#The Old People wore masks to a wake tonight so at least they get it.

[badooney7]

Me: Do you think [company our cousin-in-law owns where you work] would by you a HEPA filter?

Sister: The building is a bunch of little rooms, I don't know what—

Me: My main concern is the room where YOU are all day. I mean like a portable one.

Sister: Oh. There's no room to put that.

Me: Like a little one. A desktop one.

Sister: Oh. There still isn't really room for that, there's barely any work surface. But I'll ask [cousin-in-law].

Me: Ok. Because one-in-three people are going to catch covid before the end of this surge. It's the worst it's been since omicron.

Sister: ........

Pardon me for suggesting THE EASIEST FUCKING COVID PRECAUTION that literally requires nothing of you but turning a machine on and forgetting about it. Excuse me for making you think about the deadly disease we all wish wasn't a thing anymore because I don't want our old people to be incapacitated. The job you hate is going to be a lot harder to leave if we end up being caretakers, the brunt of which you're going to have to take on because I can't drive or climb stairs. Not to mention complications with the apartment you live in for free. Plus all the drives into Boston you're going to have to take on for my muscle disease care.

[catierambles]

Alternate Instincts Ch.31

gdi shadow why'd you wake me up at 6am

Stephanie was sitting on the couch, scrolling through her phone when Mike sat down next to her heavily, making her bounce a little on the cushions. He suddenly tipped sideways and she lifted her arms as he laid across her lap, looking down at him and his shit-eating grin.

“What?” She asked.

“We should go out tonight.” He said and she gave him a look.

“Yeah?” She asked and he nodded.

“A new club opened up downtown, themed on this old point and click horror game I played when I was a kid that went public domain.” He said, “I’ll be able to tell if Lewis makes an appearance and the place will be packed on opening night so we can disappear if need be.”

“Mike, he tried to stab you when we first met, remember?” She asked, “Not saying no, just saying we should bring one of the others with us just in case. Probably Geralt. He seems like the least likely to be miserable at something like this.”

“Geralt is so broody though!” Mike exclaimed.

“Would you rather we bring Sy and deal with him being all surly Army Captain? Or how about Walter with his bored sighs and manly glowers? Maybe August? Who gets into a right foul mood when he has to do something he doesn’t want to.”

“Good point.” Mike said, clicking his tongue against his teeth, “I can deal with intense brooding for a few hours.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Geralt wasn’t enthused with the idea, but he didn’t outright tell them no. He also let them know he was expecting a call from a fellow Tracker in Chicago, but it shouldn’t split his focus. Both men opted for their usual clothing, hoodie and a t-shirt for Mike, dark button-up with the sleeves rolled up the forearms and black jeans for Geralt. Stephanie stuck to something simple but more in-tune with a club vibe, a black halter top and tighter fitting dark jeans with black leather flats.

“You’re not going out like that.” August said, folding his arms over his chest and she rolled her eyes.

“I don’t call you Daddy, and you’re definitely not my father. Get over it.” She said and went to him, pressing a kiss to his cheek when he scowled at her.

“One moment.” Geralt said as they were about to leave, stopping Stephanie with a hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to get all pissy about my shirt, too.” She said and he gave her a look before pulling a chain out of his pocket. It was simple chain that looked silver, but it obviously wasn’t as he was able to handle it. Hanging from it was a ring, and it was the wolfs head ring Geralt wore for as long as she knew him. “Geralt?”

“We’ll talk when we get home.” He said, pulling her hair to the side so he could clasp the chain around her neck, the ring hanging down between her breasts. “I just want you to wear this.”

“But this is your ring.” She said, picking it up.

“I know.” He said, “We’ll talk when we get home. Come on, before Mike starts complaining.” They took Sy’s truck, Geralt driving, heading into downtown. The outside of the club was decked out like something out of a Clive Barker movie, with red lights accenting twisted metal and arcane symbols and there was already a line queueing outside.

Thankfully, the line moved quickly and they got inside without waiting for too long. Music thumped through the air, the inside decorated much like the outside and she saw several people wearing nondescript white masks.

“It’s what the monsters in the game wore.” Mike said, seeing that she had noticed. “The whole premise of the game was you and your friends were being hunted by creatures in white masks inside an old mental institution. The twist at the end was that one of your friends was one of the monsters hunting you. Who it was was based on who you played as. If you made it out, you beat the game and got the good ending. If you got caught, you died, and the death scenes were pretty graphic for the time. I think they used FMV with practical effects. If I remember right, the levels were procedurally generated, so they changed every time you played so you couldn’t just memorize routes.”

“What was it called?” Stephanie asked.

“Hellworld.” Geralt said and Mike looked at him in surprise, getting a shrug in return, “It was something to do between assignments.”

“My man!” Mike said and held out a fist. Geralt looked at it for a moment before bumping it with his own. “Fuck yeah.”

“Is that why you didn’t fight me about coming with us?” Stephanie asked with a smirk, “Because you’re also a fan of the game?”

“It was something to do.” Geralt repeated, folding his arms over his chest with a scowl, but it had no effect on her. She knew what he looked like when he orgasmed, a scowl wasn’t going to intimidate her.

“Uh huh.”

“Let’s get something to drink.” Geralt said, rolling his eyes, “Before I bend you over my knee.”

“You wish.” She said and Mike snorted, leading the way to the bar.

Mike eventually dragged her away to dance, leaving Geralt at the bar and he kept an eye on them, a small smile perking the side of his lips. She looked happy. He pointedly ignored anyone who tried to talk to him, sipping at his bottle of water.

His phone vibrating in his pocket made him look away from them and he dug it out, seeing the message he was expecting. Typing in a quick reply, he slid it back into his pocket, but when he looked up again, they were gone. Geralt pushed away from the bar, scanning the people in the club, but he didn't see them. A feeling akin to circulation returning to a limb crawled over his brain making his jaw clench. He knew that feeling and he knew it well. His phone went off in his pocket again and he dug it out, seeing the text from Mike.

911 back of club

He pushed through crowd, ignoring complaints and found the back exit, shoving open the door.

"Over here." He heard and looked over, seeing Mike sitting on the ground with his back against the wall. He was pale, his lips bloodless and his phone was on the ground next to him, the screen still lit up but tinged red. Geralt went to him, crouching by him and seeing his bloody hand covering his side, a knife still in him. "He took her. I couldn't--" He swallowed heavily, "I couldn't stop him." The smell of charred flesh reached his nose and Geralt growled, seeing the silver threading around the handle of the blade.

"I need to take the knife out."

"I couldn't stop him. He took her." He was starting to lose consciousness, his words slurring and his eyes closing.

"Mike!" Geralt snapped and he came to with a jolt, looking at him with wide eyes. "Are you ready?" He nodded and Geralt pulled a handkerchief out of his back pocket, wrapping his hand in it before grabbing the knife. "On three. One. Two." He pulled on two, Mike jerking and a low pained leaving through clenched teeth. He took his phone out, dialing 911. "This is Geralt Rivian, Tracker with the Pack Council, ID number 83742. I need an ambulance behind the club on Fourth and Main. I have a wolf who was stabbed with a silver blade. I removed the knife and he's still breathing, but he's barely conscious and has lost a lot of blood. I'm going to apply pressure to the wound to slow the bleeding, but he needs immediate medical attention." He hung up after getting confirmation, holding the handkerchief to Mike's side, "Ambulance is on its way, I need you to stay awake, okay?" He nodded, but he was already going under again, sliding to the side, Geralt catching him and easing him down to lay on the ground, his hand still to his side. "Mike! Michael!"

[inkandpen22]

The Princess and The Pogue (pt. 3)

Pairing: JJ x Female!Reader / Topper x Female!Reader 

Warnings: underage drinking, mild swearing, mentions of drugs 

Words count: 2k (it’s short but the next part is long) 

Part Summary: As the night dwindles away, JJ feels pressured to secure a place in your life. His chances grow times ten when Sarah arrives with some interesting news. 

Masterlist

You and JJ share a log around the fire. His arm rests over your thigh, his hand gripping your knee slightly. Your chin rests on his shoulder as you two exchange whisper back and forth, making the Pogues sick with how lovey-dovey you two already are becoming. 

“What are you doing tomorrow?” JJ asks, kinda hoping he could ask you for real date but he’ll understand if you already have plans. 

“Hanging out with you,” you cheekily answer, earning a blushing grin from him. 

“Oh! cool, cool...” He presses his lips together with a faint laugh, finding it hard to hide his childish grin. 

You giggle at his bashfulness. He’s so shy around you and you can’t help but find it adorable. 

"Here comes Sarah!" Kiara announces as he spots their friend's car rolling up the drive. 

You and JJ finally break your hype-focused attention away from each other. Almost to make up for the lack of verbal communication, JJ shifts closer to you and plants a quick peck to your temple. 

"Hey! Sorry for the delay!" Sarah announces as she walks over from her car. John B rises from his position, trying to intercept Sarah before she sees you and JJ. Once she reaches John B, she notices how you and JJ are sitting. Her brows scrunch together, but she does her best to mask her confusion. "My parents were having a hissy fit about me borrowing the car. I told them and Y/N's parents that we were staying the night at Kiara's since she doesn't feel well. I hope that's okay, Kie," she asks as she gets closer to the bonfire. 

"Yeah, no problem!" Kiara waves her hand, not caring at all. 

"Wait, so what's the game plan?" You ask Sarah, but also everyone else for their input. You're thankful for the group's help, but weren't exactly prepared for an overnight stay. You understand why Sarah did this nonetheless. 

"You all can stay here tonight," John B shrugs as the Pogues do it all the time. 

"Your parents believed it," Sarah assures you. "I would just text your parents to help it seem more legit." 

"Okay! I'll text my mom," you comply with enthusiasm. 

Hey, I told Sarah to tell you but in case she didn't, we're staying over at Kiara's tonight. I had to drive her home in her dad's car because we think she got food poisoning or something. I'll text you when I'm heading out in the morning. Sarah can drive me home or something :)

"Finally! It'll be nice not being the only girl! I was kinda hoping you and Sarah would stay over anyway," Kiara adds, offering you a kind smile. 

"That makes two of us," JJ whispers for only you to hear. 

"My folks were pretty pissed about me ditching on the party, so I feel no urge on going home," Sarah huffs, right as John B asks for her to help him inside real quick. 

You and JJ watch as John B escorts Sarah inside by the arm. They try to be nonchalant, but it's so obvious they're freaking out. Sarah's whispers aren't exactly quiet and John B's doing his best to fill her in on what he knows. 

JJ turns his face toward yours with a smirk, suppressing his laughter. "They're definitely talking about us." 

"Oh for sure!" You nod slowly with a snicker. 

You two share in your amusement as your friends slowly lose their minds. A Pogue from The Cut was caught kissing the Princess of the OBX. If your friends from the other side of the island found out they would have an even more dramatic reaction. 

Your phone buzzes in your lap and it's from your mom. 

Ok. Text me when you wake up. 

"All set!" You voice to everyone remaining around the fire. "I doubt they'll even care since "I'm still on the Figure 8,” you make air quotes. 

"Yay!" Kiara claps her hands. 

"I say we watch a scary movie tonight!" JJ suggests beside you. 

"The Conjuring!" You vote swiftly, earning a laugh from JJ. 

"No!" Pope instantly refuses. "Nope! Last time we watched that you guys made me sleep on the porch and I heard creeks all night!" 

"Aw, I'll stay with you tonight Pope," Kiara offers, reaching for her friend's hand with a pout. "I'll keep you safe from all the ghosties." 

JJ leans in brushes his lips against your ear. "You gonna keep me safe?" 

You smile softly, turning your head toward him as you nod slowly. "I'll have your back if you have mine." 

His beautiful eyes meet yours in the gold flickering light of the fire. "Always, Baby." He plants a kiss to your lips, this time slow and comforting, as though you two have been doing it forever. 

___________________________________________________________

All six of you are gathered in the living room, watching The Conjuring. John B and JJ insisted that all lights in the house must be off, much to Pope's dismay. Kiara and Pope are positioned on the carpet, their backs against the couch. Pope has been hiding in a ball with his face behind the blanket he shares with Kiara. Sarah and John B are sprawled comfortably on the couch, well invested in the movie. You and JJ share the old red recliner, tucked close in a ball under a comforter. Right before the movie starts to get interesting, you shift forward in your position. JJ whines, disappointed in the loss of contact. His pouty face makes you giggle and he playfully tries to keep you close by holding onto your wrist. 

"I need another drink, anyone else?" You offer quietly, making sure not to step on Kiara or Pope on the floor on the way to the kitchen. You receive various forms of declines as you do your best to navigate your way through the dark and unfamiliar house. 

Finally finding yourself in the kitchen, you make yourself a glass of water. The moonlight shining through the window over the sink acts as your saving grace. Suddenly, you feel a pair of arms slip around your waist, causing you to jump. 

"Hey, Gorgeous," the blonde whispers against your neck. 

"JJ!" You gasp your heart racing. 

"Did I scare you?" He chuckles quietly to not alert the others. 

You spin in his hold and nudge him on the shoulder playfully. "You did that on purpose!"

"Not really but-" In one swift motion, JJ picks up and places you on the counter. He parts your legs to stand between them. His palms glide up and down your thighs. "That I did mean to do," he smirks, biting down on his lip. 

"JJ! Y/N! You're going to miss the wardrobe part!" Pope shouts, his voice shaky with fear. 

"I wish I had spoken to you sooner," JJ confesses abruptly, completely his friend in the next room. All he cares about right now is you. 

"Dido," you smirk, placing your arms over JJ's shoulders. 

"Really?" He voices in disbelief. Despite how much you've reassured him or have reciprocated his affections, he still isn't convinced that you truly like him. 

"That first time I saw you at the Cameron's?" You recall with raised brows. "Um, yeah! You looked hot in that pale green Ron Jon shirt." 

"I can't believe you remember that," he shakes his head, leaning in closer to you. I thought there was no way you'd know who I am." 

"JJ," you say his name in a mild groan with a toss of your head. How can this boy not see how amazing he is? "You're definitely worth remembering." 

"It was at the Boneyard," he states a matter-of-factly. 

"What was?" You grin. 

"The first time I ever saw you," he tilts his head back slightly, relieving his sharp jawline. "You were dancing with Topper on the wall. The fire made your skin glow and shimmer like bronze. You wore a navy blue bikini with ripped white booty shorts. Your hair was half up and all I could think about was how much I wanted to run my fingers through it. You were the most beautiful girl I had ever seen," he tells you, never once breaking eye contact. 

"That was last summer!" You can't believe he remembers that. 

"I know," he replies as though it's completely ordinary. 

Your jaw drops, "you're saying you've been waiting to talk to me for a year?!" 

"Okay well, when you put it that way," he tries to play it off and be cool now. 

"Aw JJ!" You express a little too excitedly, bringing your hands to his cheeks. 

JJ is quick to press his hand over your mouth. "Shh, Baby. Before you alert everyone in the living room!" Mischievously, you plant a kiss on his palm, catching him off guard. JJ swallows hard, peering down at you with hooded eyes.  "Okay, now you're just teasing me." 

You place your hand over his and remove it from your mouth. "You make it too easy," you giggle in a whisper. 

JJ simply stares down at your lips as he bites down on his own. Before you have a chance to react, he hungrily presses his lips to yours. Ever kiss up until now has been gentle, new, and hesitant. Now, JJ is forgetting his nerves and is acting on impulse. He breaks away from you and moves his assault to your neck. You comb your fingers through his thick blonde hair, gripping the strands on the back of his neck. 

"JJ," you pant breathlessly as your eyes fall shut. "What are you doing?" 

"Making up for lost time," he breathes against your neck. I'm really kicking myself right now." 

"It's my fault too," you try to speak as JJ makes a track down your neck to your collarbone. "I could've at least said 'hi' instead of smiling like an idiot." 

"At least you were nice," JJ mumbles against your chest. "I was a statue. Plus, I always thought you and Rafe may be-"

"Ew! Don't even finish that sentence," you scoff in disgusts. 

"You were always at the Cameron's. He's always on top of you and watches you like a hawk," JJ explains as he pops up for air. 

"He's had a thing for me for a while now. I've turned him down," you inform him.  

JJ frowns in confusion. "Why?" 

You figured it would've been obvious, especially considering how much JJ hates Rafe. "He's an arrogant ass. He thinks he's invincible and I hate people like that." 

"Well, you can tell him you're taken now," JJ grins, leaning in to kiss you. 

"Oh, I am?" You question playfully against his lips. 

"Yep," the boy nods as he begins to glide his lips across your jawline. "You're mine... and only mine..." He whispers, making you bite your lip with anticipation. Boy, this kid knows how to get you turned on. "I'll make sure everyone in the OBX knows it too," he declares as he starts to suck on the sensitive skin on your neck. At the rate JJ is going, he's certain to leave a mark or two, just as he wanted. 

"You guys!" Kiara calls this time. 

JJ huffs with annoyance as he appears out from your neck. "Coming!" He shouts, completely unfazed by what he was just doing. "Got you're so sexy," he plants a quick peck to your lips. "I hope you know I'm going to be dying through this entire movie." 

Ever the gentleman, he grips your waist and helps you down from the counter. He slips his hand into yours and grabs your water with the other before leading the way back into the living room. 

"She couldn't find the sodas in the fridge. I had to grab a new box from the back," he conjures up as you two cross the living room toward the recliner. 

"Sureee," John B and Sarah say in unison with amusement. 

"Sorry guys, what did we miss?" You ask while you and JJ get settled. 

After you take a quick sip from your water, you place it on the side table between the recliner and the couch before getting comfortable again with JJ. 

"Nice water, Y/N." Sarah giggles as she peaks over from the couch at your hand, earning an eye roll from JJ. 

"The crazy demon lady jumped on the daughter. I hate this!" Pope rushes out to answer your question. 

"Oh my God! You're fine, Pope!" Kiara groans, not hiding her annoyance. 

"I wish it wasn't so dark in here!" Pope shouts dramatically. 

"I kinda like it," JJ purrs in your ear. 

You turn your head to the side and he plants a kiss on your lips. As the others watch the movie, you and JJ spend most of the time whispering back and forth or too caught up in each other physically to talk at all. Of course, you two are respectful of your friends and keep it PG. Yet, you can't get enough of each other. It's all so soon, energetic, and freeing. As the thought of tomorrow morning lingers in the back of your mind, you’re starting to dread the idea of parting from JJ. 

__________________________________________________

Masterlist 

Tags: @starkeythinker @bethii1 @thegunnerkelly @cc13723things

[bratkook]

like you used to. jjk

“So kill me like you used to...”

part two.

pairing. ex boyfriend!jungkook x reader genre. angst, mentions of smut, toxic exes warnings. very toxic depictions of relationships, hints at infidelity, drunken mistakes, they’re both very toxic for each other and just can’t stay away, brief mentions of smut word count. 2.9k note. this is just a lump of angst that my mind conjured at 1am last night, i just love angst and messy relationships that are destined to fail 😌(its not edited so if u see a typo no u dont)

It always started with a phone call. 

Whether it was from you or him always changed. Sometimes he’d get the call at two in the morning, vision blurry as he brought the phone to his face and saw your name illuminated on the screen, that old goofy selfie you had together still set as your contact photo. He’d hesitate for a moment just to keep you on your toes before pressing accept, already getting up and putting pants on because he knew just what you were calling for. 

Tonight was your turn to be on the receiving end, laying in bed comfortably as you scrolled through random posts to try to help you sleep, the flash of his face fills your phone, it’s a random close up photo of his eyes staring right into the camera, crinkled up in a smile. Even though his name is changed in your contacts, no longer having the cute bunny emoji tacked to the end, you know you’ll still pick up in a heartbeat. And you do. 

The second you press accept you’re met with the familiar sound of his voice, slurred and thick as he speaks so jumbled up you would barely be able to understand him if you didn’t already know what he was saying. It was the same things he always said whenever he got like this, proclamations of love that only cut up your freshly scabbed over wounds, salt rubbing into them when he cries about how he misses you, promises to change. 

They get cut off when the phone is yanked away from his grasp, the second familiar voice belonging to his buddy Yugyeom now speaking into the receiver. “You gotta pick him up Y/N.”

The annoyance is evident in his voice, the babbling of Jungkook still heard in the background along with the dull beat of whatever place they were outside of. 

“He’s not my responsibility Yugyeom.”

He simply sighs into the phone, staring at his mess of a friend before rubbing his jaw, sore and aching from where he had just been socked after attempting to force him into an uber. “Yeah well he won’t let anyone else take him home, he’s drunk as fuck. I’ll send you the location.”

Not waiting for a response he hangs up and sends you a pin of where they’re at, thrusting the phone back into his friend’s hands before getting into that uber and leaving Jungkook alone while he whines against the dirty bar wall, crouching down onto the filthy sidewalk as the car drove off. 

Yugyeom knew you would come to his rescue like you always did, never once saying no and letting Jungkook fend for himself because on the rare occasions where you’d call him drunk and crying he’d do the same. 

Getting into the car still dressed in your pajamas, shoes thrown on without being laced up, hair still messy, it felt like routine now from how often it happened. Jungkook called you sober, text you while in a sane state of mind, but without fail at least once a month he’d get absolutely shit faced and call you, leaving you what he thought were heartfelt voicemails if by some chance you didn’t answer. 

It was the same bar every time, a bar you used to frequent with him, knowing the location and all the small side streets to get you there without needing directions. Doing this felt like such a normal part of your life it almost made you forget that you and Jungkook weren’t together anymore. It’s been a year since you split and you still find yourself thinking if things could be different. 

Would it have been best if you never confessed to each other, never admitted to the small inkling of a crush before it was able to fully blossom? It was hard not to wonder how different life would be now if you had walked away the first time things went south, if he had walked away after the first argument. 

Whenever he called you, pulled you in with those drunken promises it was easy to convince yourself that your relationship was perfect, that it was worth all of the struggles. Your brain morphed each fight, each time you cried alone, twisted it around and molded it to make it easier to consume, easier to believe you were meant to be. 

You thought you were soulmates, and maybe you were, two people destined to be together, meeting at the wrong time, under the wrong circumstances. What was meant to be perfect puzzle pieces connected had slowly turned into jagged edges that no longer clicked regardless of how hard you tried to jam them together, foolishly thinking you could spill your love into the gaps to mend the spaces, making the pieces whole once more. 

Love was never enough. 

Love made you stupid, made you blind and gullible, smiling through lies to avoid arguments, going to bed angry until he was hovering over you, coaxing you into forgiveness with soft kisses and gentle touches. It always went this way, regardless of who’s fault it was without fail he’d end up slot between your legs, the only time the puzzle pieces connected perfectly, allowing him to fuck you as if he’d never see you again. Murmurs of love and adoration were passed between panting breaths, sloppy kisses, shared moans to mask the empty promises you made every time.

Staying away from each other was a hard habit to kick, the two of you stuck on an endless game of seesaw, neither of you having the guts to get off and move on. All it took was a simple drunk phone call for you to go his way, the slur of his voice as he cries into the receiver about how much he loved you, missed you, needed you next to him, wanted to try again. It reeled you in so easily, winding you up until you were hauling your sloppy ex boyfriend off the dirty floor and into your small car. 

He remembers none of this, he never did, not fully anyways. Small tidbits of words he said flash in his mind as he comes to, drool on his cheek and neck sore from the unfortunate position he had slept in, groggy and unaware of his surroundings. 

He knew your apartment too well, recognized the green wall he had helped you paint, now holding endless pictures of you and your friends. None of Jungkook anymore. 

All of those photos were gone now, not burned or shredded in some ritual to get over him, simply tucked into a box and shoved so far into your closet you hoped you would forget it. You never did of course, the way the box laid dust free made it clear how often you pulled it out and sorted through the photos whenever you had too much wine, whenever you had off days where you just felt so alone and wished you could go back to the times you had convinced yourself were better. They weren’t, you knew they weren’t once you sobered up and balanced out your emotions.

Jungkook doesn’t feel bothered that not a trace of him remained visible in your home, he knew his presence lingered in the cracks, buried so deep in the crevices of your mind he knew you would always think of him. 

He groans softly as his eyes roam the interior of your home, the throbbing in his temples making him stop and shut his lids, not needing to analyze the place he was at less than two weeks ago when you had called him over. Jungkook briefly wonders if he should sneak his way out, not used to waking up on the couch instead of in your bed right beside you, maybe he had said something last night that crossed the line and landed him on the couch as a punishment. 

As you finally emerge from your room his plan of escape is put to a stop, his eyes gravitating towards your bedroom door, seeing the way you cautiously step out. Having heard Jungkook wake up since you had already been awake for the past hour, your body not allowing you to sleep while knowing he was in the other room, it took a few minutes of courage before you were able to face him. 

Spotting him on your couch shows how much he doesn’t belong, the pinned leather jacket he wore looking so harsh against the light coloring of your furniture, his dark disheveled hair contrasting with the tidy way you organized your apartment. He senses it, the skin crawling sensation that spreads the longer you stare at him, how he felt so out of place somewhere he used to call home at one point. 

“Thank you for picking me up.” He chooses to break the silence, voice raspy, his internal self screaming at him for always doing this. His eyes are sincere, genuinely meaning it, knowing just how messy he got when he had too much to drink, how his friends could never handle him when he crossed the line and began to call for you. 

Like always his words were routine so he expects it when you huff and say, “You need better friends Jungkook.”

“I know.” Because he did, he knew his friends enabled him, riled him up and once he became too much they pushed him onto you, knowing Jungkook’s grip on you was still too strong for you to ever say no. 

“What if I hadn’t picked you up? Would they have left you on the side of the bar to fend for yourself?”

“Probably,” he shrugs, from past experiences he knows very well they would have. His friends had dealt with Jungkook crying over you far too much, their patience fully stamped out, no longer able to tolerate him when he became like this. 

Not even realizing when he begins to smile as he thought of the nights you didn’t pick up, how he had ended up in the most random locations because he refused to go home to a place you weren’t, he snaps out of it when you scoff. “It’s not funny Jungkook, you could have gotten hurt or something.”

There it was, the reason you were upset. Not because he had called you and spewed the same bullshit he always did, no that you could tolerate. You were upset, and worried, that you’d get a following call from someone stating he had injured himself while calling for you. 

“I know.”

You pause to breathe, his short responses not irking you like it should, arms crossed over your chest as you observe your ex boyfriend still sitting on the couch, looking like a scolded child. 

“You can’t call me anymore Jungkook.” How you have the nerve to say that to him is funny, acting as if ten days ago you weren’t the one doing this to him, telling him you missed him, securing your anchor around his foot and dragging him back under with you. 

This is the checklist you needed to go down, a formality of the morning after so he doesn’t mind it. Instead he frowns at the way you continue to say his name, the way it rolls off your tongue makes him wince, missing the way you’d call him Kookie, playful pet names like Bunny, something he swore he hated but secretly loved. Jungkook wished he could hear you say it again, humor you with that damned bunny eared headband he’d wear to hear you laugh, squeal as he posed and dance for whatever silly video you recorded as you shouted out the ridiculous nickname. 

The last time he heard those words spill out of your mouth had been too long ago. 

“I’m sorry.” he admits, he knew he had to stop, couldn’t continue to hold onto the past, knowing how wrong you were for each other but he wasn’t the only one. Those were the same words you told him ten days ago, apologizing with guilty eyes for asking him to come over when you were lonely, needing a familiar body to occupy the space next to you, wanting his hands to soothe you, make you feel whole again just for a night. 

Once the sun came up it was back to normal, the two of you having the repeat conversation you had every time, the exact one you were having now. A formality. Nothing more, just mindless words that you would both agree to just to move along, to make you both feel better, more secure with yourself until the next time the phone rang. 

Your heart twists in your chest as you look at him, the same toxic love you had for him brewing in your heart, spilling over and burning you but you ignore the pain, convince yourself you don’t feel it as you breathe in. That same rope latches around Jungkook’s ankle as you avert your eyes for a brief second before looking back at him with a small sigh. “Do you want breakfast? I know how you get when you have a hangover.”

He smiles for the first time, charming as always, looking up at you through the subtle waves in his hair. “I probably shouldn’t.”

You know this. He definitely shouldn’t because breakfast will turn into words exchanged, civil at first, flirty the next, a coin flipped to decide if a petty argument would begin or if you’d reminisce about the good times. Regardless of the outcome, what always followed ended with you moaning out his name as he rocked into you, those same empty promises spilling through his lips that you swallowed with a kiss. 

A brief moment of bliss, a small dose of the past that only serves to hurt you further but you crave it, loving the small rush that came with arguing, the roughness of his hands as he pushed you around before sliding home, burying his face into your neck as he broke you down all over again. 

Normally you’d try to convince him further, but as your mouth opens to protest you get flashes of the night before, how you had carried Jungkook up your flight of stairs, hearing him ramble about nonsense so slurred together you paid it no mind. You would have had him sleep in your bed beside you like you always did but when you fish his phone out and begin to slide his jacket off it buzzes to life. 

Always being nosey you type in his password, smiling when you realize it was still your old anniversary but when you unlock it and see a flood of messages from a girl named Natalie, calling him babe, asking where he was, the smile falls from your face as you start to snoop. 

It doesn’t take much scrolling through their thread of messages to easily discover she was his girlfriend, blissfully unaware that he was shit faced and calling you, confessing to his love for you while she laid at home and wondered if he was having fun with his friends. She reminded you of yourself, of the way you used to be with him and it left a sour feeling on your tongue. 

“Yeah you probably shouldn’t.” 

He stands up now, following you slowly as you approach the door, heavy boots thumping on the hardwood as he reluctantly steps closer to the exit. He doesn’t want to leave, wants you to try to convince him to stay, not knowing that you knew the dirty secret he was hiding buried in his phone. 

You don’t decide to tell him you know, it was pointless. That was just how Jungkook was wired, so much love to give he had to spread it out, give everyone a fair share of it, choosing to pretend he wasn’t being selfish. It was naive to believe it, to think all the love he held was strictly for you, it was why he was able to pull the hood over your eyes so easily. 

Even when you pull the door open and give him a tightlipped smile he knows you’ll still call him, forget all about Natalie when you’re lonely once more. So when you look him in the eyes and sigh, “Goodbye Jungkook.” He knows it’s not for long, maybe a week or so, maybe less. 

He simply smiles, stuffing his hands into his jeans as he shuffles out, turning to face you as he steps backwards. “See you later Y/N.” And his words sting in a way he doesn’t mean, knowing just how right he was. 

