly, though, because it had been like that for the entirety of a week. And sure, he wanted the fearsome reputation and days where no one was around to irritate him, but if total, action-free normalcy was his desire, he could have easily stuck with an average, brilliantly staid, white collar job.

And sure enough, fate had heard his pleas, and he found his lip involuntarily curling upwards into a lopsided smirk as he felt someone attempt to sneak up on him.

With his usual deadly efficiency, the criminal had grabbed their arm attempting to twist it backwards, almost successful until the figure broke out of his vice-like grip. They were much smaller than he was; a little short and somewhat scrawny, but the villain knew better than to underestimate someone simply because of size. However, his opponent wasn't just small, they were young. From the attempt to make the grunt sound a lot rougher than it actually was, he realised he was fighting a teenage boy.

Not being the sentimental type; the hero's age hadn't sparked a sudden pang of sympathy in the villain, but it was a little disconcerting fighting someone he practically saw as a child. Functionally though, that simply meant that the fight would end a lot faster than he'd anticipated.

The villain aimed a kick to the teenage hero's shins, only for him to dodge narrowly and counter with a kick of his own. It was barely strong enough, only slightly irritating against the older man's leg. The criminal simply slammed his fist into his adversary's face, leaving a trail of dull, purple bruises lining the cheekbone, more to assuage his pride than anything else. And the villain was no sadist, but it was just slightly amusing listening to the little hero grumble a filthy curse under his breath.

"Better watch your tongue," he mock-chastised, as he punched the kid's nose.

"Bloody hilarious," the teen answered dryly, having the audacity to roll his eyes, ignoring the sting in them as he maneuvered his body away from the villain's reach, managing to aim a harsh punch to his lip, and when the villain's fingers reflexively trailed down his lip, they came away stained with crimson.

For a brief, almost imperceptible moment, the hero's own shock matched the villain's, but while the little bastard's expression turned ever so slightly more smug as one of his eyebrows arched subtly, the muscles in the villain's face worked to pull it into a dark scowl.

His arms snaked around the younger's neck in a relentless death grip, the hero kicking and flailing uselessly in his grasp. "Playtime's over, short stack. Whose sidekick are you? Wouldn't want to break some hero's little toy," he growled, his hold still rough on the teen, but loosening only slightly so that he could speak.

"No one's. . .sidekick," he barely managed to breathe out as he gasped for air, taking in greedy breaths.

"Don't play martyr," he snapped, tugging slightly at the hero's hair, not meant to be awfully painful, rather just enough to pull him out of whatever foolish trance he was attempting to immerse himself in.

"I'm. . .not, I just st-started out as a hero. Sixteen's the youngest age."

"Like hell you're sixteen," the villain scoffed, even though to him that age seemed absurdly young to be anywhere that wasn't high school. He knew for a fact the hero wasn't lying because knowing the agency, they were just that desperate.

Or more accurately, just that scummy.

He let him go, the hero practically stumbling and slamming into the building behind him, wheezing and gasping for air, and yet there was a fiery look of absolute loathing burning in the grass green eyes as he held the villain's gaze for a few moments before storming away.

Maybe he wasn't feeling insanely surly, but a quick shower and being back home had lightened his mood just slightly. But for the most part, the villain wasn't sure what to make of the interaction. He wasn't so weak-willed that the hero's little lucky moment of bravado had intimidated him, letting out a cocky snort as he dabbed at his lip with a piece of cotton soaked in antiseptic, the familiar burn crawling across his skin still slightly irritating.

And sure, he wasn't exactly elated at having practically beaten up a kid, but maybe not every fight had to be rewarding. Then again, wasn't like most criminals would actually bat an eye over his age. If anything, he was doing him a favour showing him exactly what he was up against. The villain assumed that this was another minor irritation that would melt away as he pushed himself through rudimentary tasks and then slept through it.

And as the sky darkened into an inky black and stars littered the dark canvas, and he pushed himself into his sheets and let his exhausted mind finally rest, he'd proved his own theory correct once again. Even more so as the start of the next day went by as normally as it would for well. . .a villain.

But most theories had to be tested time and time again till they either persevered or shattered into a million shards like glass, and unfortunately for Villain, the latter was the punishment he was condemned to. Sure, he wasn't particularly appreciative of yet another slow day, but his daily dose of sanity-preserving action really didn't need to be teenage hero shaped.

Taking in a long drag from his cigarette and letting out phantom shapes of smoke in an impossibly slow exhale, an inconspicuous side-eye was the only acknowledgement he showed of the little bastard's presence.

And of course, as he predicted, the young menace didn't seem to appreciate the blatant trampling on his ego that the older man was handing to him, inching closer till he was practically in the villain's face.

"What? Got lost looking for your babysitter? I'm not even asking for trouble now," he drawled coolly as he breathed in the tobacco smoke, the familiar burnt taste numbing the inside of his mouth again, not that he cared much.

"You wouldn't be dressed like this if you weren't asking for trouble," the hero snapped back, raising a half-skeptical, half-annoyed eyebrow and gesturing to the villain's costume.

The snort the man let out was genuine. Sure, the kid was an absolute pain, but in all honesty, he had a point. He quickly sobered up from the mildly amused expression just to remind him he wasn't here to screw around. "What I mean is, I'm not really interested in playing with children. So in the nicest way possible, piss off, kid."

"Why'd you let me go yesterday?" the hero asked, aiming a punch to to the villain's stomach that he effortlessly countered, throwing his cigarette in the snow and crushing it under his boot.

"Because I felt like it? What would I gain from decking a goddamn kid? I've got better crap to do. The real question here, is why did you come back to try and fight me, Superbrat?" he countered flippantly, aiming a kick to the hero's shins.

The kid's eyes narrowed and he grit his teeth in such a manner that anyone would assume it physically pained him to answer. "Because you actually took me seriously."

At this, the criminal outright cackled. "You call that taking you seriously? Have you ever been in a fight before?" he scoffed, aiming a particularly harsh kick to his abdomen, knocking him to the ground. "This is taking you seriously. Don't like it much?"

Instead of the petulant remark he expected, all he received was a heavy wheeze as the hero tried and failed to lift his form up. And just before he could sneer at him, his vision was met with a violent spurt of crimson from a nasty gash across the boy's form, staining the snow a deep red as it seeped out across torn flesh, shredded layers of angry skin and muscle clumsily sutured to cause more harm than good, probably the kid's handiwork.

"I didn't do this to you," the villain half-whispered, unable to completely mask the horror in his tone.

"W-whatever," the hero wheezed out as he let out a weak, shuddering breath, biting down harshly on his bottom lip to stop himself from howling out in agony, still letting out a sharp hiss.

As if on instinct, the villain scooped his form up, surprised at how little he weighed in his arms. He himself had been on the skinnier side at that age, but he reckoned he wasn't this light. He tried his hardest to staunch the bleeding with one hand, muttering curses under his breath as his feet worked mechanically to get him home.

"Happy?" the hero breathed out, smirking almost cruelly at him as his head lolled back and forth, and he slipped into unconsciousness.

"No," he wanted to scream, but all that came out was a frustrated snarl from the back of his throat, desperate and almost animalistic in nature. He had no bloody idea what he was doing. But he didn't think of that. The hows and the whys were pushed to the back of his mind, far away from the conscious parts of it, his actions all purely reflexive.

If he wasn't so frantic, maybe the villain would have been irritated at the blood seeping into his leather couch, but right now, his attention was fixated on the still unconscious teenager as he cleaned out his wound as thoroughly as he could and started stitching him up.

And of course, mid-stitch, he just had to wake up again, his eyelashes fluttering gently as his eyes cracked open, and he let out a sharp gasp and the villain had to force his shoulder down as he tried to jerk away. "Stay down," he barked, like it made a difference.

But to his luck, the hero's gaze flitted down to his abdomen noticing the needle and while he hadn't completely relaxed, at least he'd stopped squirming. If he was being honest, he was surprised the kid was still holding out through the process, trying his hardest to release the tension in his muscles so as not to mess up the process. His jaw was clenched, his face set in a sombre expression that made him look years older than he really was. But his eyes held a look of fear and mistrust that mirrored the villain's younger self to disturbing degrees.

Still, he kept his attention on the wound and after what felt like eons he was finally done. He backed away, taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly, looking the wound over before cleaning up and washing his hands in the kitchen.

When he walked back in, he was met with the hero's stern expression. "What the hell?" he attested, raising a confused eyebrow.

"So manners weren't included in your agency training?" The villain raised an eyebrow, folding his arms across his chest.

The hero let out a laboured breath in response, his eyes practically boring into the floor before turning towards the villain. "Why'd you help me?" he questioned, rubbing his left temple and part of his forehead.

"I'm not entirely opposed to killing, but I need a good reason to get my hands dirty. You aren't one. And you know damn well why a hospital is too big of a risk," he replied evenly.

"Don't you think helping a hero would soil your reputation? They'll think you're going soft." An involuntary shiver racked the hero's form, his current lack of a shirt being the culprit as he continued trying to melt his headache away with his fingers.

"And you'll go telling? You really think I got here without knowing how to hide my dirty laundry? If I kiss up to the soulless bastards, the others will think I'm disgusting for murdering some child. If you can't play by your own rules, you might as well already decide what you want on your gravestone. God, why am I still talking to you?" He pinched the bridge of his nose, screwing his eyes shut.

The kid said nothing, shivering again and staring at the floor. Manipulative little bastard. The villain tossed him a blanket draped on an arm chair as flippantly as he could before walking out.

Soft. He didn't like that word, didn't like its implications. He didn't like how the hero, with all his childish naivety, was still sharper than he expected. Sure, he was a kid, a bloody injured kid technically at his mercy, but the magnitudes of his trust in the hero and that of the ridiculous distance he could throw him had an awfully large difference between them. If he could spare this kid once and then nurse him back to health, what was to guarantee that with enough time he would melt into something unbearably weak and malleable? He tugged at the roots of his hair in frustration, wishing his mind could shut up for even a moment.

It looked like the kid had even managed to ruin a steamy shower for him.

"Where are your parents?" He asked, walking in, now in fresh clothes, not bothering with a mask since the hero practically knew where he lived now.

His head snapped up sharply, his shoulders tensing in apprehension underneath the blanket. "I don't know. We've never met," the boy answered with perfect emotionlessness, and the villain despised how well it mirrored his own attitude. The hero felt more like a pseudo-adult than a kid.

"Okay." He wasn't going to pry any further, and it seriously didn't matter to him if the hero was lying. But he imagined he wasn't. The kid didn't have the slightest idea what a sense of self-preservation was. But was it really the villain's job to give him one? To do any of this?

He found himself in the balcony again, his elbows resting on the railing, another cigarette between his lips. He was twenty-five, not intending on having any kids now, if ever, and here he was. "Just a merciful mood," he thought. That was all it was. The hero would recover, they would go on their separate ways and hopefully never encounter each other again.

Right now, however, he realised he was going to have to grit his teeth and play pretend parent for the little brat. "Go clean up. Upstairs, bathroom on the left. If you pop your stitches, I'm not bloody redoing them again, don't care how much you bleed out," he bit out tersely.

He was lucky he still had enough food left over from yesterday because even though he normally didn't mind cooking, he was in no mood for it today.

It wasn't so long before the hero was done showering, and in some of the villain's clothes, comically loose on his frame. "I swear if you ask me some dumb question about the food being poisoned, I just might do it for real," he warned, something entirely feral in his eyes. And if the hero had known the man better, he would've known the gesture was purely theatrical.

"Some place you've got," the hero attested, breaking the tense silence between them.

The villain couldn't help as his lip curled into a lopsided smirk. "I'd love to tell you that I'm in this field purely for my moral stance, or lack thereof, but the pay is just too sweet to ignore."

"Alright. No henchmen or servants to do your bidding?" He raised an eyebrow at him inquisitively.

"Nah. If you work alone, no one can stab you in the back or slack on the job and screw everything up for you."

The hero let out something between a tired sigh and a laugh, and the tension in the atmosphere resurfaced again, thick and uncomfortable but not at all unfamiliar.

The rest of the evening they'd spent in total avoidance of each other until the villain had practically thrown himself into his own bed, after giving the hero a room to sleep in. He'd tossed and turned so many times he'd lost count, the dark corners of his mind tormenting him with disturbing ideas of the consequences of his decision. He'd known he was paranoid, but was it really this severe?

His tired, red-rimmed eyes had cracked open only a little after sunrise, the jolt of waking up with a start infuriating to him. Grumbling under his breath, he threw a robe on his form, too lethargic to even put a shirt on, and almost instinctively he slowly made his way upstairs. . .

. . .to find the hero's room empty, his clothes on the bed, and just like he'd suspected as he went downstairs, the dirty suit missing along with its owner.

Well, the kid was out of his hair now, left to face the consequences of his own pathetically foolish decision. Any lingering feelings of disappointment in him had simply and efficiently been ignored as he went on with his day, completely teen hero-free.

"Just a merciful mood," he'd reminded himself every time he'd wondered if the hero would randomly show up and attempt to fight him again. And the day turned into weeks and then into almost a month or two, he wasn't counting, and the hero no longer disturbed the peace of his thoughts.

Until he didn't. . .

All it took was an inconspicuous text notification he wouldn't have even noticed if the phone wasn't in close proximity of him. Other Villain was at it again with trying to piss him off, subtle threats, trying to ruin his plans, all sorts of stupid garbage in a series of pathetic attempts to get back at him.

Well, he would give him exactly what he wanted, as a last wish of course. Kindness was a virtue.

The drive there felt longer than it actually was, but everything felt slow when he was pissed anyway. But there wasn't any reason to care about speed, was there?

He must've thought he was so clever, like Villain hadn't bypassed his fortress's crappy security a million times before, as he was doing right now. And he'd finally found the room where the prick was cowering away, kicking the door in effortlessly.

"It's playtime bast-"

His words were immediately cut off and caught in his throat as his gaze flitted over from Other Villain's sick, smiling face to Hero's diminished figure. If he'd believed the hero looked terrible before, there was a whole new level of hell written all over him, bruises on every inch of skin that his tattered suit exposed, tried blood caked over his lips and matted hair, the golden blond now a dishwater gray with filth. He was bound in ropes, and still through it all, his jaw was set, the muscles of his face tensed perfectly in place just not to show emotion.

And yet his eyes betrayed him as he looked at the villain apologetically, doing everything in his power to stop himself from breaking down in tears.

"Listen, whatever the hell you want, leave the kid out of it," the villain growled.

Other Villain merely let out a soft, genuinely amused chuckle. "So you do care for him. Well, you'll be happy to know that even after all this," he tugged on the hero's hair harshly, and the villain wondered if he could grit his teeth any harder, "he blatantly refused to give me your location. I'd almost thought you'd kill him, but when I saw you take him, and then he was back alive and well, I figured it out."

Of course. He was nothing, if not a cowardly rat. He couldn't possibly let Villain know he was being followed, rather deciding to drag him right here in his territory.

"Close your eyes, kid."

"Bu-"

"Close your goddamn eyes," he snarled, and the hero obliged.

He knew the kid could still hear everything, but it was better than nothing, no matter how much he hated it.

Once again, everything the villain was doing was reflexive, but this time, an inexplicable rage took over his limbs, spreading like wildfire all over his body, something akin to poison in his bloodstream.

He mercilessly kicked the other man down, and once he'd gotten up, the villain's switchblade was in his thigh, twisting it through the skin and flesh and tearing through it with reckless abandon, blood spurting everywhere.

He couldn't even hear Other Villain scream, seeing only red both literally and figuratively, as he pulled his knife out and pushed it back in so many times he lost count, till he finally pulled away from the other criminal's mangled corpse, bone and blood vessels sticking out grotesquely in some places, his breathing laboured and his shoulders tensed as though he were no more than a wild animal.

He wasted no time cutting through Hero's restraints. "Didn't I tell you not to bloody play martyr?" he choked out, pulling the kid into his arms as the knife clattered to the ground.

"Why'd you do it?" he said softly.

The hero had stiffened at first at the contact, but now he was practically leaning into the villain with all his weight, barely able to hold himself up as he shook like a leaf in the older man's arms, slowly reciprocating. "You c-could've let me d-die," he breathed out, tone uneven and shaky as the villain felt the fabric of his costume get progressively damper. "You didn't. Yeah, I ran away, I freaked. I can barely trust. . .people I'm supposed to trust, let alone a villain, and I'm sorry, didn't mean to screw you over."

"It's okay," he replied carefully, tears streaming down his own face silently, awkwardly patting the hero's hair. He was still fairly new to the whole affection thing. "Let's go home." The villain waited till the hero pulled away before gesturing for him to follow.

One year later. . .

"I take it your date went well seeing as you're back this late?" the kid, now seventeen, and a considerable few centimetres taller asked, sprawled out lazily on the couch, practically his now as much as it was the villain's.

"Was a bloody disaster actually," he said through a snort, sliding his jacket off on a chair, a bit too lazy to change right away.

The teen let out an amused hum, gesturing for him to explain further.

"She tried to poison my drink. Shame she was pretty cute, though." He sat himself down next to the vigilante (he still fought crime, but he selectively ignored what the villain was up to. . .), letting out a tired sigh.

"And you just. . .called it a day?"

"I told her if she led me to her employer, I wouldn't shoot her. never go anywhere unarmed if you can. See, I spilled my drink on the floor. And it turns out she works for a bastard, and well. . .hungry dogs aren't loyal. So he's dead, and I'm even with my sugar-sweet date."

The hero couldn't help it as his smile turned into a laugh, the villain soon following suit. Instinctively, the villain wrapped his arm around the younger's shoulders, mirroring the kid's grin.

Whatever that was between them may have been far from perfect. Sometimes, there were days when they'd accidentally aggravated each other's older wounds, days when they just didn't have the right words and days where they didn't fully understand. But maybe they didn't have to all the time, maybe they just had to try. They still had time, much to learn and a lot to figure out. But at least they knew for a fact you can find a family in people you can choose.

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dystopicjumpsuit · 5 months

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Stars Beyond Number - Chapter 13

As the Wind

Rating: T (rating varies by chapter; mature content will be tagged; regardless of rating, minors DNI)

Pairings: Echo x Riyo Chuchi; Gregor x OFC Cerra Kilian

Wordcount: 3.6k

Warnings and tags: suspense, some action, temporary hearing loss, Star Wars swearing

Suggested Listening:

Summary: The team undertakes an extraction mission, and Cerra sees a familiar face.

A/N: This story shares continuity with Martyrs and Kings and "Do It Again," but all three fics can be read as stand-alones.

