#and now he’s in jail and will be in prison probably for the rest of my life

[bfpierce]

.

[nelle-y]

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE TELL ME YOU'RE GONNA DO A WRRIOTHESLEY ONE AFTER THE ALHAITHAM VOICELINES FIC IS COMPLETED!!!! I NEED IT PLEASE!!

A love story told trough voicelines (Wriothesley ver.) I

C/W: wriothesley x gn!reader, sun x moon, protective!wrio, himbo/bimbo!reader, fluff, slow-burn, not proofread

Note: okay, the Alhaitham fic isn’t really done yet, but I seriously couldn’t think of any good stuff to add there soooo here’s a Wrio version while waiting^^ (comments are very much appreciated!)

Part 2

—

(You) About Laws

I’m not even a Fontaine citizen! How was I supposed to know it was illegal to eat a pack of ketchup?! Are laws here even applicable for tourists? …Wait that was a dumb question. Anyway—I have to serve two months in the Fortress, now. Honestly, that long for ketchup?

Really?

(Wriothesley) About you

They’re a funny one, I’ll admit. When I saw their file, I thought someone was pulling a prank on me. Two months for… eating ketchup? But rules are rules. I have a feeling they’re going to make things a little more interesting around here.

(You) About jail food

Sooo… any chance I could get some ketchup with this? No? Right, okay. Thought I’d ask.

(Wriothesley) About your stay

They’re surprisingly good at making friends. The guards like them, the prisoners like them, even Sigewinne seems to have taken a liking to them. I should be concerned, but honestly? It’s kind of impressive.

(You) About Wriothesley

Did you know the Duke of Meropide has a soft spot for tea? I mean, I guess it’s obvious, but I caught him sneaking an extra cup the other day. “Oh, it helps me think,” he says. Yeah, yeah, whatever, tea boy.

(Wriothesley) About you: Nicknames

‘Tea boy’? They’re the one who came in here because of ketchup. If anything, I should be the one coming up with a nickname. Like… tomato. Ugh, I don’t have time for this—I have work to do.

(You) About Wriothesley: A few weeks in

Okay, so maybe the Duke isn’t as scary as I thought. Sure, he’s got the whole “I could probably knock someone out with one punch” thing going on, but he’s actually pretty nice. In a “grumbles but still helps” kind of way. Like, I asked for an extra pillow as a joke, and he actually got me one? Hello??

(Wriothesley) About You: A few weeks in

They’ve settled in way too well. Most prisoners would usually be miserable as they count their days left, but they? They’re treating this place like a weird vacation. They joke around, chat with everyone, even try to make me laugh— *chuckles* not that it works. …Okay, maybe once or twice.

(You) About Wriothesley: Casual encounters

I keep running into His Grace at the most random times. Like, I’ll be minding my business, trying to stack crackers into the tallest tower possible, and boom, there he is, watching me like I’m some kind of strange wildlife documentary. And then he just walks away without a word! Geez, Tea boy, at least say, “Wow, impressive architecture,” or something!

(Wriothesley) About You: Casual encounters

I caught them trying to balance a spoon on their nose in the cafeteria. I don’t know why I expected anything different. When they saw me watching, they just grinned and said, “Impressive, right?” I should’ve walked away, but instead, I sat down and watched. I think I’m losing it.

(You) About Wriothesley: Serious moments

You ever meet someone who acts all tough, but then you realize they care more than they let on? That’s him. He won’t say it outright, but it’s in the little things. Like how he notices when I’m quieter than usual. Or how he subtly checks if I’ve eaten. He’d probably deny it if I brought it up, though. Typical.

(Wriothesley) About You: Serious moments

They’re more than just jokes and sunshine, you know. The other night, they found me in my office, still working late. I expected them to tease me, but instead, they just sat down and said, “You should rest too, you know.” No jokes. No dramatic antics. Just… genuine concern. I didn’t know what to say.