Jungkook would never mind how heavy the anchor you hooked on his ankle was because he knew you would forever be a sucker for him. 

As you shut the door behind you it feels like a small weight starts to hang from your shoulders, the same tug starting from your chest, guiding you into your room until you’re pulling out the cursed box and sorting through those damned photos. With stinging eyes you flip through them for a moment, focusing on all the laughs captured on film, blurry vision moving to your phone beside you, hands already itching to call him again. 

It’s as if he knows, still inside your building, lingering in the lobby to give you a moment and it doesn’t take long. Once his phone starts to vibrate he smiles, staring at the photo of you as you call him like clockwork. With a clear of his throat he answers the phone, barely saying hello before he hears a small sniffle through the speaker. 

“I miss you Kookie.” 

Jungkook lets his eyes shut as he presses the elevator button, loving the feeling of being needed by you, already knowing to head back up because this was routine. 

“I know you do baby, I’ll be right up.”

And just like that you’re once again desperately trying to make those stupid puzzle pieces fit together, hoping that maybe this time love would be enough.

[fatefulfaerie]

Mortality

Zelink Week 2021 prompt #7/7 @zelinkweek2021

Word Count: 3,684

Incarnation: Breath of the Wild 2 (pre)

Additional Prompts Followed: Forsaken Fates, Lost Eternities

Inspired by this art by @morniae

A big thank you to @braidy-maidy and @linktheacehero for beta-ing!!

He wasn’t expecting a fairytale reunion as his horse trotted slowly, arriving at the Forgotten Temple with next to no fanfare. All sorts of geniuses from every race of Hyrule had gathered to study this place, to pull it from its lost state and unearth its secrets, to discover the reason behind its eternity and maybe even why its fate was to be forsaken and forgotten to all of history.

Link left his horse with the many others that were being cared for on the left side of the canyon and began to navigate the ruckus on foot. It seemed crowds of scientists and historians alike were out here securing their tents, making food, and languishing in a well-deserved rest. Link felt as if he stuck out like a sore thumb with his small brain, but no one paid him any mind, not even her.

In fact, she was nowhere to be found.

Perhaps he was expecting some fairytale reunion as he peered his head around every Sheikah, Goron, Rito, Zora, and Hylian in sight. He didn’t care that there was no fanfare, in fact, that may have made it even harder to spot her if it were a big deal that the hero of Hyrule had arrived. Thank Hylia these ruins were more interesting, that no crowd had congealed into a true tidal wave of obstacles. He missed her dearly, after all, no matter how short a time two weeks was in comparison to a hundred years.

He made his way all the way to the shrine in the back when he finally saw her. Zelda smiled when she spotted him and bounded over, clutching the Sheikah Slate.

“Thank the goddesses you’re here,” she said, pecking his cheek. “They haven’t made anything good for dinner in days.”

She walked right past him. Link’s mouth popped open as she practically flew to another inscription of the ruins being studied. Purah, following close behind Zelda, approached Link as he looked over.

“Two weeks she hasn’t seen me and I get a colder welcome than ten thousand year old ruins.”

Purah clicked her tongue and began to cross past Link.

“Sounds like you better get cooking.”

And so he didn’t see his blur of a girlfriend until dinner, when he was serving a ladle-full of meat stew to everyone who passed by with a bowl, salty chunks of meat and sweet carrots swimming in a broth that radiated a scrumptious scent for at least a mile.

The last person he served came up wearing a forehead beaded with sweat and sticky blonde hair from a hard-days work. As she approached, she lightly hit the empty wooden bowl against her hand, and pursed her lips taut with eyes almost apologetic. Her steps shuffled in the sand.

“Look who it is,” Link said before she could muster an apology. He looked more amused than upset, anyway. Zelda sat on her heels in front of the cooking pot and handed him her bowl.

“Sorry,” she said, “it was just a busy day. We think we’re close to finding--”

Link and Zelda’s eyes met. They both knew what she was going to say. The entrance to the caves. The hidden reason why this expedition was such an extensive operation. Only Purah and Impa knew the true reason, after all. Everyone else was just here for research. Bless their hearts.

They knew they needed to find it, but not finding it meant more of an excuse to not go down there.

Yet.

To not let go of the illusion of peace.

Yet.

To not face their mortality once again.

Not yet.

Link looked down to pour soup in her bowl. With everyone else fed--and Zelda more than likely went to the back of the line on purpose so that she would be the last one to eat--Link poured himself a bowl as well. They soon sat down in front of Zelda’s tent.

“When are Impa and Paya arriving?” Link asked.

“Tonight,” Zelda replied, but she swallowed hard, regretting taking another spoonful with a “mm”. 

“Oh my gosh I almost forgot!” she said enthusiastically. “You should have seen it, Link. The reunion between Purah and Robbie? They just marched up to each other, both short, old, and wrinkled, said each other’s names and walked off. It’s hard to believe they used to be lovers.”

Link choked on his stew.

“What?”

“Did I not...mention that?”

Link was still coughing, eyes tearing up.

“No?” He croaked, before coughing a couple more times. “You’d think I would remember something like that.”

“Believe me I wish I didn’t,” she said, before changing the subject. “Oh yeah, how did the meeting go?”

“Horrible,” Link said between spoonfuls.

“What do you mean?” Zelda inquired, slightly disappointed. She had hoped diplomacy would work.

“If I had known that Kohga had an eight year-old hiding somewhere in that hideout, I never would have attacked him,” Link started. “Apparently we needed him to keep his son in check. The kid is so hell-bent on revenge that he didn’t even read the treaty. He’s determined to hunt us down until the end of our days. Even his guards think he’s taking it a bit far. I could see it in their faces when Sooga was going on and on about his forces being strong and ready to fight. Those poor men and women are tired.”

“I thought the Yiga wore masks?”

Link shook his head.

“Not anymore,” he replied. “Sooga wants them to be proud of themselves, whatever that means. Goddesses, that whole meeting was like getting a child to eat their vegetables. I’m pretty sure Riju was about to slap him at the end, the little runt recycling the dogmas of the Yiga that are ten thousand years old now. Even when I ask him why he said such things about Hylians, he doesn’t give a straight answer. He knows less about history than I do and I had amnesia. He’s just been conditioned, raised to hate.”

“That’s unfortunate, but not hopeless,” Zelda said. “I’m sure Riju and the rest of the Gerudo will be able to work it out if the entirety of the clan no longer backs him. Is there any danger until then?”

Link shook his head and swallowed his current spoonful.

“Not yet,” he said once he could. “The only reason they haven’t attacked here is because he wants to find the entrance of the caves as much as we do. He didn’t say it outright, but he’s waiting for us to do it for him.”

“That’s not frightening at all,” she said sarcastically. “We’ll have to increase security when we do eventually go down there, make sure he doesn’t follow us.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about it, Zelda,” Link said. “He’s only eight years old, and he’s pretty short and lean.”

Zelda smiled as she sipped her soup.

“I remember a little eight year old like that who could best adult knights,” she said with a smirk. “People say he saved Hyrule.”

“Really?”

“Never grew an inch after eight years old though.”

Link scoffed.

“I can and will pour the rest of this stew over your head,” he said as he held it up. Zelda laughed, but put her arms out in defense.

“Don’t you dare!” She exclaimed. She stood up and began to back away “I’m a princess!”

“Not anymore,” Link said, forgetting about the soup and tackling her. They wrestled playfully, rolling down the rocky slope and laughing joyfully until they stopped suddenly in a gulch, Zelda hovering over Link and sharing with him panting breaths.

“I win,” she said.

“By chance,” Link argued. He brought a hand up and lightly coaxed her head to lower. It, however, did not take much effort, as Zelda more than willingly met his lips to his, exploring his mouth and enjoying the sensation. She felt her cheeks warm. Kissing was all they had ever done, so being flush to him was frankly exhilarating, but she didn’t mind it in the slightest.

They both heard the reigns of horses, the clatter of a covered wagon, the jingle of Kakariko-style bells, but it blended too much into the rest of the ruckus for them to think anything of it.

“Paya, you brought us to the wrong place,” Impa said. “I wanted to go to the research expedition, not a mating ritual exhibition.”

Zelda pushed herself off Link and attempted to fix her hair, composing herself as best she could. Link stood up, but he let his messy hair be.

“H-hey Impa,” Zelda said, walking towards her oldest friend. Despite her feeble frame and short stature, Impa hopped off the wagon like a child. “How was the trip?”

“Long,” Impa said, bruskly.

“She’s a bit cranky,” Paya explained as she stepped off and started to untie the two brown horses from the wagon. “Where do these go?”

“Over there,” Link said, pointing over to the mini-stable on the left of the canyon. “And your tent is the one next to ours. If you’re hungry, there’s probably some stew left.”

“Please,” Impa said, allowing the young man to lead the way to the appropriate cooking pot. She even let him help her walk when the terrain wasn’t the smoothest.

They had left Zelda alone, but it gave her the opportunity to help Paya with unloading the wagon, and to catch up with one of her newer friends before they all turned in for the night.

Zelda was surprised to find Paya as reserved as she was when they first met, but after a bit of grilling she admitted to Zelda that Impa had told her of their true purpose here, that sealing Calamity Ganon may not have been an ending they could trust. Her red eyes were sad and apologetic for learning the secret but Zelda wouldn’t have it, insisting to Paya that it was okay, that it won’t be a secret for long, and that Hyrule was going to be okay.

That last one was a lie Zelda thought about well into the night.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Zelda.”

He opened his eyes to the dark tent, the edge where tan cloth met a small patch of dry grass.

Link couldn’t believe a whisper was what woke him up. Still half awake and already turned away from the center flap of the tent, he kept his eyes closed, hoping he could doze off again.

“Zelda, wake up.”

Someone gently shook Zelda’s foot, and Link guessed the voice belonged to Paya.

Link felt Zelda’s arms slide away from holding him and he tried to slow his breaths. They both would feel so guilty for waking him.

“What is it?” Zelda asked, the rustling that followed suggesting that she got out of the tent. “Should I wake up Link?”

Paya must have shaken her head, or said something to suggest that it wouldn’t be necessary, because that was the last Link heard of the conversation.

He inwardly wrestled with the decision to get up anyway since he was, in fact, awake, but his comfort insisted otherwise and he drifted off before he made up his mind.

“Link.”

The sunlight was bright, even through the dulled filter of the canvas tent.

He felt Zelda’s hand on his shoulder, and he rolled over at the gentle prompt. Link found her green eyes.

“We found it,” she said. “An entrance to the caves.”

Link closed one eye and scrunched up his face. Zelda knew he did that when he was both tired and confused but with his messy bedhead she saw it as adorable.

Link moved his arm to the other, pinching his own skin somewhere around the wrist and, once he felt pain, his entire body sighed exasperated. He faced the top of the tent and closed his eyes far too tight to go back to sleep.

He opened the blue gems one at a time and took a deep breath.

“I assume we are leaving as soon as possible?”

Zelda nodded.

Link didn’t say another word when he got up and started getting ready, almost ignoring Zelda and how she sat on her heels in her own silent and undetectable bout of sadness. He even left her there in the tent but Zelda let him have his space, let him breathe his last breaths in this wild, fresh air, let him hear the birds and see the sun before she dragged him down to hell, back down to war, back down to fear and panic and worry and trauma and everything he had worked so hard to heal from.

It wasn’t until they were several steps into the caves that his stoicism really started to wear at her. One statement and all of him was left in the tent. He just…walked, looking forward, not saying a word. Zelda hated it as much as she did a hundred years ago. She tried to remember that he wasn’t really mad at her back then, so he couldn’t be mad at her now…

Right?

She looked over at his profile again.

Right?

“Link?”

The hooves of the large, blue ox behind them clapped along.

“I, uh…” she began when he gave no response. “I’m sorry about all this.”

“It’s not your fault,” Link said quickly and briskly.

Zelda’s lips parted. Her pacing slowed to a halt. If she hadn’t stopped pulling the ox along, it would have rammed into her.

Link looked over his shoulder when he realized he was the only one moving, turning around completely to see Zelda with a slightly furrowed brow.

“Why don’t I believe you?” Zelda asked.

He decided to look elsewhere as he hugged his arms close, the stone ground, the cavernous chasm above them, the rocky wall, anywhere but Zelda.

“I’m not mad at you, I...” he said quietly, “I’m just feeling a little off, okay?” He said quietly. “I had trouble breathing when I left the tent this morning.”

Zelda’s expression softened. She closed the distance between them and attempted to comfort him with a hand on his shoulder.

“You could have told me that,” Zelda said. “I’m nervous too. We have a right to be. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Yet Link still refused to look up.

“I almost collapsed, I felt so weak,” Link said. “The dread, the fear of facing it all again, the thought of losing you…it gathered, I felt it here.”

He placed a hand on his chest and he started to pant. His fingers began to clutch at the brown leather, the blue cloth and he stumbled to his knees.

“Link!” Zelda exclaimed as she grabbed him under his forearms, kneeling down with him. His breaths were shaky and fast, and he stared down at the ground.

“Link,” she repeated. “Link.”

The next sound from Link was the combination of a spurt of fresh paint and a croaking frog, warm vomit spilling from his mouth in smelly chunks of beef and carrots. It was instinct that Zelda stood up with a yelp and backed away with arms floating up, the gathering of vomit ending up mere inches from her toes. If she had stayed where she was, her pants would have been covered in Link’s partly-digested dinner.

“Oh gosh, Link,” she said once she got over the shock, rushing to his side and drawing circles on his back. He didn’t react though, only staring at the mess on the floor with his weight on his hands.

Zelda’s eyes stung with tears as she ran her fingers through his hair, some drops even lopping onto Link’s mess. She held him as best she could while still giving him the distance he needed, but that could never stop her from the occasional kiss on the side of his head and whispering sweet assurances of love into his right ear.

After a couple fruitless lurches of his back and neck, Link hurled a second time. As ironic as it was for her to hope for anything from the goddess anymore, Zelda prayed it was the last one.

“Zelda,” he said between heavy breaths. It was apparent his lungs were exhausted. He coughed a couple times.

Link looked into Zelda’s eyes, finally, although they veered towards horror, the green marbles conveying desperation for how to relieve this poor young man.

“I know,” she said, trying to smile. She wiped away Link’s tears. “I know.”

Wary of the mess near them, she brought him into a proper embrace, rocking him back and forth and holding him in such a way that she was sure he knew he was held. She wasn’t sure how secure he could feel on the cusp of embarking into danger, but she would try her best.

“I’m scared, too,” she said. “Down here is an untouched wild that was left alone for a reason we know not of. Nothing is scarier than the unknown, especially for us who have been hurt again and again by the unknown. Hope has betrayed us too much for us to readily depend on it, but we have to try.”

Link looked up, tilting his head to see her.

“How?”

Zelda lips parted. She stammered speechlessly. He seemed so hurt by her hopefulness.

“Together,” she said, attempting to fake her confidence. There was still a small question mark at the end of her statement that she didn’t mean to expose.

Link stood up and faced away from her. He crossed his arms.

“Do you know how long a version of Ganon has been terrorizing Hyrule?” Link asked. “How long he has been reincarnating?”

Zelda, who was now sitting on her heels, shook her head.

“No,” she said honestly.

“Do you know what makes us any different from the people who tried to stop him in the past?”

“No,” Zelda repeated, again, honestly.

Link nodded.

“I don’t either,” he said. “And that scares me.”

Zelda stood up.

“Link, we—”

“I can’t lose you!” Link exclaimed, turning around quickly. “I ignored it, okay?! All this time when you talked about there being caves, there being another journey, I ignored it! I put it off! I casted it aside! I focused on us.” His voice broke. “I thought that was all there would ever be…”

He placed his hands on his hips and collected himself.

“This morning it all collapsed,” he said. “Right before my eyes. Everything I could have ever hoped for.”

Zelda scoffed.

“Do you think I was happy to have found these caves?” Zelda asked rhetorically. “To have been woken up in the middle of night and told that this place I saw in my nightmares was indeed real, that I was to investigate a threat that hasn’t been faced in ten thousand years of Hyrule birthing warriors more capable than you? I had to keep a straight face, but Link, I wanted to scream so loud that even Lurelin could hear me!”

Zelda released her residual anger at the world in heavy pants of her breaths. Once she sighed herself calm, she snagged a small rag from the heaps of resources strapped to the patient and by now likely deaf ox.

Zelda stepped forward and washed Link’s stunned face clean of vomit.

“Then I thought of our future,” Zelda continued. “I was angry because coming down here means jeopardizing that. I scorned myself for how selfish that was. I told myself that this wasn’t about me and you, that this is about a peaceful Hyrule. That helped but...do you want to know what really helped?”

“What?” Link asked.

“The people of Hyrule want to live in peace, and so do we. They want to raise families without worrying about another Calamity.” Zelda smiled. “I think we do too, when the time comes.” She perished the thought. That was a long while down the road. “But this isn’t just about a peaceful Hyrule, it’s about our peaceful Hyrule. I’m no longer a princess, distanced from others by a pedestal, and you are no longer a knight, distanced from others by a sword. We actually feel like a part of Hyrule this time. Of course we loved the Champions, my father, but we aren’t acting as Hyrule’s weapons anymore. We don’t feel like cards to be discarded or pawns to be knocked off in a game of chess. All of this is voluntary. We can’t blame a kingdom or a calamity this time. The possibility of losing each other is already giving us stomach-churning guilt because no one told us to go down here. We came down here because we want to preserve peace for all of us, preserve peace beyond even our lifetimes.”

Zelda placed a hand on Link’s cheek.

“And we will,” she said. “We have to believe we will. If we don’t think we’ll get out of here, then there is no chance we will. This is our first on-our-own decision and it’s a damn risky one. We can always turn back if--”

“No,” Link interrupted.

Link’s hand went to hers and his thumb stroked her soft fingers.

“No,” he repeated, however shakily. “We are going through with this. I just need to process it, that’s all. I didn’t think we would actually be doing this. I think we both held on to the fantasy of peace. I definitely held on to it too much.”

He finally let her touch soothe him.

“I’m here,” Zelda assured him softly. “I’m right here.”

She took his hand and placed it on her heart, the rhythm of which pulsated through his own veins.

“I’m not supposed to be alive right now,” Zelda said. “I should have died an eighty year old queen about thirty years ago but here we both are, young and spry. These caves are filled with dangers we don’t know, but with my heart in your hands and your heart in mine I know we can dare to do the impossible again.”

Link met his forehead to hers and closed his eyes. He tried to breathe the way she was, to feel her calm and to adapt it into his own body.

“Okay,” he said. “I’m ready.”

[laurelsofhighever]

Alistair x f!Cousland AU

SPOILERS FOR THE FALCON AND THE ROSE

--

Almost two years after civil war nearly tore Ferelden apart, Alistair has settled into his role as king despite the cost of the victory. Having come to Orlais to lead trade talks with Empress Celene and representatives from the Free Marches, he hopes to build a stronger future for his people. But grief and guilt still haunt him, the expectations placed on his shoulders cut deep, and to top it all off, there's a stranger in the Winter Palace with the power to shatter his world once again.

With a sigh, the King of Ferelden stared down at the mask in his hands, the red dye a match to the velvet of his cloak and the rich fabric in the rest of his clothes, the royal colours of the Theirin line, and the finely tooled likeness of a mabari snarling out of the leather in an elegant snub for the rules of the Game. A king’s mask ought to be made of gold, after all, as a way to reflect his station, but that scandal would be nothing to the one he planned to cause by not wearing it over his face. Already from below, strains of soft, unobtrusive music drifted above the murmur of voices gathered in the vaulted ballroom of Halamshiral’s Winter Palace, preluding the night’s extravagance. He couldn’t delay much longer in wading into that seething, perfumed mass, however much he wanted to.

Next to him, Fergus Cousland stood arrayed in similar finery. The golden Laurels embroidered into the deep blue velvet of his doublet marked his identity as the Teyrn of Highever, and the shadowed line between his dark brows revealed that his eagerness to attend the party just about matched that of Alistair himself. He caught the king looking, saw the fidget betrayed in his fingers, and drew in a weary breath.

“These talks might be just what it takes to secure lasting peace with Orlais,” he offered, an empty repetition of Alistair’s other advisors. “It’s more than Cailan ever hoped for.”

The king’s lip curled. “You and I both know that’s not the real reason I’m here. I could have left that stuff to Élodie.”

The Arlessa of South Reach had proven a capable ambassador in the time since the end of the civil war against Loghain, using her connections in the Orlesian court to divert the potential wave of old resentments that would have sought to take advantage of Ferelden’s instability as it recovered. It was thanks to her efforts that dignitaries from every Marcher port across the Waking Sea had gathered under the auspicious gaze of Empress Celene in the hopes of formalising a network of trade throughout southern Thedas, and no doubt she was already gliding through their ranks, smoothing the way for her liege lord to grace the crowd and start all the ladies fawning.

Too used to the hopes of noble daughters tilting for a throne, he doubted much of the flattery would be genuine. The only change to the usual pursuit was the fact that Celene now numbered among the hunting party, her desire to win him for herself and Orlais all but common knowledge. At their first meeting that afternoon she had been perfectly polite, but the weight of her gaze on the back of his head as he was shown out to his own apartments had sent a shiver like the lick of cold rain down his spine, and the thought of what she would do with any kind of sovereign power over Ferelden had thoroughly put him off his lunch. There had been a time when, in the entrance hall of Redcliffe Castle and with the warning of a witch ringing in his ears, he had told Rosslyn that the idea of being dangled like bait for political advantage disgusted him. And she had understood his distaste, had reached for his hand with softness in her eyes. He had kissed her hand that night, for the first time.

A sympathetic look from Fergus dragged him out of his contemplation, but thankfully he chose not to repeat the platitudes that had taken to following the king like footprints.

It’s been over a year, almost two, Teagan had scolded. We allowed you time to mourn but you must think of what is best for this country.

Only Fergus really understood. He was the only one in the same position, a lord with a domain left unsecured by the lack of an heir, with those roundabout all but scoffing at his lack of stomach to get one. Shared pain and politics had drawn them together after the army’s return from Ostagar, and now, aside from being a staunch ally in the Landsmeet, he was one of the few Alistair could class as a true friend.

“If I could spurn my duty in this, I would,” he said now.

“But you’re a Cousland.” Humour bled into Alistair’s voice, cold and tinged with grief. “I notice Karyna chose not to come.”

Fergus let his eyes fall closed. “She… ended things between us. She said she wanted to focus on her clinic, but I think part of it was wanting to get out of my shadow, and the expectations of…” a wave of his hand “all of this.”

“I’m sorry.”

He had once broached the subject of changing the law to allow mages to marry, but Fergus had refused, pointing out that what Ferelden needed after a year mired in civil war was stability, not an Exalted March called down because its new king wished to flout the Maker’s supposed Word. Too many would have accused him of playing favourites, too many more who would have raged against the idea of a mage being raised above them – even if Karyna Amell herself came from a line of Marcher nobles. She might be a talented healer dedicated to her people, kind, loyal, and level-headed, but none of that mattered to those who saw any unshackled mage as a prelude to the return of ancient Tevinter.

Fergus waved away his concern and set his own mask in place, pushed back from his forehead. “Let’s get this over with.”

When they appeared at the top of the stairs, the noise level in the whole room dimmed like a door closing on the roar of a great wind. All eyes turned to follow their progress into the melee as Guard-Commander Morrence, Alistair’s right-hand and bodyguard, peeled away from her post by the door and fell into line one pace behind her charge as a dour, watchful shadow. Curtseys and coquettish giggles fluttered up to them, but Alistair ignored them in favour of searching out the form of Élodie Bryland, smiling out from the crowd. Like the rest of the Fereldan entourage, she wore her mask as an accessory rather than a second face, the emerald green of South Reach’s colours rich against her blonde hair.

He felt like a ram walking into a den of blightwolves in broad daylight. Even after so long, so many days he could no longer count them from memory, a shard of his heart stirred in the tattered remains of his chest at the unbidden thought of Rosslyn’s disdain for his current company, the tight, tiny smirk she would have worn hidden at the corner of her mouth for only him to see. Her face was beginning to blur in his mind, but the reminder only ever added more layers to the pain. The pieces flaked away one after the other like rust on a forgotten monument – the sound of her laugh, her scent, the exact shade of her eyes – and every time he noticed another detail by its absence he found himself dragged back to the ruins of Ostagar, staring across the precipice into the void all over again.

Dwelling on his loss amidst the glamour of the Orlesian court would not be wise, however, so he shook himself into courtesy as he followed along after Élodie, smiled at every breezed introduction, and let himself slip into the easy gentility that had so far served him well as king. The meandering currents of conversation carried both him and Fergus at a steady pace to the other side of the vaulted entrance hall, where his left-hand waited for them.

“Ah, there’s my favouritest sneaky person in the world,” he called out when he got close enough for his voice to carry. “I hope you’re enjoying yourself?”

Leliana’s red hair flashed like a beacon as she turned towards him. Unlike Ferelden’s ambassador, she carried her mask on a stick in her gloved hands, and she twirled it up to cover the purse of her smile as she answered. “Your Majesty – Your Lordship. This is a grand assembly tonight, no? Little compares to the full splendour of the Winter Palace.”

“At least not in the way of architecture,” he answered genially. To be polite, he let his gaze wander the rows of gilt pillars with their garlands of blush-roses, the delicate silk streamers hanging from the crystal chandelier. Even more than Élodie, who was Orlesian by birth, Leliana fit in with the glitter, the jewels and the compliments that cut sharper than daggers, and put together, the two of them made a formidable team.

Especially when they joined forces against him.

“Your Majesty, if you will permit me, may I present Lady Ellana Pontival, younger sister to Vicomte Tremane Pontival, and Lady Cassandra Pentaghast, seventy-eighth in line for the throne of Nevarra and the Right-Hand of the Most Holy Divine Beatrix.”

Turning his gaze to the two women, Alistair dipped his head in a customary greeting. If Leliana had set out to find the two most contrasted people in the room, then she had probably succeeded; where one lady seemed about to drown in her layers of ruffled lace and pastel silks, the other cut an austere, imposing figure in the formal uniform of a Seeker of Truth, and like the Fereldans, she went unmasked. The ever-watchful Eye of the Maker, cut through with the Sword of Mercy, peered out from a pin clasped to her shoulder, a sullen reminder that if things had been different, the King of Ferelden would have ended up a templar instead.

“With so many connections, you must be used to parties like this,” he tried. The Seeker held herself with the economy of a soldier at ease, but the pinpoint of her onyx gaze made him itch.

“Hardly,” she said, in low, rich tones. “I am here at the request of Most Holy, who appreciates the unprecedented nature of this gathering. I myself am used to less… lavish surroundings.”

“But how do you find it so far, Majesté?” interrupted Lady Ellana. “Do you find it pleasing?”

He decided not to remark on the breathy quality to her voice, nor the sidelong way she was looking at him, and shrugged. “That would depend on whether we’ll soon have any sign of those – what are they called – cannapays?”

Leliana chuckled. “I’m afraid Your Majesty’s appetite will have to be content for now.”

“I’ve never known a society where it was considered polite not to feed your guests.”

“If one is full of too much heavy food, one cannot properly enjoy the dancing,” Élodie chided, laying a hand on his arm and less amused than her counterpart at his deliberate butchery of her native language.

“Ah.” He suppressed a grimace. “Yes. That.”

The indomitable Lady Ellana pressed forward with a flutter of her eyelashes. “Are you presently engaged, Majesté? For the first dance, I mean.”

Mostly to avoid meeting Fergus’ eye, Alistair cast his gaze out over the crowd. “Oh I’m sure someone has spoken for me.”

“I myself love nothing so much as dancing – and the waltz especially.” An elegant hand rose to cover a laugh. “So charming, yet so daring, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I’ll take your word for it, my lady,” he replied with a forced smile. “It’s not one of my preferred pastimes.” The last time he had danced, it had been his wedding day. If he had known –

Lady Ellana gasped. “How tragic! That truly is a shame.”

The Seeker’s mouth twitched.

“I understand your ascension to society was fairly recent, perhaps you only have yet to acquire a taste for it. Perhaps the right partner –”

“I think it’s more to do with other demands on my time,” he interrupted. “Like keeping my people safe and fed. Besides, I prefer being outside.”

An uncertain silence met his words, discomfort at the bite in his tone that couldn’t be answered without causing a minor diplomatic incident.

Leliana recovered first. “The night is young and His Majesty is fond of modesty. I’m sure he will have time and attention for all those who wish it once his duties to his host are fulfilled.”

“Has Her Radiance arrived yet?” Fergus asked.

With a smile, Leliana nodded and motioned for them to follow her towards the doors of the grand ballroom. Neither she nor Élodie dared break their façades to scold him for being so taciturn, so Alistair pretended not to notice their silent disapproval. The cloying mixture of perfumes and sweat wafting through the hall, the crowd of heat from so many bodies in a confined space, all of it pressed on his already sour mood, and if he had to be rude to get out of an awkward conversation, what did he care? Whispers followed with the eyes on him, words just loud enough to catch his ear before darting back into the throng like birds flitting through a summer hedgerow. The speculative edge to them made him clench his teeth. There were insinuations, appraisals and judgements, musings on his preference for comme les chiens before the words dissolved every time into peals of muffled laughter.

“It’s almost enough to make a man jealous,” Fergus huffed at his side. “They didn’t even look at me. Not one pitying glance.” Time had healed most of the injuries he had taken in the months as Howe’s prisoner during the war, but some of the damage had been too much and too long neglected for even magic to fix; his cane tapped along the polished floor with every other step.

“How about next time I hide behind you?” Alistair asked. “You can do all the talking and I’ll stand and look aloof and interesting.”

“You just want an excuse to – what is it?”

He sensed a change in pressure in the eyes on him, an intensity of regard that set itself apart from that of the fawning mass seeking his attention. After almost two years on the throne, the concept of assassinations wasn’t entirely foreign, but as he watched Morrence scan the room he saw no sudden rise in tension to say she had spotted any maniacs with giant weapons about to pounce. A shadow did perhaps flash on the edge of his vision, but as he turned it was lost among the sea of faces waiting for acquaintances, for their turn to be announced, or for their own glimpse at dog-lord royalty.

He put the feeling from his mind. Empress Celene, resplendent in the purple and gold of House Valmont, stood at the far end of the ballroom above the sunken dancefloor and watched the obeisance of the people being announced, in the same way a fisher might wait with their spear poised to strike at a promising target. Already, dozens of couples mingled beneath the bright beeswax candles staving off the autumn dark outside, their fans held up to conceal the judgements passed on every newcomer.