Rat's coat, crowskin, crossed staves in a field

Behaving as the wind behaves

—T. S. Eliot, “The Hollow Men”

Cerra’s contact network finally came through with a ship that satisfied all of their requirements for the Balmorra mission: an old mining vessel with an auxiliary leech. It didn’t have the speed or firepower they needed, but retrofitting it with upgraded thrusters and weapons would be fairly straightforward.

In a stroke of pure, unadulterated bad luck, the ship’s availability coincided with Cerra’s mission to Raada, which meant that Gregor and Rex were unable to provide backup on the operation. Gregor had been distant since their ill-fated excursion to the market, apparently unreconciled to Cerra’s decision to go ahead with the mission. Fireball and Echo accompanied her instead.

En route to Imperial military HQ, she changed into the scratchy wool officer’s uniform she’d “requisitioned.” Rex had taken a single look at it and declared that he didn’t want to know how she got it, which was probably for the best. The captain was willing to do whatever it took to get the job done, but he still balked at some of Cerra’s shadier dealings.

“Eyes front, trooper,” Echo barked.

Cerra turned in time to see Fireball snap to attention and stare fixedly out the front viewport with a guilty expression. She finished dressing quickly and went to stand behind Fireball’s seat.

“You need to get out more, buddy,” she said, punching his armored shoulder lightly.

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir,” he replied stiffly.

She laughed, and he relaxed as his expression turned sheepish. “Been a while, has it, soldier?”

Fireball mumbled something about entire life under his breath, but Cerra opted not to torment him any further. The plan was for Echo to drop her off far enough from HQ that she wouldn’t be spotted leaving the ship. She would walk the rest of the way to the base and pass through security with a forged chain code that Echo had provided. Once inside, she would make her way to the Raada transport. Echo had also created a set of fake orders in case anyone questioned her presence.

She had spent the past week practicing a supercilious glare. Fireball had coached her on it, reminding her to treat the clones as subhuman if she wanted to escape detection. She hated it as much as she hated the kriffing itchy wool uniform.

“Tell me one more time what his armor looks like?” Cerra asked Fireball.

“You can’t miss it,” he grinned. “I painted it myself.”

He launched into a detailed description of Nemec’s exuberant armor paint job, complete with the story about how he convinced Nemec to let him do it in the first place.

“I’m surprised your armor isn’t flashier,” she said.

Fireball shrugged. “It was better camouflage on Kashyyyk. And then… I didn’t want to paint over it. Not when it reminded me of the commander.”

Cerra squeezed his shoulder in consolation, and they lapsed into silence. As they approached the drop zone, she felt a swirl of nervous anticipation in her stomach.

“Comms will be jammed as soon as you pass through security, so you won’t be able to call for help if anything goes wrong,” Echo said. “We’ll be monitoring chatter, but we can’t hear everything.”

“Let’s hope nothing goes wrong, then,” Cerra said. “I guess I’ll see you boys on Raada in three standard rotations. Wish me luck.”

Echo grunted, and Fireball just stared at her with wide eyes. She snapped to attention and gave them a textbook salute.

“How do I look?” she asked.

“Like you never left,” Echo said.

Cerra pulled a face, then turned and headed for the back hatch of the ship. Before she could reach it, a hand closed around her elbow, and Fireball spun her around into a crushing hug.

“Thanks, Cerra,” he whispered.

She hugged him back and kissed his cheek. “I’m going to get your brother back, Fireball. I promise you.”

He gave her one last tight squeeze, then lowered the ramp. She walked out of the ship and immediately ducked down an alleyway, following it to the opposite side of the block, and then turned and walked briskly toward HQ. She passed the First Battle Memorial and joined the security queue at the main entrance.

Her heart began to pound as the queue slowly advanced. She kept her face carefully neutral and focused on controlling her breathing. By the time she reached the front of the queue, her hands were sweating inside her gloves, but they were steady enough as she presented her counterfeit chain code for inspection.

The TK trooper at the gate barely glanced at the code before waving her through. She walked calmly through the entrance, trying not to think that she was about to lose all contact with her squad. She fought the urge to gawk at the changes to the base since she had last been there. At that point, it had still been the Republic Center for Military Operations. Still, not so much had changed that she couldn’t find her way around, and she headed straight for the airfield.

“Lieutenant Kilian?” an unmistakably clone voice asked.

Cerra nearly turned, but she caught herself just in time and kept walking, not acknowledging the question. Her mouth went dry, and her pulse hammered in her ears. Just keep walking, just keep walking.

A hand grabbed her by the elbow, exactly where Fireball had caught her only moments before. She spun around to face her assailant, and her stomach dropped with dread as she recognized his 501st-blue painted armor.

“Cerra Kilian?” the clone repeated.

Nax, she realized. She would recognize that hairstyle anywhere.

“You’re mistaken, trooper,” she said, meeting his eyes and blatantly lying. “I’m Lieutenant Marchon.”

Nax froze, his hand still gripping her elbow. He knows. I’m going to die. She could feel the tide of panic rising in her chest, and she fought it down, remembering at the last moment to assume that haughty expression that Fireball had taught her.

“My mistake,” Nax said, releasing her arm. “Sorry, lieutenant. I thought you were someone else.”

Cerra straightened her uniform and tried to think of a response. What would a scughole Imp say right now? Something condescending and awful. Think!

“You can go about your business, lieutenant,” Nax said. “If you see Lieutenant Kilian, tell her I said hello.”

“Quite,” Cerra stammered. “Thank you, trooper.”

He nodded shortly, then turned on his heel and left. Cerra continued her rapid journey to the airfield, lightheaded with relief. She didn’t know why Nax hadn’t reported her, but she wasn’t going to stick around and find out. She hurried down the row of transports until she located the one she needed, keenly aware that at any moment she could be apprehended, and she would have no way of contacting Echo to let him know. If it happened, she would likely be dead before they ever discovered she’d been caught.

She showed her forged orders to the trooper guarding the transport, and he waved her through. Inside, she found a mixed force of clones and TK troopers. She appeared to be the only officer on board, which only made her stand out more. She kept waiting for the soldiers to turn their weapons on her, but it never happened. The last few troopers boarded, the ramp closed, and the transport launched.

Nax never called it in.

The troopers were eerily silent as the transport jumped into hyperspace with a shudder. There was no banter, no laughter, no speculation about their assignment. Just soundless, blank helmets, devoid of color or individuality. The clone troopers sat separately from the TK troopers, as though an invisible ray shield prevented them from commingling. It was going to be a long three days.

The Imperial base on Raada bustled with activity. More transports arrived each day, and though the buildings were prefabricated and lowered into place from a Star Destroyer, a huge amount of work still needed to be done to get the base fully supplied. Cerra had been in dozens of bases with this exact layout, so at least she didn’t have to worry about getting lost.

In fact, the commotion around the base could work to her advantage, as Nemec’s absence would be less noticeable amid the throngs of new arrivals. All she had to do now was locate him, convince him that she wasn’t an Imperial spy, and get him out. The first step shouldn’t be too difficult; Nemec’s flamboyant armor paint job would definitely stand out in the crowd of shiny TK troopers.

She headed for the mess hall, figuring it was as good a place to start as any. He wasn’t there, so next she checked the barracks, only to come up empty again. She fabricated an excuse to inspect the walker bay, and didn’t find him—though that had been a long shot. It occurred to her that she could be missing him by mere moments, but she couldn’t very well start asking random troopers if they’d spotted a clone in stunning green armor wandering around the base.

As the putative supply officer, she’d been allocated a small office, so she holed up inside it while she planned her next move. It would make the most sense to stake out either the barracks or the mess; at some point, Nemec would need to go to both of them. Her stomach rumbled, making the decision for her, and she headed to the mess hall.

There were a few officers inside, as well as several troopers. Once again, she noted that the clones sat apart from the TKs. She picked up a tray and moved through the line, feeling an odd sense of nostalgia as she ladled the unidentifiable beige sludge onto her tray. She found a seat with a clear view of the mess hall entrance. She sat alone, knowing that she would draw attention if she were the only natborn to sit with the clones.

As she ate, Cerra observed the strange dynamics of the room. Obviously, the clones had their own territory. The TK troopers had claimed a sizable chunk of the room as well. But what surprised her was that none of the officers sat with the TK troopers. They either clustered in small cliques or sat on their own as she did. It seemed that the Imperial hierarchy was much more rigidly enforced than it had been under the Republic.

She ate as slowly as possible, prolonging her surveillance of the mess, but at last, she could delay no longer. She dropped her tray at the bussing station and headed back to the hangar. If it took her much longer to locate Nemec, she would need to get her office set up to maintain her cover.

She rounded a corner and nearly collided with a group of troopers. As she stumbled backward, one of them reached out to steady her.

“Sorry, sir. I didn’t see you there,” he said in a familiar voice.

Clones, she realized as she took in their armor. This group all had painted armor instead of the shiny white plastoid she’d mostly seen so far. She scanned the group for one in green, but didn’t see the unmistakable design Fireball had described to her.

“It was my fault,” she said. “I wonder if you could help me find someone, though?”

“Depends on who you’re looking for,” the trooper said.

“I’m trying to get my office set up, and I was told to ask for help from a clone trooper in green armor with a yellow—”

“That’d be Nemec,” a second trooper offered. “I think I saw him headed out for a patrol, but I can comm him for you.”

“Unless you’d prefer my help,” a third trooper said in a flirtatious tone as he shouldered his way to the front of the group. “I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”

Cerra bit back a laugh. “I’m flattered, but I think it would be best if I just go with the trooper assigned to me. I don’t want to risk scugging off the base commander the day I arrive.”

“Too bad,” the trooper replied. “If you change your mind—oof!”

The first trooper elbowed him in the ribs, hard. “She’s not interested, Crusher. Take a hint.”

“Nemec is on his way, sir,” the second clone said. “Where would you like him to meet you?”

“The hangar, please,” Cerra said, knowing that she was failing miserably at impersonating the cold, arrogant Imperials that Fireball had described.

“Do you need an escort?”

“I can find my way, but thank you for the offer, and for your help,” Cerra said, excusing herself.

She continued toward the hangar, keenly aware of the clones’ eyes following her. She forced herself to maintain a steady pace, though she wanted to break into a run. Finally, she turned another corner and was out of their view. She hurried the rest of the way to the hangar and arrived just as Nemec pulled in on a BARC speeder. Troopers milled about, unloading and stacking crates from the transport. She spotted a small bank of V-wings and hoped they wouldn’t be an issue during the extraction.

“Are you the supply officer?” Nemec asked as he dismounted.

“Yes, and you must be Nemec,” she said.

He nodded shortly. “Show me what you need.”

He did not sound thrilled to meet her, and she couldn’t blame him. He was an elite warrior, reduced to running menial errands for pampered officers. She showed him the crates with “her” gear, then led him to the office she’d been assigned. Once inside, she closed and locked the door.

Nemec whipped around, startled. Cerra raised her hands to show she meant him no harm.

“What kind of game are you playing?” he demanded, looming over her.

“Fireball sent me,” she said quietly.

Nemec went unnaturally still. “Who’s Fireball?” he asked cautiously.

“He said to tell you that the netcasters weren’t the worst thing about Kashyyyk.”

“It was the mud,” Nemec replied. “Who are you?”

“My name is Cerra Kilian,” she said. “I’m here to get you out.”

“Kilian?” Nemec asked, tilting his head to the side. “I don’t suppose you know—”

“He’s my uncle,” Cerra said. “When can you be ready to leave?”

“Now,” Nemec said immediately. “What’s the plan?”

“We need to get away from the base and meet up with Fireball and the rest of my squad at these coordinates,” Cerra said, displaying the rendezvous point on a small holoprojector. “Do you think you can get a BARC speeder without being noticed? It took longer to find you than I’d hoped, and we’re on a tight timeline. We’ll stand a better chance of making the rendezvous if we don’t have to go on foot.”

“I can get the bike, but it’ll be trickier to get away from the base without being spotted. They’ll notice a passenger. Unless you can come up with a convincing explanation, they’ll shoot us down.”

Cerra pondered the conundrum. “What is the Empire even doing on Raada?”

“Growing some kind of engineered plants for rations,” Nemec said.

“I can work with that,” she said. “I’ll say that as supply officer, I have been ordered to supplement the base’s rations with the local produce, and I’m conducting an inspection.”

“Which you’ve ordered me to assist,” Nemec said. “It could work. I hope you’re good at banthashitting.”

“I don’t have to banthashit; I was a supply officer for thirteen years,” Cerra said. “I can throw so much technical jargon at them that they won’t know if I’m even speaking Basic.”

“If you say so,” Nemec said doubtfully.

“I do,” Cerra said. “And one more thing: as far as the Empire knows, I’m Lieutenant Marchon. Let’s get going.”

They returned quickly to the hangar, and Nemec mounted the speeder as Cerra climbed into the sidecar. As he had predicted, the guards at the main entrance of the base ordered them to halt.

“Where are you taking this officer?” a TK trooper demanded.

“I’ve been ordered to take Lieutenant Marchon to the settlement to inspect the farms,” Nemec said.

“Under whose authority?” the trooper asked.

“Admiral Coburn,” Cerra replied in the most condescending Coruscanti drawl she could summon. “When he assigned me to Raada, he ordered me to supplement the base’s rations with the produce we grow locally. Would you care to ask him yourself?”

“No, ma’am. Proceed.” He waved them through the gate.

“Not bad,” Nemec said once they were safely out of earshot.

“It wouldn’t have worked on a clone,” Cerra said. “Lucky break.”

Nemec steered them toward the settlement until they were out of view of the base, then brought the bike to a halt.

“The speeder has a tracking beacon,” Nemec said. “We’ll need to take it off, or they’ll be able to follow us to the rendezvous.”

Cerra checked her chronometer. It was going to be close, but they would make it in time, assuming nothing went wrong. She hopped out of the sidecar and searched for the transmitter.

“Kriff, it’s hardwired in with a kill switch,” she said. “If I take it off, the bike won’t start.”

“What are we going to do, then?” he asked.

“Head toward the settlement. We’ll ditch the bike there and go the rest of the way on foot.”

“Won’t that put the farmers at risk once the Empire discovers we’re missing?” Nemec asked.

“Fine,” Cerra sighed. “We’ll get closer to the village, then I’ll sabotage the bike. It’ll look like an accident. Hopefully, the explosion will be big enough to explain the lack of bodies.”

“Oh, I can help with that,” Nemec chuckled, handing her a thermal detonator.

“That’ll do it,” she said.

They remounted the bike and sped toward the settlement. When they were about three klicks away, they stopped again, and Cerra quickly yanked a few wires. She set the detonator on a timer and started the bike.

“Start running,” she said, jamming the accelerator.

The bike zoomed away, shuddering violently. She sprinted after Nemec, and within seconds, the speeder engine sparked violently and exploded. The detonator went off immediately after, and the shock wave knocked her to the ground. Her ears rang as she struggled to get up. Nemec doubled back and yanked her to her feet. He shouted something, but she couldn’t make it out over the high-pitched shriek in her head. Without waiting for a response, he took off running, dragging her behind him as she stumbled.

“—have to move!”

His voice was muffled, and she shook her head to try to clear it. It didn’t work, but she jogged after him regardless. Nausea rose in her belly, but she tamped it down. Her breath was harsh, and her lungs ached. Run, Cerra. One foot in front of the other. Keep going.

They ran until they reached an outcropping of rocks that provided some cover, and Nemec finally slowed.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She nodded, breathing hard. At least she could hear again.

“Good,” he said. “We still have a long way to go, so we need to keep walking.”

“I am walking,” she said irritably.

“Walk faster,” Nemec said.

As much as she wanted to snap back at him, he had a point, so she picked up the pace. “We can still make it,” she said. “The bike bought us some time.”

They walked for hours, carefully rationing the small amount of water in Nemec’s canteen. Cerra stripped off the stifling wool uniform jacket and tied it around her waist. Her undershirt was soaked with sweat from the hot sun, and soon she was covered in a fine film of dust that clung to her damp skin. Silently, she cursed her karking uncomfortable boots. They were made for sitting at a desk, not trekking across rocky terrain.

She checked her chronometer. We can still make it.

“Will they scramble the V-wings if a ship enters the atmosphere?” she asked.

Nemec shook his head. “I don’t think their surveillance is that advanced. That’s why they picked this system; nobody comes here.”

“Security was pretty tight at the base,” Cerra observed.

“We’ve had a little trouble with the locals. Some of them objected to the Empire ordering them to torch their own crops and grow ration plants instead. Can’t imagine why,” Nemec said drily.

His voice sounded deeper than Fireball’s, more like Rex, and Cerra wondered how old he was.

“Were you and Fireball batchmates?” she asked curiously.

He turned his head to study her before he answered. He still hadn’t removed his helmet.

“No,” he said. “We met when I was serving under your uncle. Fireball was just a shiny. Didn’t even have a name yet. His whole batch got wiped out by a vulture droid in his first battle. Poor kids never saw it coming. Fireball ran toward the explosion to try to save them, but they were already gone.”

“Is that how he got his name?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “How’d you get mixed up in all this?”

“Just lucky, I guess,” she said.

“You said you’d been a supply officer for thirteen years,” he pressed.

“Corellian military defense force,” she said. “Then GAR.”

“Not Imperial army?”

“Not so far,” she said.

“I knew you were too nice to be one of them,” Nemec said.

“Fireball will be disappointed to hear that. He spent the last week coaching me on how to be a scughole to clones.”

“Your mistake was treating us like humans,” Nemec said. “Wouldn’t want anyone to see you doing that.”

“I guess I’m just not cut out to be an Imperial officer,” Cerra said. “There goes Plan Besh.”

“I’d say don’t quit your day job, but I don’t know what that is,” he said.

“Is treason a day job?” she asked. “It doesn’t pay much, but I get a lot of satisfaction out of it.”

Nemec laughed, the sound harsh and distorted by his helmet. “You’re not so bad, Lieutenant Traitor.”

---

Next chapter

#tbb echo #captain gregor #captain rex #riyo chuchi #oc: cerra kilian #echo x riyo chuchi #gregor x oc #the bad batch #star wars #sw tbb #bad batch fanfic #star wars fanfic #stars beyond number #dystopicjumpsuit writes #Spotify

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mudefrau · 2 months

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Shell Thropp

1.7K words of me rambling ❤️ Perhaps more since I'm going to pin this and keep editing whenever I want to add something new.

Under the cut because it's long (I won't be tagging spoilers as much since this book is from 2005)

I've avoided mentioning his most problematic part but I reference it; CW for some disturbing and/or sexual themes. Do not blame me, the source material is like that!