(You) About making friends (or not)

Most people here are pretty cool! I mean, sure, some of them look like they could snap me in half, but they’re nice once you talk to them. …Okay, maybe not everyone. There’s a group that gives me the stink eye whenever I talk to the Duke. I think they think I’m his little sidekick or something. Imagine me being intimidating. Hah!

(Wriothesley) About prison politics

Not everyone is happy with how things work down here, and that includes how I run things. So when someone comes in and gets along with me too well, it’s bound to rub some people the wrong way. I’m not worried about them, but… I am keeping an eye on things.

(You) Character story: A not-so-friendly encounter

The underground fortress had its own rules—ones that weren’t always written in Fontaine’s legal codes. It was an unspoken truth that power moved differently down here. The way people looked at others, the way they spoke, even the way they stood in the cafeteria—it all meant something.

And apparently, the way they joked around with the Duke meant something too.

“You think you’re special, huh?”

The voice wasn’t friendly. Not the usual kind of gruff they’d hear from someone just messing around. No, this was different. It came with the sharp press of a shoulder against theirs, backing them into the stone wall of a dim corridor. They hadn’t meant to take this route alone—it just happened. Bad timing, bad luck.

They held up your hands in mock surrender. “Whoa, hey, if this is about the crackers I stole from the cafeteria, I promise it was for scientific—”

A hand slammed the wall beside their head, cutting them off. “Quit playing around,” the guy sneered. “You think being His Grace’s favorite means you can do whatever you want?”

Favorite? They blinked. What kind of wild rumors were people spreading?

“I don’t—”

Another guy stepped closer, arms crossed. “You talk too much.”

Okay. Yeah. This wasn’t looking great.

They considered their options. Fighting wasn’t exactly their strong suit—sure, they could throw a decent punch, but against multiple guys built like reinforced walls? Not ideal. Running wasn’t an option either; they had them boxed in. Which left them with… talking their way out.

“Look,” they started, voice light, “I get it. You guys are the big, scary veterans of the Fortress, and I’m just some random ketchup criminal. But I promise, I’m not plotting some evil scheme with the Duke. I’m here for the vibes, man.”

One of them scoffed. “Real funny.”

They grinned. “Thanks. I try.”

A fist clenched. For a second, they thought the guy was actually going to hit them. They braced themselves—

And then he spoke.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

The air in the corridor changed. The weight of the room shifted, a presence settling over the space like a cold snap.

The group turned, and there he was.

Wriothesley stood at the mouth of the corridor, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable. But his eyes—his eyes—were sharp, colder than they’d ever seen.

The guy closest to them took half a step back. Just half. “We were just having a conversation,” he said, trying to sound casual.

The Duke’s gaze flicked to them. He didn’t say anything, but the question was clear. Are you hurt?

They shook their head. “Nope. All good. Just a friendly little chat about… social dynamics.”

A beat of silence. Then, Wriothesley let out a breath—something almost like a laugh, but not quite.

“You’ve made your point,” he said coolly, stepping closer. “So now I’ll make mine.”

The air got heavier. The authority in his voice left no room for argument.

“I don’t care what rumors you’ve heard,” he continued. “But if you think causing problems in my fortress is a good idea, then by all means—go ahead. Give me an excuse to personally escort you to solitary confinement.”

No one moved. No one spoke.

Then, just like that, the tension cracked. The group muttered something under their breaths and backed off, melting into the corridors like shadows.

They let out a breath they didn’t realize they held. “Wow. That was dramatic.”

Wriothesley gave them a look. “You should’ve told me.”

They shrugged. “I had it under control.”

His brow arched. He glanced at the wall they’d been backed against, then back at them.

“…Mostly under control.”

A pause. Then, with a shake of his head, he sighed. “You’re impossible.”

They grinned. “So I’ve been told.”

Wriothesley didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, just before turning to leave, he muttered—so quietly they almost missed it—

“Stay close next time.”