When Alistair’s own turn to pace the length of the gauntlet came after a few moments of waiting, she smiled behind her mask and floated down the steps to meet him on an equal level, which only meant he got to see the avaricious gleam in her eye up close as she held out her hand. As he bent his head over it, he wondered if the look was meant to be alluring, but her fingers were cool and fine-boned under his, lacking callouses from swordwork, and the only thought that ran through his mind was that even when warmed by the fire a stone remained a stone.

“Majesté,” she crooned in delicately accented Common. “Be welcome. This meeting has been long anticipated.”

He had practiced his response for an hour in the mirror. “Thank you, Radiance. It is my hope that this moment can be the first step towards a better accord between our two nations.”

“It is ours as well. Please, join us in the gallery.” She turned. “And when the dancing starts, might we suggest the company of one of our ladies-in-waiting? They are all very accomplished dancers.”

“Uh…” He risked tripping over the considerable hem of Celene’s gown to a glance upward, to where three women of equal height watched the two of them from behind identical golden masks set with amethysts.

“Is this surprise?” the empress asked him, and laughed. “How very forward to expect a more prestigious partner so early in the evening. It seems the manners of Ferelden and Orlais have yet to fully understand one another.”

“Isn’t that why we’re both here?” he replied. “Though I have to confess, my mind wandered from the thought of dancing.”

“Oh? And where did it wander to?”

He nodded to the three attendants waiting at the top of the stairs. “It must get awkward on name-days if you can’t tell them apart.”

For the next half an hour, guests continued to trickle in as the mixed company watched from above, the steady ream of announcements and introductions keeping the threat of dancing at bay, and each name was accompanied by a whispered summary of all the associated scandals recounted by the waiting-women at Alistair’s side. He found their sameness disconcerting, as if at any moment they might steal away his mask and then ask which of them was hiding it under their skirts like a bait-and-switch scam in the marketplace.

When the castellan finally folded away his list of names and bowed an exit, the closest of Celene’s women reached up with a smile as thick and false as her makeup. “There is still some time until the dancing begins, Majesté – would you like to take a turn through the rest of the rooms while we wait?”

“Why not?” He forced a smile of his own. “Where do you think we should start?”

“Perhaps the long hall?” She began to steer him away from the rest of the party. “There are so many people you should meet!”

Before he could be disappeared entirely, he cleared his throat and called over his shoulder to Élodie. “We’ve been offered a tour of this fabulous palace,” he explained. “I don’t think we should miss it.”

“I am at Your Majesty’s disposal,” the ambassador replied, and stepped up to his other side

The tour turned out to be less a way to introduce him to Orlais’ finest and more a way to show him off as an accessory. With both Morrence and Élodie as chaperones to shield him from the worst of their dainty manners, he managed to stumble through pleasantries and inane topics of conversation, and even gave his opinion on Grand Duke Gaspard’s mission to quell giants in the Deauvin Flats without tying his tongue in any knots. He told bad jokes and people tittered behind their hands. In one room he was drawn into speculation about the merits of breeding nugs.

And throughout it all, the weight of the same mysterious scrutiny from before itched across his shoulders, making his clothes too tight, too coarse against his skin. Somebody watched him, or else he was in the first stages of some illness. In a move disguised as a readjustment of the faded leather bracers at his wrists, he checked the pair of daggers hidden in his sleeves, and then eyed the extra sword buckled at Morrence’s waist. Being his bodyguard permitted her to carry weapons where he could not, but he rarely went unarmed himself and the idea of being completely defenceless struck him as foolish – and so, the compromise, with the strict understanding that Maric’s runed blade would stay sheathed except in direst need.

The feeling followed him back to the dancefloor as the castellan announced the first cotillion and a charming smile appeared before him, attached to a name and a title that he forgot instantly. When the first notes cascaded down from the court musicians he took his partner’s hand and fell into the steps to distract from his unease, the beats f the dance like the repetitions of a battle drill that kept him turning, and facing, and weaving through the room. And then the music ended. Someone thrust another woman into his path, and then another, until he was breathless and overheated from the exercise, and relieved that he had yet to trip over his own feet.

In a pause between the sets, he tried to catch Leliana’s eye in the gallery above to ask to be rescued before he could be forced towards a refreshments table. To his dismay, she was too intent on the crowd to notice, watching for advantage or threat so that he could make a show of festive enjoyment – no easy feat considering how the entire room was staring at him.

No, not the entire room.

There. The flash of shadow that had followed him all night resolved itself into a woman who turned her face away from him as soon as their gazes met. Pearls were pinned in her dark hair, and the silk of her gown flashed with the violet-green iridescence of starling feathers, dazzling enough that Alistair wondered how he had missed it before. She retreated up the stairs, trying all too hard to disappear into the crowd in a manner that deliberately kept him out of her line of sight.

“Majesté?”

His current partner had noticed his distraction. He smiled down at her, but like the needle of a compass his gaze swung back to the strange woman, whose exit had been waylaid by a man with a shock of thin, greying hair poking out from under his yellow chevalier’s feather. He bowed over the Starling’s hand, boorish and insipid, and through her reluctance she cast her gaze around the room as if seeking an excuse. Her eyes lit on Alistair again, before skittering away up to the ceiling when she caught him looking.

Gotcha.

“Will you excuse me, my lady?” he begged of the young woman on his arm. “I have to talk to my advisor. You there, Ser! I’m afraid this beauty has been bereft of a partner, if you’ll oblige me? Thank you.”

He forgot the girl as soon as he handed her off. The music started. Leliana, noticing his approach up the stairs, nodded and plucked a glass of Antivan white from the tray of a passing server, handing it to him with a subtle gesture that let him sidle close enough to not be overhead.

“Have you seen her?” he asked.

“The woman in the dark colours?” She tilted her head in amusement. “Of course. She has been watching you, and does not care for the crowd flowing around her. She knows how to walk through a room of nobles but subterfuge is not her strength. And yet… there is something familiar about her. It worries me.”

For a moment, they watched from their vantage point in the gallery. The Starling moved through the room with grace enough to catch the eye, but with too much economy to fit in with the flounces of the rest of the dancers, the poise of a warrior more than a courtier. Still, the patience with which she dealt with her partner had to be admired. Alistair winced every time the old boor overstepped the bounds of propriety to tread on her toes; part of him wanted to step in between them and pull her from the line, if only to save her feet from bruising, but the strange urge didn’t stop him noticing how she cast her gaze to every corner of her room to avoid the man in front of her – every corner, except the place where he himself was standing.

“Find out who she is,” he grunted to Leliana, and pushed away from the rail.

Momentarily freed of his obligations in the dancing, he wound his way through the press of nobles, exchanging pleasantries, until he spotted Fergus resting his legs in one of the gilt-backed chairs that had been set at the edges of the room and made for him, worried about the guarded expression on his friend’s face. The reason for the scowl became apparent when the couple standing between them turned and stopped Alistair dead in his tracks.

“Ah – Your Majesty, it is good to see you. You’re looking well.” Eamon, the former Arl of Redcliffe, straightened from his bow as if the man he was addressing hadn’t been instrumental in his exile from Ferelden over two years before. He wore a mask like an Orlesian, with only the grey trim of his beard visible beneath its swirling, enamelled lines. On his arm, the once-Arlessa Isolde wore one almost identical, save for the extra decoration of feathers around the rim.

“What are you doing here?” Alistair blurted.

“We are guests of Her Radiance, of course,” Eamon replied with a blink. “I can see time has not been generous in your perspective towards me, but I would not quarrel with you here and mar Ferelden’s standing.” He swallowed. “Though it is late to say it, please accept my condolences for your loss.”

“Condolences?” Anger coiled in Alistair’s gut, kept at bay only by the interested stares of the people around him. Eamon had done his best to make sure he and Rosslyn were separated – had nearly succeeded – and now he dared to offer remorse?

“How are you enjoying Orlais, Your Majesty?” Isolde asked before he could storm away and blow all their diplomatic efforts.

“The weather’s nice. Please excuse me.”

Below them, the dance finished. Leliana slipped into the dispersing crowd with the ease of a master and cut the Starling from the crowd like a shepherd singling out a ram. Fergus joined him as he leaned over the rail to watch their conversation, Eamon and Isolde already forgotten, and caught the direction of his gaze.

“Has someone caught your eye?” he asked.

“No.” Alistair waved a hand. “No, it’s not like that.”

The Starling was turned away from Leliana, shrinking back as if to avoid a blow, but his left-hand could not be outmatched so easily and peered closer nonetheless. And then she drew back. Her mask flicked up with a twitch of her wrist to fully cover her face, and the Starling reached out for her elbow in an urgent gesture that conveyed as much familiarity as alarm. They knew each other. The words that passed between them were too far away to hear. Leliana paused, then nodded, and together the two of them retreated from the bright lights of the dancefloor into the shadows at the furthest corner of the room.

Fergus noticed. “Well that was strange.”

“I don’t like it. Will you be alright here?”

“For now.” He shrugged. “Holding court in the corner holds much more appeal than sweating about with people I don’t care for. A younger version of me might have tried to forget myself in one of these pretty smiles, but now…” The liquid in his glass caught the light as he tilted it for inspection.

“It’s not so easy,” Alistair agreed.

He left his friend still contemplating his drink and rounded the gallery with Morrence in tow, not straight for Leliana but angling for Élodie, who had taken up entertaining the delegates from Ostwick and made a nice middle ground. He barely registered the answers he gave to their polite enquiries as he approached. The Starling had disappeared and Leliana was wending her way towards one of the quieter hallways, where there were balconies with doors that could be minded by one’s guards to glare at any passing eavesdroppers. She flashed him a brief glance and a nod.

He thought quickly, turning to his ambassador.

“My lady, you’re looking a little warm, and I’ve neglected you.” He shot her what he hopes was a winning smile. “I hope you’ll forgive me, you’ve worked so hard, after all. Why don’t we get you some fresh air?”  

Élodie frowned at him, but nodded. “Your Majesty is very kind. I am a little flustered, now that you mention it. If you will excuse me, sers.”

Threading her hand through his arm, he hustled her away with as much nonchalance as he could muster, while she, sensing his mood, kept quiet. They met Leliana a few moments later on a trellised balcony overlooking the gardens, or as much as could be seen of them beyond the torchlight.

“Well?” he asked, almost before the door closed behind him.

“Have you two been hatching plans?”

His left-hand let the mask fall from her face, though she kept it close, fidgeting with it. “The lady… presents no danger.”

“Lady?” repeated Élodie.

“There’s no need to look so hopeful.” Alistair rolled his shoulders. “We caught someone acting suspicious. Did you find anything out? You looked like you were surprised when you found out who she was.”

“I… knew her in another life.” Leliana hesitated. “She thanked the King of Ferelden for his regard, but said she would rather not become a spectacle.”

“A disagreement with family, perhaps,” Élodie supplied.

The corner of Leliana’s mouth lifted. “I did not ask.”

Without even waiting long enough for him to draw breath, she bowed and swept back into the hall. He caught sight of Morrence, watching her go with something very like suspicion written in her features, but the expression flickered back into a blank before he could be certain.

Behind him, Élodie cleared her throat.

“It is a shame this woman is not what you hoped,” she said. “I would see you happy.”

He snorted. “I didn’t hope anything – and I was happy.”

“You could be so again, if you allowed it. You cannot fight your duty forever.”

He bit back the retort squeezing past the sudden lump in his throat. Reminding her that her own husband had died in the siege at South Reach would be rather ungallant, especially considering the genial nature of the evening so far, and he had tried hard to curb the spiteful edge to his temper over the past two years. He wanted to be better. Rosslyn would have wanted him to be better.

As the thought spiralled and led his mind towards the dark precipice that would mean yet another sleepless night, the nature of the sound inside the ballroom changed. The music died away. The thump of the castellan’s staff reached his ears, followed a moment later by the announcement of Celene’s arcane advisor, the mysterious apostate who had managed to charm her way to the centre of the Orlesian court and who now, according to some, whispered spells in the empress’ ear.

“No doubt people will want us introduced,” he muttered.

Élodie nodded. “We should not keep Her Radiance waiting.”

Just inside the doors, however, he stopped. Even from across the room the Starling drew his gaze with the furtiveness of her movements, the deliberate indifference with which she moved against the flow of people, and his patience ebbed.

He touched Morrence’s elbow, leaning close. “Do you see her?”

“Aye. I want a chat with that one.”

“Get her out to the terrace garden and make sure she’s alone. Hopefully it’s cold enough outside that any interested bystanders will be discouraged.” He sighed. “I’ll get away as soon as I can.”

“I shouldn’t leave your side. The danger to you –”

“What if she’s a danger?” he pressed. “What if Leliana’s wrong? Something is going on here, and I won’t be kept beyond the chain – or don’t you think she was acting strangely before?”

At that, his right-hand let slip a curse. “I’d still be leaving you in a nest of snakes.”

“I’ll be alright.” The hilts of his concealed daggers sat snug against his wrists.

“Fine – but if you die, I get to kill you for it.”

Nobody commented on his lack of a bodyguard when he once more joined Celene and her waiting-women at the head of the room. Morrigan, her advisor, spoke Common like a Fereldan, but she had clearly spent enough time in Orlais to learn the dismissive nature of their manners. For a long moment, Alistair was distracted by a nagging familiarity he could not place, until the witch rose from her curtsey and turned a pair of piercing yellow eyes on him. The breath stopped in his lungs. His hands clenched into fists. Even the smirk was recognisable, catlike and secretive, and the instant it appeared he was shunted back to a campfire in a glade under a star-strewn sky, and mocking laughter in his ears.

“You’re Flemeth’s daughter,” he said.

The smile froze. “I did hear you encountered my mother – during the war, was it not? What did she tell you of me?”

“Only that you didn’t like living in the Korcari Wilds.”

“She resented my wanting to make something of myself outside of her influence.” She drew herself up for better display of her plum-red gown, the gold links around her throat. “And now here I am.”

“I can see the appeal,” he offered, to laughs from those gathered around them.

Celene clapped her hands. “Ah, this is delightful. You must have many things to talk about, given you share a homeland.” Her head dipped in what Alistair presumed was amusement. “Though we must ask that Your Majesty does not steal her away from us! No promises of Ferelden’s new leniency towards mages, if you please.”

He made sure to chuckle along, schooling himself not to look round to see whether Morrence had caught the Starling yet. All he could do was wait for a break in conversation and make excuses to be allowed away for some air.

When his chance finally came, a brief interlude during an influx of new people wanting introductions, he slipped through the crowd and met his right-hand at the door to the terrace. The fresh, cold scent of the night washed in, frost and damp earth, and beyond the lighted windows a dark figure stood at the balustrade that separated the garden from the sheer drop to the ground below.

“She’s waiting for you,” Morrence said.

“Any trouble?”

“Only until I threatened to draw attention to her,” came the reply. “And she wouldn’t look me in the eye. Good luck.”

He steadied himself with a breath as he stepped into the open air, a pause in which he studied the woman so invested in not being noticed. She faced away from him, hunched over as if still trying to make herself invisible, picked out by a rime of moonlight that glowed in her hair and reflected in the pearl beading on her skirts, rippled along the silk gloves that covered her arms to the elbow. Her head turned as he approached. Breath fogged silver in the night but the tension didn’t leave her shoulders and he felt it draw him along a knife’s edge as he realised too late how it might appear, a king ordering a woman to wait for him beyond earshot. A jab of self-disgust coiled in his stomach.

And yet, like Leliana said, there was something familiar about her.

He cleared his throat, set his hands behind his back. “You won’t come to any harm here, not from me.”

The Starling only flinched further away from him.

“Who are you?”

He waited, patient, until it became clear he wouldn’t simply give up and leave. The Starling’s fists bunched against the stone of the balustrade, and her shoulders heaved with a deep, almost panicky breath.

“Désolée, Majesté, le Marchandesse est –”

“In Orlesian, then,” he answered. “What’s your name?”

She paused. The line of her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “I’m afraid… the only name I can give you is Laurienne, Majesté. Laurienne de Savrenne.”

“Laurienne.” He risked a step closer, and she angled even further away from him, determined to hide her face even behind the mask. “You know, it’s strange – most people here tonight have been falling over themselves trying to catch my attention, but not you. You’ve tried very hard to remain unnoticed, not just by me, but by my guards and entourage as well. Why?”

“I might point out that of all those who wanted the king’s attention, I am the only one to have it bestowed.” She licked her lips. “Perhaps that was my plan.”

The sharp mockery ignited his temper. What was this but yet another sly courtier throwing jests at his expense? All night he had been nice, he had smiled, danced, dressed himself up in pretty words so the nobility would chase him for something he didn’t even want to give, and now he couldn’t even get one straight answer when he asked for it.

“A lot of people think I’m a fool,” he bit out. “It might come in handy sometimes but I assure you I’m smarter than I look, and I don’t appreciate being messed about, especially not after such a long day.”

“I’m…” Was that a fraction of a move towards him? Her head dipped towards her hands, and her eyes pressed shut. “I’m not here under my own power. In truth, Majesté, my debtor bid me come, but did not say you would be here as well.” A distinct note of bitterness entered her voice. “No doubt the thought of us meeting amused her.”

“Do you know me?” he asked.

She fell utterly still. “Do you know me?”

“Are you an assassin?”

“No.”

“But you are hiding something.”

At that, she scoffed, and again that frustrating tingle of familiarity, though it was gone too quickly for him to examine. “We are in Orlais, are we not? Everyone is hiding something. I am no different to any other noblewoman, we are all the same. Wouldn’t you agree?”

His heart stuttered. His mind conjured a sweep of raven hair, the scent of jasmine, warm lips soft against his. “There are exceptions.”

“Is it the exception you were trying to find tonight?” The Starling’s tone rang cold. “All evening you have danced with one after another and tossed them aside afterwards like a wine-taster who finishes his sip and spits the rest away. How delightful the passage of your days must be to never want for such company.”

“How dare you.” He stepped closer. “What do you know about what my days are like – or what it’s like being passed around by all those magpies in there who only care about the shiny crown I could get for them? It’s all, ‘remember it’s your duty, Alistair’ and ‘just pick one and get it over with’. If I could even have one night where I could complain about it, or – or say no – that would be something, but everyone seems to think I should be flattered by all those people pawing at me and never giving me a moment to myself!”

He paused for breath. The tirade had winded him, as much for the emotion it let loose as for the wild gestures flung out with the words. The Starling had remained still, taking the onslaught like a tree against a howling wind, though now only fatigue was left in him she shrank as if he’d struck her a physical blow.

“Forgive me,” he muttered, horrified. “I wasn’t angry at you, it’s just…” What words could he say? “I wouldn’t expect you to understand – but don’t worry. You can go. Do as you wish, my guard won’t detain you any further.”

Still she didn’t move. Cursing, he pinched the bridge of his nose and swallowed back the lump in his throat as he turned for the door. He needed sleep, he needed –

“I understand better than you would think.”

Her voice. Common, not Orlesian. The quiet servility deepened into a clarion note – it stirred his heart from its withered slumber, called it like a dog to heel. Her voice. With pulse thundering, with hope and disbelief and horror wadded into a tight ball in his throat, he looked back.

The Starling no longer shrank into herself but stood tall in defiance of the cold, her shoulders thrown back, chin lifted, in the attitude of a general. He drank in the arch of her throat, the pale skin that gleamed like marble under Satina’s light, the shine of raven-black hair gathered in an Orlesian knot at the back of her head, all details he had ignored before because it was impossible. When he didn’t move, her head tilted, and he recognised the sorrow in the gesture, the self-deprecation in the curve of her mouth.

“The man I love is at this ball tonight,” she told him. “He’s the centre of attention, but I’ve had to watch and do nothing while everyone covets what I cannot touch.”

Her voice.

“Why not?” His tongue fumbled the words through the fog in his brain, the steps he took back towards her shaky and numb, desperate, his chest constricted trying to hold his breath in case it broke the spell somehow cast around him. “Why hide?”

“I owe a debt. Until it’s paid, I can’t – my life is not my own and I have to pay it back. Besides,” she added, with a new wobble in her voice, “what would I say? He – everyone thinks I’m dead.”

They stood so close now he could have reached out to touch her hand, but he hesitated, worried that that, at last, would make her disappear and prove him mad. She was shaking; her fingers had raked lines in the frost on the stone as she clenched them into fists.

“But you’re not dead. You’re –”

Their breath mingled heavy under the moonlight as he leaned in, his hand braving night-chilled skin where her glove had fallen to her wrist, and finally she turned into him, drawn, like him, and while he closed his eyes seeking in vain for the familiar scent of jasmine and sweetgrass, the weight under his fingertips and the stulted breath that left her lips made her solid, and all that was left was to beg her to say something, to let him hear her voice again.

“I was afraid you’d forgotten me,” came the whisper, so full of doubt.

“Never –” He caught the side of her face, pressed a kiss to her temple though the rim of her mask cut into his lips. “Never.”

“I – I thought you’d hate me.”

The absurdity of it made him giggle even as he shook his head in denial. He stroked her hair. Kissed her again. And then, because it was too much to have such certainty without proof he pulled back, searching for the ribbons that secured her mask in place, her pulse flying under his fingers as he worked at the knots. When the mask finally came free, he pushed it up over her forehead – and found himself looking down into a pair of eyes that were the grey of cracked ice on a winter sea.

[leo-gold-hotchner]

Le Bal Masqué

Aussie doesn’t really celebrate Halloween, unless uni party etc. I don’t really know unless how media depicts it. SAD :(

I’ve been keep wondering, do Americans use pants or trousers? We say pants, I know English use trousers...

Aaron Hotchner X Male Reader

I kissed a boy Au

Word: 1.5k

As soon as Hotch exited his office he could hear his agents’ conversations. They were talking about what they’d do tonight. JJ told her fellow friends she’d go out and have trick or treat with Will and Henry, and she invited them over to go with her family. Although the others politely refused as they already set their own plans tonight. He didn’t hear more of the conversation as he said his good-bye and left hurriedly. 

                                                         -Hotch-

Aaron looked at his young son with a surprised look on his face. His brows shot up as he observed his son. Jack was wearing one of his shirt and suit jacket, his dark blue tie loosely hung around the boy’s neck. Obviously, the long sleeves were dragging behind Jack. At least he wasn’t wearing Aaron’s suit trousers to be dragged along the carpet. 

“That’s not Spiderman, is it?” 

“No,” Jack gave his father a faint baby smile. 

“Not Superman too.” 

“No!” Jack giggled. 

“I really don’t know, I give up.” The father held his hands up, gesturing surrender. 

“Silly Daddy, it’s you!” 

Aaron’s chest swelled in happiness and relief knowing Jack loves him to be Aaron despite he’s always not there for his son. He lifted his young son and Jack leaned on his shoulder. 

“Before we go Trick or Treat, is it okay for Daddy’s friend to join us?” 

“Not Uncle Dave?” 

“Oh, he’s busy,” he was sure his mentor was busy, “he’s Daddy’s other best friend and I want you to meet him.” 

“Okay.” 

“Yeah?”

 “Yeah.” Jack returned the grin. 

                                                        -Hotch-

It was Halloween night, but to you it was just another usual day. You didn’t decorate your house at all, just plain all light off where you just stuck in your room. You could hear laughter and some music from outside, but you were absentmindedly thinking what should you watch for the night. Finally, you could get some sleep this morning and unlike other days you felt rather refreshing and You were humming ‘This is Halloween’ from ‘The Nightmare Before Christmas’ as you dragged your finger on your phone screen. You missed Aaron, but you decided to not call him tonight. You remembered he saying he always stays with his son on Halloween, so you wanted him to spend time with his son. Suddenly, your phone screen changed, and Aaron’s photo popped up as your phone rang. 

“Hi,” you replied rather shyly. 

Aaron’s low voice greeted you back. “Do you have any plan for tonight?” 

“No, why?” You could hear some voices and from the call, he must be outside with his son for Trick or Treat. Suddenly, your house bell rang, and you excused yourself from Aaron. “Give me a sec, I think some children are here.” 

You groaned inwardly as you contemplate what to say to the poor children who came to you. You didn’t have any candies to give them. As soon as you opened the door wide, a grinning man greeted you with a boy grabbing his hand. 

“Trick or treat, Mr. L/N!” Jack giggled at your surprised face. 

“I, I, wow.” You didn’t know what to say to the boy, or to his father. 

“I already told Jack you didn’t prepare any candies, so you don’t have to look so worried.” Aaron slightly smirked at you. “But as you don’t have any candies to spare us, you could accompany us? What do you say, Jack?” 

“Let’s go!” The small boy laughed as he held his treat basket high. His long sleeves were hiding his hands, but he was tightly holding the empty basket efficiently. 

                                                        -Hotch-

As you walked along next to your boyfriend and his son, for the first time in years you observed the surroundings. You’ve been busy with your study and work before, it’s been sometimes you actually had a day off on Halloween. You saw various characters from fairy tales, comics, movies, books, and legends. You could even recognise some historical and cultural outfits. It was very exciting night for everyone as they masked themselves as certain characters, and to you it was fascinating to see everyone was mingled together happily. Toddlers to teenagers, even young adults were having good time under their disguise. Though almost every adult was not wearing any masks on their face even if they were wearing costumes. Jack being an outgoing boy, already made friends from a group of children in his age, ran along with them to get candies. Aaron’s eyes never left his son’s back as Jack walked along with other kids, though his hand was firmly grabbing yours. 

“He’s a good boy.” 

“That’s why I’m more worried,” Aaron sighed as his eyes lock into his son’s excited smile. 

“He must love you so much, wearing your suits.” You laughed as Jack ran back to you two. 

“Look how much I got!” Jack showed you and Aaron his nearly overflowing basket. 

“Wow, that’s so many! Are you going to eat tonight?” 

“I want to, but it’s gonna hurt my tummy.” The boy pouted and you couldn’t help but smile at that. 

“You can have a few tonight, and take some to school tomorrow.” Aaron smiled, then his ears perked up as he heard some music. 

“I think there’s some dance floor, it’s been like a music festival since a week ago.” You rolled your eyes, thinking back how you’ve been sleep deprived because of that. You had to sleep in the afternoon for the past days in order to work your schedule, but the music always managed to wake you up. 

“Can we go there?” Jack asked you two with his puppy look. And you couldn’t just say ‘no’ to that look. You held your hand to the boy and grabbed your hand with his smaller hand. 

“Let’s go.” Aaron gave you a raised eyebrow, but you pointedly ignored him. 

                                                        -Hotch-

Well, you finally found out why you couldn’t sleep. There were so many people on the dance floor, whether you were young or old, everyone was together and danced along. The music kept changed, sometimes it became rock, sometimes it became romantic, sometimes it became just exciting rhythm. Aaron looked as if he wasn’t sure to let his son on the dance floor where he could easily lose the sight of Jack. 

“There, the dance floor for children.” You were surprised to see another dance floor for cheery children, further it was guarded with police officers. You were relieved to see the children were protected, but in the other hand you were sad to see the world was dangerous to children. The officers were wearing something like animal ears on their heads, or even colourful costumes, but you could easily spot their badges on their waist. 

“Can I, can I? Please Daddy?” Jack jumped up and down with his huge eyes looking at his father. 

“Alright, but you shouldn’t follow anyone okay?” 

“I know, Daddy.” Jack beamed and scrambled to the dance floor and joined other children. 

“Shall we?” 

“Huh?” You replied unintelligently and he just dragged you to the dance floor. 

Unlike others, you two didn’t wear anything like Halloween. But from Jack, Aaron could say he wanted to match with his son, but you? You were just wearing daily outfit, jacket and sport trousers. 

“Wait, give me a second.” Soon he disappeared, leaving you in the middle of people. 

Without Aaron it felt like you were in the ocean, the swarm of people were like waves hitting you from every direction. Maybe you could just leave the dance floor and see how Jack was doing. 

“Now it was very very bad of me to leave you here, wasn’t I?” Aaron’s voice startled you, as his arms wrapped around you. “Were you scared?” 

“Are you stupid? I wasn’t scared!” You huffed like a primary school student as if someone read your thoughts. 

“Sorry,” he, but didn’t look like sorry at all, only grinning widely at you. His arms shot up, and put something on your head. “I felt like you’d look cute on this.” 

“Mr. Hotchner, are you drunk?” You guffawed as your hand touched some fluffy thing on your head. 

The song soon changed to a romantic music and people soon shifted their positions and moves. Following them, Aaron’s large hands grabbed yours. You looked at him, and noticed he also wore the fluffy animal ears like you. 

“Perhaps, I’m drunk by your presence.” his whisper sent a jolt to you. 

“Who’re you, and what have you done to my boyfriend.” You laughed at the rare sappy Aaron Hotchner. 

 “I wanted to thank you.” He gave you a luminous smile under the moon light. “You’re good with Jack, and Jack really likes you.” 

“Well, he IS cute little Hotchner unlike usual indifferent big Hotchner. I’m glad you and Jack brought me out here, you know. And the ears.” As you two danced slowly in silence, soon the song ended in much to your disappointment. “You and Jack can sleep at my home, I have night shift tomorrow.” 

“If you’re okay?” 

“I’d love to.” You smiled broadly. “Let’s go find Jack.” 

“Let’s.” Aaron reciprocated your smile, yours and his hands tightly locked to each other.

[lovelivingmydreams]

A story by heroes and villains

Book 2: secrets revealed Virgil Anker: trust and caution

Masterlist book 1

It's not easy to know who to trust and who to be wary off. But Virgil better learn soon.