OK so when you Ctrl+F “Emperor” with new knowledge and go back into the book, it’s a trip and a half. “The next hollow man, reeking with glory” -> The early text compares him to the scarecrow puppet governor, but at this point we’re not supposed to know who the Emperor is. Yet in retrospect, I’m enjoying the hollow/shell wordplay, it feels like a subtle hint…

His elevation to Emperor happens while Liir is doing military service in Quadling country, I don’t remember if it’s mentioned but by then Liir was over 20 I think wait no he was still a teenager according to Amazon book description?? I'm confused. it’s hard to pinpoint a date. I want to put together a timeline like I did for the first book someday… Nessa died at 34, Liir was 14-ish then (IIRC Nor is a couple years older than him), so Shell must be 34 – 5 = 29? So taking as reference Liir’s age, we can say Shell is that age + 15.

Speaking of ages, the last time Shell ever saw Elphaba he was probably… 9...?

Liir is, understandably, baffled when Trism tells him Shell is the Emperor and that he’s met him and has become very humble and gentle. But I find this radical transformation very interesting. It reminds me of Nessa, who used to hate sorcery and then became the Wicked Witch of the East. Shell, on the contrary, is the filthiest sinner (“a fornicator and a sot”), then acts like the holiest godsent, the Emperor Apostle.

Shell is very indifferent whenever asked about his sisters and their recent deaths, and often cuts to change the topic. Interestingly when Liir asks him “Was your sister a martyr”, he thinks of Nessarose first; just to say he doesn’t care because he does not have a faith.

It’s not unreasonable to think he's seen Nessa more than he's seen Elphaba… and apparently, he could not stand her (“Nessarose had so much faith that no one else in the family could breathe”. Most likely not intentional, but for someone who uses cutesy nicknames for others (Chyde-ey, Cherryvery, Liir-boy), he doesn’t shorten Nessarose to Nessa or Nessie.

I have a few hcs about Shell & Nessa, but I believe he was suave enough to have her believe he likes her and was on her side. Frex and her thought they were getting data from his espionage job. But he probably was trading back insider information about the government of Munchkinland to other parties as well.

He did not even show up to Nessa’s funeral or at least he was there only briefly (since he did send a message to Elphaba about it) but left immediately; and there were rumors he had defected, but IMO he might’ve not been fully on their side to start with.

Shell did tend to Frex after Nessa and Elphaba’s death, and the text indicates he could not even stop having hook ups then (sorry I have to point it out because I’m just amazed how he Never Stops)

In the last exchange between Elphaba and Nessa, Nessa says “I’ve just been clumsy and outspoken. Don’t expect me to remember how to be sisterly in such a short while” to which Elphaba responds “You’ve had Shell to practice on all these years” and Nessa says nothing about it. I think about that a lot and how It might’ve hurt, considering how Shell sees Nessa + the fact Elphie does not know him at all.

At some point in SoaW, after Shell is elevated to Emperor, there are broadsheets on public boards of “a male foot in an open, leather-strapped sandal stepping out of a cloud” of all the places the Emperor has set foot on in Oz. As if he’s trying to make his shoes as iconic as Nessa’s 🤔 (btw, if not metaphorical he might have a mace as well, a bit like in those emperor tarot cards. I drew him with Ozma’s staff because it seemed logical)

Can we, in general, compare Emperor Shell to Eminence Nessa? Maybe he’s an extreme version of her, theocraticness considered. Liir and Glinda actually discuss how Shell is using “piety as the new political aphrodisiac” and how Elphaba would be “outraged”, but Elphie was only slightly upset about Nessa doing similar things. I already analyzed this because that has to do with the previous book, but anyway it’s funny how little Elphaba ever cared about Shell compared to Nessa lmao (I bet this made him rage too)

There is a part in which Liir and Candle find some kind of potentially inflammatory press that says “Pieties of the Apostle. The virtue of the UGLY”. IDK if it's me not being good at English and not really getting what it all meant but I had to look up the word and does this count as a double meaning? hm

Liir explaining to some Birds: “He claims the divine right of the elect—not elected by people, but by the Unnamed God” heh unelected official (possibly not a musical reference since there are more obvious ones, but I can pretend). I feel like he could’ve taken over Colwen Grounds if he wanted (it’s implied in the first book by Elphie saying that if Nessa wanted to abdicate he could be “located to stand in”), but he didn’t, after Nessa’s death.

“He’d had those two powerful sisters; next to them he must always have felt like shredded cabbage” -> Here it is. (even if this is just Trism speculating)

The thing is, as of SoaW, we still don't know if he's pulling an act or that he actually believes God has awakened him. I suppose I’ll know in… 2 books… Also I am still a bit confused as of where he got the dragons from. It is mentioned he likely has a page of the Grimmerie “On the Administration of Dragons”, could that also be the source?

Let’s talk about pre-Emperor Shell now!!

But first let me go back into the book a bit, when Liir is in a coma and these rumors are emerging from the convent:

“The man-child was the Emperor’s confessor. He was a brigand trafficking in the sex trade. He spoke in the voice of a Loon. Except for a single rib, the man-child had broken every bone in his body.”

I would like to post an analysis on the first page of the first book about Elphaba one day, but my point is I find it fascinating that whenever there’s an Ozian rumor there’s always a little bit of basis. Yes, Liir knows Shell’s dirty laundry. Involved in sex trade, well, Shell was (as supply himself? Not sure, we’ll discuss below). Yes Liir was leading a Bird congress later on and flies, hence the Loon association. And Liir has indeed broken a lot in his body atp.

Edit: wait according to A Lion Among Men he frequented "girlie arcades" so fair to assume he also pays and when he said "I'm to be back at the Palace by midnight for fun and frolic if I can pay with the coin they require" prob he also meant that. The wiki article nota bene of "perhaps a sex addict" might be right. His motto is "one does whom one can" according to Southstair's prison undermajor.

Later, the book goes back to the moment Liir (14-16ish years old, I suppose) meets Shell. I enjoy the descriptions from his pov. The very first one is "A handsome younger man with a keen, guarded expression", of course Liir would point out he's handsome as he can appreciate masculine beauty hehe. Later, “sleek where [Elphaba] had been spiky”. He’s also taller than Elphaba, a fop, well-dressed it gets mentioned a few times (I mean look at this, I googled it verbatim. it's sexy).

I'm convinced he lives in the (now empty, since he and Liir and the only Thropps and Liir doesn't even acknowledge it) family home in Lower Mennipin Street, Emerald City, since he only went back to Munchkinland sporadically and in SOAW not at all, he does most of his business in the EC and he's not giving up a life of luxury. (cap from 1st book)

He is Liir’s guide to Southstairs, the prison. They get through a secret entrance in the Palace (reminder he’s not the Emperor yet) and go down a lot of… stairs, later they take a dory to go through a canal underground, and I get a lot of “hell” vibes here. His name was supposed to be a tribute to Turtle Heart but has “hell” in it, the rhyme even gets made in-universe. I like the imagery

I said I wouldn’t go over detailing the most problematic part, because I feel like most people know and that’s why he’s not a liked character even among those who've read SoaW (especially among those). But IMO approving =/= finding him interesting, plus he’s purely fictional and handsome so I can like him lol? So yeah, he takes advantage of women in vulnerable positions in a very disgusting way. Also if I think too much about it, I end up with quite dark implications that I do not want to think too hard about... (ok I'll say it. Are we SURE he did not give Liir any cousins because seriously- but with the fact corpses from Southstairs are later fed to dragons...oouh it's not looking good)

But I need to add how Tunkle (some prison guard Ape) warns Liir twice not to get too close to him, and how “Liir didn’t have the nerve to follow” (when Shell goes into the first cell) implies to me Shell wouldn’t have stopped him. Creepy… When Chyde suggests whether Nor was one of his “patients”, he said that she’d be too young and he has standards, good to know though 😭

Further description, “sicker than most” (by Tunkle), I’m obsessed. Most men know he's horrible (Tunkle, Chyde, Cherrystone) though they joke about it like it's not a big deal. Women, I think, might not be aware; Glinda would not have directed Liir to him like that in that case, and the family probably does not either (plus her description confirms it: "No friend of mine, but a bereaved member of her family").

Earlier when talking to Commander Cherrystone, he brags about how he got his wool jacket “bartering mostly”, Cherrystone refers to him as having a “prettier penny” to spend, hmm… Listen, the Wicked wiki lists his occupation as “spy and gigolo” but I’m having my doubts here after Southstairs, after he presents his services as some kind of reward he’s giving those (female) prisoners but it’s actually non-consensual.

Coming back to Liir. I want to think Shell has a soft spot for him, but I might be hallucinating. There are moments where he seems defensive of him, even calling him “my boy”. But he flip-flops between almost kind and “ugh, leave me alone and fend for yourself” with him. And in their second meeting (by chance at a tavern) he’s like “lmao I thought you had drowned or something” but also “you and Trism are flirting aren’t you hehe, do you want my ride to get home in a hurry?” (making both of them flustered, but sincerely helpful) so idk what to make out of it.

Anyway, by the end of their first time spent together, Liir absolutely despises him and refuses to shake his hand goodbye (he even considers biting his hand but thinks Shell would even joke about that haha). However, Liir can’t help but compare himself to him at points, “He felt as lithe and full of ginger as that cunning Shell had seemed” and “Was his skin the color of [Elphaba’s] brother Shell’s?”

Nanny goes from being fascinated by Shell’s adventures and retelling them with excitement to “you know what he’s impossible and I never really liked him” lol. I still wonder whether Frex sent him to Shiz like his other 2 children or not. If so, I bet he spent most of his study time at the Philosophy Club lmao

Speaking of Frex, Shell might be a victim of Frex's favoritism for Nessa a bit like Elphaba is- I'm not excusing Shell by any means but I'm saying he got the worst version of Frex (after Turtle Heart AND Melena's death), who must've been super depressed and secluded in religion. Perhaps Shell's libertine behavior is a big "fuck you" to him... not fully, because for sure Shell does the things he does because *he* enjoys it, but could've started as part of juvenile rebellion

I'm intrigued by his portrayal in Elphie, the book about Elphaba's childhood, since the summary refers to him as a little delinquent (“junior felon”) and I'm happy Maguire is keeping this consistent. I've seen him in fics where he's so innocent and... I guess this is also why I'm writing this, so people who don't feel like reading the second book can get a clearer idea of what he's like.

A Lion Among Men addendum: it is confirmed that the men who put the "scarecrow" in power after Glinda were likely conjuring with on the side of Shell, which he very likely burnt. Interesting that I extrapolate from this that he kinda fears Glinda lmao??!

Also apparently he hired Ms Greyling (Shiz sorcery prof) to decipher the page of the Grimmerie. Interestingly he has no inherent witchiness. And this will be backup for my headcanon that he did de facto go to Shiz hence the connection! (and he probably slept with professors because how else would he pass lmao)

OK...the dragons... self-note to talk about the dragons more in the future because trying to figure how they got there makes my head hurt right now. But it's interesting how Shell has friends in places that end up enabling him: Cherrystone, coming up with the attack in Qhoyre so that him as the Emperor has an excuse to unleash his "brand new defensive system" aka dragons. And Chyde the under-mayor of Southstairs supply the dragons with fresh corpses thanks to his "culling campaigns", which are essential to dragons' diet. The men in the Scarecrow cabinet to put him in power after it was mysteriously burned.

Trism and Shell's relationship def seems interesting in the sense that Trism wants to kill Liir for what he's triggered through a chain reaction, ending up in them both being complicit in a killing machine so to speak, but somehow exonerates Shell of everything even though he is the root cause. He praises him and says he was tender. Hmm

#shell thropp #son of a witch #gregory maguire #wicked meta #thropp siblings #long post #i edit this post often please keep checking it. peace and love

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not-close-to-straight · 1 year

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Sorry for disappearing for so long, I haven't had a life since before Christmas. Happy late birthday!

Caught up on Rest and.... Ugh so good. In general I have so many feels about well executed D/s stories (for personal reasons, and also because you just Get It). The marking!!! God it was just perfect. "Forever, however long that is" is such a wonderful promise.

Oh! And Eddie being possessive of the moments they share and the spaces they share them in?? Even if it's just Robin?

Steve thinking it's funny but obeying anyway because he loves the Decisiveness and Possessiveness it conveys when Eddie says No.

Everybody knowing SOMETHING is up with their relationship but not really knowing what, and not knowing how to even ask, so they just don't.

Will and El being the creepy little trauma twins, coming to collect Eddie to tell him bad news.

Steve finally letting himself REALLY be loved.

Hopper shutting his martyr bullshit RIGHT the fuck down, A+ (yell at me chief).

Your description of the demobat!! I just really liked that. It felt like watching someone draw it.

Moist monster still makes me grimace.

Vecna's toast. And if nobody else is, I'm gonna be the toaster.

Hi! I totally get going AWOL during the holidays, like whether its because life is busy or because we go into hibernation mode, it's totally fine. If I didn't work jobs that required me to be out and active during hte holidays (customer service and of course, my baking) I would probably be completely absent from thanksgiving through new years lolol

"Creepy Little Trauma Twins" thats so goddamn mean wtfffffff I can't stop laughing about it. I actually have Big Feelings about Will and Eleven's relationship in general, but especially after moving to California, like idk if there's room in any of my upcoming fics to really get into their dynamic but I am basically obsessed with the possibilities.

The Romance in this chapter for Steddie. I think it might be some of the best I've ever written. The tattoo and settling scene was like, shiver me timbers good, right? I am always so so uncertain about my D/s dynamics but I think THIS story more than my marvel ones has convinced me that I should write more. There's something very good about this particular verse and the way their relationship works.

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talesofsorrowandofruin · 2 years

Text

The Great OC Alphabet Caper: K part 1

Since I only posted about one OC earlier but have eight whose names start with K, I decided to split the Ks in two and post four today. These ones are from the Death series, TPATG, Totentanz, and LSOHG.

Karandren

Name: Karandren Hriaþansson

Age/Pronouns: 14 (physically), he/him

Brief physical description: This Artbreeder portrait is pretty close to how I picture him:

Brief list of defining traits: Generally a horrible person. Likes dragons and conquering countries. Doesn’t hate Diarnlan any more.

Excerpt:

Within days of the politicians forming some sort of government, Karandren began to have serious second thoughts about this ruling-a-country business. It was much more work than he remembered. Every day someone came to him with yet another urgent matter he needed to hear about. Karandren had never given any thought to tax systems or judicial reforms before. Nor had he ever expected to spend days reading dull old textbooks on trade and economics.

At first he made the mistake of leaving all of it to the politicians. That idea ended very quickly when he learnt some of them were robbing the people under the pretence of taxes. There were now seven fewer politicians in the parliament and seven corpses hanging from the palace walls. At least their friends' deaths had taught the other politicians not to try a similar stunt. None of them dared to do anything without first telling Karandren all about it and ensuring he knew everything they did was legal.

Trivia:

One of my favourite characters to write. He’s horrible in an entertaining way and provides plenty of black comedy

Ketevan

Name: Ketevan Diashamijë

Age/Pronouns: Mid 20s, she/her

Brief physical description: None yet

Brief list of defining traits: Can’t understand the word “no”.

Excerpt: None yet

Trivia:

Named after Ketevan the Martyr

Kilan

Name: Kilan raunSærnor, ursoArásy chlang-il-Amendath-ag-Caranilnav tar Zjurkyu (poor guy)

Age/Pronouns: Mid-20s, he/him

Brief physical description: This Artbreeder portrait is pretty close to how I picture him:

Brief list of defining traits: Out of his depth and landed with a job he doesn’t want. Trying his best. Worries a lot.

Excerpt:

"Why don't you threaten to call yourself something silly until they give up and let you have your way?" Varan suggested. "You could tell them that if they insist, you'll call yourself Emperor Paperwork or Emperor Chandelier, and what do they have to say to that?"

"I'm not a toddler," Kilan said, giving her the sort of exasperated glare that could only be managed by a brother annoyed by his sister's antics. "If I did that, they'd think I was either mad or childish."

"They'll think you're mad whatever you do." Death, naturally, had to get her tuppence-worth in. "You might as well make sure it's on your terms instead of theirs."

Was he surrounded by children?

"I. Do. Not. Want. To. Be. Thought. Mad," Kilan growled, managing to turn each word into a sentence.

Trivia:

His regnal name Tinuviel is, obviously, a Tolkien reference

The character I find hardest to write. It’s my own fault; I didn’t give him enough character development earlier 😅

Kiriyuki

Name: MIzushiro Kiriyuki

Age/Pronouns: Mid 20s, she/her

Brief physical description: I’ve changed my mind several times on what she looks like. Currently I imagine her as looking like Ranju Tomu, but that might change.

Brief list of defining traits: Doesn’t always think before acting. Tries to stop Abi but goes about it in the wrong way.

Excerpt:

Kiriyuki, still half-asleep and somewhat woozy after drinking so much, heard it from another patron at the hotel's bar. It sobered her up at once. "A dragon? Where?"

The other woman shrugged. "I don't know where exactly. Somewhere around the palace, I think. I heard it from my nephew's secretary who heard it from the postman who said a palace guard told him about it himself."

There was usually only one person to blame when something like this happened. If she had actually summoned a dragon then Abi had really surpassed herself this time. Kiriyuki set off for the palace with a grim frown, unsure what she'd find but certain of who to blame for it.

Trivia:

Can turn into a sea serpent

Like all Seroyawan characters she’s named after Takarazuka actresses. Her personal name is a portmanteau of Kiri from Kiriya Hiromu’s name and Yuki, Senna Ayase’s nickname. Her family name (which I’ve changed several times and might change again) is borrowed from Mizushiro Aoi

Adding TPATG’s and Totentanz’s taglists: @ajbrooks-writes, @mjmnorwood, @houser-of-stories, @time-space-and-the-muses, @lothloriien, @aliensmoon, @rataltouille, @thescatteredscribbles, @alexwritesfiction, @moth-with-a-pen, @thelaughingstag, @diphthongsfordays, @athenswrites, @ladydawnxx, @talesfromaurea, @jacquesfindswritingandadvice, @sirius-xm, @analogued, @starryeve88, @garthcelyn, @weaver-of-fantasies-and-fables, @thiscrypticfangirl, @astridmayewrites, @shydreamyechoes

(Let me know if you want to be added to/removed from the taglists!)

#the great oc alphabet caper #writing #my writing #my WIPs #WIP: totentanz #WIP: snow #WIP: emperor #WIP: necromancer #artbreeder #nerissa rambles

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aloudplace · 4 days

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Dirty thoughts 1

"I cannot begin to express how much I resent your presence here."

I sighed, pretending to feel martyred. "It's been three months, Loki. Get over it. Seriously."

He was sprawled on the long, curved couch in the private lounge reserved for the Avengers and...associates? In the kitchen, I turned with a canister of coffee beans and caught him giving me a venomous look over the counter that separated us. He was in his usual armored leather getup, which I found both a little flamboyant and...admittedly, sort of sexy.