When Virgil got back to the new house, he took a shower and sat himself on the couch in his pj’s. He was listening to his ‘winding down’ playlist. He was grinning to himself. Someone else was wearing his design. Sure he’d made Janus a shirt way back in freshmen year, but he barely wore it outside the house. This would be seen by tons of people. And it looked so good! He couldn’t wait till Monday. He could imagine Roman’s reaction. Would there be pictures in the papers? On the news? He just might buy a paper so he could keep a clipping to look back on later. Thinking about gushing over the costume with Roman at school made him think about seeing Janus again. J had skipped school after what happened in the hallway, leading to him having detention all of last week. He hadn’t even so much as looked at Virgil since. Not in a, “I am mad and ignoring you way,”. He looked ashamed. Scared. That was what made it so hard for Virgil to stick to his plan. Janus looked so hurt and lost and ashamed. And during lunch, he was nowhere to be found. Virgil needed to talk to Picani about this tomorrow. It would be a busy session. He contemplated where things had gone wrong for the millionth time for a while until he heard the door and looked up to see his fathers enter the room. “You’re back!” he greeted as he sat up. “So I gotta know, who’s your fourth guy?” he wondered casually. His dad just looked at him confused. “What do you mean?” “For your poker nights,” he clarified with a chuckle. Imagining Patton or uncle Thomas playing poker was kind of funny. It seemed so out of character for them. Still he couldn’t imagine what else would take all three of them getting together like this. Thomas had taught musical theatre classes, back when he was still a professor, and now he was the dean. Then again, Virgil wasn’t certain his uncle was always present. Tonight might just have been one time he happened to be there. But Patton definitely had been part of this project as much as Logan was. The past six months at the very least, but most likely from the start. “No cardgames I’m afraid kiddo. We’ll tell you about the project once it’s finished. It’s all confidential for now I’m afraid,” Patton told him gently. Virgil looked long and hard at Patton. He wasn’t lying. And confidential stuff made a lot of sense. He shrugged, letting it go. Even if his first guess was right after all and his dad was doing some kind of superhero stuff as BrainStorm, if Patton was there to help him Virgil felt assured that they’d be safe. Though he wouldn’t know how Patton, or Thomas, got wrapped up with anything involving a former super villain. “Okay, keep your secrets,” he sighed as he stretched. “Night Pat, night Lo,” he bid before heading upstairs. “Goodnight Virgil, I love you.” Virgil looked back at his dad when he heard that. “Love you to dad,” he replied with a smile. “Love you three kiddo!” Patton added, making Virgil laugh. “Love ya Pat.” And with that he went upstairs to his room. His new room was bigger than the one in his old house. But he didn’t care much about that. His old room had memories. He missed it honestly. He started to worry that he’d been too quick to say that he wanted to move out. No matter how nice the new house was, and how conveniently it was positioned, it would never quite be like the one he’d known most of his life. He let himself drop on his bed. It was pointless to think about that now. At this point, another family had probably moved into their old home. They’d brought their own furniture. Probably painted over the walls. Erasing the little doodles he’d made when he was little and bored. Before his mind could go any farther down that path, he heard a buzzing. Roman sent him a text. “Greetings! I just got back. Sorry for not checking in earlier. Could not be helped. Did you get home alright?” Virgil chuckled and texted back. “LOL. You worry too much. Hope you had a fun night.” Virgil certainly did. Just thinking about it made him impatient. Oh why not? Before he could second guess himself, he pressed call. “Virgil?” Roman sounded surprised, but Virgil was already way to giddy about his news. “I had to tell you now. I saw him!” he whispered. “Who? And why are we whispering?” Roman asked, mimicking his volume. “I’m supposed to be asleep,” he admitted, earning himself a chuckle. “Ok… Who did you see?” Roman asked. “Dream Prince!” expecting the logical next question he edited his story a little. “I went for a walk and I guess he was doing patrol in my neighborhood, I caught a glimpse of him,” well, that was an understatement. But he couldn’t tell Roman everything. Not yet. He’d lectured Prince about being cautious just today. He trusted Roman. But anyone could overhear them at any time. “He was wearing my costume! You were right! I can’t wait to get a good look at it in action!” Again. “You think someone got a picture? I didn’t have a chance. God I should’ve taken a picture so I could show you!” Though he wasn’t sure if he could’ve managed to get a believable citizens picture of him. He doubted Prince could be photographed if he didn’t want to be. “I’m sure I’ll see your work plastered around the front pages Monday. Pretty sure you missed out on the Saturday edition. But the news stations might talk about it.” Virgil’s cheeks hurt from smiling. “You sure you don’t want your name attached to it?” Virgil considered that for a moment. It would be kind of cool, he supposed. But he was trying not to draw any attention to his civilian self so long as he did the vigilante gig. Asides from that, he didn’t want anyone to be able to claim any of his future successes were due to his connection to a superhero, or have expectations based on this one work. “Yeah… I just… I know I should want the credit. But, just in case he becomes like this big time hero,” which seemed very likely to Virgil. His powers were pretty amazing and he had the personality to make it big. “I don’t want my possible career to be defined before it starts, you know what I mean?” He hoped he did, because he was starting to get confused by his own phrasing. “Maybe I’ll come forth with the original sketch when I’m like, 30, to prove it was me if it still matters by then,” he concluded. “Sounds like a smart plan. I’m going to let you go. I do need my beauty sleep after all.” Oh, he made it too easy. “You said it, not me,” he chuckled. “Night Princey.” “Buenas noches. Mi querido amigo,” Roman replied dramatically. Virgil rolled his eyes. Though he smiled as he realized Roman just called him ‘dear friend’. Trying to hide the way that warmed his chest he let out a groan. “Bon nuit,” he huffed in retaliation before hanging up. Janus had taught him a bit of French over the years. And just like that his thoughts returned to his old friend. Janus had been well behaved the past week. He hadn’t gotten in a single fight. Maybe he should try and show that he noticed. Just saying ‘hi’ wouldn’t be that bad right? Show that he meant it when he said he wanted to get back to being friends, real friends, at some point. With thoughts of a happy ending for everyone, Virgil fell asleep. The next morning he woke up early. He made sure to be quiet as he got ready for the day. Once downstairs he turned on the tv. And sure enough, the local station was talking about Dream Prince. A professional picture of him leaping across the street from one rooftop to another serving as background. The anchors were talking about his heroic deeds of last night, ranging from walking a girl home to taking down those criminals ‘single handedly’. “No one can deny it. This young hero finds no feat too great or too small, and he does it with style. Looks like he’s settled on a look.” They thought his costume had style! Virgil was vibrating with excitement. He couldn’t sit still. He had to do something with all this energy. He started on breakfast. Bacon, eggs… It had been a while since he’d felt up to making a big breakfast and been the first to wake up. Patton was as much of an early riser as he and Logan. Which meant he hadn’t had Virgil’s secret omelet recipe yet. He was bouncing on his feet as the two anchors were analyzing the costume in as much detail as they could. They found the heels a bold choice and the mask an elegant way to incorporate a crown. When Virgil heard his dads move about upstairs he turned the news off and set the table. Patton really liked the eggs. That or he really wanted Virgil to think so. Three servings made him think that it wasn’t pretend though. After breakfast, uncle Thomas picked him up for their trip to the zoo. Virgil had been looking forward to it. It felt forever ago since he last spent some one on one time with his honorary uncle. “That’s a nice one. You really got the eyes down well,” he complemented as Virgil finished a sketch of a koala. “Thanks,” Virgil said, pretty happy with the result as well. “You are really talented. Guess it runs in the family. I remember your dad scribbling away in his poetry notebook all the time.” Virgil looked at his uncle with wide eyes. “You knew my father?” he asked perplexed. Thomas frowned down at him for a moment before his eyes widened in understanding. “Oh, no. I never personally met your birthfather. I meant Logan,” he clarified. Virgil was a little disappointed. For a second he’d hoped to learn a little more about his birthparents. But if Thomas had been talking about Logan… “My dad wrote poetry?” Thomas chuckled. “Yeah. He was pretty good. Though he’d disagree. He felt more comfortable using his sharp tongue on the debate team. He won us some prizes,” he recalled. Virgil took this in. He had wondered what his dad was like at his age before. Now was a good time to ask more. “So poetry and debate team… Guess that is why you two became friends, huh?” he asked. Thomas shook his head a little awkwardly. “Not exactly. With my social anxiety I probably wouldn’t have approached him if my mom hadn’t told me about his mom losing custody…” “What!?” Virgil gasped. He never knew that. Thomas cringed realizing he had maybe said to much. He looked down at Virgil. “Your grandparents weren’t parents of the year. Not abusive, but… neglectful I suppose. Logan never talked about it, so I don’t know the details. Just what little ” “He was in the system?” Virgil asked with a shiver. He’d heard about the system. He was glad he never had to experience it. “No, like for you there was someone ready to take him in right away,” Thomas told him. Virgil wanted to ask who had adopted his dad. But he had an idea… And he kind of didn’t want to hear he was wrong. He wanted it to be his parents. It would explain why Logan had such a hard time talking about them, but had so much love and respect for them when he did. “What was it like rooming with him? Was he secretly a slob in college?” he asked hopefully. Thomas relaxed and started talking about a few college stories, though he quickly veered into high school and early parenthood stories. At the end of the day Virgil had a good handful of animal sketches, an idea for his art project for the semester and Thomas dropped him off at Picani’s office. “Hello Virgil. How are you today? I heard you had a good scare earlier this week.” Virgil let out a deep sigh, sat down and started his story. Leaving Picani’s office a little bit later than planned, he felt a lot better. Or, well ‘better’ never had been the right word. He’d realized that sometime during the camp. After talking about Picani about what bothered him, he was still bothered by it. But he understood things more clearly. He felt less confused and had an idea of what to do about it. Picani never told him everything would be okay. He helped him understand what was wrong and how to either steer it in a better direction, or learn to live with it. He now felt less uncertain about wanting to give Janus a sign that there was still hope for them, even after what happened last week. He felt less guilty over indulging the people asking him out even though Roman was still very much on his mind. He even felt better about getting more information than he should’ve from uncle Thomas. It had been a relief talking about his theory that his dad had been in his parent’s custody for at least four years and that that was, maybe, the reason why he took him in when they passed. And the fact that he had at least one set of grandparents that might be still alive. He wasn’t going to ask about them though. If they held bad memories for his dad, he didn’t think he wanted to know them. It was very low on his list of priorities. The fact that his dad never mentioned them told him enough. The whole scare with the ceiling lamp was discussed and Picani left it alone when Virgil said that he didn’t want to waste too much time on it. “I’m home!” he announced as he came through the door. He heard Patton call a greeting from the kitchen and saw his dad come from the living room to meet him in the doorway. “Dad!” he called out eagerly as he gave his father a hug. “Virgil? Not that I do not appreciate you seem excited to see me. But is there a particular reason?” There were a few honestly. Knowing a bit more about how he ended up being raised by the smartest, most patient man he’d ever met had him excited. On top of that knowing what his dad was like at his age made him feel closer to him. He decided to focus on the latter. He’d turn sixteen soon. If Logan hadn’t initiated the conversation by then, he would. He could be patient for another month. “Uncle Thomas told me about your teen years. I didn’t know you were on the debate team!” he told him. He could imagine his dad thriving in that environment though. Maybe they should check out the debate team this year in between Roman’s play and Virgil’s art exhibit. Logan gave Virgil a small smile, a bit of pride in his eyes. It was rare for Virgil to see his dad proud of himself. He liked it. “Well, yes. It was a bit of a hobby of mine, as well as an attempt to get better at socializing,” Logan said modestly. Virgil picked up on the operative word in that sentence. ‘Attempt’. “You were a socially awkward nerd,” he concluded with a chuckle. He was so used to being nothing like his dad. Finding flaws and similarities to himself in the man he’d idolized as long as he could remember, it was strangely exhilarating. Logan, however seemed to misunderstand what had Virgil so thrilled. “Hey, that’s a complement! I’m a socially awkward artsy kid. Sounds like I’m your son after all!” he clarified. That reminded him though. “Speaking off. Uncle Thomas told me you wrote poetry back in the day.” “Really!?” Patton exclaimed from the kitchen. Logan was blushing. Scrambling for a way out of the conversation it seemed. “I… Experimenting with different forms of self-expression is a natural part of discovering one’s identity as a teenager. It was a phase. I would like to forget about it.” Virgil was about to argue against it, but Patton beat him to it. “Aw, but poetry is so romantic,” he pouted. And Virgil could see the way that affected his dad. Well, their date nights were about to get ten times more sappy. Hopefully going for the heart, and his ego, would work out just as well for Virgil. “That’s too bad. I thought I could make a project around your old work for art class,” he sighed disappointedly. And just like that his dad’s firm posture melted away. “I’ll see if I can find some of my old notebooks. Just ask my consent before you pick one.” Virgil couldn’t resist hugging him again. “Thanks dad. You won’t regret it. I promise.” He felt his father put his arms around him gently. A wordless “you’re welcome”. Virgil was feeling very chatty during dinner and so told his parents all about his day. They had to go to the university again tonight. Since Virgil was planning on meeting up with Prince and not sure if he’d be out all night or just long enough to talk to the guy, he bid them both a good night now. Just in case he’d be too tired to wait for them to get home once he got back. As soon as they were out the door Virgil dug in his closet for his face mask, something he wore when he was feeling sick and didn’t want to infect others. And his shades. He was going to take a chance on Prince today. He made sure he had his evidence at the ready. He’d updated it earlier that week and last night he hadn’t learned anything new. He decided to go with the same look as yesterday so Prince would recognize him more easily. He made his way to the street and vanished in the alleys. After a few minutes he found the rooftop they’d used as their rendezvous point last night. Hopefully Prince wouldn’t make him wait too long. He lowered the intensity of his cloak to be more easily spotted should someone be looking for him. Suddenly he heard a sound behind him. “Good evening my shadowy friend,” the grand voice of Dream Prince drifted through the air. Virgil turned around, his coat flaring out with the movement. “Hey there highness,” he greeted as he tossed him the evidence bag. Clear of any fingerprints or DNA as far as he could manage it, as usual. Prince studied it for a moment. “Is this…?” he sounded surprised. “A show of good will. I thought about it…” not enough. Maybe he was biased because he reminded him of Roman. Or because he’d seen him during his training wheel days. Maybe he didn’t want to be alone anymore. “You seem alright. I’ll… I’ll have your back. If you have mine.” They could help each other. Grow stronger together. Weren’t heroes always at their strongest once they learned to work together? “You do know that if I hand this in, they’ll know I made contact?” This guy. Virgil chuckled, finding this strangely endearing. “You mean you haven’t told them yet?” Prince’s posture straightened almost defiantly. “You didn’t say you were alright with that!” Was he actually insulted by the idea of reporting back to his people without Virgil’s permission? Guess he’d read him right. Good to know. “Okay. Well, consider this my permission. If I don’t want to be found, I’ll disappear Prince.” He’d find a way to avoid Prince if it was necessary. “Tell the chief all communication with me goes through you. If you don’t mind.” Because Virgil didn’t trust the chief enough to go anywhere near her. Prince nodded as he reached for his ear. “I am currently debriefing Phantom. I’ll let you know when I’m done here. Tell chief I’ll stop by with a package. Radio silence until further notice.” Virgil couldn’t stop himself from letting out a chuckle. This guy. He really needed to be more careful. “You ever thought I might be a bad guy? You shouldn’t cut off your back up like that in front of me.” Had they taught him nothing at the GTH? “You’ve had plenty chances to take me out,” Prince pointed out, much to Virgil’s surprise. “You could have let those goons get me the first time you saw me. You could have attacked me while I was busy with those guys yesterday. And who knows how many times over the summer. And on top of that. Who says my communicator is my only way of contacting back up?” Okay, so maybe Prince knew what he was doing after all. “Fair enough. So what now?” He had no idea what would come after this. He just knew that Prince reached out, and he’d accepted. The ball was back in Prince’s court. “Now… I warn you about the collector.” That sounded very serious. He almost wanted to get out before he could get involved, but a gut feeling told him that this was important. He eyed the edge of the roof. Well might as well get comfortable. “I feel like this is a sitting down kind of conversation.” Once they both sat down, Virgil put on his sunglasses and dropped his cloak completely. It was symbolic or whatever. Letting his guard down in a visible way. He turned to the prince expectantly, a little annoyed at how the dark glasses limited his vision. Prince took in a deep breath and started his story. “The collector is an old enemy of Manifestor. He recruits Gifted, and those he thinks deserve to be gifted for some kind of revolution. You and I are probably his kind of people. Young, full of potential. All that stuff creeps like that love to go on about.” Virgil’s eyes widened. That did sound bad. He was suddenly very glad he had not confided in anyone about his powers so far. Who knew if the Chief was on the Collector’s payroll? Or maybe Picani was being spied on. “So we should be careful, you and I. I want to help you out,” Prince told him as he offered him two small objects. A stone and lip balm? “These can help you hide your identity without having to use your… Do you have a name for it?” Prince wondered. Virgil wasn’t sure if he could disguise his voice. But if he did, he was not going to risk Prince being someone from school who might recognize his voice. “Cloak,” he replied before dropping his guard again. “Cloak… Cool,” Prince nodded as he showed the black stone. “So this, is a voice modulator. I adjusted it to fit your tempest voice as best as I could.” Virgil couldn’t help laughing. Tempest voice? That sounded so cool honestly. But man was it dramatic. “You clearly have not heard it,” Prince pointed out and he had a point. He sounded normal to himself. “What’s with the lipstick?” he asked. “This will paint your hair black faster than any hair dye. It’s also a very good hair gel and it washes out right away,” Virgil bit his lip as Prince offered him the items. He was not used to being helped. Not as ‘Phantom’ at least. He still struggled with it as Virgil. Letting Roman help him with his English assignment yesterday had been hard. But he had to let people help him. He had to take a leap of faith here. So he took the items and got up to try them out. “No peeking!” he warned, though he would keep his cloak up. It was more to test if Prince would be tempted to go against his wishes. He didn’t. Virgil placed the modulator on his throat where Prince had his red stone and applied the balm to his hair. He spread it out and took a moment to decide on the style he wanted to go with. He tried for windblown, though he wasn’t sure if he did it right without a mirror. “Okay, let’s try this,” he said testing out his new voice. Wow, if that was what he really sounded like then Tempest voice might just have been the most accurate description. He looked back at Prince who was getting up and waling over to him. “Okay. So… what’s the plan?” he asked, curious what Prince was expecting out of this collaboration. “Well… We could try and meet up here regularly. We might not always patrol at the same time, and you might be busy. But I could… If you are okay with it… I could help you coordinate with the cops. Like you kinda suggested earlier. Or we could like, do some patrolling together? Keep each other company…” Oh, that was cute. Prince could be insecure. Virgil was starting to think he was unshakable. “It might be nice talking someone who gets it you know? You’re my age right?” he wondered. Nice try. Very subtle. “I mean… I guess, but I’m not sure how old you are exactly,” he shrugged casually. He wasn’t going to give anything away that easily. “Fair point.” Or maybe there hadn’t been an ulterior motive. He was getting paranoid. “Anyway… What do you want?” Virgil thought about that for a moment. He hadn’t expected to be asked for his opinion. “I mean… Debriefings sound cool,” he said casually. “I’d like to patrol with you, but my parkour is no match to that walking on air trick you got…” He was kind of jealous of that one if he was honest. “I was thinking of hanging around the clubbing district at the end of the night and making sure some party goers get home safe. I’ll see you around there when you’re done?” This talk was fun and all, but Prince should probably check in with his team soon. And Virgil needed to think about things for a minute. “That sounds like a good idea,” Prince agreed as he gave him a bow. “Until then. Know that the GTA’s resources are now at your disposal through me. So if you want to get a proper suit or other fun toys, you need only ask.” And with that Virgil’s new ally sprinted of into the night. A real suit huh? Virgil shook his head. He’d have to think on that some more. For now, he had work to do.

Hero au

@cirishere @hestianerd1 @moonlightshow00​ @naturallyunstablegamer @alias290 @meowthefluffy @frida0043​ @angelic-cali​ @selenechris​ @theblackveilinreverse

[kookiebunnii]

what happens after || kim taehyung

→ summary: in another universe, do you think we could’ve ended up together? OR exploring how your memories with taehyung intertwine with your slow recovery from a life without him.

→ pairing: idol!taehyung x reader

→ genre: exes!au, post-breakup angst

→ word count: 4.4k

→ warnings: n/a

→ a/n: i always wanted to write something exploring the feelings of separation after a relationship. there’s a lot of works out there detailing the process of falling in love, but i think there’s something redeemable in the process of recovering from love as well. 

●●●●●

The morning after might be the hardest part.

After a night of tossing and turning, drifting aimlessly between sleep and consciousness, the sun rises like it always does. When the dawn breaks, you open your eyes slowly, hoping that when you open them—Taehyung would be there.

But of course, he isn’t.

Because if he were, you’d already be in his arms. Taehyung loved to hold you while he slept, as if it comforted him knowing that he had you within his grasp. You never minded it, because the warmth he exuded was critical for lulling you into your dreams with ease. He smelled nice, like soft detergent on freshly washed sheets mixed with something so uniquely him. You would languidly lay in bed, curled into his chest, resting happy knowing that he’d still have you when you wake the next day.

When you broke up with him the night before though, this unrealistic expectation somehow still remained. It persistently presses against your heart, trying to win out against reality, until you were forced to longer believe in it. Gazing forlornly at the empty pillow next to you, missing the person who used to always sleep on the right side of the bed, your heart breaks all over again.

If you close your eyes tight enough, grip the blankets hard enough, you could almost feel his arms around you again. You could see Tae, dark locks messy with sleep, grumbling in annoyance as you try to poke him awake. He always mumbles ‘five more minutes’ before pulling you closer and burying his face in your neck. You’d always let him have his five minutes; in fact, you grew accustomed to setting your alarm a few minutes earlier just to ensure the two of you would still be on time. You wonder if he knew this.

Laying there in a bed that suddenly feels too big, you have no choice but to accept the fact that this was only the first day in the rest of your days without Taehyung. If you could push past the pain you felt today, things would get better. They had to, because how else were you supposed to survive a break-up?

But the loneliness and the hurt have made their residence within your chest, and you feel too weak to face the day. You can barely get yourself out of bed, so you decide to call into work sick that day. You were a star employee, so they surely would offer you a day off if you really needed it.

You spend the rest of the day staring at that empty pillow.

●●●●●

Prior to meeting Taehyung, you’d never dated a celebrity or anyone with as much popularity as he had. Given how big he and his group were, you should expect his face plastered everywhere you went in advertisements and other endorsements.

It was overwhelming, to say the least.

On your way to work you’d always listen to music, something upbeat and catchy to pull your attention away from the fact that he was everywhere. You wonder when they’ll remove the BTS advertisement for Chilsung Cider from the interior of this subway train. It’s been here for the past few days—surely they’ll have newer product placement coming soon. Despite the cheery beat of the current song playing from your earbuds, you can’t help but notice the small smile on Tae’s face. It’s the one he uses for professional things, the kind that makes his eyes glitter just enough to seem real. But you knew with aching familiarity how to easily get that boxy smile of his, his laughter contagious when you managed to crack him up beyond just a few chuckles.

Smiling sadly, your eyes lower down to the thin watch on your wrist. You’ll be on time for work as you typically are, so you should quickly get your act together. You were a radio show host, which meant that you had to make your voice engaging for those morning commute listeners. Being a professional meant separating work matters from personal ones, and it would be easy to tell if you were depressed about something.

God, what if your co-workers ask you what’s wrong? What if they find out that you’re no longer with Taehyung and just give you pity looks for the next month? You’d probably go insane.

Pressing your lips together instead of biting them for fear of ruining the gloss smeared over them, you briskly walk towards the radio building before dispelling those thoughts out of your head. You could be professional. Just for a few hours, you could keep it together.

Even when you dash past the photo on the wall, an old picture of you and your co-host holding up fingers hearts to the camera alongside world superstars BTS, you gather the pieces of your heart and hold them together.

●●●●●

Wow, did mint chocolate ice cream always taste this heavenly?

Burying your spoon into the icy dessert with renewed vigor, you pull the fluffy blanket over your belly as you commence your feasting. You haven’t had this flavor in a while given that Taehyung didn’t seem to appreciate it all that much, so you were grateful to be able to indulge in it once again. It wasn’t like it was your favorite flavor of all time, but you appreciated the crisp notes dotted with hints of creamy chocolate. You’d take toothpaste-flavored food any day of the week if it tasted this yummy.

You stop shoveling ice cream into your mouth when you remember the ice cream dates Tae used to sneak out of work to bring you on. He loved this one ice cream parlor down the street, always getting the same flavor no matter what. You liked to venture out of your comfort zone a little more, and given how often he took you there, you were close to trying almost all their staple flavors—not counting the seasonal ones. He’d always sneak a kiss from you afterwards, just to claim that he was able to sample all the flavors too. It always made you laugh, but you appreciated his small displays of affection. Especially towards the end, when the two of you began meeting a lot less frequently.

You place the sweet dessert back into the freezer, sighing and running a shaky hand through your bird’s nest of hair. It felt terrible to still reminisce about something that would never be, but you recently chose to forgive yourself when these flashbacks happened. Taehyung was one of those loves you would never forget because of how impactful his presence had been. So maybe if it took you a few weeks or even a few months to finally get over him, it’s acceptable. You knew without a doubt that you truly loved him. But of course, that did not lessen your obligations in relation to finally splitting away from depending on him.

Outside, the sky is glowing with brightness despite being seven in the evening. You lived in the city, meaning that the streets would be alive well into the early morning hours. It was loud and oppressive in the beginning, but you grew accustomed to it shortly after moving here for work. You wonder if you would even be able to fall asleep now without the hum of traffic underlying your dreams.

Maybe getting some fresh air, being around lively human interactions, and just living a little would help you move on. At this point you were ready to try anything. After all, it couldn’t hurt. You weren’t in the mood to cook today anyways.

You decide to dress a bit better than usual, if only for your own self-confidence. Your hands automatically reach for your favorite blouse and your most comfortable jeans from the interior of your closet. A lot of articles you own were actually gifts from Taehyung, so you’re grateful that you still have a few things that you could keep without reminding you of him. You wonder when you would feel comfortable wearing those dresses and belts he purchased for you. He bought them to show off “his girl” but now that you weren’t, did you still have a right to wear them?

When you finally escape from your worries, the cool night air blowing the strands of your hair with a carefree hand, you breathe deeply and try to exhale any stress still entrenched in your body. Tonight was about forgetting. It was about starting over.

It’s Friday today, so the streets are littered with happy couples, arms tangled together and their faces alit with adoration and happiness. You wonder if you looked as lovesick as they did, before ultimately deciding that you probably had. Tae was rarely able to walk the popular streets with you during rush hours, and even then he always wore a black cap with a matching face mask. The two of you grew used to ducking into alleyways whenever he spotted a large group of people heading towards the two of you. You remember feeling the hard brick wall pressing against your back as you waited out the crowds, glancing over at him periodically to smile mischievously at him. Maybe it was the thrill of almost being caught, or maybe he just liked your playful side, but he would usually choose to pull down his face mask just to kiss you when the two of you were hiding. These kisses were different than the post-ice cream date pecks. He’d always linger for a second or two, giving your bottom lip a greedy nip or ghosting the tip of his tongue across yours. No matter how many times he did this, your stomach always did flips in response.

The restaurant you picked is packed today, so you decide not to dine in. It would be rather weird to eat by yourself, especially amidst such a high-energy venue. Thankfully, your simple sandwich is completed rather quickly. You thank the waitress working the front desk before gripping your paper bag, heady with warmth, and head to the closest park.

One of the first places you discovered when you moved here was this community park. It is surrounded by large buildings, but that only added to the appeal of a small oasis surrounded by the mess of city life. You often came here after work, if only to stroll around the well-worn paths and think through how your day went. In the beginning, it had been difficult for you to adjust. Especially in the entertainment business, the higher-ups always demanded more of you. They wanted humor and fun, for you to pull fresh news out of the idols which fans craved. You had to be peppy, excited, and well-versed in the background of whoever you were interviewing. It was tough, but now you knew you had built up quite the reputation for yourself. You enjoyed meeting a variety of artists, most of whom quickly signed up for a repeat interview with you after the first round. You received the recognition and praise you craved, and you knew that you could only soar higher from here.

There are a few people walking their dogs tonight. You give each passing pet a smile when they look up at you with their round eyes and lolling tongues. Having a soft spot for animals, seeing them always made your heart feel lighter even if it was just a glance. Finding a bench is easy for you, especially since most people opted to stroll around this evening. The first bite is always the best, and it rings true tonight without fail. You chew slowly, enjoying the savory celebration over your palate before you slip back into your thoughts again.

You wonder what Taehyung is doing right now. His schedule must be busy, given that he was preparing for his comeback soon. You knew it was right of you to break up with him early enough that he would still have sufficient time to practice, since his work would always be his priority. It would be careless of you to end things with him close to his performances. You loved him enough to think things carefully on his behalf.

You remember how much you cried a few weeks ago, when you couldn’t even leave your bed to make it to work. Every time you blinked, he appeared behind your eyelids. It hurt so much that you never thought you could heal. You hated yourself, hated the universe for tearing the two of you apart. Whatever semblance of perfect love you found was replaced with the growing pain of your careers. You were climbing in the ranks, your days booked with more and more artists hoping to use your show to rise in popularity. BTS was traveling the world, performing for the masses and wooing fans with their genuine personalities in video interviews. As the two of you climbed higher, you also drifted further apart. You were beginning to feel the emptiness of being able to count how many times you had seen your ex every month on one hand.

The sandwich is quickly consumed, so you toss the empty bag into the trash can next to you and let out a sigh. Even though you wanted to not think about Taehyung tonight, it was difficult. Everything reminded you of him. Every time your mind wandered, it somehow ran after whatever remnants of him you still had. However, it was starting to hurt less and less. Instead of having your eyes brim with tears every time you thought about the way he used to look at you, you began to treat it as a silent acknowledgement of the past. You were satisfied with this development, but simultaneously fearful. What would it mean when you could finally think about Taehyung and feel nothing? Would that somehow invalidate everything he once was to you?

Your blouse isn’t doing much to protect you from the chilly night air, so you decide to take another lap through the park before retiring for the night. It’s difficult to see the stars, given the pollution and bright lights, but you like to imagine that they are there—shining down on you. They guide you back to your apartment, never leaving your side even when you shut the door behind you with finality.

●●●●●

Months have passed, and you are busier than ever before. Your coworkers have also began inviting you for dinners and other events more often. At first you were hesitant, not the social butterfly that most people expected radio hosts to be, but you quickly adapted. Everyone was friendly towards you for the most part, and the chatter helped ease and distract whatever sadness your heart was holding on to.

Christmas was around the corner, and you knew without a doubt that the entertainment world would be hosting a multitude of parties for the season. You were willing to join the tight-knit ones where only a handful of people were gathering for some red wine and conversation, but when your coworker invited you to a large rooftop celebration with some celebrities, you couldn’t help but hesitate.

“It’ll be fun! I’ll stick by your side all night if you’re that worried,” you coworker had chirped, a newbie at your company but who remained sociable and energetic nevertheless.

You had laughed nervously, waving her worries away and agreeing to attend. That had got her to finally leave you be, as you fiddled with the lid of your coffee cup and wondered what excuse to give when the date came around. Unfortunately, when December 24th finally did roll around, you simply stared at the calendar hanging from your wall and acquiesced.

Your closet is different now, as most of the items Taehyung purchased for you are now stowed away in a box in the corner. The newbie at the company, her name was Luce or something, had told you that people would probably be dressing nicely for the event. She then spent the rest of your lunch break yapping about some dress she had ordered online while you tuned out to play with the hem of your pencil skirt in nervousness.

Looking at your options, you finally settle on a scarlet dress that you hadn’t worn for a while. It was one of your first pricy purchases after your first paycheck, as a gift to yourself, and you were thankful to find that it still fit you perfectly. It was nothing scandalous, but definitely very different from what you were used to wearing. Pairing it with your beige trench coat, you check your makeup once more in the mirror before heading into the night.

The taxi drops you off at the location with little trouble. The sounds of the party are quick to descend on your ears, so you hand your coat to the coat check quickly before heading upwards to find someone you knew—just to stick around for the party so you wouldn’t feel isolated.

String lights have been strung elegantly across the sky, and you realize that it truly is a wondrous sight. Heat lamps are placed strategically across the floor, and a number of attendees are already sipping champagne and giggling with each other. Almost immediately, you see the coworker you thought of earlier, bounding over to you like an overeager kid and beaming with enthusiasm.

“You actually came!” she smiled, eyes wide as if you were merely an illusion.

“A promise is a promise,” you reply, accepting the flute of champagne Luce snatches from a nearby table to hand to you.

“Do you want to meet some people with me? I think quite a few of the celebs here know you already.”

You take a sip of the drink, appreciating the bubbles across your tongue and the slight flame that blazes in your chest when you swallow. You nod, deciding that socializing was only customary.

Your coworker is right to note that you actually recognize a lot of people in attendance tonight. The awkward feeling you had quickly faded away as you caught up with familiar faces and new ones alike. Everyone seemed to be in high spirits, happy to take a break to visit their friends and family for the holiday season. Their respective companies all allow vacations during this winter season, so their happiness is well-warranted.

It is only on your third glass of champagne, a red color brushed high on your cheekbones, when you take notice of his figure flitting in and out of your view. Taehyung is dressed in a beautiful midnight blue suit, the color flirting between blue and black. His hair is dyed a bright blue, likely due to promotions for his recent album. You can’t pull your eyes away from his tall figure and the way his lips pull in a polite smile at every person who greets him. He looks exactly the same, but then again, would a few months really change a person?

Suddenly, everything is too much and whatever progress you’ve made in the past few months flies out the window. You want to run out the door and back into the safety of your apartment across the city. That sensation only heightens when his dark eyes meet yours, and your stomach drops in fear and trepidation.

The thing about Taehyung is that he’s never shy with you. Even after months of being separated, he still holds your gaze in his own without fail. The two of you used to have staring contests, ones you would always lose, and this moment also feels akin to that. You choose to accept defeat the moment you apologize to your acquaintance and set your glass on the table. Heading straight for the stairs, reminding yourself to grab your stuff from the coat check on your way out, a part of you wonders if he will follow you. It’s fruitless, because what could he even say? You would only shake him off and apologize before running away again. He knows better than to chase after the girl who got away.

When you’re finally miles away, dress discarded on the floor, lying in the center of your cold bedsheets and staring at the ceiling—you realize that you still haven’t moved on.

●●●●●

The beginning of 2020 is nothing if not full of surprises. For one, you quit your job. If anyone were to tell you that you would leave your well-paying occupation one day to pursue a career as a painter, you would probably laugh in their face before recommending one of your psychiatrist friends. However, that joke was your current reality. Unable to take the stress of keeping up with every new act knocking on your door for an interview combined with the way the male high-ups expected you to laugh at the right times and talk pretty during interviews, you handed in your resignation at the end of January.

Perhaps the dumbfounded looks on their faces were worth the loss.

The next day, you book the earliest flight for Paris. You want some inspiration for your art, and what better inspiration could you derive than from a city with a rich history and a penchant for beauty? You had always been into the arts, so this transition came easily. Taehyung used to tell you that you were gifted, but you never took heed of his words. After all, his compliments were freely given to you when he was in a good mood. In reality, the most he ever saw of your skills were the doodles you’d scribble on his hand when he was unconscious from a nap on your couch.

These days, you rarely thought of him. It was reassuring for your heart, knowing that you were slowly accepting a tomorrow without him. The process wasn’t without its pain, but you were thankful at your resilience. You knew that he was doing just fine, as your mutual friends kept you updated whenever they felt like sharing.

Paris at night is a rare type of beautiful. Staring up at the Eiffel Tower, you admire its curves and lines as people glide past you without paying you any heed. You probably stare at the structure for a good 10 minutes without moving, your eyes appreciating the classy nature of its architecture before you decide to head back to your hotel. You wanted to sketch this monument while its shapes were still imprinted on your thoughts.

Turning around to see Taehyung staring at you, the fear you had felt at the Christmas party doesn’t rise up to coil around your throat. It surprises you, even though you had already admitted to moving on considerably. He is still unfairly handsome, his hair back to the natural deep chestnut you were familiar with. When he steps forward, caution enunciated in that single step, you give him a smile to reassure him.

“Long time no see,” you breathe, tucking your hands into your windbreaker.

“Yeah,” his deep voice resonates in that single word of affirmation.

“Would you like to grab a croissant with me?” you offer, unsure how to proceed but deciding to be polite regardless of how uncomfortable everything seemed.

He nods, his tall form quickly falling in step with your own. Taehyung doesn’t say much throughout the entire journey to your favorite bakery, keeping his eyes on the sidewalk underneath your feet.

Sitting outside the store, a warm baked good in your fingers, the silence is considerably more bearable. Eating with satisfied bites, you watch the passerby glide past with radiant smiles and laughter, joking around in French. When you finally brush the crumbs off your lap to glance at Taehyung, he is watching the same crowd as you were. He seems to feel your eyes on him, because he meets your gaze. When you look into his eyes, no more than a few feet separating the two of you, you realize the lack of hurt that typically panged with every mention of him last year.

The realization empowers you, ballooning your heart in your chest. It is not happiness you feel, but something akin to a peaceful acceptance.

“In another universe, do you think we could’ve ended up together?”  

His question echoes in the recesses of your mind, and your fingers unconsciously tighten on the thighs of your leggings. This same thought had plagued your dreams early in your break up, as you prayed and wished that if things were different, if your careers didn’t demand so much from the two of you, that maybe there would be a happily ever after and an “us” to hold onto. But this universe, these conditions, were reality. You couldn’t ask him to sacrifice his love for singing, his appreciation of his growing fanbase, his dream—for you. He couldn’t request the same of you either.

“Maybe. Namjoon used to talk a lot about that,” you chuckle before continuing, “Multiverse theory or something like that.”

Taehyung nodes, a small smile appearing across his face when you mention his hyung.

“If he’s right about that, then I suppose so. In another world where you are nothing more than a normal boy and I am nothing more than a normal girl, I’d like to think we could’ve made it work,” you whisper, and when the words leave your lips without shaking, you are proud of yourself.

“I can be happy with that,” he says.

He walks you back to your hotel room, keeping to his thoughts as he does. You don’t mind, knowing that Tae often retreated into his thoughts when he was considering a topic deeply. You momentarily consider asking him why he was in Paris but decide against it. If he was ready for aimless conversations, he would start.

When you reach the hotel interior, a large chandelier illuminating the white marble tiles underneath your feet, he finally pauses to give you his final goodbye. He looks like he wants to say something more, maybe to ask to meet again or something of that nature. Instead he swallows and exhales, “We don’t need another universe to continue being there for each other.”

“No, we don’t,” you agree.

He turns around, bidding you another a small goodbye when his eyes briefly flit to your face. You offer him a small wave in response, watching his broad back retreating out the room and the sliding glass doors. Heading straight for the elevator doors as soon as his silhouette disappears from view, your shoulders relax instantly in the safety of the enclosed compartment.

Perhaps this universe still had a lot left to offer.

[redisriding]

The Right Swipe - Chapter One

A Court of Thorns and Roses Modern AU Fanfic

All character’s belong to the wonderful Sarah J Maas.

Tag List: @superspiritfestival  @duskandstarlight @perseusannabeth​

It was the steady chiming of notifications that woke Nesta. First, bringing her slowly to consciousness. Then, inciting enough panic in her just-waking mind, to cause her to bolt upright in the bed with fear.

Grabbing her phone off her bedside locker, knocking a number of items to the floor in the process, she rubbed her eyes into focus. The notifications were still pinging at regular intervals, but as Nesta peered at the screen, they weren’t from work as she had thought. 

No. The notifications appeared beside the app with the little red heart icon. Swipe. 

Nesta groaned, her head starting pound, as the previous night slowly began to come back to her. 

Telling her sisters about Thomas. Them convincing her to download Swipe. Her necking half a bottle of wine to get as drunk as they were. Her swiping tentatively on men she found attractive. Feyre putting on a power ballad playlist, and the three of them dancing around her living room belting out the hits. Collapsing on the coach in fits of laughter.  Swapping phones and swiping for men for each other - the people closest to you know what you need better than you do, after all. 

Feyre had passed out on the couch at some point, and after checking that she was okay and covering her with a blanket, Elaina and Nesta had stumbled to their respective homes. 

Nesta had had a great night with her sisters. She promised herself that she wouldn’t let it go so long this time, before they did it again. 

But Nesta hadn’t been very good at sticking to her promises recently.

Like last night when she promised herself that she would delete Swipe this morning, but as she lay back down in her bed, curiosity got the better of her and she decided she just had to see who she had matched with. 

She opened the app and clicked through to her messages. There were…a lot. Clearly her sisters had been liberal about who they had swiped right for, but Nesta had to give it to them, they had found her some handsome men. 

And how flattering that they appeared to like her back. She had been out of the dating game for so long that it was a boost for her confidence. 

Replying to a few couldn’t hurt…

—————

Elain stood in front of the mirror and looked at herself. Fresh from the shower and wrapped in a white towel she was physically clean. The hot water had washed away the griminess that she felt the morning after she drank alcohol. However the water failed to get rid of the disgusting feeling she felt whenever she looked at herself. 

Dropping her towel she began to examine her body. Her skin was flushed pink from the hot water but it would cool to a cream colour that was neither pale enough to be porcelain nor dark enough to be tanned, it just was. 

Her face was pretty enough, but she always made sure to wear makeup when she left the house. Or when she was in the house. On the chance that someone might ring the doorbell. 

Her hair that was now wrapped in a towel usually hung limply to her shoulders. She curled it to give it some volume. 

Her shoulder, she supposed, were nice. Delicate, feminine. She always wore dresses that showed that showed off her collar bones. 

It was everything below that that she hated.

Elain sighed as she took herself in Her sisters were so womanly and beautiful, Nesta with her big boobs, curvy hips and tiny waist. She had the kind of body that never went out of fashion. Feyre was stronger and leaner, but she wouldn’t look out of place on the cover of the swimsuit issue of IllustratedAthletes. Elain didn’t know how she was related to such beauties when she herself looked like a pre-pubescent boy. 

She cupped her non-existent breasts, her nipples so small and pale she didn’t think any man could ever desire them. She continued her assessment. Her ribs poked roughly out through her skin, but her stomach remained pudgy, as it bulged just above her public bone. Maybe if she could lose her tummy, she could be that delicate kind of pretty that came with being extremely thin. 

She turned to examine her ass, or lack there of, and what a shame since it was all the rage these days. She would need to do more squats. Her claves and ankles were sufficient. As were her arms. Although she had once overheard a woman at work say that her arms looked like twigs. 

Elain was tired of people passing comment on her body. 

She could never be what they wanted her to be. No matter how hard she had tried. 

And she had tried. 

The only man she had ever been with, Grayson, used to make comments about her body. That her stomach was bloated, that her thighs were rubbing together, or her arms flabby. He would tell her to leave her shirt on while they had sex, he’d turn the lights off, or, the one that upset Elain the most, he’d only take her from behind because he told her that her face was too old to look at. 

So she had plucked and scrubbed, waxed and buffed, bought expensive face creams, and spent hours in the gym.

All to be what he had wanted her to be. 

To be good enough for him. 

And in the end, when she failed, he left her. 

That had been two years ago. Elain hadn’t been with a man since. 

No man would want her now anyway.

Turning away from the mirror she quickly put on underwear and pulled on a floral print dress. She loved her floral dresses, they compensated for her lack of womanliness in her body and made her feel feminine. 

She was just taking the towel from her hair when the notification popped up on her phone. A new match had sent her a message on Swipe. 

Elain felt the butterflies flutter in her stomach, as they always did when she got a notification from match.

Opening Swipe she clicked into the profile of the guy who messaged her. 

Lucien. 30. Polo player. New to Velaris and need to know some good spots to eat. 

Flicking through his photos, Elain had to admit he was handsome. Tall and broad he had dark tanned skin and long red hair. An unusual combination but one that clearly worked for the man. One close up picture of his face, revealed some scaring around his eye, but nevertheless he looked kind.

She clicked into the message he sent her. 

Good morning Elain, how are you doing today? 

It was simple. Polite. Infinitely more positive than the men who messaged her to make crass comments about her appearance or what they might like to do with her. 

Elain felt her stomach flip again as she stared down at the message. 

With a self-satisfied smile to herself, she began typing a reply. 

————— 

Feyre was too hungover to be in work. She had woken up that morning on her couch - covered in a blanket that her sisters had clearly thrown over her before leaving the night before - with a severe crick in her neck. Sitting up, massaging her shoulder, she took stock of her sitting room. The empty wine bottles, crumpled pizza boxes, cushions strewn everywhere. The aftermath might have been a big mess for her to clean up but she had had a great night with her sisters. 

Now she stood at the cash register staring down a long queue of waiting customers, while her brain thumped in her skull.

“I’m taking a break,” she called to Nuala before turning and walking away from her till. 

“Hey!” Cerridwen called after her, “Come back here! You can’t just walk away like that we’re swamped.”

Feyre ignored the grumbles of the two managers as she headed through the kitchen and ducked out the back door. The cool autumn air hit her and she breathed in deeply. 

The smell of coffee inside was doing nothing to help her stomach, she thought, as she felt the cold slice of pizza she had grabbed on the way out the door this morning churn in her stomach. 

Shimming down the wall to sit on the cold concrete ground, Feyre pulled her phone from the back pocket of her jeans. 

She had a new notification on Swipe. 

Clicking open the app her eyes bulged when she saw the handsome man who had sent her a message. 

He was tall and tanned with long blonde hair. His photos showed him partaking in a number of outdoor pursuits including horse riding and shooting, but one picture was him all dressed up wearing a tux and a masquerade mask. 

Feyre felt her body respond as she clicked open his bio. 

Tamlin. 33. Not looking for anything serious…just a wife ;)

Feyre snorted. Good looking and funny, he appeared almost too good to be true. 

She opened the message he had sent her. 

Hello beautiful Feyre. What are you doing tonight?

Feyre typed out a reply

Not much, I need to clean my apartment after last night :( 

He messaged back almost instantly

Wild night? ;)

I got drunk with my sisters, things got a bit messy haha

Sounds fun. How many sisters do you have?

It was! Regretting it this morning though haha. I have two. 

Hungover? Nice, older or younger?

Yeah…and I’m in work this morning :( Both older. 

Aww poor baby Feyre, hungover in work only to go home and clean up after up after your sisters. 

I know, how unfair?! :( 

Sounds almost like a fairytale - Cinderella. You’re missing something though…

What’s that?

A handsome Prince to whisk you away. 

Any ideas where I could find one of those? The frogs I’ve been kissing have turned out to be just that.

Let me take you out for dinner tonight?

Feyre’s heart started racing as she looked at the message. Tamlin was asking her on a date. A proper date. She’s never been on one before. All her and Isaac did was get drunk and have sex. This handsome man was asking her out for dinner. 

That would be really nice :) 

Do you know Under the Mountain? 

That really expensive restaurant that everyone is talking about? Of course! The waiting list is months long though??? 

That’s the one  - meet you there at 8pm ;) 

Holy shit! This guy Tamlin must be rich on top of being handsome and funny…or at least very well connected. What on earth was he doing on Swipe? He must have women throwing themselves at his feet…and yet, tonight he was taking her on a date. 

Excitement punctured through her hangover. She was going on a date. Tonight! With the man of her dreams. AND he was taking her Under the Mountain. 

Oh. My. Gods. 

What was she going to wear. 

The door to the coffeeshop opened with a bang snapping Feyre from her reverie. Nuala, or maybe it was Cerridwen, stood there glaring down at Feyre, “Breaks over, get back to your register.” 

Even getting in trouble with her manager couldn’t put Feyre in a bad mood, she hopped up off the ground and followed Cerridwen, or maybe it was Nuala, back inside. 

The queue was even longer than it had been before she left. Logging onto her register beside the new girl, Alis, who was clearly flustered, she called the next customer forward. 

“What can I get you?” She asked without looking up. 

“Three large americanos, two blueberry muffins, and one pain au chocolat, please,” a warm, deep voice replied. 

“Three large americanos, two blueberry muffins, and one pain au chocolat,” Feyre repeated, punching the order into her register. “Can I take a name?”

“Rhys”

“Okay, Reece, that will be $18.90,” it was only then that Feyre glanced up. Standing in front of her till, gazing down upon her with the most vivid violet eyes she had ever seen was the most handsome man she had ever seen. 

All the thoughts of going on that date tonight with Tamlin emptied from her head. All that mattered was Reece standing before her.

A flicker of amusement crossed his face as he looked back at her. It was only then that Feyre realised he stood there, card in hand, waiting for her to put through the transaction. 

“Eh sorry,” she said with a shake of her head, “just tap here,” gesturing to the card machine. 

As he tapped his card and waited for the payment to go through, Feyre turned and pulled three large cups off the coffee machine. Grabbing a pen she quickly scribbled ‘REECE’ across the side of each and passed them down the line for Nuala, or maybe it was Cerridwen, to make the coffee. 

Turning back to the register she found Reece smiling at her. 

It was absolutely dazzling, she was sure her jaw dropped open slightly. 

Regaining her senses she moved away from him, towards the pastries, quickly picking up the tongs, she dropped two blueberry muffins and the pain au chocolat into a brown paper bag. 

Three coffees. Three pastries. Feyre couldn’t help but wonder who they were for. Three seemed to suggest that he wasn’t going home to have Saturday morning breakfast with his girlfriend. 

Ah, who was she kidding, a man like that could easily have two girlfriends and be able to pull it off. 

Maybe he would like a third. 

Shaking her head free of that little thought, she headed back to him where he waited, watching her, by the till. 

“Here are your muffins and pain au chocolat, the coffees will just be a few moments.”

“Thanks,” he said with another smile, but when she looked at Reece she realised that he was not looking at her face…but at her chest. 

No…not looking at her chest. He was trying to read her name badge. 

“It’s Feyre,” she said, flicking her name badge. 

Reece merely smiled again and nodded. 

They stood in awkward silence for a beat before Cerridwen or Nuala called the order. Hustling to the counter, Feyre picked up the cups of steaming coffee, and popped them in a cardboard tray for Reece to carry. 

“Three americanos,” she said, handing them over to him with a shy smile. 

“Thanks.”

“Have a nice day!’

“You too.”

“I will.” She stood there watching him, he hesitated for a moment before turning to head for the door, but not before he called back over his shoulder. 

“Feyre?”

A spark shot through her at the sound of her name falling from his mouth, “Yes?”

“It’s Rhysand” he said, gesturing to the tray of coffees with a wink. 

—————

Cassian couldn’t stop staring at the woman on the screen in front of him. He was lying in bed tapping through her pictures, and had been for at least the last 15 minutes, but he just couldn’t take his eyes off her. 

He had awoke that morning to a notification from that app, Swipe, he had downloaded months ago and then proceeded to forget all about. It wasn’t like there were many women in the Illyrian mountains for him to swipe through anyway. Many of anyone really, not amongst the trees.

He was easily the youngest person who lived up there by about 30 years. The old men who frequented the bar in the village nearest to his cabin liked to give him a hard time about it. They had all moved to the cities in their youths to find lives and wives, only returning to the cold mountains after a bitter divorce of the death of their beloved. They told him constantly that he needed to get out of the mountains, to go to Velaris or Hewn City and get himself a girl. It was their constant picking that had Cassian downloading Swipe in the first place. 

Not that it had helped him get the old men off his back. For one they didn’t understand dating apps, and secondly, because there were precisely two women in his Illyria village on Swipe. One of whom was Emerie, his former friends with benefits who had gone and got herself a boyfriend in one of the seasonal workers who came up to mange the forrest. The other wasn’t worth mentioning. 

He had forgot all about Swipe, and women in general before coming down to Velaris. He made the trip every year to see Rhys, before the snow made it difficult for him to leave his cabin until the spring. 

Azriel had recently moved to Velaris, and the three of them had stayed up drinking whiskey and talking shit long into the night. He was hungover as fuck. Maybe that’s why he was having such a hard time computing the beautiful woman who had apparently mega-matched him. Whatever that meant. 

Cassian continued to stare at the picture of her in her tight black dress that showed off the soft feminine curve of her body. Her long hair fell loose on her shoulders framing her perfect face. 

He tapped through the other photos yet again. He knew the order now. Tight black dress, bikini pic, pretty green dress, bikini pic, sexy red dress, gym shot. 

It was this final picture that had Cassian’s eyes out on stalks. His cock that had been hard when he had woken up had begun throbbing at that. Hot and sweaty after what he supposed was a heavy season - IN THE GYM - the woman was an absolute goddess. 

And she had mega-matched with him? Cassian knew he was in good shape, but he didn’t think a mountain man like that could ever stand a chance with a city girl like that.

No, someone must have taken her phone and swiped through. 

Or maybe she wasn’t even real. 

She was probably a model and someone was using her pictures to catfish men on dating apps. Emerie had made him watch a show about that once. Scary stuff. 

Still, on the off chance that maybe she was real, he might as well shoot his shot. 

Fumbling around with the app, he tried to figure out how to message her. 

That was when her bio popped up. 

With a quiet curse, Cassian punched the pillow beside him. This woman was a queen, and by gods was he prepared to worship at her feet. 

With a quick prayer that she would reply, he typed out a message. 

—————

“Good morning,” Rhys sang as he walked through the door of Azriel’s penthouse apartment. 

Azriel, who sat at the kitchen table staring into a mug of coffee, cringed. “How are you so happy this morning?”

Rhys smiled. “Oh, I don’t know. It’s a beautiful day!”

Azriel just blinked at him. “Please go take your sunniness somewhere else.”

“I would, but I have something you want,” he smirked. 

“And what might that be?” 

“Coffee and a blueberry muffin.”

Azriel’s head shot up. He noticed the bag that Rhys was holding in one hand and the tray of cups in the other. “Where did you get those?”

“Coffeeshop down the street.”

“Is it good?”

“There was a queue out the door so I would imagine so.” Not to mention a pretty little barista, but Rhys didn’t think Azriel would be swayed by that. In fact it could be something he actively avoided. 

“Anything has to be better than this,” He sighed peering back down at his mug. 

“You make it?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know why you do that to yourself?”

“Function over taste.”

Rhys placed the coffees and the pastries on the table and plopped into the seat opposite Azriel. “There are so many great coffee places around here man, you need to get out and explore.”

Azriel just shrugged as he reached for the bag and pulled out a blueberry muffin.

“How long have you lived here now?” Rhys prodded.

“Almost a month.”

“Almost a month and you don’t even have a coffee place, shameful.”

Azriel shrugged again, taking a bite of his muffin. 

Rhys worried for his friend. Azriel was happiest amongst the shadows. Unfortunately, he had just become the Velaris Black Wings biggest signing for the season, and something like that brought him into the spotlight. Especially in Velaris, where good looks, status, and money mattered to people. And Azriel had all three. 

Ever since he had moved from his lower division team in Illyria, the only time he left the house was to go to practice, or for a game, and then he was sheltered in his hockey player bubble. Ask the guy to walk down the street and the 6’4 mountain of muscle broke out in a stress rash. 

“I have a date tonight,” Rhys said, hoping to change the conversation. 

“Oh yeah?” Azriel asked, taking a sip of coffee. He didn’t make a face, unlike when he drank the suff he percolated himself. 

“Yeah.”

“How did you meet her?” 

“You know that app Swipe?”

“No.”

“Of course not. You have women throwing themselves at you everywhere you go.”

Azriel appeared to blush faintly under his tanned skin, “I don’t like it when they do that.”

“I know buddy, it must be so difficult to find yourself constantly surrounded by beautiful women.”

“They just want me for my body…or my money.” Azriel frowned.

Rhys frowned. Azriel wasn’t one to talk about the touchy feely stuff, but the guy was sensitive. “Is that such a bad thing?”

Azriel didn’t answer. “So this app?” He asked after a moment. 

“Yeah Swipe. Basically, you make a profile and you can look through girl’s profiles. If you both Swipe right for each other, then you match and you can start chatting.”

“That’s how you met this girl you’re going out with tonight?”

“Yeah, her name’s Amarantha. We’ve been chatting and its going well, so I asked her if she wanted to grab a drink. You want to see a picture?”

Azriel shrugged again, but Rhys knew his friend was curious. Taking his phone from his pocket he pulled up Amarantha’s profile. She was beautiful, with porcelain skin and long red hair. 

He passed his phone to Azriel. “Tap here for more pictures.”

Azriel’s expression didn’t change as he tapped through the pictures. “I hope it goes well for you,” he said, passing Rhys’s phone back to him. 

“Me too. It has been so long since I was last on a date.”

“It’s just like riding a bike, right.”

Rhys chuckled, “I sure hope so.” 

An easy silence fell between them as they slowly sipped their coffees and ate their muffins. It was really good. Definitely good enough to go back again for. Not that there would be any other reason. He had a date tonight he reminded himself, he needed to forget about the pretty little brunette, Feyre, out of his mind. 

If only he could. 

“Where is Cass?” He asked, shaking himself from his thoughts. 

“Still in bed,” Azriel said with a small smile, “he was wasted last night.”

“Indeed he was. I worry about him, up there alone.”

“Me too, but he won’t hear it. He’s a mountain boy at heart, he won’t be happy in the city.”

Rhys felt a pang of guilt shoot through him. “You sure you’re still talking about Cass?” He asked, standing up from the kitchen table. 

Azriel just nodded. 

—————

Azriel watched Rhys cross the giant living space, and head for the stairs, coffee and pastry in hand for Cassian. The three of them had got drunk last night for the first time in a long time, and Azriel had forgot how sad he got when he was hungover. It was the combination of the booze clearing his system and not having slept right. At least that’s what Azriel told himself. 

In reality though, he hadn’t felt like himself since he moved to Velaris, and the hangover was just heightening the emotions. 

He sighed deeply, and drained the end of his coffee. It really was better than the stuff he made for himself. Rhys was right, he did need to get out of his apartment and get to know his neighbourhood. It was just so intimidating. He was a small town boy, born and raised in the mountains, he didn’t know this city or anyone in it, except for Rhys, and yet everyone seemed to know him. It was incredibly overwhelming. 

At least in Illyria, he knew the name of everyone who had known his. For they had grown up together, not because his face was splashed across sports pages and gossip magazine’s alike. 

Despite being in this massive city, Azriel was lonely. He had Rhys of course, but the guy was busy. Thankfully Cassian would be here for a few weeks to keep him company, while he too stocked up on human interaction and other supplies before heading to his cabin high in the Illyrian mountains for the winter. 

But neither of his best friends could give Azriel what he really missed. 

The love of a good woman. 

He and Mor had been together since they were teenagers in school. He absolutely adored her and she was everything to him. She loved him too, but she wasn’t in love with him. How could she be, when she loved women. 

After almost 10 years together Mor had broken up with him. She had told him that she had been living a lie and that she had fallen in love with a woman named Rita. 

Three years later and Mor and Rita were now married with a son. A son who looked just like Azriel, because he was the one who had provided the “genetic material” for the boy. It was this story that the tabloids loved more than any other. 

Mor and Rita were honest with their son about who Azriel was, but he played more of a favourite uncle roll than a Dad. It broke Azriel’s heart that they were still in Illyria and he couldn’t just pop by at the weekends like he used to. They promised to call regularly, but it just wasn’t the same. 

Here in Velaris, Azriel felt totally alone. 

He needed to change that and Rhys had given him an idea. 

He unlocked his phone and hit download on the Swipe app. 

[here4theheartbreak]

Crowded Busses & Sleepy Bunnies (NamKook)

AO3 Link Here!

✩ Relationships: Jeon Jungkook x Kim Namjoon (Namkook ✩ Genre(s): Fluff

✩ Rating: General ✩ Tags: fluff, getting together, Halloween costumes ✩ Summary: Namjoon hates Halloween. But that opinion might change when that very holiday changes his life.

✩ Word Count: ~3.2k ✩ A/N: Fulfills the square ‘Scary Masks’ for @btsholidaybingo​

Halloween was the worst holiday in the world. Namjoon had outgrown the begging for candy relatively quickly, and parties had never been his thing. He was just awkward enough to make them unpleasant, and once his friends had all found their partners, it was even worse. He couldn’t even rely on them to save him from the awkwardness; he was just the third or fifth wheel.

All told, knowing that, it shouldn’t have been surprising to Namjoon that he’d forgotten it was Halloween. But he’d been working late and hadn’t thought to check his phone. So, when he got on the bus to go home at nearly midnight and found it full of people in costumes, he was surprised to say the least.

Namjoon pushed his way through the piles of drunk partygoers, finally snagging a seat on a crowded bench as the bus began to move. He hugged his bag to his chest, pulling his phone out to attempt to maneuver his headphones into his ears. Every time he moved though, the bus jostled, or the people did, sending his belongings – and his body – nearly flying into one of the many individuals attempting to stay upright around him.

He huffed and crammed his phone back into his bag, opting instead to people watch. Creature watch was more like it tonight. To his right was a witch with a long green nose wrapped in the arms of her sumo wrestler boyfriend. Namjoon hoped it was a boyfriend with the way he was biting the green paint right off her neck.