"Do you want coffee?" I asked, ignoring his glare.

"Please."

I turned away, repressing a smile. It really gave me a kick that he could be so rude and so polite at the same time.

Anyway, his thoughts weren't nearly as resentful as his attitude. In fact, he radiated amusement, which I had learned early on was pretty typical, day-to-day Loki. He could look at you like you were nothing more than an insect, cut you down like he hated your guts, and all the while be silently thinking that you were really quite charming company. And vice versa.

I'd also learned that the best way to deal with him was to simply play along–-although I did like to call him out, on occasion. Unlike most people, it seemed to amuse him.

And his insults rarely bothered me. Having lived twenty-nine years with the ability to read minds, I'd developed very thick skin. People tend to think way worse things than they say. Loki was the other way around most of the time.

In fact, everything about his behavior was kind of backward.

Personally, I found it refreshing. More than refreshing. I genuinely liked the God of Mischief. We got along like toast and butter.

I scooped some beans into the grinder and set about making a pot of dark coffee, aware that Loki watched me intently the whole time. He was good at controlling his thoughts–there were times I found it difficult to read him–but lately, he'd been letting his guard slip. I kind of suspected he did it on purpose though.

At the moment he was admiring my figure.

He'd discovered the week before that his attraction to me made me incredibly uncomfortable, and he'd been exploiting it ever since.

"What's on our agenda today?" he asked in a low, silky voice.

That voice was like a finger up my spine.

Keep it together, Bella.

I cleared my throat and made myself speak casually. "Same as always. You do your thing and I follow you around making sure you're not going to stab anyone."

"Tell me, if I did decide to do something...nefarious, how, exactly, would you plan to stop me?"

"I wouldn't," I said, pouring coffee into two white mugs. "Not in my job description. Besides," I added cream and sugar to his and cream to mine, "You're not going to stab anyone."

When I brought him the mug, he gave me a resentful look. He actually did want to be good, although he enjoyed pretending otherwise. Well, he wanted to be good enough that the Avengers would let him stick around and not throw him into a jail cell for the rest of his insanely long life.

"Are we permitted to leave the compound today?" he asked, taking a sip. I paused a moment before responding, waiting for the little psychic pulse of his pleasure when he realized I had made his coffee exactly the way he liked it.

He wasn't used to being treated with care and consideration. I liked giving him that, in mundane little ways.

I liked it a lot.

"We can't go out in public yet, but yes. We are cleared to leave the compound for a few hours. Congratulations, by the way." I sat next to him on the couch and folded my legs beneath me, ready to enjoy my coffee... and a day in the company of the God of Mischief.

"Yes, it's an enormous accomplishment. Truly momentous," he replied, with his signature lazy sarcasm. The resentment was real. However, he had felt a little spurt of pleasure when I congratulated him.

The Avengers had set particular rules about Loki's freedom–-hoops he had to jump through in order to gain their trust. Three months under my supervision with no incidents, and he could leave the compound. Another three and he was up for 'graduation review' as they called it. If he behaved out in the world with me for those three months, I'd be off Loki duty. Permanently.

I had to admit, I would miss the job.

And the trickster.

"What do you want to do?" I asked, sipping my coffee and ignoring the way he gazed sidelong at my legs, eyes hooded.

He liked my legs a lot. I'd stopped wearing dresses to work for exactly that reason. His attention made me feel jittery and awkward.

Apparently, he liked me in skinny jeans, too.

Noted.

"Perhaps you might suggest something appropriately mundane for us to do," he said dryly.

He was playing bored, but he was actually excited to get out. Poor man had been cooped up too long.

"Well, we're pretty limited, since we can't go out in public. Do you have any friends we could visit?"

He gave me a look that would make most people shrivel with shame.

"Okay, stupid question. No human friends. Um..." I thought about it.

"Where do you live?"

I blinked in surprise. "You want to come to my house?"

"Do you have a better suggestion?"

He was doing that thing–blanking his thoughts so I couldn't read him. He couldn't hide his emotions as easily, though. He was a bit anxious. Afraid I would say no?

My heart did a little jig. The God of Mischief wanted to hang out. With me. At my house.

"It's really small," I said–rather stupidly.

He arched a brow. "It's not here in this godforsaken tower. That alone makes it a veritable paradise."

I couldn't help but smile. "Do you like cats?"

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viralhoax · 10 months

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weights and scales

if you know me, you know i’m big on the abstract concept of the “right” thing. and while in some instances that is subjective, in a lot of instances, there is a right and a wrong way, or a way that is less aligned with your values and a way that is.

when i started nullvoid (skip if you heard this story before) it was 12/27/17 and i was on my phone after taking a long weekend from my first in-office graphic design job. i worked in an office with my boss and 3-4 other designers. i knew my boss did not like me within the first week and she made it obvious to all of my coworkers. she was truly quite cruel to me, so this is why my unmedicated, anxiety-riddled brain went from 0-survival mode real quick. i got an email from indeed that the company i worked for was looking for someone with my exact role description and title and i had just finished my probationary 3 months. i had no idea that they just were adding someone else because no one told me and i was taking my first paid time off break since i started. i immediately assumed that i was going to be fired upon reporting back to work. i needed something in the meantime as a safety net or something i could develop into a business, so out of straight up fear, nullvøid was born. i had my attempt with a nullvøid prototype in college called VOIDXIX because 19 was my favorite number and i love the concept of endless uncertainty plaguing us all (i also thought void was a cool word). anyway, i built a website and my first products in a night, and the forest fire concept was born. i didn’t realize how symbolic that shit was until i was older. low and behold, i didn’t get fired but i did stay at a place where my boss hated me and humiliated me for almost 2 more years so let this be a lesson to everyone— don’t be like me.

i was still designing but the concept of nullvøid fell on the backburner as i struggled with interpersonal issues, a pretty painful breakup, alcoholism and an array of bad decisions. by mid-2018 i was finally ready to start taking it seriously and switched platforms to storenvy and printful, which changed the game for me as i was no longer limited to the price points of my original distributor. from 2018 to now, nullvøid has been top focus for me, it’s been the vøid over everything. i started to use it as a tool to give back to the community around me through sponsorships and community partnerships.

something still felt off though.

let me make this super clear: in the almost 6 years i have been running this “business”, i have not made a profit. like, yes, i have made profit off of selling things for a cost+profit price point. but i have never made more money than i’ve spent. and it dawned on me recently, when has it ever truly been about the money (with the exception of its inception, for survival)? i’m not trying to sound like a martyr, i’m just not a good business person because of my feelings about how the world works and how everyone should be able to eat at the same table.

in 2017-2019, it was about me. it was all about me, it was what i wanted on garments because i thought it looked cool and i didn’t really care if anyone bought anything or not. if they did, i was honestly shocked. by 2020, the shift in the political climate and COVID changed how i wanted to run this very strange little world i was creating. i wanted to give back and take a stand against injustice, i wanted to dedicate any of my time to developing resources and donating money and time to causes, especially when the world was in such a state of chaos. and i was so much happier giving back. the minute this began to feel like a chore, though, i started to get immense anxiety around it. am i doing the right thing? am i making things people like? am i profitable? am i personable? 2021-2022 became all about trying to figure out what the fuck i wanted. did i want to be a streetwear mogul or did i want to be an artist? the short answer is artist, every time.

and now we’re in the middle of 2023. i have a skate team full of people i love. i have a group of people around me who really fuck with my vision. and it doesn’t feel right or okay for me to say fuck capitalism and then profit off of people. it caused me to have a bit of an existential crisis about my positioning in the world and how nullvøid fits into it.

making my art and messaging as accessible as possible is now our number one vision and mission. i want to make things that make people think and i don’t want them to have to pay supreme pricing for something that is more than just what’s cool now on a garment.

i don’t want to feed a machine i do not believe in. i want to be the change and i can’t keep sitting around bitching about shit while not changing anything. so that’s why this happened. that’s why i’m not ever going to make lack of funds a reason to not pick up our stuff. i don’t give a fuck if i profit. i give a fuck about how people feel. if i make some side money, cool, i’ll use it towards making more art.

i’m finding a level of balance and fulfillment i never thought was possible.

it is uncertain and scary.

i love it.

#nullvoid

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almostnoisydonut · 2 years

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𝓜𝔂 𝓞𝓹𝓲𝓷𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝓸𝓷 𝓜𝓸𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓱𝓸𝓸𝓭

I started thinking about all the conflicting and damaging messages we get about motherhood. If you’re a mother, you know that everyone’s got an opinion on motherhood.

By insisting on calling motherhood a selfless sacrifice, we take agency away from her.

Most of the men and women have been pointing out that raising children is a joy and privilege for both men and women. It has the right to dictate what a mother should and should do or be and how she should or shouldn’t raise her children. This is true for women in every socioeconomic status.

Many of the critics point out — rightfully — that I am writing from a place of privilege and therefore project that privilege on the subject of motherhood.

Commenters also asked why I didn’t address the issue of lack of support for single mothers and or for those without access to birth control.

What about all the women who want and can’t have children? Should they now feel that the divine gates closed on them and they are somehow less privileged than the women who are mothers? What about the women who don’t want children? Are they in the underprivileged club? You decide.

The abuses that women around the world sustain is unquestionably a more urgent problem that concerns us all.

This comment captures another facet of the kind of hardships faced by women in general, and not necessarily mothers:

“I love being a mom. I sacrificed nothing. The joy it has brought my life is unbounded.”

“But I will say this: as a nurse, women do sacrifice the most when caregiving is needed. I am not talking raising children like this article alludes to, but managing to care for chronically ill children and aging parents, and many times both at the same time. I see this over and over, almost daily in the course of my work. These women sacrifice their jobs, their health, their own well-being to become caretaker. Our society is not set up to offer help. They often go it alone. Many times silently. They do not take weeks at a beach or even a short respite to dine with friends.”

Motherhood is the hardest job on the planet.

It talks about motherhood being a selfish act, since procreating is all about passing on our genes. Being truly selfless means having no skin in the game. And is certainly not true in motherhood.

There is no denying it: societal views on motherhood do need a makeover. We need to view mothers as neither goddesses, nor martyrs. We are simply women. Women with different priorities, interests and contributions to the world. We, just like all the other women and men, are allowed to stand tall and decide what those priorities are. We don’t need to fit into a specific description just to make others feel better. And we most certainly do not need to feel that motherhood is either a “privilege” or a “job”. Motherhood is a category on its own. It needs not to fit anywhere else.

I wish for all mothers to be able to shake the stereotypes that are thrown at them and live the life the want. There is no reason your motherhood experience needs to look like someone else’s. Be unapologetically, uniquely and authentically you.

But there’s a twist at the end. I won’t give it all away, but it turns out that the mother isn’t just suffering from the usual trials of parenthood but has a case of postpartum psychosis that leaves her near-dead in a hospital bed. The takeaway seems to be that motherhood isn’t easy — for women with real problems.

Please, share your experiences with being stereotyped as a mother and about the confusing messages you have received.

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mediocre-writerr · 3 years

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history has it eyes on you [jennifer jareau]

jennifer jareau x fem reader

requested by anon: Love your JJ fics ❤️❤️ I was hoping could you do another one where the reader is somewhat new to the BAU and is either dating or has a thing with JJ. But the reader is known for doing these heroic and kinda reckless acts that ends up saving the victims. And while everyone in the bureau thinks that she's an absolute badass and incredible at her job JJ can't help but love and hate it. She loves it as she's amazing at her job and always ends up saving them but she hates how she always seems to be in the line of fire and in danger. After one too many close calls JJ kinda loses it on the reader.

*not my gif*

You were nineteen when you joined the academy. However, once you got the job you were longing for you were still a bright young prospect at twenty two. The youngest on the team, even younger than boy genius.

You always had dreams of dying like a martyr. The bravest thing you thought that anyone could do was sacrifice themself for the ones they love the most. Sure, that’s not the healthiest thing in the entire world, but it was everything to you.

“Have you guys heard that we’re getting a new member?” Garcia asked as her, Prentiss, and JJ walked into the bureau with their coffees in hand.

Prentiss nodded, “Heard they were a part of the Navy Seals for awhile. They were known as the youngest on that squad and they’re even younger than Reid,”

“Really?” JJ asked, slightly shocked that someone is younger than Reid.

Hotch walked out of his office as the rest of the team gathered by their desks, you walked right behind him, his taller figuring covering you from the view of the rest of the team.

Hotch cleared his throat before looking at all of them, “I’d like to formally introduce you guys to the newest member of the team, Agent Y/N Y/L/N,”

You emerged from behind Hotch and you gave all of them an awkward wave. Until your eyes fell onto a pair of familiar blue ones. Her face was calm and collected, but you could tell by her eyes that she was internally freaking out.

You tried to fight off a smile that was forming on your face at the sight of your old flame back in the days of Afghanistan. But by the look on her face, you knew no one else really knew of her Afghanistan days.

Afghanistan wasn’t all bad. Sure you were put there to try and take down Bin Laden, but the city that was surrounded by war was absolutely beautiful. All of the architecture and the culture, even the people.

This was one of the days where you completely forgot that you were in the middle of a war. JJ was standing on the balcony in the city of Kabul, the capitol of Afghanistan. The sun was setting behind her as you handed her a glass of wine.

It’s illegal to drink there, but as long as no one saw you called it a win. You stood behind her and wrapped her arms around her waist. You hooked your chin onto her shoulder as you kissed her rosy cheeks.

“This is nice,” she mumbled and you hummed in response.

“I agree. You make this whole mission so much more bearable,” you whispered.

Penelope ran over to you and gave you a big hug, “Hi! I’m Penelope Garcia, the best tech out there!”

You laughed softly, hugging her back, “Hi!”

Once you pulled away, you were introduced one by one to each of the team members. Until you eventually were stopped at the beautiful blonde you’ve known worlds ago.

You extended your hand out to her, meeting her bright blue eyes. You raised your eyebrows up at her, “Y/N Y/L/N,” you formally introduced.

She hesitated before grabbing your hand, the familiar spark electrocuting your body and you could tell that she felt it too, “Jennifer Jareau,”

“I like your eyes, they’re very blue, did you know that?” you told her, recalling your first ever conversation.

JJ just gave a tight lipped smile before nodding, “Yeah, well, I kind of had them my whole life so I think I know that they’re blue,”

“Right,”

You were suited up in your gear as your commander walked you over to the representative from the state department. You climbed high in the rankings with all of your hard work and selflessness, you became a lieutenant commander.

“Lieutenant commander Y/L/N, this is our state department liaison Jennifer Jareau. She will be helping assist us in communication with some of the hostages,” your commander introduced the two of you and you nodded.

You stuck out your hand and smiled at her softly, “Y/N Y/L/N,”

She grabbed your hand, smiling back, “Jennifer Jareau, but you can call me JJ for short,”

“Well JJ, I like your eyes. They’re very blue, did you know that?” you asked, awkwardly. You mentally face palmed yourself, realizing that you were getting nervous around the beautiful blonde.

JJ laughed at your awkwardness before nodding, “Yeah, well, I kind of had them my whole life so I think I know that they’re blue,”

“Right,” you drew out, mentally face palming yourself harder than before.

You let out a soft chuckle before finally dropping her hand. You knew in a room full of profilers that they would notice if a friendly handshake lasted too long, no matter how hard you didn’t want to lose her touch.

That was the only interaction the two of you had the entire case. Most of the time you were partnered up with Prentiss. She had more experience than JJ as a profiler since JJ was a liaison first.

For your first case, you impressed them all with how selfless you were. You would push yourself in front of the rest of the team when confronting an unsub. You would always be the one talking them down as their gun was pointed right at you.

“Jimmy Barnes, put the gun down,” you ordered, as he held the girl by gun point, “I said, put it down!”

He shook his head, “No! She needs to die! I need to finish what I started!” he yelled.

Jimmy Barnes, your first ever unsub was ironically going after girls who matched your description. He became so obsessed with a video game that he altered it with reality. The villain in the game looking surprisingly like you.

“Then kill me instead, you’ll win the game if you let her go and kill me,” you offered.

You could feel JJ’s eyes on you and the rest of the team gave you a quick glance before going to look back at Jimmy. For a split second you weren’t sure, what he was gonna do until he eventually threw the hostage towards Rossi, before grabbing you in the process.

He thought he had a good grip on you, but you were a Navy Seal, you know how to get out of a hold or two. Before he could pull the trigger, you elbowed his groin and threw him onto the floor.

Jimmy landed on his stomach with a hard thump, you straddled his back before putting him in handcuffs, “Jimmy Barnes, you are under arrest for the murders of Nicole Watkins, Macy Martin, and Leah Butler,” you told him, listing all of his rights.

Once you got back on the jet, your eyes drifted over to JJ who was staring out of the window. You just kept staring, trying to profile her from afar. You noticed that there was no ring on her finger yet, so that was a plus. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t dating anyone.

Morgan snapped you out of your trance, “That was a brave thing you did out there. He could’ve easily just shot you dead before you could even make a move,”

“Yeah, but it saved the girl didn’t it?” you fired back and from the corner of your eye you could see JJ let out a sigh, shaking her head.

“It did, you’re gonna be a great part of this team!” Morgan patted your shoulder before taking a seat next to Reid.

You took this as an opportunity to get some shut eye on the flight back to Quantico. And your slumber seemed to drift back to you and JJ.

The two of you were tangled in the sheets of the hard mattress. The hot air of Afghanistan causing your already sweating bodies to become more sticky. JJ was playing with your hair as her head rested on your chest.

“This is very unprofessional,” she whispered.

You chuckled softly before nodding, “Well no one has to know what we do,” you whispered back, “But if anyone were to walk into my tent they’d see your clothes all over the floor,”

She lifted her head slightly before seeing your clothes scattered all over it. She let out a content sight before putting her head back down.

“If I'm being honest, I don’t think I’d care,” she said, kissing your jawline.

You exaggerated a gasp, “Did the Jennifer Jareau just say she wouldn’t care if someone caught us breaking the rules?!”

“I wouldn’t care because I’m in love with you,”

Your ears perked up at those five words, “I’m in love with you too,” you whispered, leaning down to attach your lips together.

The more you went on cases with the team, the more reckless (well you’d like to call it heroic) you’ve become. You would run into a hostage situation with an aggressive unsub without a bulletproof vest or weapon.

You thought that you would get a talking to from Hotch about being so reckless, but he never did. The others rarely thought anything of it and just thought you were an absolute badass. Well, everyone but JJ, you could tell your need to constantly be the hero was getting under her skin a little.

You just didn’t think she’d care anymore. She barely interacted with you and when you did they were short professional conversations. Even when you went out with the team, she wouldn’t interact with you.