A vampire with crooked teeth was tucked into the corner of the bench on the opposite side of the bus, his eyes red rimmed from either alcohol or tears. A handful of Spidermen were scattered throughout the bus, and one Anpanman; hope nobody needed a crime fighter tonight. At the front of the bus was a morbidly obese pirate, and nearby him was a scantily clad police officer. Closest to Namjoon were clearly another couple; a sweet looking bunny with a stunning carrot sitting on his lap.

Namjoon dropped his head back against the window, sighing. This was going to be a long ride. Namjoon normally didn’t mind the length of the bus ride from his office to his apartment. He was nearly the last stop. It gave him time to decompress and relax before he reached his home, making it a truly relaxing and safe space for him.

He would certainly need a relaxing space after this ride. Much to his relief, people began to filter off the bus as it drove through the city, allowing Namjoon slowly more breathing room. He was finally able to pull out his cell phone, popping in one earbud as he finally responded to his his friend’s text messages.

Namjoon barely registered the male figure plopping down next to him. He glanced over, seeing a horrifying rabbit rather than a human face. The mask was startlingly realistic; as realistic as Namjoon supposed a fake creature could be.  It had long, soft looking white furry ears, splattered with what looked blood and bits of flesh. Namjoon took a longer peek, seeing dark red eyes. The mouth was opened to reveal rows of sharp teeth with the comical two front bunny teeth, splattered with blood and gore across its mouth area. The boy wore a plain long sleeved white shirt covered in bloodstains and a pair of white jeans in a similar state. He had on fuzzy white bunny paw gloves. Namjoon wondered what sort of person would think it was funny to dress in such a way for a Halloween costume. Surely someone demented, right? He tried not to let it bother him, facing forward again.

It was difficult not to notice, however, when the boy’s head fell to the side, resting on Namjoon’s shoulder. He tensed, unsure what to do. The boy’s head was heavy, his body lax on the seat, he was most definitely sleeping. What were Namjoon’s options? He could shove the kid off him, he was sure, but the person next to the boy looked far less friendly. He could move, but then the boy would fall and potentially hurt his head. Namjoon glanced at his phone. Only another ten or so stops, he figured. And the boy would surely wake up when it was his stop. Not so bad, he could be a pillow for a sleepy kid for that long, right?

So Namjoon didn’t move. The boy leaned more against him, and Namjoon could feel firm arm muscles under the thin shirt the boy wore. He wondered how old he was. He looked too big to be a child, but only someone young would pick a costume like that, right? Namjoon supposed he was young himself, but he’d never wear something so horrifying. Though – he wasn’t exactly a normal person in regards to that sort of thing.

His mind wandered as the stops went past, the warm body of the boy on his shoulder soothing in a way Namjoon hadn’t expected. He was so tired of being alone. He wondered what it would be like to be dating someone, have them doze like this on him, while watching a movie or heading on the bus home from some fun night out. He envied his friends and their partners in a way. He hoped, maybe someday, he could get his head out of his work and pursue that happiness he longed for. But that was far off, he knew. Right now he needed to focus on his career. Sure, if something fell into his lap he’d pay attention – he wasn’t blind – but he couldn’t take the time to seek out a lover at this point in his life.

The bunny boy shifted, his hand falling onto Namjoon’s thigh. Namjoon chuckled a little, saying nothing. Boy must be tired. The robotic bus voice echoed another stop upcoming, and the bunny boy jerked up.

“Did they say Mokdongseo-Ro?” He asked, his voice muffled by the rabbit mask. Namjoon nodded.

“Yeah, he just called it.”

“Crap.” The boy yanked the cord at the last second and the bus jerked to a stop. The boy was thrown almost into Namjoon’s lap, apologizing repeatedly.

Namjoon laughed and shook his head. “No problem.” He watched as the boy rose and rushed over to the door of the bus. Namjoon chuckled a little, noticing a little fluffy white tail attached to the back of the boy’s jeans. He sighed when the bus began to move, shifting over to set his bag in the spot the boy had abandoned.

“Oh—” A beat up brown wallet sat in the seat. The boy must have dropped it in his rush to get off the bus. Namjoon scooped it up, chewing his lip. He could leave it, he supposed. But that didn’t feel right. The boy sounded relatively young, and there could be something important in that wallet. Without thinking on it too long, Namjoon scooped it up and dropped it into his backpack. He sat back, watching the street as it neared his stop.

Namjoon showered and fell into bed almost at once when he got home the bunny boy’s wallet momentarily forgotten.

The next morning, Namjoon puttered around, readying himself for the day. He didn’t need to go into the office this weekend, much to his relief, so he was able to take some time to himself before digging into his work. A bit of time watering and tending to his bonsais and other plants, checking his personal email and responding to friends from various parts of the world, checking his newsfeed and picking out certain news articles to enjoy as he ate his breakfast. A brisk walk, he decided, was desperately needed. The morning was beautiful and the perfect temperature as he wandered through the quiet street his apartment building was on. He reluctantly returned home after nearly forty minutes of walking, opening his backpack to pull out the work he’d brought home with him.

The bunny boy’s wallet fell out with his papers, and the memories from the night before came rushing back. He picked it up, tapping it on his palm for a moment. He felt guilty going through someone else’s belongings, but he had to figure out who the kid was to return it. His mask getup wouldn’t be helpful today. Sighing, Namjoon opened the wallet. A handful of cards, Namjoon flipped past them until he reached the boy’s ID. Namjoon gasped. He knew the bunny boy!

There was a coffee shop just a few miles from his house that Namjoon always stopped at on his way to work. Partly because the coffee was amazing. Mostly because the barista was the most beautiful man that Namjoon had ever laid eyes on. He only knew the boy by JK, but every time he went in the boy greeted him happily, never having a bad day, it seemed. Namjoon had spent more than a few minutes daydreaming about what it would be like to share a kiss with him, hold his hand, and

more. And here he was, holding onto JK’s wallet. Jeon Jungkook. Aged twenty-two. Not too far from Namjoon’s age, really. A September baby too. Oh and—

Namjoon snapped the wallet shut. He’d just opened it to get the boy’s name and potential address to return it. Not snoop at his entire life history – cute barista or not. Namjoon tossed the wallet onto the table, straightening out his papers to begin his work. As he did, his eyes continued to drift over to the beat-up wallet on the table.

Yoongi would call it fate, Namjoon was sure. He could go for a coffee… And he was sure the boy was worried about his wallet. Did he work on Saturdays? Namjoon wasn’t sure – he’d never been in the shop on a Saturday. Only one way to find out.

Namjoon rose and swept his work papers and computer back into his backpack, adding the wallet to the pile. He might as well get some work done at the shop after returning the wallet. He pulled his sneakers back on and headed out to catch the bus.

The coffee shop was busier than Namjoon was used to it being. A nice day, he supposed. He stepped in, peeking around the line of people. There he was. No sign of his horrific mask from the night before, Jungkook was smiling brightly as he worked. His sleeves were rolled up to reveal a peek of a tattoo sleeve, his shaggy black hair tied back in a messy bun as he took the order from the elderly woman at the counter. And that grin. The only sign of his mask was the bunny like grin he gave when he nodded to the customer and turned to pass the order off to an older boy working with him.

Good, Namjoon could return the wallet and that would be that. He sighed, shifting his weight on the balls of his feet. What if the boy – Jungkook – thought he stole it? Surely he’d understand when Namjoon explained. But what if he didn’t? Namjoon chewed his bottom lip, worries filling his mind. Maybe he should just drop it off at the nearby counter. Jungkook would find it, and he’d escape without being wrongly accused. But what if someone else found it? What if it got lost forever? No – he had to give it to someone. Should he just say he found it on the floor? Surely Jungkook would have realized his wallet was missing the night before, that wouldn’t work.

Namjoon continued to worry himself into a frenzy, unable to make a final decision even as only one person stood between him and Jungkook. Finally, it was his turn.

Jungkook beamed at him. “Morning.”

“M—Morning,” Namjoon stumbled over his words.

Jungkook tilted his head a little, eyes narrowing. “You’re a regular here, huh?”

“Yeah, most weekdays.”

“Thought you looked familiar. What can I get you?” “Uh—” Namjoon froze. “Oh just—iced Americano today, please.”

“Sure.” Jungkook grinned. He glanced back. ��Slowed down, Jin-hyung, you can take your break.”

“Thanks, JK.” The one he called Jin clapped him on the back and headed out one of the doors.

“Busy weekend, huh?”

“They usually are,” Jungkook said as he made the coffee Namjoon had requested.

“Do you always work?” Namjoon asked. “I mean I just—I see you every day I’m in here.”

“Yeah, my best friend owns the place.” He jutted his thumb at the door Jin had exited. “Really he’d be sunk without me,” Jungkook teased, laughing. Namjoon laughed as well, nodding.

“You’re very good at what you do.”

“Well thanks.” Jungkook placed the cup in front of Namjoon and quoted the price.

Namjoon reached into his bag, grabbing his wallet, and spotting Jungkook’s.

“Uh… Actually…” He pulled out his wallet, handing over his card.

“What?” Jungkook asked as he ran it. “Well, I—Um. Bloody bunny?” He asked.

Jungkook tilted his head. He passed the card back to Namjoon.

“I’m sorry?”

“Uh—” Namjoon reached into his bag, pulling out Jungkook’s wallet. “You left it. On the bus. Mokdongseo-Ro. You—I promise I didn’t steal it, it must have fallen out when you got up.”

Jungkook gasped, grabbing the wallet from Namjoon’s hand. “Oh my God, thank you,” he stressed. “I’ve been worried sick that I lost this, I’m so forgetful.” He bowed so low his head nearly smacked the counter. “Thank you, thank you so much.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it.” Namjoon laughed a little. “I figured after your nap you were groggy, so…”

Jungkook’s eyes widened. He covered his mouth with his hand. “It was you. I fell asleep—Oh God, I’m so embarrassed.” He put his hands over his face.

“Why?”

“A giant gory bunny falls asleep on a handsome guy’s shoulder and then he has to come out all this way on a weekend to return my wallet, I’m such a dope.”

“Handsome, eh?” Namjoon teased, his heart skipping a beat at the phrase.

Jungkook made a small, distressed noise, screwing his eyes shut. “I’m so sorry. That was weird.”

“I’ve never been called handsome before. Especially not by a cute bunny.”

Jungkook’s face was positively glowing. Namjoon’s heart was thudding out of his chest; he was awful at flirting, what was he doing?

“Cute?” Jungkook said softly. “I didn’t just totally offend you and freak you out?”

“No, your terrifying mask did a good job of that last night. I far prefer the face under it.” Namjoon smirked when Jungkook’s shy smile reappeared.

Namjoon grabbed his card and coffee.

“Uh—Let me pay you back,” Jungkook stuttered.

“What do you mean?”

“F—For the wallet and… Scaring you.”

Namjoon bit his lip. He could say no. He wasn’t looking for someone right now… But he’d be a damn idiot to turn Jungkook down.

“What do you have in mind?”

“Ah, well… I’m really bad at this,” Jungkook admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. The bell on the door dinged, signaling a new customer.

“How about this,” Namjoon said. “I’m gonna go sit over there by the window and work. I’ll be there a while. When you decide… Come by.”

Jungkook smiled broadly, clearly relieved, and nodded. “Thank you.”

Namjoon went over to the spot he’d said, taking a seat and sipping the coffee. Perfect as always. He began to work, letting himself get lost in his job as he did.

He barely noticed when a fresh coffee was plopped in front of him. “On the house.”

Namjoon looked up, grinning at Jungkook. “Don’t need to do that.”

“My pleasure. Jin-hyung allows us all to have a free coffee on our shift, but I’m not a fan, so… You can have mine.”

“Well thank you. Are you off?”

“Just on break, but I was thinking about paying you back.”

“The coffee isn’t doing that?”

Jungkook shook his head, taking a seat across from Namjoon. “You said I was cute,” he said softly.

“You are.”

“I’m… Are you—” He sighed softly, clearly struggling.

“Are you trying to ask if I’m gay?”

Jungkook squeaked softly, glancing around.

“Are you in the closet?” Namjoon worried, lowering his voice.

“Not exactly, but I don’t talk about it to anyone. You know how people can be here. I’m out with my friends and stuff.”

“Of course. The answer is yes, I’m into guys. I don’t know what label I am, but, yeah. If you’re asking if that cute was a flirtation – it was.”

“Good,” Jungkook’s shoulders relaxed visibly. “Because the handsome was too… Do you wanna go out with me?”

“You don’t even know my name.”

“Yes I do. I… Sorta peeked at the receipt when you walked away. Kim Namjoon-ssi.”

“Hyung is fine. Where do you have in mind for a date?”

“Is that a yes?” Jungkook asked, biting his bottom lip.

“Might be.” Namjoon tried to keep his voice steady, when in reality he was ready to jump for joy. A date. With someone as cute as Jungkook.

“Well, my friend was supposed to do Everland with me today. And I was going to go alone because they got a better offer from a girl. But I don’t want to go alone, not if I have someone really handsome to go with… I—” Jungkook shrugged.

“Isn’t Everland doing a Halloween thing still?”

Jungkook nodded. “I love this season.”

“I don’t,” Namjoon admitted. Jungkook pouted. He actually pouted. Namjoon’s heart skipped a beat.

“You don’t? But it’s so fun. Especially with friends. Come on, you’ll have fun. We don’t even need a costume, it’s just like a theme park but scary. And I have passes, I’ll pay for any other rides we wanna do that don’t come with the pass.”

Namjoon bit his lip. “When you do wanna go?” He asked. Jungkook beamed.

“I get off at three, I was gonna head there around four. The best stuff happens after seven anyway, but there’s some fun haunted houses and rides for earlier in the day.”

Namjoon nodded. “Fine. How do you wanna go?”

“Well, I have to go home and change, so we could meet at the park if you wanted to eat there, or pick a spot nearby if you wanna eat outside the park.”

“We can eat outside the park, I know there’s a little food cart area nearby, do you know it?”

Jungkook nodded.

“Let’s meet there. Here.” Namjoon pulled out a pet and tore off a piece of paper. He wrote his phone number down and passed it to Jungkook. “Text me when you’re there, or call me, I’ll plan to get there around four-thirty. I’ll buy dinner since you’re covering the passes and rides.”

Jungkook took the paper and tucked it into his pocket. “Deal. I won’t lose my wallet this time either.”

“And no scary bunny mask. This bunny smile is far cuter.” Namjoon reached out, stroking Jungkook’s cheek. Jungkook’s eyes widened and he laughed.

“You’re a flirt.”

“Not often,” Namjoon admitted. “Thanks for the coffee, Jungkook… I’ll see you this afternoon?”

Jungkook nodded, rising with Namjoon. He glanced around the mostly empty shop.

“I’m gonna do something really rash, okay?”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhm.” Jungkook went forward and kissed the corner of Namjoon’s mouth. “Thanks for returning my wallet. And… For letting me sleep on you.”

Namjoon’s eyes widened, surprised by the brashness of his new suitor. He grinned dumbly, watching Jungkook rush back to the counter to take the order of the customer there.

He wasn’t looking for a lover, he’d said. But who was he to turn away fate? Especially when it came in the form of the cutest bunny boy falling asleep on his shoulder?

[scarletjedi]

Sangcheng Time Travel Fix It Chapter 1

I think I *might* have figured out how to end the outline, so that will hopefully be posted in the next day or so, in the mean time, have the first chapter. This is all but a rough draft, and unbetad, so bear with me people. I *think* I’ve used the correct terms for everything, and I think everything and everyone is decently named, but if you notice any glaring errors, please let me know!

Notes at the end of the chapter

Rated M for the inherent homoeroticism of wound care (ie, a sex scene no more graphic than I’ve read in mainstream media, but if you want to skip it, cut to the very end once they kiss)

Jin Guangyao was dead, and for the first time in years, Nie Huaisang had no idea what expression was on his face. His fan was tucked into his belt, his hands full of blood and sand and Jin Guangyao’s ever-present hat.

He didn’t know why he had grabbed it. A token? A reminder? Proof? Of what, he wasn’t sure. That it was over, maybe.

He really didn’t know.

Lost in thought, he wandered away from the steps, leaving Lan Xichen to his own grief. It would be a while before Nie Huaisang was truly welcome in Lan Xichen’s presence, if ever. Lan Xichen always was forgiving, right up until he wasn’t.  

Huaisang’s vision, hazy and unfocused as it was, suddenly filled with purple and deep indigo, and he stopped just short of collision. Blinking, he raised his head to meet Jiang Wanyin’s eyes.

It was well known that the legendary Sandu Shengshou had only one expression – a harsh, disapproving scowl. It was certainly the only expression he ever wore at discussion conferences. Huaisang remembered differently, however. He remembered surprisingly soft smiles, eyes that widened with wonder as a deep flush crawled across his cheekbones. He remembered, too, the way tears would glisten as they fell, his face twisting—

Jiang Wanyin’s mouth scowled, yes, but his eyes were red-rimmed and soft, and Huaisang wasn’t sure he’d ever actually seen the look in them before. Considering everything he had learned tonight, Huaisang wasn’t sure that Jiang Wanyin had looked that way before. Perhaps when Lotus Pier fell.  

Oh. He was talking.

“—ack to Lotus Pier.”

Huaisang blinked. “I am sorry, Jiang-xiong. I’m afraid I didn’t hear you.” 

The scowl deepened, though Huaisang was pretty sure it was concern rather than anger.

“I said, ‘Come back to Lotus Pier.’ You’re in no condition to make the trip back to Qinghe right now.” Even now, his requests sounded like orders. Da-ge had been like that, too, showing his care the only way he knew how. As a teenager, Huaisang had found comfort in the ways he pushed those boundaries. “Rest before you head back North.”

But Huaisang wasn’t a teenager anymore.

“Ah,” Huaisang said, pulling on a watery smile, raising Jin Guangyao’s hat like it was a fan and catching himself only at the last moment. “Sect Leader Jaing—”

“Nie Huaisang,” Jiang Wanyin said, cutting off his protests. He must be so very tired, the way his voice crackled like the lightning that he had chained to his hand. “Enough.”

Huaisang closed eyes that burned from the dust still wafting around them. The last thing he wanted was to be Sect Leader Nie right now, and no matter how Jiang Wanyin might insist otherwise, Huaisang wouldn’t be able to put that mask down anywhere but The Unclean Realm. 

His hand tightened on Jin Guangyao’s hat. That was <i>before</i>. The whole point of tonight was to make things different, moving forward. “Alright,” he said. “Yes.”

Jiang Wanyin didn’t move for a long moment, long enough for Huaisang to realize, to open his eyes again, feeling frozen by the intensity of that look. He couldn’t for the life of him decide what it meant. 

Jin Ling’s voice rang across the courtyard, and Huaisang startled, but it was enough to break the moment. Jiang Wanyin stalked off, corralling the chaos by pure force of will.

Huaisang looked around. It would be easy enough to disappear, to slink into the morning crowd and find a room in an inn to hide and break-down like the disreputable sect leader everyone knew he was – until he could reaffix his own mask and return home with what passed for dignity these days.

But if he was anywhere in Yunmeng, Jiang Wanyin would simply find him and drag him to Lotus Pier himself.

A small smile curled the corner of his lip. If he had more energy, he might do it anyway, simply for the chance to rile his old friend.

If they were still friends. Huaisang wasn’t sure he had any of those anymore.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Huaisang leaned back against a pillar and waited. His disciples found him not long after. They are a good group, he thinks. Young. Very young. They would have been just barely juniors when Huaisang became sect leader, old enough to remember Da-ge, but young enough to be Huaisang’s. It was why he had chosen them for this, after all.

The future of the Nie sect. Looking into their concerned faces, he wondered how many he would have to bury himself.

…Perhaps Jiang Wanyin was right about him needing rest. He was getting maudlin.

“Sect Leader?” Nie Zonglin, the most senior disciple of this group, asked in a voice pitched to not carry, and Huaisang realized his frown had made it to his face.

He almost pasted on a smile. “We will be returning to Lotus Pier for the next few days, to recover from the recent—” he waved his hand, Jin Guangyao’s hand circling in front of him. “…excitement. When we return, send word home not to expect us before the end of the week.”

Nie Zonglin nodded in understanding, and Huaisang’s eyes fell to his hands again.

He lifted the hat.

“And do something about this, won’t you?”

~*~

Lotus Pier was as Jiang Cheng left it, rushing out into the storm after Fairy and Jin Ling. He was a necessary presence, of course, but he’d be damned if his sect couldn’t mind itself for a few hours.

He had rushed out  in the middle of the night, and had turned homeward as the sun crested the horizon. The sun was now high enough in the sky to call the time “morning” rather than “dawn.” They had been out all night. He was tired in a way he hadn’t felt since the worst days of the Sunshot Campaign, the skin of his face taught with dried tears.

Several of the sects that had sought shelter in Lotus Pier after the failure at the Burial Mounds had already left, having been able to sleep through the night, unaware that the cultivation world had been spun on its head. Again.

He turned to his seneschal, informing him that those who had stayed to take advantage of his hospitality (minus, of course, Jin Ling and Nie Huaisang) were to be subtly but firmly told to get the hell off his pier.

“I have a private meeting with Sect Leader Nie,” he said, not reacting to but very aware of the way Nie Huaisang’s focus burned on the back of his head. “Bring a meal. And wine.” It was too early for wine. They were going to need the wine. “Other than that, see to it that we are not disturbed.” His seneschal bowed, moving quickly to fulfill his tasks.

“A-Ling,” Jiang Cheng said, turning. His chest was throbbing painfully, as if the damning red line still bright against his nephew’s neck had reminded him that he, himself, was injured. “See a healer, and then get some rest.”

Jin Ling looked blank for a moment; shock, grief, exhaustion. Jiang Cheng knew it well, the way it was far too much when your world had collapsed and you were faced with the reality that nothing stops for your own grief. “I have to…” he started, trailing off.

As heir to the Lanling Jin Sect, Jin Ling had to return to Koi Tower, had to claim his birthright, had to spin the damage caused by another Sect Leader killed during their own immoral dealings.

At least Jin Ling wouldn’t have to deal with being Chief Cultivator. There was no way the world would follow an untested teenager. There would be elections, then. Soon. But not yet.

“You have to sleep,” Jiang Cheng said, firmly but without much of his customary coarseness. That, too, seemed to have been stripped away in that temple. He braced his hands on Jin Ling’s shoulders. It was enough to break Jin Ling from his stupor and he scowled at his uncle. “Listen to me, for once,” Jiang Cheng said, shaking him gently. “Eat. Sleep. Cry if you need to.” He shook him once more, when it looked like Jin Ling might interrupt. “When you wake, we will plan your next steps. We are family,” he said, his sister’s voice echoing in his ears. “We must stick together.”

At his side, Fairy whined. Still, she was the only exception to Lotus Pier’s ban on dogs, and that’s only because it was Jin Lings, and Jiang Cheng was never going to take his nephew’s puppy from his care. Jin Ling’s hand trailed down to bury itself in Fairy’s run, and Jin Ling nodded.

He stepped back, bowing too low for courtesy between sect leaders, but Jiang Cheng wasn’t going to correct him now, like this. It could wait for the pain to pass.

Jiang Cheng waited until Jin Ling was out of sight before he said, barely turning: “Sect Leader Nie. If you’ll follow me,” and let his feet take him down the well-familiar path to his personal quarters. They could talk in his reception area there, and he would be that much closer to his own bed. Nie Huaisang would be father from his guest quarters, and it may be considered ruse, but Jiang Cheng didn’t have it left in him to care. If Nie Huaisang wanted that kind of consideration, he wouldn’t have…

Even in his head, the threats failed to take root. He could threaten all he wanted, but it didn’t change the fact that he lacked information about tonight’s…production.

Jiang Cheng nearly stopped walking, several pieces falling into place. He had interrupted a production, tonight – a stage show performed to capture, expose, and execute the man who had killed Nie Huaisang’s brother, before a captive audience.

And here he had Nie Huaisang, famed patron of the arts.

Shaking his head to dismiss the thought, Jiang Cheng opened the door to his quarters, looking at Nie Huaisang who dismissed the two disciples who had followed him with a wave of his fan, held unfurled in his hand, before preceding Jiang Cheng into the room.

It was not  the first time Jiang Cheng had hosted Nie Huaisang in his private suite. In the early years, before he had become Sect Leader Nie, he had traveled often – mostly to Lanling, but not infrequently to Lotus Pier, appearing often with only a few days notice (if any), to wander the markets and drink Jiang Cheng’s wine. (Truthfully, those days were one of the few fond memories that Jiang Cheng had that weren’t tainted by loss, even if the nights themselves were fuzzy from drink).

It was on his last visit before his brother’s death that Nie Huaisang had gifted Jiang Cheng one of the fruits of his labors, a fan depicting, in loving detail, Lotus Pier in full bloom. Jiang Cheng had displayed by his desk where he could see it while answering his correspondence and dealing with the never ending paperwork of running a sect. Nie Huaisang hadn’t been in his rooms since, and now he stared at that fan with an unreadable expression on his normally expressive face.

Or, seemingly expressive. How many of those familiar expressions were real? The true mask behind that prop of a fan?

The food arrived then, and they both stayed where they stood, not moving as the table filled and the servants quietly bowed out.

It smelled delicious, but Jiang Cheng’s stomach turned sour.

“Did you mean to involve Jin Ling?”

It wasn’t how he had planned to start, but now that he was here, it was as good a place as any, being the brightest flame to his fury.

“No,” Nie Huaisang said quietly, simply, but firmly.

Jiang Cheng turned to him, saw the way he was standing – arms down, hands open, all but showing this throat—

A deliberate message, but an honest one?

“No?” Jiang Cheng asked, zidian sparking as his fists clenched. Nie Huaisang’s eyes flickered closed for a moment, as is bracing himself.

“I don’t know what kind of power you think I have—”

Jiang Cheng’s eyebrows rose, incredulous. He thought it was rather obvious the kind of power Nie Huaisang wielded. Nie Huaisang winced, acknowledging the point before pressing on.

“If I was the great mastermind Wei-xiong painted me as, Jing Ling never would have been involved. Do you know how many times I had to make sure I was there just to run damage control? He was a complication, not a game piece.”

“He is my nephew.”

Huaisang drooped, as if weary, as if Jiang Cheng had missed the point. “You were not the only one who watched him grow,” he said. “I did everything I could to keep him safe.”

Jiang Cheng’s jaw twitched where it was clenched. “Except keep him out of it. Except tell me.”

“Yes,” Nie Huaisang said, deceptively mild. “Except that.”

“You—” Jiang Cheng cut himself off, turning away abruptly, not knowing where he was going himself, rage like lightning running down his arms, swirling in his chest.

“Yes, me,” Nie Huaisang said, and how dare he sound so calm! “Whatever it is, I am that and more.” How odd it was to see him without his fan; Jiang Cheng had never fully seen the man standing before him. “But I am not complicated, Jiang-xiong,” he continued, neither pleading nor conciliatory — simply presenting truths. “My brother was betrayed, and in such a way that not only killed him, but unmade him, tearing through everything he had built for our sect. He was murdered,” and there were the teeth that Nie Huaisang would not show at the temple, the teeth that had been behind every move he made. “And in return, I unmade his murderer, stripping him of any scrap of dignity or legacy he had built. I watched him crumble like a house of cards, killed by the one he loved and trusted the most, the way he used me to kill my brother.” Nie Huaisang paused, breathing heavy, before continuing, lower. “I got my revenge, Jiang Wanyin. Let’s leave it at that.”

And…Jiang Cheng understood that. Understood it well enough to breathe, to let the rage leave with each exhale, to remember that satisfaction as nothing more than masked grief. To need to move past it.

“Or should we talk about what you learned tonight?” 

“Or let’s not,” Jiang Cheng countered. “That is between me and my brother, and in the past besides.” 

“Oh yes, because the past has never come back to bite us all on the ass.” 

Jiang Cheng let out a bark of shocked laughter. It was enough to take the edge off his anger, but instead of the hollow it usually left, he found himself — fond. He considered Nie Huaisang through narrowed eyes. 

“You know, you lied to me before,” he said, his voice light enough to make Nie Huaisang blink at the sudden change in tone.

“I lied to a lot of people,” Nie Huaisang said, guarded, and then more quickly. “When do you mean?”

“When you said you had to be there because Jin Ling was there,” Jiang Cheng said, pointing at Nie Husaisang in victory. “You absolutely wanted to be there tonight, to watch him die.”

Nie Huaisang considered him again, face once more wearing that strange blank look – or, perhaps it wasn’t blank. Perhaps Jiang Cheng just wasn’t used to reading honesty on his friend. Nie Huaisang lowered his eyes, but when he brought them back up, it was with a small, sharp smile that Jiang Cheng had never seen, that made something inside him shiver. “I never actually said I didn’t.”

That made Jiang Cheng laugh in truth, and he waved his hand at the table in invitation.

Hesitating only for a moment, Nie Huaisang sat in a bit of a sprawl, casual in a way that reminded Jiang Cheng sharply of their youth. Following old habits, Jiang Cheng poured wine while Nie Huaisang served them both food, and further concerns were put on hold as they ate and drank, what little exhausted conversation passed between them never deeper than the quality of the food.

At length, Huaisang placed his chopsticks across his bowl and tucked his hands into his sleeves. “You can ask your questions. I promise, no falsehoods, no misdirection. Whatever you want to know, I’ll tell you.”

And that made Jiang Cheng pause. Of course he had questions, but at the same time, he didn’t – Nothing that he was entitled to. 

“Alright,” Jiang Cheng said. “Are you going to eat the last bun?” He reached for it without waiting for an answer.

“Jiang Wanyin!”

“Is that a no? I’m assuming that’s a no,” Jiang Cheng said, smirking as he took a large bite. Nie Huaisang watched him, eyes narrowed and arms crossed. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and his heart beat faster, alert.

“You’re not one for such games,” Nie Huaisang said. It was an obvious statement, Jiang Cheng had never pretended to have patience for them.

“No,” Jiang Cheng said. “But apparently, you are.” He downed the last of his wine, considering the way Nie Huaisang seemed to shrink into himself. 

Jiang Cheng signed. “You said it yourself,” he said. “I understand revenge. I heard enough to know that Jin Guangyao earned whatever you put him through.” He paused. “And, he directly threatened Jin Ling, so I would understand if you resurrected him, too, just for the pleasure of killing him again.” Nie Huaisang huffed, and for the first time flicked open his fan, hiding the bottom half of his face. Jiang Cheng let him hide, for the moment.