“So, what’s going on with JJ?” Morgan asked you as you and the team were flying out to Tacoma, Washington.

You furrowed your eyebrows, “Nothing,”

He hummed, “Well you’re staring at JJ like you’re in a romcom and just lost the love of your life. So what’s going on? You know you can talk to me,”

Morgan had become like an older brother figure to you. He was the closest person to you on the team and you knew he could trust him with anything.

“Well, JJ and I knew each other awhile ago. We had a thing and it was really good, but you know, nothing lasts forever,” you confined in him and he nodded.

“That’s why she’s avoiding you like the plague?” he asked.

You shrugged, “I don’t know. It was a long time ago and she broke things off with me. So, I don’t understand why she’s avoiding me. If anything it should be the other way around,”

“I would just try to talk to her. Obviously, something’s still bugging her if she’s avoiding you this much. Just talk to her,” he suggested and you nodded.

You wanted to talk to JJ the entire case, but the unsub shortened his kill time and struck back to back. So, you were working twice as hard and twice as fast to stop them.

And when you did find them let’s just say, you had to act quick. The unsub set his own house on fire with him and the hostage family inside of it. Hotch had called the fire department, but they wouldn’t get there for another ten minutes.

There was no way that the family would survive that. The smoke inhalation. The fire spreading quickly. Before any of the team could even react, you were off and running in to a burning building.

“Y/N!” you heard JJ shout, but it was too late you were already in the building.

The unsub was standing there with a sinister smirk on your face and just as he was about to attack you, you sent a bullet through his shoulder. He fell onto the floor in pain.

The family of three were coughing up a storm. You could feel the smoke already start to fill your lungs. You gestured for the family to start running out of the house.

“My daughter is stuck under there! You need to get her out of here!” the father yelled and you nodded.

“I’ll save her, you guys need to leave now!” you screamed.

“I’m not leaving-” the mom begins to protest, but you cut her off.

“I promise I’ll get her out of here, but if you don’t leave she’s not going to have anyone there to take care of her!” you exclaimed. Without another word they run out of the building. You looked at the little girl who was stuck behind a piece of broken ceiling.

You smiled at the girl who just seemed numb and you grabbed her arm, “Hi kiddo,” you finally got out between coughs, “My name’s Y/N and I’m here to save you okay? You’re safe now. No one can hurt you. Do you mind if I touch you and help you out?”

She nodded without another word. You started coughing uncontrollably before you finally held her in your arms.

JJ was pacing back and forth from outside. Her thoughts spinning as she just watched you run into a burning building. Two figures started rushing out of the building. JJ and Morgan ran towards the couple, leading them towards the ambulance.

“Where’s the agent who went in to help you?” JJ asked, frantically.

“She’s still in there. She’s helping our daughter, she was stuck. She promised that she’d save her,” the mother told JJ.

Right as she finished her sentence, there was huge crash. Everyone’s head turned back to the house to see the roof caved in and the building was falling apart.

“Y/N,” JJ whispered before raising her voice, screaming out your name uncontrollably, “Y/N!”

Her mind flashed back to Afghanistan, when the good thing the two of you had going turned sour.

It was dark out and you, JJ, and some of trying to search an abandoned compound that you assumed the Talibans were using to help create bombs. You sensed a slight tension against your shin.

It felt like what would happen if you rubbed your shin against a bush. But there was no shrubbery around the group, only grass and dirt. At the same time there was a pinning noise and that was the only thing you could hear.

You had walked into a tripwire, looking down you saw the primed grenade, “Grenade! Take cover!” you yelled to the rest of your team.

You don’t know why you did what you did. Maybe it was because you felt responsible for what was about to happen. You pushed JJ towards the rest of the group as one of your fellow soldiers pulled her behind the concrete building.

You threw off your backpack and jammed it into the grenade, before lying next to it in fetal position to block the explosion from expanding towards them. You were just counting down, waiting for the consequences.

5, 4, 3, 2,1, you counted and your whole body relaxed as the thought that maybe the bomb was a dud crossed your mind. But just as you relaxed it blew up in front of you.

“Y/N!” JJ screamed.

The orange sparks and the smoke cleared, but you knew you were still alive. You were so disoriented, so disoriented to the point where you didn’t even notice that you were blasted so much further away from where you originally laid.

JJ and the patrol medic ran over to you. She put her hands on my face and noticed how disoriented you were. JJ noticed the blood pouring down your nose and ears.

“Y/N, I need you to stay with me,” JJ told you, drawing figures on your bloody cheeks, “The doctor’s checking you out, I need you to stay awake, okay? Please, for me,” her voice cracked.

No matter how hard you tried, your eyes just seemed to shut and you couldn’t open them again.

“No!” JJ screamed as she continued to watch the house burn down in flames.

Tears were flowing down her cheeks. The trauma of Afghanistan and the thought of losing you flooded her mind. She always wondered why her relationships with people after you never worked.

She made excuses for herself. The idea that her job as a profiler took up too much of her time. Or the guys or girls she dated were just bad seeds. But that wasn’t the idea. It was the idea that she was still so in love with you, maybe even waiting for the day she’ll get you back.

JJ looked around the rest of your team. Reid was trying his best to fight off tears, but you could hear him sniffling. He always thought of you as one of his best friends. You related to him more than anyone because of how young you were.

Morgan and Prentiss stood up tall and were staying strong. But JJ could tell from a mile away that it was getting harder every second that was going by. Prentiss thought of you as a little prodigy, you reminded her of a young Prentiss, and all she wanted to do was protect you even though she knew you didn’t need it.

Then there was Hotch who stood there emotionless, but he was just trying to actually stay strong for the team. Hotch knew that you were the reckless type, it didn’t take a profiler to notice that.

The last thing he said to you before he introduced you to the team was, “I see that you want to fight, you’ve got this hunger. I was just like you when I was younger, head full of fantasies of dying like a martyr. Just remember, dying is easy, living is harder.”

But then they saw a figure emerge from the smoke. The little girl you were carrying was unconscious in your arms. You were coughing up a storm as you crashed onto the lawn.

The team and paramedics ran towards you. JJ cupped your cheeks as your eyes fluttered open and closed. The smoke that was filling your lungs, making it hard to breathe. The paramedics through an oxygen mask on your face as they tried to help you breathe.

You pulled it off really quick, “Y/N! Put the oxygen mask back on!” JJ scolded you.

You were coughing up a storm as you finally got out what you said between your coughs, “I’m still in love with you,” you told her.

She was about to respond when you started seizing on the ground. Hotch pushed the team out of the way so the paramedics could do their job.

JJ’s mine still drifted back to Afghanistan as she watched them drag you to the hospital. It reminded her of when they brought you back to the med camp after the explosion. The fear settling into her bones that she might not ever see you again.

When you were finally more stable to understand what was going on around you, you were in the med tent of the camp. JJ was sitting next to you with her hands intertwined with yours.

You moved slightly and her head shot up to look at you, “How bad is it?”

“Your eardrums are perforated, but there’s suspected to be no lasting damage.Your backpack and body armor absorbed most of the damage. You know the doctors say you’re lucky, but I just say you’re stupid,” she told you and you looked at her with furrow brows.

“That was a little harsh,” you muttered.

She rolled her eyes, “What you did was stupid! It was stupid and reckless! I almost lost you today because of how stupid you were being!”

“It was heroic!” you screamed. It didn't matter to you that your head was still pounding and your ears were ringing from the explosion, but you were being attacked after you just woke up.

“You don’t see the point! I almost lost you! There are people who care about you! I care about you and if I lost you today I don’t know what I would’ve done!” she screamed, “So I need you to promise me that this isn’t going to happen again. That you’ll start being more careful and thinking more without doing,”

You sat there in silence unsure of what to say, “I can’t promise that,” you whispered after so many minutes.

She bit her lip, removing her hand from yours. JJ stood up and started packing up the things that she had in the tent, “Then I can’t do this. If you’re not going to even respect a simple decision as to being less reckless for your own safety, then I can’t do this. I don’t think that what I’m asking is too hard, but I guess it is,”

“JJ,” you whispered, but it was too late she was already gone.

She didn't come to visit you after that. As you sat there in your own silence, you realized that you made a mistake. You wanted to talk to her, but every time you asked someone to grab her she would always be busy or she’d just never come.

Once you were finally well enough to be discharged from med tent and back to your own, it was too late. There was a little note left on the hard mattress the two of you once shared.

“Y/N, I’ve decided to leave. Another state department liaison is coming to replace me. I just can’t stay and watch you throw your life on the line anymore. Maybe in another world, but just not this one- JJ,” the note read and you let out a groan of frustration before falling onto the mattress.

You woke up from your seizure to see JJ sitting the corner of the room. She was curled up in the faux leather seat as she was sleeping peacefully. Your mouth felt dry as you reached over to grab the water that sat on the bedside table.

All your stirring around caused JJ to wake up, her head shooting over to you to make sure you were okay. You looked at her softly and smiled, “How’s the little girl?”

“Safe and recovering,” she answered shortly.

“Where’s everyone else?” you asked.

“They’re in the waiting room. I tried to get them to go home, but they insisted on staying,” she mentioned and you smiled softly.

You could tell she was holding back from what she was going to say, so you let out a sigh, “Whatever you’re holding back, just get it out,”

“That was stupid of you,” she said sternly, reminding you of your very last conversation before you met her again, “You almost died again! And I had to be there to witness it again!”

“I saved a family’s life today,” you told her, your voice dry, but just as stern.

“But at what cost? Risking your own?!” she exclaimed and you pinched the bridge of your nose, putting your head down, “It was stupid!”

“Can you stop saying that?! It was brave and heroic! Why can’t you just be accepting about it like everyone else?!” you yelled back.

“There it is again! With your heroic bullshit!” she threw her hands up in frustration, walking closer to your bed, “What’s the big deal about it?”

“I need to be remembered! I need to have my name in books and you know sacrificing yourself and saving as many people as possible gets you there! My family’s legacy is shot, I need to make a legacy of mine and if this is the way to do it then so be it! I need to be a hero, so I can be loved since my parents never did!” you finally exploded, telling her all the reasons why you are the way you are.

“You don’t need to sacrifice yourself to be loved!” she argued.

You scoffed, “Well, apparently I do since the only time you’ve seemed to want to talk to me since I’ve joined the team is when I’m recovering from almost dying. I don’t understand why you’re so angry at me right now, you broke up with me. You left me to recover from the bomb on my own! So tell me, why do you even care?!”

“Because I’m still in love with you!” she finally screamed and your eyes softened.

“You don’t need to sacrifice yourself to be a hero or loved because in my eyes you’re already a hero. I care because the thought of living the rest of my life without you kills me. Living my life without you the last few years was the time I felt numb. Then you came back and I wanted to give us a shot again, but I was scared,” she whispered.

“Scared about what?” you asked.

“You were still as reckless as ever. You are still so obsessed with getting your name in the history books that you don’t care who you hurt in the process. I was scared that if I got too attached that one day you’d just die,” she told you, “At least with breaking up with you, I knew you were still alive and I didn’t lose you forever,”

There was a moment of silence before she spoke up again, “You don’t understand that you risking your life out like that hurts the people who love and care about. You don’t need to have millions of people know your name, all you need are the ones who matter most to you and you don’t understand that. I love how protective and heroic you are, but I hate it more. The hate overcomes the love,”

You reached your hand out for her to come closer. You intertwined your fingers together before placing a kiss to the top of her hand. She had tears threatening to pour down her face.

You brushed a strand of her blonde hair from behind her ear before you cupped her cheeks softly, “I’m sorry,” you whispered, “I didn’t know how badly my acts affected you. I wish that we talked about this when I was still stationed, maybe I could’ve knocked some sense into myself and we’d still be together,”

“But I’d really like a second chance JJ,” you whispered shyly, the fear of rejection overtaking your promise, “I’ll make that promise I should’ve made ages ago. Be less reckless, be a hero in smaller less dramatic ways. But I also understand if you don’t, I know I’m fucked in the head,”

JJ leaned her forehead on top of yours before kissing you softly, “One more chance,” she whispered, “No more bombs, or gunmen, or fires,”

You kissed her once more, “I just hope I can be the hero that you deserve, the right kind of hero,”

“There’s no doubt in my mind that you won’t be,”

#jennifer jareau imagines #jennifer jareau x reader #jj criminal minds #jj x reader #criminal minds

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thepeacefulgarden · 8 months

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#kindness #compassion #your compassion is incomplete if it doesn't include yourself #self care #self compassion #self respect #mental health #self love #self care is not selfish #boundaries #codependency #martyr is not in your job description #you are not required to set yourself on fire to keep others warm #people pleasing #fawning #there's only so much “you” to go around #put your own mask on before helping others with theirs #you matter #you cannot serve from an empty bowl

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canmom · 2 years

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Not sure if you've read the Locked Tomb series yet or plan to, but if you have, interesting article by C. L. Clark that just came out on the Tor website the other day, "The Crosses We Bear: The Butch Martyr in SFF" comparing TLT and Baru, that you might be interested in! Would love to know your

ooh, i'll take a look! I heard Seth and Tamsyn are friends and therefore refuse to read each others books lol. anyway here's the article, to save others the trouble of looking.

I enjoyed the Locked Tomb series quite a bit so far. the like... anatomically hyperdetailed guro magic is a really fun touch and a great aesthetic core, and Tamsyn has the fantastic grasp of narrative voice you'd expect from someone who initially became known for Homestuck fanfiction (and also the love of very knowing and deliberate meme deployment, mixing humour and seriousness, etc.). They definitely stand out a lot.

I have not yet read CL Clark's own novel The Unbroken, which is very much marketed towards this current wave of 'lesbians and imperialism' SFF, so I can't comment on the response to these characters they mention in this essay!

Anyway, I don't know if you can really draw out a trope from exactly two (albeit, to varying degrees, popular) examples; but Clark does a good job of drawing out the parallels in these stories. I'm less fond of some of the theoretical frameworks being deployed here like 'queering' things (such a conveniently vague signifier!) but they aren't that important.

Here's how they sum up the device they're discussing:

they’re often attached both narratively and romantically to who I like to refer to as the conniver, who may or may not be ‘femme’ per se, but is usually less ‘butch’ than the butch in question [meaning] that their strength comes from a less stereotypically masculine realm, e.g. magic or politics, instead of brute strength. (...) The conniver is also depicted as ruthless, cunning, and manipulative, held in stark relief against the charm, humor, and honor of the butch warrior.

The second thing—the butch dies. Specifically, they die in service to the conniver, either to protect the conniver or to further their goals—usually both. For their devotion, the butches become saintly martyrs, representatives of their virtues: physical strength, loyalty, selfless nobility, and sex appeal

The thrust of the essay is their discomfort balancing their great enthusiasm for this narrative with, well, the fact that it's a story of sacrifice and death for the characters with whom they most identify; let me quote their last paragraph:

I write about this because it’s no secret that I love this pairing in genre fiction and character sacrifice is one of those heightened moments that glues readers to the page. The moment of death would seem to be one of the most agency-filled moments for the paladin. But I would like to see this beloved trope stretched further. The butch paladin still necessitates devotion—that’s what a paladin is after all. But there’s potential in giving them their own causes at odds with the conniver they’re also devoted to—what will the paladin sacrifice then? Love? Duty? What happens if the conniver sacrifices herself instead, repaying the undying loyalty with devotion of her own, and showing readers that butches are worth being sacrificed for? Or what if the paladin realizes that the conniver they’ve devoted themselves to isn’t worth their loyalty after all, and instead lets them die or fail at the crucial moment—what if the paladin’s duty is to kill the conniver herself?

There's definitely something to this; it's certainly a very clear description of the narrative that has found a lot of appeal for readers of both books. I'm not sure of the prescribed remedies really quite get at the issue we're struggling with though, and there are differences to draw out here. Spoilers follow... (I had to reread the endings of Gideon and Harrow to refresh myself which was a nice diversion lol.)

Clark has lined up the similarities very well, so what's the major difference?

Tain Hu is characterised by a straightforwardness and lack of subterfuge, but never ignorance. Throughout Traitor, she appears at various points to prompt Baru in the right direction, and basically indicate like "I'll be here when you're ready". She arranges her death not because of an endless faith in Baru's mission, although she evidently does have faith in Baru's potential, but to force a change in Baru's course.

This event completely breaks Baru, now a plural system; one alter (the 'tulpa') shapes herself in the image of Tain Hu, while the other tries to continue her ruthless campaign out of a desperate wish to make good on what Tain Hu saw in her, now with an absolute license for atrocity because nothing could be worse than killing her lover. She falls apart further and further throughout Monster and Tyrant, and the only way she starts to heal is learning to live more like Tain Hu.

Gideon meanwhile is kept in the dark for most of Gideon the Ninth; on the surface she sees Harrow as an enemy but mostly she's desperate for acknowledgement and reciprocation rather than contempt. While Tain Hu is characterised by maturity, Gideon is characterised mostly by impulsiveness and frustration. Her sacrifice to power up Harrow is a spur-of-the-moment decision in an emergency, rather than something considered; there is no real analogue to the scene at the Elided Keep where Tain Hu explains her intentions, and Harrow is given no choice in the matter.

Harrow no doubt does have a lot to learn from Gideon, but her actions in Harrow the Ninth show that she's learned very little, attempting to confine what's left of Gideon to a kind of pocket dimension and rewrite her own memories because she cannot bear to use the power she was granted, as this will destroy Gideon altogether.

Harrow's ambitions also take much longer to be spelled out than Baru's; we're kept considerably in the dark about the big picture because both books take the structure of a mystery building to a gradual reveal. Moreover, Harrow is actually fairly peripheral to the major 'plot events' of Harrow the Ninth, namely the tension between John and his original crop of Lyctors which eventually results in an assassination attempt.

Baru's major conflicts are ethical ones - what she's prepared to do in service of her self-appointed mission, what her real motivation is (saving Taranoke or power for its own sake), how her belief system allows her to be controlled. Baru is ironically a very moralistic person, just with a very warped ethical system; she's constantly obsessed with whether what she's doing is justifiable. Tau lays it out plainly in Tyrant:

A smile sweet like sugar rot. “You need me to be your little amphora, your bottle of reserve goodness, to shatter and use up. You’ve been dying a slow death since you killed Hu. You need to take another soul to finish your work. Only it’ll never be done. You’ll always need more. And no matter what you do here, Baru, I expect that by some strange coincidence it will end up being what Mister Cairdine Farrier wants. Don’t you think so, too?”

Harrow's conflicts are more personal, relating to her guilt over the atrocity that her parents used to create her, and her feelings towards the still-mysterious corpse in the eponymous Locked Tomb. Her relationship to Gideon is also different; she encountered Gideon as a child and their relationship up until the pool scene in Gideon the Ninth is characterised by taking out these traumatic experiences on Gideon, treating her as a 'whipping girl'. Even when they are forced into an alliance in the actual events of Gideon the Ninth, Harrow keeps Gideon at arm's length and treats her with disdain and distrust for most of the book, which ultimately leads to several needless deaths.

Rather than channeling her grief into a series of self-destructive misadventures to somehow justify the faith placed in her, Harrow's form of self-destruction comes from denial. Baru feels she must use the power that Tain Hu's sacrifice gains her, while Harrow continues to refuse Gideon's desire to be used (or 'eaten'). Gideon doesn't actually have any particular interest in Harrow's grand project or ambitions; her entire life has been defined by this one relationship and she chooses to redefine it when Harrow seems to be receptive - and this seems to come as a surprise even to her.

Having lined out these two parallel stories, we can agree with Clark that they are still definitely very similar. We haven't yet seen what Harrow's arc will turn out to be (and it seems book 3 may change viewpoint character again, but who knows), but in each case - taking Clark's terminology of 'conniver' and 'butch' - the sacrifice of the much more pure and straightforward 'butch' is a turning point which forces the 'conniver' to reconsider their destructive path and opens the possibility for something new. The following books concern whether they take it.

So, for all the oaths and so on, I guess my small point of contention here is just that it is not simply for the sake of advancing the interests of the 'conniver' that the 'butch' sacrifices their life, but something a little more complex. It is because the 'conniver' is wrong, but has potential that the 'butch' here dies. Their 'faith' is that they see something in the 'conniver' that is not evident to most people. (Edit: on consideration, this has far more applicability to Baru than to TLT)

Part of the reason for this structure - 'conniver' lives, 'butch' dies - is perhaps that, generally speaking, novels are structured around change - in this case, the 'character arc'. Gideon and Tain Hu are, in their respective circumstances, relatively well-adjusted and confident of their own identities. Harrow and Baru are tortured souls who have buckets of trauma to work through and cause all sorts of harm in the meantime... which is exciting, because it's fun to read about someone who's a hot mess making terrible mistakes.

We could perhaps suppose further here that Tain Hu and Gideon are projections of the desires of their authors while Baru and Harrow are projections of their struggles and neuroses, but of course nothing is ever that simple!

So if we wanted to centre a story on a character like Gideon or Tain Hu without them dying at the end of the book, I think the recipe is just this: we just gotta mess them up some more (which is to say, give them more visible complex interiority). You need them to be really deeply, horribly wrong about something - perhaps you could even use, say, believing that it would be right to sacrifice themselves for the sake of saving some tortured, ambitious scheming young prodigy, who actually isn't worth the effort at all. Perhaps trying to be a straightforwardly good person is also fraught.

Which isn't far off what Clark was suggesting, but I think the difference isn't who is worth being sacrificed for (although it can be totally read that way (edit: and certainly has been the case in prior instances of the 'butch dies' trope)) so much as whose neuroses are interesting enough to carry a novel. And yeah, there's certainly an imbalance there. I think it's very rare to see a butch lesbian at the centre of such a story, at least in SFF genre lit. (Admittedly it's only very recently that you might see a lesbian at all.) (Edit: I certainly do not disagree that this is a limiting narrative. If the above is being taken as a rejoinder to Clark, I've written it very poorly.)

So I definitely think it's past time I read The Unbroken, and saw what Clark's answer to this dilemma is. Because above anything else, it's clearly something deeply important and difficult for her, and trying to wrestle with something 'deeply important and difficult' is one of the best lines towards good fiction to my eye...

(edit: i think my comments here ended up being much more specific to just one of these two series - I was very much reading TLT through Baru here. Gideon does in fact carry a novel, and with her heroic return at the end of HtN and the reveal that Lyctors need not kill their Cavalier, the series might avoid killing her at all; Harrow's character is not the central pillar of the series as Baru's is, and i think many readers were disappointed at the shift in tone in the second book at first. Gideon did not really die to force a change in Harrow; her overwhelming loyalty rather came as a result of Harrow's stance changing.

But I think we're also reading Baru through TLT in large part here by taking Tain Hu as uncomplicatedly a butch lesbian - she can certainly be read that way since her physicality is so emphasised by Baru's gaze and her martial skill is 'the source of her power', but particularly in contrast to Gideon they don't go out of the way to give her 'masculine' signifiers beyond this. Baru is a story very consciously engaging with the 'doomed lesbian romance' narrative as a tool of imperial control, and so someone dying is necessary to carry forward the critique, but if it's going to inspire more doomed romances it's seriously misfired. I was at first very skeptical of how it was using this device, though the sequels more than brought me around.)

#baru cormorant #the locked tomb #the traitor baru cormorant #the monster baru cormorant #the tyrant baru cormorant #gideon the ninth #harrow the ninth #fiction #books

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dystopicjumpsuit · 10 months

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Martyrs and Kings - Chapter 4

Tell Me Something I Don't Know

Rating: T (rating varies by chapter; mature content will be tagged)

Pairing: Kix x archivist/historian OFC

Wordcount: 3.1k

A/N: The angst has landed. Also, over the course of this fic, Maree is going to get some details wrong. She's relying on incomplete data, but she does her best. This is for realism; after all, our understanding of history changes all the time as scholars explore new contexts, perspectives, artifacts, and information.

Warnings: angst; post-traumatic stress; description of a panic attack; brief mention of self-unaliving (no description); Maree being obtuse

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The next morning, Kix leaned against the wall of the library next to the staff entrance. He saw Maree approaching the building before she noticed him. She looked a little worse for the wear, her cheeks drained of color, and her eyes squinting against the harsh light of the sun. She was visibly surprised to see Kix waiting for her outside the door.

“Good morning,” she greeted him. “You didn’t have to wait outside for me; the library is open.”

He shrugged. “I figured I could avoid the front desk inquisition if I came in the staff entrance. Besides, it’s nice to breathe the fresh air.”

She mumbled something unintelligible.

“Gorgeous morning, isn’t it?” he asked affably. “So sunny. So… bright.”

She shot him a dirty look.

“You have absolutely no right to be this cheerful,” she said. “I saw how much you drank last night.”

“I have a fast metabolism,” he grinned.

“I used to have one of those. I could stay out all night partying and walk it off the next morning. Then I got old, and now I have to pay for my sins.”

“You’re not old,” he objected. “But I do know a few tricks to help, if you’d like.”

“Ooh, Kix has tricks,” she murmured.

Her voice was low with a suggestive edge, accompanied by a sexy little smirk, and Kix felt his blood heat. He ignored it and handed her a small tablet, which she swallowed dry without hesitation.

“What is that, a Peezo?” she asked.

“No, and do you always just pop whatever pill a strange man gives you?” he asked severely.

“You’re not a strange man; you’re my nine o’clock appointment. If anything happens to me, TJ-60 will hunt you down, and Valsi will finish the job. Am I going to start hallucinating?”

“No. It’s not spice and it’s not a stim. It's just a supplement to help replenish the vital nutrients that got depleted when your body metabolized the alcohol.”

“That’s very wholesome,” she said. “Where did you learn that?”

“I used to be a medic,” he said.

“Did you?” she asked. “And when you were learning to be a medic, did they ever teach you about the dangers of overconsumption of alcohol?”

“I must have skipped that lesson,” he said. “Shall we?”

Kix followed Maree into the library, and the moment she passed through the doors, he watched with fascination as she transformed effortlessly into a model of professionalism. She gave no indication of a hangover, and while she was still friendly, there was no trace of the flirty banter he’d enjoyed outside. In a way, it reminded him of his brothers snapping to attention at the arrival of a superior officer, no matter how ribald the conversation had been seconds before. He followed her to her office, nodding at the colleagues who greeted her on the way. They passed Dr. Harik and he shot them a sour look. Kix just gave him a friendly wave. Once inside her office, she took his coat and hung it up next to hers and then went to make a pot of tea.

“Please take whatever seat you like,” she said. “We’ll get started as soon as I pull up the report.”

“It’s freezing in here,” he observed, reclaiming the armchair he’d chosen on his last visit. He sank into its luxurious softness even as he double-checked his sight lines to make sure he had a clear path to the door.

“You would not believe the amount of time the staff spends complaining about the temperature,” she sighed. “That’s why I keep all these throw blankets in here. Use as many as you’d like.”

She loaded a tray with the pot of tea, a jar of honey, and a plate of biscuits and set it between their armchairs. Kix picked up a biscuit and sniffed it tentatively. It smelled like sweet spices, and it was encrusted with sugar crystals. He took a bite. It was surprisingly delicious, and he crammed the rest of it into his mouth as Maree turned on the holoprojector in the middle of the room.

“As you can see, the report is quite long. I doubt we’ll be able to get through it entirely this morning, and unfortunately, my afternoon is booked with meetings.”

“I’ll be on Hosnian a few more days,” Kix said. “If we don’t get through it all this morning, could we schedule another appointment?”

“Of course,” she smiled. “Before we get started, I feel I should warn you that this report is going to be depressing.”

“It was a war,” he said grimly. “I don’t expect it to be jolly.”

“War is never an easy topic,” she acknowledged, “but what happened to the clones is one of the most tragic events to unfold in recorded galactic history.”

Ice skittered down his spine. What the hell happened after I went into stasis?

“In what way?” he asked, keeping his voice level.

Maree took a deep breath.

“There has been a great deal of debate and discussion over the ethics of cloning since the fall of the Empire. In fact, the New Republic’s Coruscant Accords banned cloning and genetic engineering wholesale, although some have argued that their motivation for this was driven less by ethical considerations and more by the fear that another clone army could be created to challenge their governance.”

“What were the ethical arguments?” Kix asked.

He wondered darkly if any of the debates had included actual clones, or if they had been led entirely by sheltered, privileged rich people for whom the entire discussion was simply a rhetorical exercise.

“The Republic sent millions of clones to their deaths without ever giving them the opportunity to consent, much less dissent. Some historians contend that the reason the Republic never recorded the clones’ chosen names was to avoid confronting their humanity. If it had acknowledged them as individuals, it would have been far more difficult to justify throwing their lives away. But the Jedi share responsibility with the Republic in this war. It is true that the clone army was commissioned by a rogue individual, but the Jedi council’s decision to deploy the clones has led some historians to question the order’s ethical integrity. We have the luxury of hindsight to know that Sheev Palpatine had been manipulating both sides of the conflict from the beginning, but the Jedi cannot be absolved of responsibility. They knew what they were doing when they agreed to send an army of mind-controlled ten-year-olds into battle.”

Kix stiffened. “The clones may have been ten years old at the start of the war, but their accelerated aging meant they were fully adult by that point. I doubt they would appreciate being infantilized.”

“Of course,” Maree said. “I didn’t intend to imply that they were children. We know that biologically, they were fully developed. But so much of our mental development and maturation depends on our life experiences, and those were denied to the clones. They were bred for battle, trained from birth, and thrown into the fray before they ever had a chance to experience anything else.”

“I guarantee the clones gained more ‘life experience’ during the three years of the war than most civilians get in decades,” Kix growled.

Particularly civilians who weren’t even born until decades after the Clone Wars began, he thought, but did not say aloud.

“I don’t disagree,” Maree said, and he hated how calm her voice sounded. “But when they gained those experiences, they did not always adhere to the Kaminoans’ programming. We have records of some clones who deserted almost immediately after the first battle of Geonosis. There were also incidents of clones turning against the war and the Jedi—I believe the most famous case was at the battle of Christophsis, when a clone trooper collaborated with the Separatists because he felt that he and his brothers had been enslaved by the Jedi.”

Kix stood abruptly.

“The clones weren’t traitors!” he snapped.

“No, they were not,” Maree agreed. “They were overwhelmingly loyal. Those few instances I mentioned are notable for their rarity. As a whole, the clones were exemplary in their service, and they are widely considered to have been the greatest soldiers the galaxy has ever seen.”

Kix paced back and forth across the office. It was unfair of him, he knew, to expect Maree to understand his agitation; after all, the war and the clones were ancient history to everyone in the galaxy except him. This was a purely academic exercise for her, and he’d opted not to reveal how immediate it was for him. Maree watched him closely, waiting until he was ready to continue. At length, he came to a halt in front of her.

“You’ve told me what the general opinion of the clones is,” he said. “Now tell me what you think.”

“I think—” she paused. “I think the clones deserved better. They served the Republic with honor.”

“Even when they turned on the Jedi?” Kix asked, bitterness making his voice sharp.

“They had no choice!” Maree objected. “After the fall of the Empire, the New Republic declassified the records pertaining to the Clone Wars. We learned that the clones were controlled by inhibitor chips that were programmed to override their free will when Palpatine gave the order to kill the Jedi—Order 66. The clones were the tool the Emperor used to destroy the Jedi, but they were not responsible for their actions.”

Kix relaxed slowly and returned to his seat. At least she knows about the chips, he thought. He wasn’t sure what he would have done if she had believed the clones acted of their own free will.

“So that was it for the clones?” he asked. “Their chips activated and wiped their personalities completely?”

“It’s not quite that simple,” she said. “The chips’ effectiveness began to wear off not long after Order 66.”

Kix darted a glance at her. “It did?”

“Yes. Some clones began to question their orders. Over the next year, more and more clones began to desert. Some of them blamed themselves for the Jedi’s deaths and—took their own lives.” Her voice trembled slightly, and he felt a brief, savage satisfaction that she was not as unaffected as she had seemed earlier. But that emotion was quickly overwhelmed by the pain of hearing how his brothers had suffered. Because of him. Because he had failed.

I can’t do this, Kix thought, dropping his head into his hands.

The silence stretched out.

“Perhaps we should take a break,” Maree suggested at last.

“Yeah. I need to get some air.”

Kix lurched to his feet and strode out of the room. He’d only traversed the winding passageways to Maree’s office once, but he backtracked unerringly to the staff entrance. He walked quickly, blindly. The walls of the corridor felt like they were pressing in on him, and he was nearly jogging by the time he reached the door. He burst through it into the bright sunshine, his gasping breaths puffing swirling clouds into the cold air. Instinctively, his medic’s brain cataloged his physical state with clinical efficiency: elevated heart rate, shortness of breath, trembling, nausea. Classic symptoms of a full-blown panic attack.

He walked and walked, forcing himself to breathe deeply in through his nose and out through his mouth until the jittery tension eased. The walkway was lined with trees that were just beginning to open their blossoms, and he leaned against one, staring up through the branches into the clear blue sky. He swallowed thickly and closed his eyes.

He focused on the sensation of the gentle breeze on his skin, chilling his face and hands. As he inhaled, he took in the unmistakable smell of the city. He could hear the cacophony of airspeeders whizzing by in the skylanes, the honking of impatient horns and the shouts of irate drivers. Slowly, his emotions began to settle, and when he had regained some sense of equilibrium, he made his way back to the library.

Maree was waiting for him outside the staff entrance. She held two bottles of water, and she offered Kix one as he approached. He nodded his thanks and downed half of the contents in a single swallow. Neither of them spoke for a long moment, until at length, Maree broke the silence.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t realize how personal this was for you.”

Kix tensed. “What do you mean?”

Had she guessed who he was? He had relied on his beard and long hair to disguise his clone identity, as well as the fact that fifty years had passed since clones were a common sight in the galaxy. But she was a Clone Wars scholar; she would have seen the holograms. His anxiety returned in full force.

“You mentioned earlier that you were a medic,” she said. “You used to be a soldier, didn’t you? A combat medic. I must have dredged up some very painful memories for you.”

Kix breathed a silent sigh of relief.

“I was a soldier,” he said carefully. “It’s complicated…”

He trailed off. Maree took his hand and gave it a gentle, sympathetic squeeze.

“I understand,” she said. “You don’t have to tell me anything that you don’t wish to. It’s not my place to pry into your personal life.”

“Thank you,” he said simply.

“Kix,” she began slowly, “would it be better for you if I just send you the report? I wonder if it might be easier to read it than to talk about it.”

He shook his head.

“No, I’d like you to be there so I can ask questions if I need to,” he said. “I’ll be all right. It was just a lot to take in.”

“Of course,” she said. “I will try to do better as we move forward. I’m more accustomed to debating the topic with other academics, and it was insensitive of me to editorialize.”

“You didn’t know my history.” His voice was flat, neutral.

“Well, I do now,” she said. “And I’ll keep it in mind going forward. We can take as much time as you need, and we can take as many breaks as you’d like.”

“Thanks,” he said. “I think I’m ready to get back to it, if you are.”

“All right,” she said, leading him back into the building.

“Just one thing,” he said.

“Yes?”

“Do you have any more of those spiced biscuits?”

The report began with the battle of Yerbana, the 501st’s next engagement after Anaxes.

The combined forces of the 501st and the 212th secured a Republic victory. Immediately following the battle, the Jedi were contacted by a faction of Mandalorians who requested assistance in liberating their planet from the control of the Sith crime lord Maul. They were preparing to mobilize when they received word that Coruscant had been invaded by a massive Separatist force, and then-Chancellor Palpatine had been taken captive by Count Dooku.

Kix leaned forward as he read. “What happened?”

“The decision was made to divide the 501st into two forces,” Maree said. “The larger bulk of the legion returned to Coruscant under the command of Jedi General Anakin Skywalker. However, the smaller force, called the 332nd Division, was deployed to Mandalore under the command of CT-7567—Commander Rex—in the Venator- class Star Destroyer Tribunal.”

Rex made commander, Kix thought proudly.

“Both units were successful in their engagements,” she continued. “The 501st successfully extracted the chancellor and drove the Separatists from Coruscant space, and Count Dooku was killed in the battle. General Grievous withdrew to Separatist space. On Mandalore, the 332nd encountered heavy resistance. The siege was brutal, but the division fought with distinction and secured the planet. They captured Maul and were ordered to transport him to Coruscant and rendezvous with the rest of the 501st.”

She paused for a sip of water, and Kix waited impatiently for her to continue.

“What next?” he asked.

“That is the last record I was able to find of the 332nd,” she replied. “It’s likely they were reabsorbed into the 501st when they arrived on Coruscant, though I was unable to find any record of their arrival, either. Would you like me to do a little more digging?”

“Yes, please,” he said. “What happened to the 501st after that?”

“The legion’s next recorded mission is the assault on the Jedi temple at the end of the war,” she said.

Kix’s heart plummeted, and she must have noticed his reaction, because she continued in a softer tone.

“Following the end of the war, the 501st continued to serve the Empire. In fact, the legion was active through the entire imperial era, though the original clone troopers were eventually phased out in favor of recruited soldiers, as with the rest of the Imperial Army.”