“If you need to talk, to tell me details, I will listen. If you think there’s something I need to know that I have not already learned, I want you to tell me, but it’s enough for me, for now, to know that you never made Jin Ling a target.” He considered. “And you were there each time he was in trouble, weren’t you?”

“Except for Yi City,” Nie Huaisang confirmed. “And then, he was with the other juniors.”

Nie Huaisang still wasn’t meeting his eyes, seemingly lost in some memory, and Jiang Cheng didn’t think before he reached out, hissing when the move pulled the wound in his shoulder.

“Oh, you’re still wounded!” Nie Husaisang exclaimed, eyes suddenly clear as they snapped to him. “Forgive me, Jiang-xiong, I had forgotten.”

“It’s fine,” Jiang Cheng said, easing back and not wanting to admit that he had forgotten, too. His disciples had fussed over him at the temple, not letting him leave until it had been seen to, and his cultivation was high enough (and didn’t that send a jagged twinge through him), that he wouldn’t have to deal with the wound for long. As he had moved, however, he could feel the bandage slipping, jarred loose, and he pressed his palm to it.

“No, no, please, let me help,” Nie Huaisang fluttered, robes flapping like bird wings, but Jiang Cheng still found himself pulled up with deceptive strength, and he let himself be led, unresisting but protesting, to sit on his bed.

“Move your sleeve,” he instructed, reaching into his own to pull out a silver pouch with green and bronze embroidery in the shape of summer branches, from which he pulled bandages and several small bottles which he lined up on the low table next to the bed.

Rolling his eyes, Jiang Cheng stood, batting away Nie Huaisang’s hands before undoing his belt to remove his outermost layer of robes. They were heavy, thick with embroidery, and hard to work around – not to mention the fact that he had been stabbed through them meant that they were damaged and not a little bit bloody. He smirked when Nie Husaisang stilled, swinging the robes over his head to lay at the foot of his bed to be cleaned and repaired, if possible, or repurposed if not. He hoped they were fixable. They were one of his favorite sets.

His under-robes fit more loosely, their material lighter, and it was easier to push them aside, revealing the wound with its loose bandage. Luckily, from what he could see, no blood that seeped through the bandage.

Nie Huaisang’s fingers were gentle, pleasantly warm where they touched him softly callused from his favored brushes. Gingerly, he pulled away the bandage, tisking softly when it was clear the bandage had stuck and easing it loose.

Jiang Cheng opened his mouth, maybe to comment on how unnecessary this all was. It had all but stopped bleeding, barely hurting. Maybe he meant to offer comfort – Jiang Cheng was fine, past any danger.

But there was something brittle in Nie Huaisang’s eyes, in the line of his mouth, that stilled his words and stole his breath. Nie Huaisang’s hands didn’t shake as he plucked a bottle from the collection, shaking its powdered contents on the wound before wrapping a clean bandage, tying it securely.

Nie Huaisang’s fingertips lingered, sending a small, tingling stream of qi, and when he looked up, eyes meeting Jiang Cheng’s, they were wide and dark. 

“Huaisang,” Jiang Cheng said on his next breath, raising his hand to cup Huaisang’s cheek and run his thumb softly over the tender, bruised skin beneath his eye. Huaisang’s eyes fluttered but didn’t shut, peering at Jiang Cheng from behind shadowed lashes. 

“You weren’t supposed to be there, either, you know?” Husaisang said, his jaw brushing the palm of Jiang Cheng’s hand as he spoke. “It was inevitable the minute Jin Ling showed up, but you weren’t supposed to be there, and he nearly killed you too—”

“Who nearly killed me?” Jiang Cheng scoffed, but it was quiet, meant for the space between them. “What nonsense is this, now?” 

“Don’t—” Huaisang said, his hand tightening over Jiang Cheng’s wound, fingers digging into the surrounding muscle, and Jiang Cheng raised his other hand to cradle Huaisang’s head, and his eyes slipped closed at last, lashes wet. 

Jiang Cheng brushed his fingers across Huaisang’s eyes, chasing away the tears before they could shed, and leaned in, kissing his mouth. He pulled back, tapping  his fingers on Huaisang’s neck until Huaisang opened his eyes. “I’m right here,” Jiang Cheng said, and then smirked. “But you’re willing to check for yourself.” 

Huaisang made a needy sound, whining high in his throat as he swayed forward, pressing kiss after kiss to Jiang Cheng’s cheeks, his chin, his nose – until Jiang Cheng turned his head and captured his mouth, not calming but giving direction to his fervor.

This between them wasn’t new either. Teenage fumbling had given way to an easy friendship that tumbled them into and out of one bed or another. It was…fun. Not simple, but tolerably complicated. Necessary.

Huaisang tasted like wine and sweet chili from their meal, and Jiang Cheng chased those flavors until he tasted of nothing but himself, so familiar that it made Jiang Cheng’s heart pound. He had missed this. Him. Them.

“Wanyin,” Nie Huaisang moaned against his mouth, trembling.

“Yes, Huaisang,” Jiang Cheng answered, but it must have been obvious when Huaisang pressed against him. Jiang Cheng lay back, pulling Huaisang by his robes even as he climbed to his knees, crawling over him, hands wandering as if to be sure that Jiang Cheng was here, was real.

Pressed together, chest to knees as Huaisang rocked against him, Jiang Cheng wrapped his arm around Huaisang’s lower back, drawing him close as he rolled his hips. He was hard, a desperate edge to the heat building between them, a needful urge to prove himself here and alive, and he grinned when his next thrust made Huaisang’s breath stutter.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” Jiang Cheng said, voice low, his cheek pressed to Huaisang’s temple. Huaisang breathed sharply through his nose, eyes closed, but he pushed up, swatting at Jiang Cheng’s chest until he let him go, laughing, hovering above Jiang Cheng as he undid his belt with deft fingers.

Jiang Cheng let his eyes wander, taking in the hair escaping the usually immaculate and intricate braids, the flush high on Huaisang’s cheeks, the way his lips were kiss-swollen. He couldn’t help himself from running his hands up and down Huaisang’s thighs, slipping under the many robes, so only his pants were between his palms and warm skin. 

Arching his back as he peeled away his robes, Huaisang’s eyes locked on Jiang Cheng’s own, even as each layer removed prompted Jiang Cheng’s hands to creep higher and higher, the back of his hands brushing the hard heat between his thighs. 

Huaisang moaned, the sound hitting Jiang Cheng deep in his gut and Jiang Cheng pulled him down again, hands slipping on the fabric as he tried to grab skin. There were still too many layers between them — any layer would be too many, but neither was pausing to take them off an option, not any more — but they were thinner, soft enough for Jiang Cheng to feel the hard, heat of Huaisang as he ground it against Jiang Cheng’s own. His hands mapped the feel of the muscles in Husaisang’s back flex beneath that soft, supple skin. 

Jiang Cheng always liked that softness, wanted to sink into it and never leave, let his focus be consumed by cushioned warmth and wet heat and leave the world behind. 

Despite his efforts to linger in desire, Jiang Cheng felt his pleasure racing to peak, the aftermath of excitement coupled with how very long it had been since anyone had touched him with intent. 

That, too, had been Huaisang. 

He refused to feel shame for it, not when Huaisang was gasping so prettily in his ear, his hips stuttering, chasing his own pleasure. Jiang Cheng ducked his head to give attention to Huaisang’s neck. 

Jiang Cheng bit gently, holding the delicate skin between his teeth as he sucked, and Huaisang came with a soft cry, warmth spreading between them. A few more thrusts had Jiang Cheng following, groaning his completion into Huaisang’s hair where it lay damp with sweat at his temple. 

Huaisang went limp, laying across and atop of him, breathing heavily. Jiang Cheng was little better, especially with the weight of him on his chest, but he wrapped his arms around him anyway, not ready to lose this yet. 

“How is it,” Huaisang said breathless into the hollow under Jiang Cheng’s jaw. “That I never seem to anticipate you.” 

Jiang Cheng hummed, pressing a pleased smile into Huaisang’s hair, already feeling sleep creep in at the edges. He knew they had to get cleaned up, not the least for if someone came to find them, but the longer he lay there the less he felt inclined to move. 

“Jiang Cheng, you need to get up.” 

“I will, I will. Soon.” 

“Well, fine, if you want to be late to Old Man Lan’s lecture,” Wei Wuxian drawled. 

Lecture? 

Wei Wuxian?!

Jiang Cheng snapped awake, shooting up to stare at a face he hadn’t seen in twenty years. Wei Wuxian, dressed in his white GusuLan student robes, stumbled back a step, laughing carelessly at Jiang Cheng’s shock. 

“Oh, fuck me,” Jiang Cheng said.  

Notes: This “chapter” is part of a longer writing project that will be eventually be posted to AO3. 

This chapter contained a moderately-explicit and possibly ill-conceived sex scene between two consenting adults and frank discussion of a lack of regret over revenge killing. 

[loveforpreserumsteve]

Those Who Fall: "APTF" Story (Modern Domestic Stucky AU)

Forty-Four:

Eventually, Steve pulled away from Bucky and took Holly. Just needing something to do, he decided that she didn't need to be around all of that. So, he carried her downstairs. Getting emotional seeing the family photos and class portraits with their many foster kids on the floor instead of hanging on the wall where they belonged.

"Watch out for glass," Steve cautioned the others.

Nuzzling against Holly's red curls, Steve held her closer while tears rolled down his cheeks. All Steve wanted to do was lay down in his bed. To wake up and realize that all of this was just some elaborate nightmare. That he'd wake up and find all of their kids in the kitchen enjoying a nice pumpkin spice breakfast.

Pushing the door open, Steve sagged. Drawers were ripped completely from the dresser. Clothes were strewn about. Their pillows were torn open. Even their bedframe was broken. Steve wasn't even sure how that could happen. And when he noticed the slurs spray painted along the walls, Steve turned Holly's head into the crook of his neck as though she could read.

Sighing, Steve decided to check for other damages. Walking into the closet he found the clothes pulled off their hangers and thrown on the floor. Some of them were ripped and burned. Their important documents were pulled from the file cabinet and thrown about. Even some of those looked charred, and Steve knew that they were going to have to get new ones.

Entering the bathroom, toilet paper was strung about and tossed around. The shaving cream was sprayed over the mirror and the little ceramic pumpkin that would hold their jewelry, was smashed.

Holly started fussing, and Steve bounced her on his hip. Softly, Steve sang, "You are my sunshine. My only sunshine. You make me hap--"

"Papa!" Sophia popped out of the bathroom linen closet from behind the clothes hamper, nearly scaring Steve to death.

However, knowing that Sophia was okay, Steve dropped to his knees, so he could look over her body for any wounds. And when Ethan followed, stepping over the towel rack that had been ripped out of the wall, Steve examined him as well.

So happy that they were okay, Steve cried and brought them close. As close as he could while still holding Holly, at least. Sniffling, Steve called out, "I FOUND SOPHIA AND ETHAN!"

Footsteps were heard as they crossed the floor over from the living room for the staircase. Steve looked over Ethan and noticed that he wasn't wearing his hearing aids. Steve signed while also verbally asking, "Are you okay?"

With a wobbly lower lip, Ethan lunged forward to wrap his arms around Steve's neck. Kissing the side of his head, Steve rubbed his back and asked Sophia, "Are you okay?"

Sniffling, Sophia said, "Mimi said to come in here and hide, and not come out until she came to get us."

Steve's chest constricted and he clenched his jaw to hold back his own tears. Steve confirmed, "Mimi was right. And you and Ethan are very brave, and listened very well. I'm so proud of you."

Rounding the corner, Bucky led the police through the wrecked bedroom, messy closet, and finally into the tped bathroom. Immediately, Bucky dropped to his knees and hugged each of the kids. Tears silently raced down Bucky's face before he pulled back to look over the kids.

"These are the kids that were presumed missing, correct?" the officer questioned looking over the kids.

"Correct," Steve confirmed, wiping the tears from his own face. Briefly distracted by the other officers who came into the bathroom to take pictures of the destruction.

Pulling back, Bucky amended, "Two of the kids. Our foster daughter, Wanda, is still missing. She's seventeen, 5'6", dark brown hair, light brown complexion, of Romani descent, and she's pregnant."

"The bad people took her," Sophia said, looking up at the muscular officer.

Fear froze Steve straight to his core. Looking at Bucky, Steve could tell that he felt the same. The officer crouched down so he could appear more approachable and less scary at their eye-level, "What kind of bad people, sweetie? Can you tell me what they look like?"

And while there was nothing too intimidating about the man, the kids had a bad history with the police. Sophia moved closer to Bucky and Ethan cowered completely. And Steve knew that they'd have to call the kids' therapist after tonight. Hell, Steve knew that he'd have to call his therapist after tonight.

Reaching out, Steve rubbed the eight year old's back, and assured, "It's okay, honey. We just want to make sure that everyone is safe, okay?"

Obviously catching on, the officer fixed a friendly grin on his face and introduced himself, "I'm Officer Walker. But my friends call me, 'John.' Will you call me, 'John?'"

Sophia thought about it for a moment. Glancing over at Steve, Sophia waited until he nodded his head in encouragement. Softly, Sophia said, "Hi, John. I'm Sophia."

"Well, that's a very pretty name, Sophia," John complimented, still smiling. "Now, I know that this is scary, but can you tell me about what happened?"

"They were scary," Sophia answered. Her mouth quivered as she fought back tears and continued, "They said bad words. And… and…"

Bucky rubbed her back and assured, "Take your time. No one is going anywhere any time soon."

"That's right," John confirmed, "I can wait right here all night, if you need me to."

Sophia nodded, but still tried to push through it, "And they hit Vis… when he tried to stop them. And… and… they hit Wanda. And mimi brought us down here because she went to get a bat… She told us to hide… And we did."

"That was very brave of you," John told her.

Wiping at her face, she hiccupped and Bucky brought her close again. Letting her cry on his shoulder. Steve's breathing started turning erratic again, and he nuzzled Holly to try and soothe himself. He didn't want his kids to go through that. Especially not when they had already been through so much in their short lives.

"What about you, buddy?" John asked Ethan, who was still cowering against Bucky's strong frame.

Figuring that Ethan probably couldn't read John's lips, Steve interpreted. Ethan replied with signing, "They had on scary masks. It scared me. It scared me a lot."

"He says they wore, 'scary masks.'" Steve relayed to the officer.

"What kind of masks?" John questioned.

Steve interpreted again and Ethan signed, "From movie."

As Steve relayed that back to Officer Walker, Sophia sniffled, "I can show you."

So, Sophia led the way over to the -- now -- broken shelf of movies that they kept in the master bedroom because they were inappropriate for the younger kids. Weaving in and out and around the other officers who were cataloguing the damage. John stayed close as he observed the eight year old and accepted the DVD when Sophia handed it to him. Considering there were many masks on the cover of The Purge: Election Year, Sophia pointed to the one.

Looking over the LED mask, John asked, "Are you sure?"

Sophia nodded, "All different colors."

Ethan had gone back to crying into Bucky's broad shoulder, and Bucky went back to swaying him in hopes of calming him. Steve reached over to rub the little boy's back too. It didn't stop Ethan from crying, but the six year old did reach out so he could hold Steve's hand. Steve didn't hesitate to bring the little boy's hand up so he could give the back of it a sweet kiss.

Seeing that her brother was getting loved on, Holly lifted her hand to Steve's mouth, and he gave her a small smile before kissing her palm. Holly smiled and Steve kissed her forehead. Despite everything going on, Steve knew that as long as he could help his kids, he'd be okay.

As Sophia ran over to hug Steve's torso, Officer Walker asked, "Do you know if your foster daughter had any enemies? Bullies from school? An ex-boyfriend? Anyone who would want to hurt her?"

Steve exchanged a look with Bucky and immediately knew who the perpetrators were.

[novannna]

You Were the Hands That Held Me

Danissa soulmate au.  everyone has a soul mate, and any marking that appears on their skin, appears on yours.  narcissa’s pov.  Kinda angsty, but also fluffy.  

tw: self harm, and mentions of abuse kinda

wc: 2363

Narcissa stared at her arm in awe.  This was the first time her soulmate had ever drawn something on her skin.  She had felt the same cuts and bruises her soulmate had received, just like everyone else, but this was the first time her soulmate had deliberately marked her own skin.

Messy butterflies with uneven wings, and twisted antennas marched down Narcissa’s forearm.  

“Oh,” she whispered.  “Cool.”  She grabbed the nearest marked, and held it poised above the other arm, ready to reply, but thought better of it.  

She shouldn’t force her soulmate to stop their art for Narcissa.  She dropped the marker, and kept watching the thick lines as they covered her entire arm.  

That night she washed it all away in scalding hot water before her grandfather noticed.  He wouldn’t approve of Narcissa communicating with her soulmate.  

He hated the idea of How there was one person in the world, waiting just for you.  

His soulmate had died years ago, leaving him heartbroken and angry, bitter to the world.   

If Narcissa wasn’t careful, he might take the anger out on her.    

Narcissa could take it, but she didn’t want to hurt her soulmate too.  Narcissa would feel awful.  

So she tried to ignore the small flowers and butterflies her soulmate drew constantly.  Narcissa tried her very best.  

---

Years later, Narcissa wrote to her soulmate for the first time.  It was in the middle of the night, when Narcissa had felt a searing pain across her arm that looked like a red slit across her pale skin.  

Her soulmate was in trouble.  She couldn’t just stand by now. Narcissa had to do something.  

Grabbing a tissue to staunch the bleeding, Narcissa scrawled across her hand in thick ink. 

STOP

I can’t , her soulmate replied. 

Please, just hear me out, Narcissa wrote, hoping she could do enough.  Hoping she could convince the person who had drawn butterflies everywhere on their body, that maybe the world really did want them. 

please, just stay out of this

I can’t. This is my body too.  And even though I’ve never met you, you're my soulmate and I care about you. 

Fine. I’ll listen. Her soulmate's handwriting was a little shaky, but very neat, with tall, loopy letters.  

I’m guessing you’ve been having a hard time with life recently, Narcissa started. 

I guess

Do you want to be here?  Narcissa asked bluntly

There was a long pause.  I don’t know, her soulmate finally responded.  I love Earth, but the people…. I can’t stand the people. All they do is bring hate and hurt to me

I get that.  But the people don’t matter. You do.  Danna wrote desperately. 

No I don’t. I’ve never done a single good thing in my life

You have!  You’ve made me smile!  You’ve made me laugh!  

Her soulmate replied, When?  This is the first time I’ve ever talked to you

When we were younger, you used to constantly doodle little flowers and butterflies all across our bodies. I loved to watch you draw them, watch the blocky little lines appear across my body.   Danna smiled as she recalled the delicate insects she wore across her body daily. 

I thought you hated those. That’s why I stopped

No, of course not!

Then why did you erase them?

Narcissa sighed. She thought for a second, then wrote, my grandfather. He hates soulmates. If he knew I was communicating with mine, I’m afraid he would hurt me.  And doing that would hurt you. 

But… that means you could get in trouble right now!

No. I won’t, I’m fine. You are more important.  Tell me, what made you want to hurt yourself today?

I guess I’m just tired of being ignored. I’m tired of being treated like a child. I want to leave my house, but I can’t. I can’t live on my own. 

Thats okay, you shouldn’t be ignored.  You should be your own person, and if your parents cant see that, they’re idiots!!

Narcissa capped the pen, and tried to wrap her blanket around her arm, the blood slowly soaked through the fabric, staining the blanket a bright red.  How would she explain that to her grandfather?  It didn’t matter right now though.  Right now, she had to make sure her soulmate was okay.  That was her one and only goal.  Nothing else mattered.  Narcissa had the opportunity to maybe save a life right now.  That’s what she had to do.  

They aren’t.  I’m the one who’s screwing up, her soulmate replied.  I cant ever get anything right.  Im just a big mistake that shouldn't even exist.  The worlds probably better without me

THATS NOT FUCKING TRUE!  Narcissa scrawled as quickly as she could.  I dont believe it.  Not for a second.  Just by being here, you’ve made the world a better place.  Everyday, I wake up and check my body for some indicator that you’re here.  I can’t help but think about the fact that there is someone out there meant for me.  And I’m meant for someone.  

I guess…

Narcissa sighed heavily.  She had to go to bed before her grandfather woke and saw her light on.  

Are you okay?  She wrote.  Are you in any danger?  If you are, im here.  For both of us

A minute passed before the reply came.  I dont think so.  I think im better.  But… if i feel bad again, can i talk to u?  This actually really helped me.  Thank you

Narcissa smiled.  Of course!!!  Just, could u write somewhere less obvious?

Sure.  I understand.

Narcissa smiled gratefully.  How ‘bout our ankles?  That’s less obvious and easy for me to hide

She felt pressure on her right foot, and slid it out from beneath her blanket.  A smile, and little butterfly doodle greeted her eyes.  

Good night, soulmate, Narcissa wrote

Good night.  Sleep tight.  And… thank you.

Narcissa smiled.  She slid out of bed, and held her arm close to her chest while creeping to the bathroom.  Once inside, she scrubbed all of the ink off her skin, and bandaged the red slit shut.  

Narcissa and her soulmate were okay.  That was all that mattered.  Everything was alright.  At least for now.  But now was the only thing Narcissa could bear to think about.  

---

After that one night, Narcissa’s soulmate never hurt themselves like that again.  But that didn’t mean they weren’t hurting.   Narcissa could tell they were hurting themselves in other ways.  

She tried to help.  She wrote reminders every few hours, telling her soulmate to eat, and drink water.  She wrote encouraging messages, and doodled across their skin.  

But still, Narcissa would feel her stomach growl with hunger, and her tongue beg for more water.  She felt her eyes grow heavy even though she had slept almost 10 hours the night before.  Her soulmate just didn’t care, and there was nothing Narcissa could do. 

They would talk to each other constantly, ranting about their day, or commenting about something they saw.  Narcissa grew much closer to the person she had never even seen the face of. Closer to them then anyone else she had ever known.  

Even her grandfather. 

Narcissa had a very strained relationship with her grandfather.  She knew deep down he loved her, but he had a hard time showing it.  He was caught in a life of crime, and there was no way out.  

He had been an arms dealer for years, selling guns and other weapons on the black market.  He made a lot of money, but not a lot of friends.  He was a bitter old man, who took all of his anger out on Narcissa.  He had never hit her, but his words were hard enough. 

Narcissa knew she was being abused, and belittled, and manipulated, but she always ended up excusing his actions. Or even worse, sometimes she would place the blame on herself.  She knew she was in a bad situation, but it was one she was stuck in. 

Narcissa talked about him lots with her soulmate.  It turned out, they had a similar situation with their parents.  

Mistreated, abused, bullied, shamed. 

The two escaped into their skin, engrossed with each other.  They held each other right through the pain and the tears.  Though at times, both of them desperately wanted to, they held strong and never hurried themselves for fear of hurting the other. 

---

One day, the straw finally snapped for Narcissa. She was 17 now, and old enough to live her own life. Old enough to understand what her grandfather gave her wasn’t love, it was trauma.  

After he yelled at her for an hour straight because she put a book in the wrong bookshelf, Narcissa decided she had taken enough. 

Can we go?  She desperately scrawled across her ankle. Can we escape these sorry excuses for lives?

Her soulmate wrote back a few minutes later. What do you mean?

We’re old enough to live on our own. Why are we forcing ourselves to live with these people who treat us so terribly. Why don’t we just run away together?

Ok. The reply shocked Narcissa. She had been expecting them to try and convince her otherwise, make her see the absurdity. Not agree.  But Narcissa was glad they agreed. They both deserved a chance to start over. To make a life for themselves, and do it right. 

You will?

With you?  Of course I will silly. I’ve been waiting years for me to ask

When?   When can we leave?

Whenever your ready

A week, Narcissa declared, I’ll meet you in a week at Gatlon City, at the train station

Ok.   I’ll be there, I promise, her soulmate wrote. 

Me too. Narcissa grinned. She was finally escaping. Finally starting fresh. Finally leaving her grandfather to be with someone who truly cared.  Narcissa couldn’t wait.

---

Narcissa creaked the door open, cringing as the hinges squealed loudly. 

“Just where do you think you’re going?”  Her grandfather slurred from the couch. 

Shitshitshitshit, Narcissa though. She was caught.  She was never going to escape her life.

“I told you earlier this week I’m going to a friends house tonight,” Narcissa said lightly, trying to mask her terror. 

“Stop lying!”  He screamed.  “I know that’s not true, you don’t have any friends.”

Narcissa cringed.  

She breathed in deeply.  She was already leaving forever, there was no point in lying anymore.  

“Fine  I’m leaving.  For good.”  She braced herself for the rage. 

Instead, he laughed.  “You?  You're leaving?”  He scoffed.  “You would never.  You’re too scared and dependent on me.”

Narcissa drew herself up.  “No.  You’re wrong.  I’m leaving, to find my soulmate.  We’re making our own life.  Together.”

He gaped at her.  “You can’t!  You can’t go to your soulmate,” he spat.  “You’ll live a terrible life.  You’ll be tied down forever.”

Narcissa shook her head.  “No.  I won’t.  I’ll live the best life I can.  Because I’ll be happy.  I won’t live in fear anymore.  I’m sorry you weren’t meant for your soulmate, but it’s different for me.  I know them.  We are meant for each other.  I wouldn’t expect you to understand.  All you know is hate.”

“So you’re really going?”  Her grandfather’s lip curled up.  

Narrcissa nodded.  “I am.  I’m making my own life, as far away from here as possible.”

“Then go!”  He snarled.  “I don’t want you in my house if you won’t see a reason.  Go.”  He picked a book sitting next to him, and hurled it at Narcissa’s head.  

She ducked, her hair ruffling by the wind.  

She turned to him, tears in her eyes.  “Goodbye grandfather.  I’m sorry.”  She threw open the door, and fled into the night.

---

Narcissa’s heart thudded in her ears.  This was it.  This was the day she was going to meet her soulmate.  She knew she should be realistic, but Narcissa couldn’t help imagining the meeting like something out of the sappy romance novels she liked to read.  

She expected the dreary clouds to disappear, and the sun to shine out on top of them.  

She expected to know exactly who was her other half

She expected to run up, into their arms, and kiss them like she had wanted to be kissed her entire life.  

But Narcissa knew how unlikely it was.  But, a girl could hope, couldn’t she?  

She inhaled deeply.  Uncapping the pen with her teeth, she scrawled on her palm, I’m here  

Me too, her soulmate wrote back.  The familiar loopy red marks eased Narcissa.  She knew this person.  This was her soulmate.  Everything was going to be okay.  It would all be okay.  

Her eyes locked onto a girl standing near a bench, her head bent over her hand, a pen tucked behind her ear.  

Somehow, Narcissa knew.  She knew this was the person she had been searching for her whole life.  She knew that the girl was her soulmate.  

Summoning every miniscule scrap of courage Narcissa could find, she approached the girl.  

She tapped her shoulder.  “Hi,” Narcissa breathed, heart pounding.  “I’m Narcissa.  I think I’m your-”

She was interrupted by the girl throwing her arms around her tightly.  

“I’ve waited so long to meet you,” Narcissa’s soulmate said roughly, her voice thick with tears.  “I’m Danna.”  

Narcissa laughed.  She realized she was crying.  “Me too.”

“I feel like I already know everything about you,” Danna laughed.  She swiped her eyes.  

Narcissa nodded.  “I know we’re soulmates, but I want you to know I understand if you don’t want me,” she said.  “I get it- not all soulmates are really soulmates.”

She was cut off by Danna pressing her lips to hers.  “I want you,” Danna breathed.  “You're the one who I’ve trusted with every secret I’ve ever held.  You’re the one who helped me when no one else could.  You’re the one who took care of me.”  Danna held their hands up, exposing the thick identical scars that spread across their wrists.  “You are the only other person in the world who understood, and actually helped me.  You were the hands that held me.”  Danna reached her hand to Narcissa’s face, wiping away her tears.  “I want you, and no one else.”

“Me too,” Narcissa whispered.  “Me too.”

Tag list: @novissa @thepurpledragon4444  @phobidawg @janisarkisian  @rvbell @lavenderbloo @redassassin  (let me know if you want to be added/taken off!!!)

[technicallyarevenant]

I don’t know what’s worse: Drowning beneath the waves or dying of thirst

Chapter title: Warmth

Characters: Jason Todd, Mentioned Alfred Pennyworth, Dick Grayson, Mentioned Bruce Wayne

Other tags: Flashbacks, PTSD, Suicidal thoughts

TW: Suicidal thoughts, past abuse/trauma, past death

Words: 2952

Part 2/?

Luckily, Jason hadn’t ripped his stitches after he’d left the cave, but they definitely still hurt, especially after walking so far. Honestly, Jason doesn’t think his chest could hurt more right now, he hasn’t taken any painkillers, although that’s mostly because he hadn’t stocked the safe house he made his way to for a while. The only thing he had was an old, probably expired, bag of frozen carrots, and it was doing little to help much of anything, and only making him feel more cold in the unheated apartment in Gotham winter. If Jason wasn’t so fucking tired, he’d probably go buy some kind of space heater from the nearby store, but Jason feels like if he moved from his current position on the couch, he would regret it almost immediately. So Jason just curled up more on the sagging couch, and pulled one of the only blankets he had over himself. If he fell asleep right now, maybe when he woke up in the morning it wouldn’t be quite as cold. He almost misses the searing pain he felt when the shock finally wore off, it at least made him feel warm.

------

Surprisingly, Jason did fall asleep, and he slept a lot longer than he usually did, probably because his body was trying to heal itself. It’s only slightly warmer than it was last night, but Jason thinks that at least now he can go pick a space heater up from the store. Or he could go to a different safehouse that actually had heating and pain killers. Killing two birds with one stone was sounding like the better option, because then he wouldn’t even need to buy anything. The only problem was, he didn’t have his bike, which means he would need to walk. Jason rubbed his hands together to try and heat them up while he thought about it for a second, the twinge in his side told him to do it. Jason thinks he might actually have something stronger than ibuprofen there too, something that Jason really, really wanted right now. Jason rolled his shoulders and left the current space he was occupying so he could make his way to the next space he would be occupying. (He brought the blanket too)

Jason’s pretty sure his lips have turned blue, and that his toes are frozen, but he’d made it to his home. Or, well, the closest thing he has to a home. It was his nicest bolthole and none of the bats had found it yet. It was one of the nicest places he’d lived, and was actually on a nicer side of Gotham. It had heating, electricity, warm water, and people who turned a blind eye to a man with multiple bullet wounds lumbering in through the back window. He actually liked the place and would like the bats to continue to not know about its location.