“And when did that happen?” Kix asked.

“Officially, the Empire began to decommission the clones about a year after the fall of the Republic,” she said. “Though there is evidence to suggest that the process was already underway well before the Senate made it official. The 501st clones actually stayed in active service longer than any other unit, but eventually, they were replaced by stormtroopers.”

“I see,” Kix said. “When you say ‘decommissioned,’ what exactly does that mean? Were the clones killed?”

“No,” she said, and relief flooded through Kix. “They were retired in waves as the new recruits were brought in.”

She hesitated as though she had something else to add, but she apparently thought better of it. Just then, her comm chimed.

“Excuse me, Dr. Finnall,” said the robotic voice of the office droid. “I’m sorry to intrude, but I must remind you that you have another meeting scheduled in a few minutes.”

“Thank you, Teejay,” Maree said. “I’ll be done soon.”

She turned to Kix.

“The morning passed too quickly,” she said. “Would you like to schedule another time to meet?”

“Yes, please,” he said.

“My schedule is clear the day after tomorrow,” she said. “Does that work for you?”

“Yes,” he said. “Same time, same place?”

“Perfect,” she said. “Is there anything else you need before then?”

“Do you have a list of the clones who were assigned to the 332nd?”

“Yes, I’ll transfer it to your datapad,” she said, tapping a few buttons on the projector console.

His pad chimed with the incoming file notification. He thanked her and departed, waiting until he was out of the library before he opened the file. At the top of the list was a number that made his heart clench.

CT-5597.

Jesse.

---

Chapter 5

Tagging: @blueink-bluesoul @secondaryrealm @spicy-clones @wings-and-beskar

#dystopicjumpsuit writes #martyrs and kings #clone medic kix #sw tcw fanfic #tcw kix #tcw fanfic #star wars tcw

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angellesword · 3 years

Text

MAGIC SHOP | JJK (12)

Description: You and Jungkook were best friends who were in love with each other. What would happen when Soojin, your half sister who you’re trying to impress, told you she’s in love with Jungkook too?

Alternatively:

“Would you believe me if I said that I was scared of everything too?”

Pairing: Architect!Jungkook x Architect!Reader

Genre: childhood best friends to lovers, family drama, angst, fluff, idiots to lovers, pining, slice of life au.

Warnings: none other than JK and OC making out, cursing too????

Chapter’s OST: Nobody Compares by One Direction

Word Count: 3.8k

Series: CHAPTER 11 | CHAPTER 13

Soojin wasn't sure what to do when she saw you standing there, only a few meters away from her and Sin-ae.

You obviously heard the secret she just spilled. This was why she didn't understand why you were keeping a neutral face. It was like the new information didn't shock you at all.

Soojin couldn't help but wonder if this was you being a martyr again. She was not a fool. She was aware how desperate you were to become a part of their family.

How could she not know? Soojin literally exploited this desperation of yours for many years.

She hoped she could still use it today. She hoped you were still the same naïve girl from before.

"Hey, sister..." Soojin tested the waters by calling you sister. It always worked. She saw how your eyes softened and sparkled every time she called you that.

Sometimes she found it endearing, but it pissed her off most of the time. You were such an idiot. She mused.

"Hi." You went near them, greeting them flatly that caused Soojin's heart to drop to her stomach. She didn't see it. This was the first time your eyes didn't light up at the sight of her and her kind smile.

Your face also remained impassive despite Sin-ae's hostility.

"What are you doing here?" Soojin's mother barked, her question was making her look dumb.

You were cradling flowers in your arms while inside a columbarium building. Of course you were here to visit the dead.

"I'm here for my father," and that's exactly what you did; you stated the obvious. Your voice sounded like a robot though. Just like your face, there's no emotion that could be traced. "You know, since I wasn't able to attend the funeral."

Soojin almost flinched at the sudden change of your tone. It's stone cold. She could almost taste your resentment in her tongue.

"Ah..." Your sister let out a breathy laugh. Her heart was in her throat. Soojin was never intimidated by you because she had always felt like she was better than you. In all aspects. You were an illegitimate child. You didn't have a loving mother. Your brothers didn't consider you family. Your father loved her more than he loved you.

The only one you had was Jungkook, but he wasn't yours anymore. He was hers.

"W-We thought you went back to New York." Soojin reasoned out sheepishly. She looked timid, exactly how you used to look when you were around the Kims.

It's uncanny actually. At this very moment, you could see yourself in her. Soojin looked so much like you. Was it because she's your sister? Or was it because just like you, she had done something shameful too?

Wrong.

You were wrong. Your very existence was shameful enough. Soojin had only done something that made her feel guilty. That's different. She's nothing like you. She was better—this was what she believed.

"I did not." You responded because what else could you say? It wouldn't change the fact that you didn't get to see your father for the last time.

They took him away from you.

"Well then we won't disturb you anymore." Soojin faked a smile, grabbing her mother's arm and tucking it into the crook of her elbow.

Sin-ae tried to pull her arm away from her daughter's grasp. Turning to you, she huffed and was about to say mean things when Soojin discreetly squeezed her mother's arm.

You saw how she leaned closer to the older woman to whisper something. Only a fool wouldn't know what that 'something' was. It's obvious she told Sin-ae that there's a big chance you heard about their secret.

It's the only logical explanation why the color drained out of the face of your half sister's mother. It also appeared like Sin-ae suddenly lost her ability to speak.

She couldn't even scorn at you. Truthfully, she was looking at you as if you were a ghost that's been haunting her for ages.

"I-It's getting late, Soojin-ah. Maybe we should go." Sin-ae turned to look at her daughter, smiling warmly at her.

Soojin released a deep breath, thankful that her mother understood the situation immediately.

"We should." Soojin directed her smile at you. "See you soon, sister..."

Her smile dropped when you didn't respond, but instead of pointing it out or getting mad, she just chose to walk away, dragging her mother with her.

You surprised them when you unexpectedly spoke right after they walked past you.

"Yeah." Your grip on the stem of the flowers tightened. "See you at the Board of Directors' Meeting."

"She's bluffing." Sin-ae crossed her arms as she lifted her brows. She looked confident while standing still, her eyes were sharp which Soojin didn't fail to notice.

Her mother's aura gave her an illusion of power. Yeah. Sin-ae was right. You were most likely bluffing when you told them days ago that you would see them at the BOD's meeting.

Who cared if you knew about their secret? You didn't have evidence. As stated, Soojin destroyed it all. She also paid those employees who knew about the truth. They wouldn't dare spill.

That's the power of money. It could buy the silence of people.

Apart from this, no one would ever believe an illegitimate child like you. The board wouldn't even consider you as a prospective chairperson. You had the biggest share in the company but you weren't an architect in the firm. Only those who were working at Castle as an architect could be the next chairperson. Besides, why would they want an irresponsible person who suddenly quit her job? This was what you did when you abruptly decided to go to New York two years ago. You left Castle almost immediately, not caring that you still had commitments.

Jungkook, being your best friend, took over all your pending projects just so you could be free. He thought you simply wanted to leave the company. But regret washed over him upon realizing that you quit your job so you could go abroad.

Jungkook often wondered what would have happened if he didn't take over your pending projects. Would you still leave Seoul? Would you still leave him?

Probably.

You never stayed.

You left before.

You left him now too.

The last time Jungkook saw you was when he dropped you off at Castle so you could be present when Taemin's executor read the will. After that, he never saw you again.

Jungkook tried to go back to the motel but you weren't there anymore. He panicked, thinking that you went back to New York already.

But when he called your phone and you answered, he instantly felt relief engulfing his body.

"I'm still in Seoul." You informed him over the phone. You also told him you couldn't go back to his apartment anymore.

"At least tell me where you're staying..." He was begging you again. Jungkook didn't care if you thought he was pathetic. His main concern was your safety.

"I can't. But I'm safe. Promise." You assured him. He wanted to argue but then he was reminded by what you told him two years ago. You didn't want to be fixed. Maybe it's time he put his trust in you.

He should trust your words.

"Okay." He said, his heart was heavy.

You hummed.

"See you soon, Kook." And then you hung up.

You didn't lie though. Jungkook saw you after a few days. He got to know what happened through Soojin. Your sister was pissed because you inherited more than half of Taemin's assets. Jungkook also came to know that you wanted to be the next chairperson of Castle.

Soojin was trying to calm her nerves; however, everything was making her worry. She didn't only have to worry about you. Jungkook was also a threat to her position. The board probably wanted him to be the next chairperson.

Sin-ae assured her daughter there's nothing to worry about.

"Didn't I tell you I can handle Jungkook? He'll marry you so you don't need to worry if the board chooses him as your father's successor. Chin up. We got this. Like I said, the bastard is bluffing. She won't be at the meeting." Sin-ae reminded her daughter for the second time.

Soojin nodded. Her mother's words didn't give her the illusion of power. The confidence she felt right now was already real.

"Alright." Your sister held her head high as she heaved a deep sigh. "Let's go. This day is perfect. I'll either be the new chairperson or Jungkook's wife. I win regardless..."

"Yes." Sin-ae's lips twitched. "That's right. Now let's go and claim what belongs to you."

Sin-ae was wrong. You weren't bluffing. You're determined to be the next chairperson of Castle Architectural Firm.

You wouldn't let Soojin taint the name of your father. She had to pay for her sins, not just for the sake of Taemin but also because she owed it to the family of those workers who had died because of the accident.

Soojin failed as an architect. The least thing she could do was to become a decent human being and face the consequences of her mistake.

You knew you could only make her pay if you had the power, but how were you supposed to be in power when you felt like everyone in this building hated you?

You couldn't get rid of the ugly feeling twisting in your gut. You were certain you weren't imagining the nasty stares everyone was giving you.

You also saw some of the employees whispering to one another while looking at you.

You inhaled sharply and went straight to the comfort room. You couldn't bear it. All your life, the people you loved looked at you like that.

It was happening again. This time, it was so much worse. Even those who knew nothing about your life were judging you. You had a feeling that they were already aware that you were an illegitimate child.

It was kind of a big deal here, especially now that you had inherited the assets bound for the legitimates. People probably saw you and your mother the same way: a leech.

But you just shook your head at this. Who cares about what people think? What's important was that you didn't lose yourself despite hearing rumors about you.

It was just a rumor. You knew the truth. The people who loved you knew the truth. Jungkook knew the truth.

"Tiger." And he loved you.

"Jungkook?" You flinched when you heard your best friend's voice. You saw his reflection in the mirror. He was leaning against the bathroom door.

"Why are you here?" Your eyes widened, jaw clenching. This was a woman's restroom. What if someone saw him here?

"I thought I saw you going here. Just wanna check..." He said this while you peeked through each cubicle. Thank Heavens no other women were here.

"You're not supposed to be here. Let's go." You made your way to the door, attempting to twist the doorknob but Jungkook stopped you.

"Kook." You sighed. "The meeting starts in ten minutes. We'll be late." You said sharply, reminding him this wasn't the time to play games.

"Five minutes." He let out a deep breath too. "Just give me five minutes, Tiger."

Your breathing hitched upon hearing the desperation in his voice. You made a mistake by meeting his gaze. The softness in his eyes never failed to make your knees go weak.

"I just wanna see you..." He drawled, lightly pushing you against the door and caging you in his arm.

Jungkook cupped your face while you pressed your cheek against his hand, instantly melting. Your stomach knotted with desire. It felt good to be touched like this.

"Kook..." Your teeth chattered though, the protest of your brain was hard to ignore. "W-We can't."

And as usual, you gave into what your mind thought was right. You were pushing him away. Again.

Stupid.

"Why can't we?" It was surprising to hear him ask this without the whiny tone. He was calm today, like an adult asking for a reasonable explanation. Jungkook knew he couldn't get what he wanted by whining.

"Make me understand, Tiger. Why can't we?" He was caressing your cheek. Your eyes fluttered shut because you didn't want to look at his doe eyes.

"Soojin."

"To hell with Soojin." You shuddered when he said this. His voice was rough, so different from the Jungkook you knew. You had to open your eyes to make sure it's still him who was caging you.

The Jungkook you knew would never say something like this.

"How many times do I have to repeat myself for you to understand?" He was looking at you through hooded eyes.

Your heart hammered through your chest.

"It's not Soojin who I want. It's you." You felt his finger tracing your bottom lip. The way he was staring at your lips made you shiver. "Nothing compares to you, baby."

Oh.

You realized you couldn't use Soojin as an excuse. It's not working anymore and frankly, it's just pissing Jungkook off. He swore he'd vomit if he heard you say your sister's name one more time.

"W-We still can't." You trained your eyes on the floor. He was about to ask why but you beat him by speaking at once.

"Because you're my rival."

You thought you'd hear him scoff or hiss, but Jungkook just clenched his jaw. Deep eyes boring into you. He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him.

"I'm not." He said seriously. "I quit. I'm not competing against you."

You were the one who scoffed.

"Why?" You looked at him like he was crazy. "This is your father's company too."

Jeon Jong-in worked hard to build Castle Architectural Firm. Why wouldn't his son continue his legacy?

"You never listen to me, do you?" Jungkook let out a small chuckle before booping your nose. It's amusing how fast his expression changed. "Didn't I just tell you? Nothing compares to you, Tiger..."

He was saying that he'd choose you whatever happened, even if it meant losing other things. Because really, what's the use of all these material things when you're not by his side?

"Kook..." You pressed your hand on his chest and then you're suddenly reminded by what you had tried to do when you got drunk days ago.

The last time you put your hand on his chest, you tried to kiss him.

"What excuse are you gonna give me this time, my Tiger?" The corner of his mouth quirked up. Amusement was written all over his face. "Don't tell me you're gonna say you don't think I'm in love with you?"

Jeon Jungkook was the only person you knew who was never scared to admit his true feelings. You just knew he would confess his love at any chance he got. It's like he didn't mind if he got his heart broken. Truthfully, it felt like he would get his heart broken if he didn't confess all the time.

He had always been like this. Always genuine, never scared. He acted based on what he felt and he's never sorry for it.

"Are you?" You weren't sure what took over you when you knitted your brows together and asked this.

Jungkook's eyes grew big and then he let out a dramatic gasp. It was as though he couldn't fathom the words that left your mouth.

"Where is this coming from?" He swallowed thickly, disbelief was still apparent in his eyes. "You don't think I—wait. What?"

Jungkook blinked. Once. Twice.

"Shit. You seriously think I'm not in..." He trailed off, "oh." It's like something clicked. Jungkook's disbelief turned into credence when he realized something.

He stared at you with pursed lips, like he was trying to figure you out. Your expression seemed like you were challenging him that Jungkook wasn't sure what to do.

He felt like you're not going to believe whatever he would say, so instead of blabbering how crazy he was for you, he just used his mouth into something that shocked you.

Jungkook leaned forward and without hesitating, he kissed you.

Hard.

It was as though you were waiting for him to do that because your response was instant. You kissed Jungkook back like a hungry person who hadn't eaten in days.

Jungkook pressed his chest against yours, like he wasn't content with your proximity. He wanted to be closer to you even more.

"You don't think I love you because—" He bit your lip, making you moan. Jungkook pushed your body weight against the wall with his own. You wrapped your legs around his waist, your dress hiking up in the process. "—I didn't kiss you when you were drunk?"

He got it now. You're sulking like a kid because of it? Huh. What did you want him to do? Kiss you and then have you hate him since he wasn't able to control himself?

"You're a fool if you think I didn't want to do it. I was literally on the verge of giving you my whole world right there and then." You parted your lips and allowed his tongue to explore the inside of your mouth.

Jungkook was the very definition of sweet. Everything about him tasted sweet, heavenly, and addicting. It was like he was an angel, but in reality, he made you weak. A devil meant to punish your heart for wanting to take more than you could handle.

Jungkook gave you so, so much more and you couldn't stop taking it all.

"But I don't want to take advantage of you. I want you to really want me, to really mean it when you kiss me." He cupped your ass as he hummed and groaned with desire.

You felt bolder when you asked him; "do you think I mean it now?" In between kisses.

Jungkook swiped his tongue along your teeth. "Yeah," he answered yet he groaned in dissatisfaction. "But I'm selfish, Tiger...I want more than this."

He stopped kissing you, opting to press his forehead against yours. He breathed you in. He was letting the selfish part of him consume him again.

Jungkook wanted you with all of his heart. He was disgustingly in love with you.

"Love is not my priority right now, Jungkook." You said since it was the truth. You had the opportunity to help people serve justice.

"I know.” And he understood it. Jungkook was nuzzling your nose. "Promise me you're not gonna hold back..."

He knew how much you loved Soojin. He was a little worried you're going to back down once you saw sadness in your sister's features.

"I won't." But you weren't that person anymore.

It's interesting, really. Some people swore they'd never change but there's always that one circumstance which would transform them either into a better or worse version of themselves. You hadn't realized yet if your metamorphosis was the former or the latter. All you knew was that you had reached your breaking point—your limit.

"Good." Jungkook smiled softly at you. His eyes were crinkling. "I know it. I called you Tiger for a reason."

He was finally telling you the reason why he crafted that nickname for you. He didn't elucidate any further but you felt like you already understood. Tigers represented courage. To some, it symbolized truth and justice.

"Thanks, Kook." You returned the smile. Jungkook helped straighten your dress. He kissed you one last time before opening the door so you two could face the challenge set for today.

You arrived at the conference room just in time. Soojin and Sin-ae were already present. Your two brothers were here as well. They're shareholders too.

Once the quorum was recognized, the vice chairperson made a simple statement. The agenda for today was also discussed. The topic mostly revolved around the firm's responsibilities and liabilities—both civil and criminal—to the affected people.

There had been major changes with regard to ownership too. It had come to the attention of the board and other stockholders that the Kims were no longer the biggest investors in the firm.

"Quite the opposite actually." Jungkook leaned against the backrest of the chair as he crossed his arm over his chest.

He looked so relaxed, as if the matter being discussed didn't concern him.

Yes, that's actually the truth. Jungkook was just asked if he had the biggest share in Castle Architectural Firm.

"I sold all my shares. I'm just here to officially announce that I'm no longer tied to the company. I quit both as an investor and an architect."

There had been a protest after Jungkook said those words. It's clear that the majority of them couldn't accept this.

"This is ridiculous! Who will be the next chairperson now?" Mr. Han balled his hands into a fist.

Jungkook remembered this man. How could he forget? He's the same scum who disrespected Soojin and basically all women. He's a misogynistic piece of shit.

"It's not my fault you're not informed. All information is laid down for investors like you. I am not competing against the Kims."

It was revealed right there and then that Taemin's illegitimate child and Soojin were the candidates to be the next chairperson.

Of course Sin-ae lost her composure. It's expected. She's dramatic like that. She was shouting and demanding how this became possible.

The charter and the country's law stated that in order to become the company's chairperson of a professional corporation, one should be employed as an architect in the firm first.

Sin-ae talked to the Human Resources Manager before. The employee confirmed that you weren't hired. You didn't even apply.

"Oh I'm not talking about me, Mam." You smirked at your father's wife. "You see..."

For dramatic effect, you stood up and walked around the room. Everyone was either looking at you with anticipation or hatred.

Jungkook was the only one looking at you in awe. He liked seeing you like this, in control and confident. He pouted while watching you. He wished he could kiss you again.

"I know it's not a secret anymore that I'm Kim Taemin's child. But..."

But. There's this word again. More often than not, the word but followed something negative...or shocking.

In this case, it's the latter.

You saw surprise written in their faces as you revealed the truth:

"I'm not the only bastard of Kim Taemin." You stood behind the chair of one of the shareholders and architects here at Castle.

You tapped his back, causing him to sit straight.

"Everyone, meet Jung Hoseok—or should I say Kim Hoseok, the eldest son of Kim Taemin..."

Hoseok smirked too as he said “let the game begin,” under his breath.

#jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x you #jungkook best friend #jungkook best friends to lovers #best friend jungkook #jungkook series #jungkook romance #jungkook fic #jjk fic #jjk #bts jeon jeongguk #boyfriend jungkook #armywriterssupport

216 notes · View notes

writersmorgue · 3 years

Text

Nightmare Material

15+ for graphic descriptions of violence, blood, and gore

can be read as slash or platonic

not proofread

“SHUT UP DEKU! OH MY GOD, CAN YOU BE QUIET FOR FIVE FUCKING MINUTES?!”

The common room goes silent.

“Woah, Bakubro, he just asked if you were busy,” Kirishima chuckles nervously.

Katsuki looks over to Deku who, as expected, already has tears welling in his eyes.

“Shitty crybaby, of course I’m busy can’t you fuckin’ see? Go bother someone who cares.”

Deku sniffles like the pathetic little child that he is, and nods, “Ok Kacchan.”

“Fuckin’ annoying ass-” Katsuki mutters, ignoring the glares as he stomps out of the room. Taking the stairs two at a time before slamming the door shut behind him, imagining the flinches of his classmates as he does so.

Fuck that fucking nerd, always looking down at him. Asking him for help on math of all things, when he fuckin’ knows that’s Katsuki’s worst subject. Fuck him.

The little shit shouldn’t even be here, he’s not on Katsuki’s level. Just gonna get himself killed.

After a few minutes of grumbling into his pillow, there’s a knock at Katsuki’s door, followed by a meek, “Blasty?”

He groans dramatically and flops over onto his back, propelling himself up with a few controlled explosions.

“Fuckin’ what-” He swings the door open and comes face to face with the entire idiot squad.

Sero, Kirishima, Mina, and Kaminari all stand in front of him, Sero nervously wringing his hands, Kaminari avoiding eye contact, and Kirishima giving him a look.

Mina steps to the front of them, patting Kirishima’s shoulder as she does so.

“Blasty, you really gotta stop.” She stares him straight in the eyes, not backing down no matter how hard he glares.

“Stop fuckin’ what.”

Kirishima places a hand on Mina’s chest, stalling her step forward into Katsuki’s space. “You know what, Bakugo.”

Katsuki rolls his eyes, “Oh please, like the little shit can’t handle some yelling. I’ve seen discount hot topic make his ears bleed-”

“This isn’t about Jirou. This is about you. You need to sort your shit out.” Sero’s frowning, a rare sight.

“Oh?” Katsuki quirks an eyebrow, “Or what?”

There’s a tense silence before Kaminari sniffs. “Or- or we won’t be your friends anymore!!” He stutters, bottom lip wobbling.

The rest of the group nods, one by one giving him a last glance.

Katsuki stands there for a few minutes, mainly thinking, but also fuming

How dare they treat him like that, like trash. He’s not trash, and he’s not the bad guy. He’s just trying to save Deku before it’s too late. Stupid idiot won’t last a day in the hero business, even with his new freak quirk. All it’s good for is hurting the nerd.

“Stupid Deku and his stupid protection squad, fuckin’ blind idiots.” He grumbles, slamming the door and returning to his lair.

He changes his clothes, resigning himself to finishing his weekend at the gym instead of on next week’s homework.

Bakugo stomps through the common room on the way to their practice room, a few of his classmates shoot him glares but he’s ignored for the most part. Something noticeably purposeful since he’s not exactly being quiet. Even Kirishima refuses to acknowledge his presence.

Yeah, that hurts.

He runs for two hours, lifts for one, and finishes with core for thirty minutes before his post-workout cooldown ritual. Thoroughly satiated and tired to the bone, he heads back to his dorm. Ignored this way too, he doesn’t bother saying goodnight to anyone. Not that he would usually. Not that he misses Ashido’s “Night blasty!!” on his way up the stairs.

He doesn’t give a shit.

He scrubs at his body with his last bits of energy and brushes his teeth half dead on his feet. Exhausted, he flops down on his bed and passes out almost immediately.

…

Someone’s screaming.

Katsuki lunges toward Shigaraki, whose hand barely grazes Izuku’s neck.

Izuku? When did he ever call the nerd something other than-

“DEKU!!!” Oh, he was the one screaming. He blasts himself forward and pushes Izuku out of the way, his dusted skin flaking off into the breeze as green hair skids to a stop on the ground below.

“Damn BRAT-” Shigaraki mutters, angrily scrunching his hand in mid-air before turning his attention to Katsuki. “YOU.” He points a cracked, pointed finger at Katsuki.

“Yeah, what are you gonna do about it old man?” He snorts, preparing his arms to blast again, he can feel the resistance from his last jump.

“You saved the little shit,” Shigaraki mutters to himself, nails dragging roughly down his neck, “must have a relationship, must be close to my enemy. Must die-”

Katsuki raises his hand, palms crackling in defiance, but he’s geared to go anyway.

Nothing happens.

“Fuck goddamnit!” His one fucking chance to get a drop on the guy and he’s out of juice? Fucking really?!

He’s so caught up in his fury he doesn’t notice the mad glint in the enemy’s eye. The way he smiles brokenly, bloody tongue barely peeking out.

“Poor little hero.” He mutters.

Katsuki jerks his head up just in time to see five fingers inches away from his face.

Well, this was fun.

“KATSUKI-” There’s pressure on his side and he falls, belatedly realizing he was pushed out of the way.

He looks hits the ground hard, hearing the reverberated snap of his ankle as it breaks.

“FALL HERO!! FALL BEFORE ME! YOUR NEW GO-”

Shigaraki falls to the ground as Todoroki whacks him over the head with a piece of rebar.

HIs normally stoic expression is frantic, he’s got fresh tears streaking down his face, and his forehead is covered in dried blood.

He tears his eyes away from the downed villain as Kirishima comes to cuff him, and screams in anguish at the sight of Izuku- Something Katsuki is still trying to wrap his head around.

A startled, almost pained sound escapes Katsuki as he half limps, half runs towards his best friend.

...best friend?

“IZUKU!”

Izuku has long since crumbled to his knees, clutching what remains of the left side of his face. Still slowly crumbling away. Blood pours down his arm and neck, making it difficult to see, but the sight of his eye frantically widening as Katsuki sits next to him is enough.

He removes his hand and sobs, throwing himself onto Katsuki.

“Eih- hgo-” He chokes, blood soaking Katsuki’s own suit as he rocks them both.

“Shh, it’s okay, Izuku.” He whispers, making eye contact with a sobbing Todoroki, who nods in approval.

“Izuku you’re gonna be fine.” The shock has yet to remove itself from Katsuki’s voice, and his words are filled with cracks and sobs, but he hopes it’s what Izuku needs.

“Aa- aah” Izuku’s broken kacchan followed by a fresh flow of blood down Katuski’s neck.

“I love you, Izuku. It’s gonna be alright.”

Izuku whimpers, clutching onto the blond’s neck for dear life.

And then he goes limp.

Katsuki’s eyes bug out, and he pulls Izuku arm’s length away. The gruesome sight that greets him is one he’ll never forget.

Izuku’s left eye hangs loosely down the side of his mangled cheekbone and jaw. Katsuki can see teeth starting to crumble as the decay works its way through his face. His nose is completely exposed, with no flesh left. No cute freckles. No scrunch when he smiles. And his other eye, possibly the worst part, stares lifelessly at Katsuki. The last remnants of tears make their way down his face.

He looks… terrified.

He died scared in the arms of his abuser. Someone who never even apologized to him. For fucking anything. Some vile part of Katsuki reminds him.

He saved me because I couldn’t do my fucking job.

He thrusts Izuku’s lifeless body into Shouto’s arms, who lets out a heartwrenching sob. Katsuki scrambles back, and can vaguely register the sound of pink cheeks vomiting behind him.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck-” becoming increasingly more desperate with each utterance of the word, “FUCK!” Kirishima comes up behind him, picking him off the dust-covered ground and holding him to his chest. “This is all my fault!!!” He wails, “He fucking saved me, I couldn’t- this isn’t right no no NO-”

“Shhhh Katsuki-” Eijirou soothes him through his own tears, always the constant in Katsuki’s life. Well, after Deku.

Deku Deku Deku.

Dead Deku.

Because of you.

Katsuki takes another good look at Deku’s face where Shouto had freaked and discarded him on the ground. The unnatural bend of his arms, the bloody drool escaping his parted- if you can even call that a mouth anymore, his eyes.

And he screams.

He screams and he screams and he screams until someone shakes him so hard he wakes up.

Wait-

“BAKUGO!!! WAKE UP PLEASE-” Shitty hair screams at him, shaking his shoulders desperately as he thrashes in his sheets.

He stills, staring up at Kirishima with a shocked expression.

“Wh-”

“You were having a nightmare,” Kirishima explains, gasping for breath like he just ran a marathon.

Katsuki looks to the doorway where half of the boys in their class stand, expressions varying from worried to shocked.

He looks back at Kirishima, a pitiful whimper escaping his throat, “It- it wasn’t real?”

Katsuki looks to the door, half expecting to see Izuku there.

Missing an ear, you can see his tongue through his cheek.

Katsuki gulps, “Where’s Izuku?” He murmurs into the quiet room.

“Izuku?” Someone in the hallway mutters.

“Uh,” Kirishima catches himself before he can say something dumb, “Izu?- Uh- Midoriya is probably in his room. Didn’t think you’d want him here, but he knows. You kinda woke up the whole dorm.”

Kirishima has barely finished the sentence before he’s jumping out of bed, pajamas be damned, and sprinting toward the stairs. When he gets to Izuku’s floor he makes a hard right, Icyhot shouting something about being nice behind him.

Katsuki can yell at him later.

Running gives him time to think, and the more Katsuki thinks the more he realizes that his nightmare might as well have been a prophecy. Izuku would pull some martyr shit like that, but it was only Katsuki’s fault in the first place that he was put in that situation. He’s the only one to blame. Izuku had done everything right, and Katsuki managed to fuck it up.

Hollow socket, tendons hanging, blood turning his green suit a muddied brown.

Katsuki knocks on the door frantically, scared about what he’ll see when Izuku answers.

There’s some rustling from inside before Izuku peeks out, green curls messy from sleep.

“Wh- I thought Aoyama said you were having a nightmare.” His eyebrows furrow.

“I was,” Katsuki breathes, taking in how whole his rival is. “But it wasn’t real.”

He reaches out hesitantly and brushes an unruly lock of green out of Izuku’s left eye.

“Everything’s where it should be-” He chuckles almost in bewilderment.

He drags his fingers gently down Izuku’s cheek, tracing where the decay had rotted away skin, now whole.

A few of the classmates who followed him gasp in surprise when Katsuki clutches Izuku’s shoulders and buries his face in soft green hair. Completely breaking down as he sobs.

Izuku freezes, terrified of ruining the moment, even though he really wants to ask someone what the fuck is happening.

He gives Kirishima a questioning look as he hesitantly rubs along Katsuki’s back.

The redhead just shrugs.

“I’m sorry Izuku.”

Aaaand the damn breaks.

Izuku sobs as Katsuki clutches him tighter, their friends begin to awkwardly back out of the hallway after witnessing whatever that was.

“Wh- Kacchan?” He pulls away reluctantly, but he needs to see Katsuki’s face.

The blond’s eyes are red and puffy, same as his cheeks, but he’s dead serious.

“I’m so fucking sorry. You don’t deserve any of the shit I put you through, you’re a really good guy.” He heaves in a breath, “And- I know you’ll be a great hero someday.”

“Kacchan… why?”

Katsuki looks away, “I just- thought about some things,” He doesn’t mention that the thinking involved seeing his classmate’s bloodied corpse, “realized how full of myself I am. You really did just want help on that math homework, huh?” He huffs, shaking his head at his past self.

“I did. What else would I have wanted?”

Katsuki sniffs, angrily rubbing at his eyes, “I don’t know, Izuku. I’m a fucking idiot.”

Izuku smiles sadly, “All I’ve ever wanted is to be your friend, Kacchan.

The blond nods, “Yeah, I think I see that now. Can- can we still do that? Be friends?”

Izuku beams, rubbing his own tears away and pulling Katsuki into another tight hug.

“There’s nothing I want more, Katsuki.”

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jinmukangwrites · 3 years

Text

Wanted to challenge myself and write something under 500 words. Honestly just proud of myself that I managed to keep it below 1k. This is a win for me regardless. Sorry for the lack of writing from me lately, idk why I haven't been in the mindset to write. I've been doing nothing but rewatching Naruto lately, but idk I was in the mood to write something tonight so I chose a random prompt and challenged myself to keep it short. Enjoy!

Prompt: "i can't believe that you lied to me." w/ Legend and Hyrule.

Warnings: description of minor injury, fever, infection

-o-o-o-o-

They're trekking through the woods when it happens. It's sudden and unexpected, the sound of a body hitting the ground coming so much quicker than anyone can react. Fear shoots through Hyrule's veins as he spins around; his eyes immediately locking onto the very still and very limp-looking Legend.

"Vet!?" Warriors shouts out, but Hyrule is the first towards his body, skidding to his knees and grabbing his shoulders to push him onto his back—that way he's not breathing in lose dirt with his suddenly very quick and very short inhales.

"He's unconscious," Hyrule calls, his voice more shaky than he'd like. However, he can already feel worried tremors attacking his fingers as he desperately tries to figure out what's wrong.

The others urgently gather around one-by-one. Warriors pushes to the front of the others—and they willingly part as they know he has the most knowledge in field medicine. He presses the back of his palm against Legend's head and swears. "Fuck. He has a fever."

"What's wrong?" Wind asks in a small voice somewhere behind Hyrule, but his question goes unanswered as Warriors presses his fingers against Legend's neck to count his pulse.

However, the question doesn't go ignored. Not by Hyrule. His stomach tightens in a knot and he finds his bottom lip being worried between his teeth.

Legend told Hyrule not to tell the others... not to worry them with something trivial. But... there can't be any other reason he'd randomly pass out like this.

Hyrule shoots his shaking hands forward and grabs at Legend's belt. Warriors makes a shocked, inquiring shout as Hyrule unbuckles the belt and tugs the outer layer of his tunic up to expose his side. Warriors confusion quickly turns to intense concern as he sees what Hyrule has just exposed. In Legends side, near his hip, is a large cut in the fabric that reveals bandages underneath with stains of a sickening, unhealthy red.

Soon, at Warriors demand, Wild is cutting open the tear in the tunic even larger. Legend will be pissed at the loss of his tunic, but Warriors doesn't seem to want to jostle him around too much by removing the tunic normally. Once Legends chest is bare—covered in nothing other than a one-handed attempt at bandages—Warriors takes the dagger from Wild's fingers and carefully finishes the job himself by slicing open the white-stained strips of fabric.

What meets them under the fabric is festering, bloody, and bad.

"It's infected," Warriors snarls.

From there, it's Warriors commanding the others to get water and various ingredients for a makeshift wound cleaner as they're all out of red potions thanks to their last big ambush.

All Hyrule can do is sit there, unsure if the weight in his stomach is worry for his friend... or anger that he had been lied to.

It must be both, he decides.

-o-o-o-o-

Legend wakes up with a headache, feeling hot and cold all over. There's something wet on his forehead, but when he groggily reaches up to grab at whatever it is, a hand wraps around his wrist and pushes it back down. "You have a fever, dumbass."

Ah. Legend remembers now. He creeks his eyelids open and sure enough, a very unhappy Hyrule sits above him, his glare as sharp as daggers.

"You're an idiot," Hyrule says coldly. "You said you'd be fine. Next thing I know you're passing out in the middle of the trail. I can't believe you lied to me."

Legend sighs, and leans further back into the blankets spread under his body and rolled under his neck. He can only see Hyrule from where he weakly lays. He wonders where the others are... and if there's any chance they'll be able to save him from Hyrule's justified rage. Nah, they're all probably just as pissed.

"I didn't want to make anyone worry," Legend whispers, his voice scratchier than he expected. He supposes it's what he deserves—hiding his wound from everyone like that. It was by bad luck Hyrule caught him wrapping the wound after the ambush. He just... everyone else was much more wounded than he was, and he preferred the rest of their dwindled supplies be used on them. He's taken care of himself before.

He... just must have underestimated the state of the wound on his side. Perhaps the sword the moblin got on him wasn't as clean as it should have been?

"Well, looks like you royally failed, you shit-brain martyr," Hyrule hisses. "Now everyone is worried."

Legend desperately wants to sink into the ground and cease to exist. However, all he can do is try a weak "I'm sorry."

And bless Hylia for Hyrule being such a gentle soul. His eyes immediately soften. "Just... just don't do it again. We're... a team here. Your wounds are our wounds. We want to know when your hurt, no matter what. Warriors just barely managed to save your life this time."

Legend takes a shakey breath. "Okay. I promise."

Hyrule nods his head, all anger that had painted his body is now gone, replaced with companionable, smothering worry. "You should rest some more. It'll save you a little longer from the lecture Cap and the old man have for you. I heard Time practicing his, and it's not pretty."

Legend lets out a startled, exhausted laugh at that. It tugs on his side, but thankfully it's not as painful as what it was before he lost consciousness. Whatever Warriors had given him, it must be very good. Goddess above, his an idiot. "That sounds like a good idea."

"Something you need to learn how to start having," Hyrule teases, a twinkle in his eye.

Legend hums and closes his eyes, sleep already luring him in. "No promises there," Legend manages to mutter. He's completely overcome with unconsciousness before he can hear Hyrule's scolding.

#linked universe #hero of legend #hero of Hyrule #jin writes #fanfiction #ficlet #injury tw #blood tw

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