As soon as he walked in, he sighed in relief. The heat hadn’t been turned on yet, but there wasn’t any holes in the walls or any kind of weird drafts, so it was already warmer in here than it was outside. Jason set his stuff down by the door after closing and locking it, and immediately made his way over to the thermostat to turn the heat on. He also decided he would try taking a shower, hoping that it would be warmed up by the time he was done. Jason grabbed warmer clothes from the dresser in his bedroom, a pair of fluffy sweatpants, a sweater, a hoodie to go over the sweater, and socks. Jason liked to bundle up during the winter, after he’d gotten back to Gotham, he somehow always felt cold. Apparently dying and coming back to life made you feel cold all the time, even if you’d spent most of your life living in colder temperatures. It was now a habit of Jason’s to put on warmer clothes even if it wasn’t necessarily cold out.

Jason rolled his shoulders and sat down on his couch, keeping a hand on his side as he lowered himself slowly. He let out a quiet sigh of relief and leaned back into the cushions of the couch, and unlike the couch that he had slept on last night, it didn’t make a strange crunching sound when he moved. Jason’s side gave the occasional twinge, but it wasn’t as bad as it was last night, the warm air probably helping quite a bit. Jason lets his eyes fall shut for a moment, falling asleep without realizing.

------

Jason woke up with a start when he heard his window open and flinched when he reached for the gun he kept under his pillow, only to realize that he’d fallen asleep on his couch, and the closest gun to him was with the rest of his gear at the front door.

Jason stood as slowly and as quietly as he could- he had forgotten to turn the lights on when he came in because it was still daylight when Jason had made it to this safehouse, so it seemed both he and the intruder had a bit of an advantage.

Jason made a point of walking as quietly as possible to his front door, and had the sudden realization that Bruce had taken both of his guns and all that Jason currently had was a knife. Jason made a face in the darkness before grabbing the knife quickly, he turned around just as quickly as he grabbed the knife, only to come face to face with a domino mask.

Jason exhaled heavily, dropping his hand with the knife, “The hell do you want Dick?”

He couldn’t see through the white lenses, but Jason assumed that Dick probably rolled his eyes, “I came to check on you, B was a little worried that you ran away so quickly while you were still wounded.”

Jason snorted, “Right, because B cares so much.”

Dick stared at him for a few moments, “He does care, that’s why I’m here Jason.”

Jason laughed again, stopping only when Dick stayed silent, “What, you’re actually being serious?”

“Yes Jason, I’m actually being serious. I know it may come as a shock, but I’m not always cracking a joke every five seconds.”

Jason cleared his throat, raising a hand to rub at his side slightly, a slight pulse of pain going through the wound. “Whatever, even if B really did care, he didn’t come here himself so you don’t really have to tell B much, such as where I’m currently staying. Right?”

Dick stared for a few more seconds, “Do you really hate us that much Jason?”

Jason said nothing for a moment, balking slightly at the way Dick said it, “What, you think I hate you guys?” Jason’s laugh quick and had an undertone of disbelief, “Pretty sure it’s always been the opposite goldie.”

It was Dick’s turn to laugh, “No Jason, it’s never been us hating you. You’re the one who always avoids us when we try to talk to you.”

Jason threw his hands up, “Tell that to Bruce, he’s the one who beat me so hard my fucking helmet shattered and left me to die.”

Anything that Dick might have said to that died before the words the could reach the air, “I’m sorry what?”

Jason shook his head, a bitter smile forming on his lips, “What, he never told you? That doesn’t surprise me, considering he never tells anyone anything. Like he never came to you after I died the first time and you had to figure it out on your own. Like he never told you when I became Robin. He’s a flake who never does what anyone expects of him, even if you’re expecting him to flake. He’ll treat you like a son and the moment you do something he doesn’t like, he makes you an example to those who come after you so they know what not to do.”

Dick fidgeted, before he turned his back to Jason, “I have to go, I’ll be back.”

Jason scoffed, “Whatever Goldie, go ahead and leave, I don’t care.” Jason didn’t include the fact that he did care, actually, he cared a lot. There were many things that Jason should regret and didn’t, and things he shouldn’t regret but did anyways, and one of those was not trying to reconcile with his family when he came back from the dead.

Jason said nothing else as Dick left through the window, before he turned around, taking the knife still in his hand into his room, shoving it into his nightstand. He stomped over to his closet, opening the safe installed into the wall and grabbed one of the guns so he could stash it under his pillow. It took a few more minutes for Jason to realize the warmth dripping down his  face were tears. He wiped a hand down his face angrily, he shouldn’t be crying, this whole situation was stupid and just another reason for Jason to stay away from Bruce and his merry band of vigilantes.

Jason exhaled shakily before sitting down on his bed, he probably looked stupid yelling in front of Dick like that, still half asleep and in the most layers Dick had probably ever seen him wear. His socks had penguins on them. Jason sniffed quietly, whatever, he’d gotten Dick to leave like Jason wanted. Was that what Jason wanted? He’d gotten a feeling of disappointment when Dick left through the window, even if he hadn’t wanted to feel disappointed.

Whatever, it didn’t matter anyway, he was gone now and Jason could go back to sleep. Jason looked over at his clock, 1 am. Normally he’d be out patrolling right now, but he really didn’t feel like it tonight. The others could pick up the slack tonight without him. Jason rubbed his side slightly, if he took some painkillers the pain would be gone but he’d also be out of it for however long it takes the painkillers to wear off, and he doesn’t want to deal with Dick on painkillers if he comes back.

Jason didn’t take any painkillers. He’d be fine. He laid down after making sure all of his windows were locked and covered by curtains. He pulled a blanket over himself and closed his eyes. He didn’t fall asleep right away, but he did eventually.

-------------

Jason woke up to a beam of light shining directly in his eyes from the crack between his curtains. Jason groaned and rolled over, checking the time briefly before covering his head with a pillow. The sun was far too bright to just be shining into his eyes like that when he wakes up. He was warm and comfortable and he didn’t want to get up just yet.

Wait. Jason cracked an eye open and rolled back over to look at his window. Jason had pinned his curtains together, a force of habit he’d developed when he was younger to help keep the cold out. Jason’s hand creeped to the gun he’d put under his pillow last night before he stood up, looking around for any other kind of sign that someone had come in while he was sleeping. He got up and crept silently to the window, pushing the curtain aside gently to look outside to check if he could see anyone. When he saw that there was no one that looked more suspicious than usual, he walked to his bedroom door. He opened the door slowly, ensuring that it made no noise as he peeked through the crack he’d made. He didn’t see anyone, but now he thinks he can hear someone.

Jason holds the gun slightly higher before he opens the door enough to slip out while still making no noise. The noises sound like they’re coming from the kitchen, so Jason walks to the kitchen, glancing to the sides as he walks to make sure there’s no one else in the apartment.

Once he reaches the kitchen, he leans slightly to look around the side of the archway that leads into the kitchen. He sees… Dick. Jason lets the gun fall, and he flips the safety back on.

Dick must have heard something, because the next thing he knows, Dick is chattering excitedly at him. Jason just kind of stares, “What..are you doing here?”

Dick stops talking for a second, his smile faltering, “I told you I’d be back? What, did you forget already?”

Jason clears his throat, “No, I just didn’t expect you to actually come back.”

Dicks smile has turned into a frown now, “Well I did, I am back and I have made you, uh,” he looks down at the frying pan he’s holding, filled with….eggs? “I made you eggs.”

Jason looks a bit closer, “You sound hesitant, are you sure those are eggs?”

Dick looks down at the pan again, “Uh, I mean, I cracked some eggs and I put them in this pan. So, as far as I know, yeah, they’re eggs.”

Jason nods and takes the pan from Dick, “So most of the food in this place is kinda old, and I still need to go out and buy groceries. So these, while still eggs, are probably going to kill me if I eat them.”

Dick looks back at the carton of eggs that he probably pulled from Jason’s fridge, “Oh, that’s probably why they smelled so bad.”

Jason walks over and scrapes the eggs in the pan into the trash, “Sorry to burst your bubble goldie, but you really gotta learn to cook or you’re going to end up killing your future girlfriend.”

Dick snorted, “Yeah, whatever. There’s a reason Alfred pays so many visits to my apartment.”

“You know that’s not a good thing right?”

“Well, I get free cookies so I don’t really care.”

Jason rolls his eyes, “Sure birdbrain, whatever you say.”

Jason is turned around while he puts the pan into the sink, hopefully to get rid of the rotten egg smell so he can cook with it again, so he misses the hopeful look that Dick is giving him. What he doesn’t miss, however, is the giant hug that Dick pulls him into the moment he turns back around.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m hugging you, what does it look like?”

“Like you’re attacking me with your arms.”

Dick doesn’t say anything for a moment, but he keeps his arms wrapped around Jason, “I’m sorry that we ever made you believe we didn’t want you back with us.”

Jason tenses, “I don’t see why-”

“It matters? It matters because you ran away while still injured and scared the living christ out of Alfred. And it may come as a surprise, but,” He pulls back but still holds onto Jason’s shoulders, “Bruce was worried too.”

At that Jason scoffs, pushing Dick’s hands off, “Yeah, sure, whatever you say Dick, trying to make Bruce look better isn’t gonna do ya any favors.”

“I’m not trying to justify anything that Bruce has done, in fact I will join you in scorning him for everything that he has done against you, but he’s started to see what he was doing was wrong and-”

Jason shakes his head, “Well it sure sounds like you’re trying to justify his actions to me, but what do I know?”

“Jaybird if you’d just let me finish what I’m-”

“What you’re saying?” Jason ignores the look that Dick sends him, turning back around to start scrubbing at the pan in the sink, and does his best to continue ignoring him when Dick comes back up behind him.

“Jason Peter Todd, I am trying to talk, and you continuing to interrupt me when I am trying to do something that will help you is really starting to get on my nerves.”

“Well don’t let me stop you Goldie, continue trying to convince me that I should come back to the heavily armed and dangerous dysfunctional family that is the Wayne family.”

Dick grabs Jason’s shoulders once again and turns him around, looking him directly in the eyes, what were once a cerulean blue now an acid green meeting a softer blue. “Jason please, if you’d just come back to the manor for one day, maybe you could see that it’s not as bad as you think it is.”

Jason stares at him, he’s not sure what to say. He’s spent so long running and hiding, doing his best to not interact with his family to help keep his sanity intact, but as loathe as he is to admit it, he misses them. Misses knowing that someone always had his back when he went out. Had someone to keep him from being reckless enough to get himself killed. Kept him from wanting to get himself killed. Dick’s eyes are boring into his, and all Jason can do to keep himself from lashing out in fear of doing something wrong is look away.

“What, would that make you feel better Goldie?”

“Jason please look at me.”

Jason doesn’t want to, but he does anyways, breath hitching when he sees the tears in Dick’s eyes. Jason doesn’t know what to do, he’s never been good with emotion, considering all he ever does is keep it bottled up until it all comes spilling out, usually in the form of anger. But he takes a page out of Dick’s book and hopes he doesn’t end up regretting it when he reaches his own arms out to hug Dick. “Whatever, fine, I’ll go to the fucking manor if it means you stop looking at me like a kicked puppy.”

“That’s all I ask Jason.”

“Whatever.”

[midnightartemis]

Chapter Three Up Now ~

Read Me Here

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about her every second of every day since he first saw her. It was beginning to turn into a waking nightmare almost. One fucking conversation with this girl and he was gone. She didn’t even give him her last name. She had fallen asleep on the couch not long after she stopped giggling about his tax evasion quip. He wasn’t surprised; she had finished off the rest of the joint on her own. He could watch the smoke pour from her lips for eternity. He was usually an adamant follower of the puff puff pass rule.

Rey from Jakku was going to be the death of him.

When he went to put a blanket over her again, she barely even moved.

The only thing that did distract Ben from her was the impending showdown between him and Kuruk. The man almost matched him in height, though he was much skinnier. That just made him a little bit faster. And Rey taking a liking to Ben has only pissed Kuruk off.

Much to his disappointment, Rey left before anyone else in the loft woke up. No one woke up before two anyway.

Ben rolled a joint as the coffee brewed. The smell eventually woke everyone else up and soon the couch was full, the room smelled of freshly ground sour diesel, and Saturday morning cartoons played on the projector. After a cup of coffee, AP pulled out a wad of cash and divided it out into piles. The largest went to Ben for supplying, the second largest to AP for manufacturing and delivery, and The rest was split between Kuruk, Trudge, Ushar, and… Ben frowned. He hadn’t seen Cardo or Vik and there was one last pile. AP saw him eyeing it. “It’s for Rey.”

“Rey?”

“Yeah, got a problem?” Kuruk was already starting to dig in. Push the issue until it came to a breaking point.

“Thought it took a unanimous vote to let someone in.” Ben eyed each of the guys.

AP, ever the peacemaker, stepped in. “She’s not in.”

Ben relaxed a little. They hadn’t forced her through initiation.

“If she was, Kuruk would not be left standing.” Trudge chuckled.

“Yeah, how’s your nose doing fucker?” Kuruk seethed.

Trudge threw his meaty hands in the air. “Hey, I learned my lesson. She could tell me to eat shit and I’d listen.”

How had a girl that tiny instilled so much fear and reverence into this tiny fucked up group?

“She helps me with the books sometimes. That’s why she gets a share.” AP finally supplied. “We trust her.”

Ben gave a shallow nod. “And Cardo. Vik?”

“Vik’s been MIA since the baby. Cardo will show up when he feels like it.”

Ben let his face drop into his mask. Unfazed from the outside. Warring on the inside. He hadn’t even known Vik was having a kid.

The impromptu meeting ended as quickly as it had begun. Trudge and Ushar settled into their cartoons. At least that much hadn’t changed. Kuruk fucked off to somewhere else and AP sat on the couch looking conflicted. After a few minutes, the quiet guy seemed to resign himself to an answer. He stood, his face dead serious as he looked Ben in the eye. “We should talk.”

That was one of the many things Ben secretly admired about AP. He was one of the originals and in the ten years Ben had known him, the man had barely changed. He didn’t sugarcoat. Didn’t play games. Though he could be a bit cryptic, everything was always dead serious with AP.

Ben nodded and followed the dude out the door and onto the small patio. The dry heat of the afternoon hit him in full force as they stepped out. He lit his joint and didn’t offer it to AP knowing the dude would just say no anyway.

“What the fuck are your intentions here, Ben?”

Ben stilled as he brought the joint to his lips. No one in the Knights ever called him Ben. He was pretty sure Trudge and Ushar didn’t even know his name wasn’t actually Kylo. And AP- AP only used it when he was beyond dead serious.

“You know what my intentions are.”

“You were supposed to get out of this. You were supposed to leave and never come back.”

“Yeah well that didn’t fucking work out, did it?” Ben growled and smashed the lit end of the joint into the metal railing.

“You can’t just come waltzing back expecting to throw a few punches and make everything magically the same as before. It’s not the same, Ben. Why the fuck did you come back?”

Ben huffed a laugh. “Where else would I go?”

“Did you even call your mom? Have you even told her you dropped out?”

“I never said I dropped out.”

“You didn’t have to.” AP scowled and he dropped his gaze to the dead fields of grass. “I would have heard about it if the chemistry lab purposefully got blown up.”

Ben narrowed his eyes and gave AP a long side glance. “You’re still seeing that TA?”

“He’s an adjunct Professor now.” AP sighs. It’s the happiest thing Ben thinks the guy’s ever done. “I know she’ll kill you herself if you hurt her but just know that the rest of us will help bury the body.”

Ben laughs a little and AP turns sharply to face him. “I’m fucking serious. You hurt her even just a little bit and I will wipe you off the face of this planet. She’s been through enough. So if you think she’s just some sick game to piss off Kuruk or a quick lay you back the fuck off and leave her alone.”

AP’s dark eyes are enough to tell Ben that if Rey didn’t kill him, he would. “She’s not. I don’t want to hurt her.”

AP smiles sadly. “You don’t want to. But you will.”

By the time Friday comes around, Ben is looking for a fight. He and Kuruk have steadily been pushing buttons and digging under each other’s skin for days now. It was only a matter of time before the party was set in motion. AP was noticeably absent first thing in the morning. It only takes Ben seeing the look on Kuruk’s face to know that time is up. They’re nearing breaking point and only one will come out victorious. It calls for a party the likes of which hadn’t been seen since Kylo took on Ren himself.

AP was out gathering the more illicit provisions while Trudge and Ushar carried a nearly endless chain of kegs and tubs and ice into the recently ‘unlocked’ basement of the warehouse. Ben and Kuruk were left to simmer. Ben poured himself a drink and set down to rolling the last of the weed to sell or smoke tonight. Rolling was one of the few things that calmed him- even when he could feel Kuruk’s pissed of stare burrowing into the back of his head. Even when AP’s words had been rattling around in there for days now, mixing with the images of her soft smile he held tightly onto. The one she tried to hide from him. And those hazel eyes that looked right at him and kept on digging. Everything about her drew him in. He couldn’t resist the chance for one touch of the light.

He hoped she wasn’t there tonight. He hoped she never saw what he really was. What he could do.

All hope of that was lost when she turned up beside AP a few hours deep into the party. His eyes latched onto her the moment he spotted her hair, up in three little buns. Her eyes were dark as bruises and anger boiled in him until he got a better view in the dim red right and realized that it was makeup. It was only wearing makeup. She wore a black holy t-shirt with a band logo on it so faded it was almost beyond recognition. Her jeans were covered in black sharpie doodles. Flowers, he thought. She had that scowl on her face not at all dissimilar to the one she first gave him. Within seconds AP had a drink in her hand.

Her eyes drank in the crowd, scanning the room until they landed on his. And stayed. A flash of pain danced across her eyes. There and hidden in an instant.

What did he do?

What-

“Are you even fucking listening to me?”

Ben looked back down at the tiny brunette clinging to his side. The woman had been incredibly persistent for the past hour, even going so far as trying to force him into an old, musty janitor's closet.

“Not particularly. No.” Ben barely spared her a glance.

“God, you’re a fucking asshole.” The woman stormed away, finally taking his hints. When he searched the crowd again, Rey was gone.

He knew he was an asshole. He knew it and he went off in Rey’s direction anyway. He needed to explain. He needed to know why she looked so hurt when she saw him. He found AP first.

“Where’d she go?”

“It’s almost midnight.”

Ben could give two fucks about Kuruk and midnight. “Where’d she go?”

AP sighed and shrugged. “I’m not her keeper. She can handle herself.”

“You’re a dick you know that, Finn?”

The dude shrugged and went back to fucking off. Ben pushed through the crowd. Most people parted automatically for him mostly thanks to his size and his ability to not give a fuck about anyone. Anyone but her. He couldn’t explain why now at this moment he felt like the entire world rode on his ability to get to her, to find her, to explain himself when there was nothing yet to explain.

He pushed through a rather large group of people and stumbled into an open pocket in the middle of the crowded room. Music screamed through every inch of the room- the bass shaking the foundations.

His eyes searched the room until they landed on the messy row of three buns, the faded black tee. The hand gripping her waist. The anger in her eyes. The smirk on Kuruk’s lips as he turned to look at Ben.

Ben felt the dark thing inside him snap. Kuruk has found the breaking point. Ben grabbed the nearest glass bottle and slammed it on the ground.

He comes to when he feels her touch burning hot against the skin of his wrist. So feather-light he shouldn’t have been able to feel it but it stops him like a live wire. The room around him has gone deadly quiet and it takes a moment for him to feel the stares of dozens of silent people. There’s a groan from underneath him and he looks down to see what’s left of Kuruk’s bloody face. The man is completely slack underneath him, not even trying to fight back.

“Ben. That’s enough.” Rey says quietly, her voice firm. He lets her pull him away with gentle tugs. His mind wars between

She’s touching me she’s touching me she’s touching me

And

Is he dead is he dead is he dead

AP, Trudge, and Ushar emerge from the crowd to haul Kuruk away. He’d gone too far. Way too far. He could tell by the terrified looks he got as he passed through the crowd.

She’s touching me she’s touching me she’s touching me

Outside that small basement room, the party is still in full swing, blissfully unaware of the night's main event. He doesn’t feel a thing but the touch of her skin around his wrist. She leads him deftly through the crowd and up the narrow staircase to the loft. Vik steps away from the lofts' entrance, letting them by. Door duty . Kylo thinks stupidly. He used to hate door duty.

Rey’s touch left him as she sat him down on the couch. He let out a small pitiful whimper at its loss.

“Relax. I’m only going to get the first aid shit.” He might have been imagining it but he thought he saw her smile.

Rey disappeared into the bathroom and emerged a minute later with a giant box of medical supplies. It was even labeled medical supplies in handwriting he didn’t recognize. Her handwriting.

She took out a white bottle and a piece of cloth to wet with the liquid. Ben shuddered and forced himself to stay still as she brought the cloth to his bloody knuckles and began dabbing at them. He dared not to speak as she took her hand in his and turned it this way and that to clean away his skin. The cloth came away bright red. She moved to his other hand and added more of the clear liquid to the cloth. He sucked in a breath as she ran the cloth across his knuckles. Her hands worked quickly then to wrap his hand in gauze.

When he thought she was done she grabbed a fresh cloth and sat close to him. Closer than she ever had before. He could count her freckles against her tan skin, smell the warm earthy scent coming off of her, feel the heat of her against him. He was too dumbstruck to move and was fighting a losing battle against his desire to look at her lips. To taste her just one time. Rey brought the cloth to his lips. Her fingers gently guided him to look at her, to tilt his chin down to her reach. The throbbing in his face slowly came to the front of his mind. It seemed Kuruk had gotten a couple hits in after all.

She cleaned his skin carefully, working up the side of his face. He closes his eyes as she gets to his brow, letting her soft touch consume him. She had seen him at his worst and yet she was still here. She wasn’t flinching away.

“Rey.” Her name came out as a soft whisper that hung in the air between them. She had to come to him, he knew that much. He couldn’t open his eyes. He could only hope that she understood. The cloth dropped away from his eye. Soft lips pressed against the corner of his own. Ben opened his eyes to see her looking up at him. Hopeful. Hungry.

The door to the apartment swung open and the rest of the knights piled into the apartment. Trudge carried a half-conscious Kuruk over his shoulders. Ben cursed under his breath as Rey moved away from him and made room for Trudge to set Kuruk on the couch. The man moaned pitifully and Ben bit back a smirk.

“Cops got called.” AP moved through the room quickly, clearing off the coffee table and locking everything away in the safe built into the wall.

“Warrant?” Ben asked.

“Not likely. Unless they’ve been sitting on it.” Vik shut the door after Cardo slipped in and locked it. Cardo had been at the front door taking entrance fees. He was probably the one to sound the alarm.

“You need to take off?” Ben asked Vik. The dude had a kid now. He couldn’t get caught up in petty shit.

Vik shrugged and moved through the room, picking up a warm, unopened beer. “I’ll just hide in the back. Jenny and Ambrose weren’t expecting me.”

The man tossed him the lock's key and disappeared through the hole in the wall. Trudge and Ushar moved the one giant bookcase over the hole.

“You shouldn’t be here either.” Ben turned his focus back to Rey. She was kneeling beside Kuruk and cleaning him up with a fresh cloth, though she wasn’t being half as gentle with Kuruk as she had with him.

“I’ll just hide under the spare bed. The cops don’t give two shits about me.”

Spare bed?

Ben was about to argue the point until he saw the look AP gave him. Rey could take care of herself.

Ben let it go. “Take Kuruk to his room. Don’t need cops coming in ‘cause there’s a half-dead dude on the couch.”

Trudge and Ushar pull Kuruk off the couch and Rey packs up the medical supplies. A few minutes later, the loft looked like almost any other night. Trudge and Ushar argued over what game to play and AP took up his spot on the couch, scrolling on his phone. Rey, however, was the one to go back to the projector to turn it on. He watched as she opened up the projector and blew inside. The projector came seamlessly to life. She turned on the Wii and tossed two of the remotes to the twins. “Mario Kart.”

They groaned as she smiled wickedly.

“Fucking fine. I want Moo Moo Meadows this time though.” Ushar pouted. Rey hesitated as she picked up the fourth remote. He guessed that was the one Kuruk usually got. Her hesitation only lasted a second before she lobbed it across the room to his hands. Ben caught it and held his breath as she slipped over the back of the couch to sit beside him. She was careful to not touch him and he was careful to do the same.

She picked out Moo Moo Meadows, Wario’s Gold Mine, and Rainbow Road. Ben barely tried as he watched her easily beat them as Daisy. Trudge always gave up halfway through and would start going the wrong way for fun. Ushar spent more time dying than racing. Ben managed to finish in a solid sixth place twice. She had no competition here. As she crossed the rainbow road finish line in first (a feat even he considered almost impossible), there was a loud knock at the door.

“CPD! Open up.”

Rey was gone before Ben could say anything. The door to his old room swung shut. So, that was the spare bedroom. He spared a glance at AP before standing up to open the door. He held his hand on the lock.

“This is a private residence. You got a warrant?”

“No, sir. Just a few questions.” Ben undid the heavy U lock and slid the heavy metal door open slowly. Two uniforms stood in the hall, their eyes hard and their hands near the guns on their hips. He didn’t recognize either of them. Newbies. Ben placed his hand against the door frame and the door, his body blocking most of the view inside.

“What’d you want?”

The guy cop's eyes went wide as he looked up and down Ben. “Are you in need of medical attention, sir?”

Ben glanced at the bandages on his hands. “Nah, I’m good. Just took a tumble down the stairs. Bit of a clutz.”

Neither of them believed him but that didn’t matter.

“Is there anyone in the house with you?”

Ben shrugged as the sounds of Mario Kart started up again. “Just my roommates.”

“Were you aware that there was an illegal event happening in the basement of this building?” The woman cop took over. She gave him a look like she would never believe anything that came out of his mouth.

“Illegal Event? No. I’ve been kicking their asses at Mario Kart all night.”

“Mario Kart.” The woman raised her eyebrows.

“That it?”

The cops didn’t reply.

“Great.” He said gruffly. “Have a good night officers.”

Ben slid the door shut and snapped the lock back on. He waited for another knock but it never came. He went to the kitchen to make an old-fashioned. It wasn’t as smooth as usual with bandaged hands that were beginning to shake. The fresh cut on his face was beginning to burn and tingle against the open air.

The twins moved the bookshelf away from the hole in the wall to let Vik back in. They switched from Mario Kart to COD. The door to his room stayed shut. Ben crossed the room and knocked softly. No reply. He pushed the door open slowly, letting the light shine in but not entering himself. The light landed on the black sheets of his old bed. Rey had curled in a ball in the center of it underneath the comforter. Her ribs moved up and down ever so slightly. She had fallen asleep. Ben shut the door softly.

He guessed he’d be sleeping on the couch tonight.

AP retired to take care of Kuruk not long after Ben sat down, drink in hand. He mindlessly watched the twins play COD. Vik took off once the cops had cleared out and Cardo followed soon after. Ben couldn’t fall asleep even with the pull of alcohol and his mindless staring. The twins cleared out, disappearing to their rooms in the back. Ben shifted out of his shoes and jeans. His shirt had turned almost solid with dried blood at the neck so he shed that too. Ben turned on the Wii. Alone in the glow of the projector, he thought about the touch of her lips against his skin. What would it feel like if she dared to touch him? What he would do to her if she let him touch her back? He was going to need to take a very very very cold shower. He tried to focus on Mario Kart instead.

Night passed into the wee hours of the morning. A cry echoed through the loft and Ben paused his failed attempt at Rainbow Road.

“No!”

The cry came from his room. Rey. Ben’s heart pounded as he leaped over the couch and opened the door to his room. Rey laid where he had left her, still curled up in a ball in the middle of the bed. She twitched, her head rolling back and forth as if she were trying to escape from something invisible. She cried out again at her nightmare.

“Rey.” His voice was hoarse from not speaking for hours. She twitched again, not waking up. “Rey- Rey, wake up. It’s only a nightmare.”

She whimpered and Ben crossed the room. He’d have to touch her to wake her up. He tried again. “Rey, wake up.”

She cried out again, a painful whimper that sent an ache shooting through his chest. He reached his hand out, prepared to snatch it away the moment he touched her. He touched her shoulder and she sprung awake, pushing herself to the far side of the bed so her back was against the wall. Ben backed up two steps, his hands in the air. “It’s just me. You were having a nightmare.”

“Ben?” Rey swallowed trying to hide the panic in her voice.

“Yeah. Just me. I tried calling your name but it didn’t work.”

Rey nodded slowly as she caught her breath. “I heard you. I think. I just couldn’t… get out of it. Did I wake you up?”

Ben shook his head. “Nah. I was practicing Mario Kart so you can have some actual competition.”

Her lips quirked up in an actual smile. “Well, at least someone has the balls to challenge me.”

Rey’s hair had fallen half-way out of her three buns. Her eyes were soft with sleep and there was an imprint of his pillow across her face. Her mind drifted to something else and she frowned. “Are you sleeping on the couch?”

“You were in my bed.” Ben shrugged. “Didn’t want to wake you up. Seemed like you needed it more than I did.”

“I can move to the couch.” Rey offered sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to steal your bed.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Ben moved to go back out to the living room.

“Wait.”

Ben froze in his tracks trying not to get his hopes up too high. He turned back to her and found her eyes unabashedly looking over his bare chest.

“There’s room for two.”

“Are you sure?” He asked slowly.

The girl nodded. “Yeah.”

She shifted as he crossed the room and laid down on his back across the edge farthest from her. He risked a glance at her. She hadn’t moved from her spot against the wall. He said nothing beyond his silent plea.

Come to me. Before I break. Before I redesign myself to loneliness for the rest of my life.

He could feel her watching him. Evaluating. Fighting. She slowly lowered herself away from the wall and curled up beside him, not quite touching him but close enough that she might. Ben closed his eyes and let a new calm darkness wash over him.

I know it's warmer where you are And it's safer by your side But right now I can't be what you want Just give it time...

Well it's cold when we're apart And I hate to feel this die But you can't give me what I want Just give it time...

But for now we stay so far 'Til our lonely limbs connect I can't keep you in these arms So I'll keep you in my mind...

Can we meet in the middle Bodies and souls collide Dance in the moonlight Where all the stars align Oh you and I, oh you and I, oh

- You and I, PVRIS