(Wriothesley) About you: Keeping an eye out

They say they’re fine, that it’s “not a big deal,” but I know how things work down here. Resentment brews fast. I told them to let me know if anyone gives them trouble. They laughed and said, “What, are you gonna throw them in jail? Oh, wait—” *sigh* They’re ridiculous. Honestly, I’m curious about what they’re gonna do once they’re out in the overworld.

(You) About time

You’d think I’d be marking off the days on my wall like some dramatic prisoner in a movie, right? At first, I kinda did—two months felt like forever. But now? I looked at the calendar this morning and realized I only have a few days left.

…And instead of being excited, I just stood there, staring at it like it personally offended me. Hm.

(Wriothesley) About time

Most inmates count down the days until they’re free. Some scratch it into their cell walls, some mark it on a calendar—always waiting, always watching the clock. I thought they were the same. But lately, they’ve been looking at the days left like they don’t know what to do with them.

…And if I’m being honest, I don’t know what to do with them either.

(You) About goodbyes

So, uh… last night in the Fortress. Crazy, huh? Feels like just yesterday I was getting sentenced for my heinous ketchup crimes. Time flies when you’re… illegally detained, I guess.

…Hey, weird question. You ever get so used to something that it’s just… there, and then when it’s gone, you don’t know what to do with yourself? Like, I dunno, a leaky faucet or a creaky floorboard—annoying at first, but then it’s kinda comforting? Familiar?

…Never mind. Forget I said anything.

(Wriothesley) About goodbyes

I knew this was coming, but… it’s different now that it’s actually here.

They were just supposed to be another name on a file. Someone who’d serve their time and leave, like all the rest. But now? The idea of this place without them feels… odd.

Last night, they said something about getting used to things—to noises, habits, people. I didn’t say anything then, but I knew exactly what they meant.

Because now, when I sit down for tea, I’ll catch myself waiting for some ridiculous comment that won’t come. And when I walk through the halls, I’ll expect them to be there, up to some new nonsense.

…Hah. They really are impossible.

—

(You) About freedom

I thought I’d be excited to leave. Two months ago, I was counting down the days. But now that I’m out, everything just feels… off. Food tastes bland. The city is too quiet. My chest feels weird—like I forgot something important, but I don’t know what. Maybe I’m just not used to soft beds again? Or maybe I caught a weird underground sickness. …Yeah, that’s probably it.

(Wriothesley) About your absence

It’s quieter without them. Not peaceful, just… quiet. No one is pestering me about my tea habits, no one is trying to balance silverware on their face at lunch, and no one is calling me ridiculous nicknames. It should be a relief, right? That’s what I keep telling myself.

(You) About adjusting

I keep waking up expecting to hear guards talking outside. Instead, it’s just… silence. I must’ve gotten too used to the noise. Or maybe my sleep schedule is messed up. Or maybe—oh no. Is this withdrawal? Am I actually addicted to prison?!

(Wriothesley) About moving on

They’re out. They should be living their life, enjoying their freedom. And I should be focusing on my work. But every now and then, I’ll look at the cafeteria and half-expect them to be there, making some ridiculous comment about prison food. It’s a strange thing, getting used to someone’s presence—only to realize, too late, how much you actually miss it.

(You) About dumb ideas

Okay, so, hypothetically, if someone accidentally committed the same crime twice—purely by coincidence, obviously—would that be, like, really bad? Like, a longer sentence, perchance? …No reason. Just curious.

—

(Wriothesley) Character story: Sun

It was a slow day at the fortress, colder than usual, dimmer than what the Duke was used to. Since their release, he spent his time signing away some papers—names and files that came in a blur, none of them particularly interesting. The days felt longer, the usual routine dragging on without the usual interruptions.

Sigewinne checked in from time to time, making sure he was eating well and getting enough rest. And as much as he appreciated it, it just felt… different when it came from them. They had a way of making even the dullest moments feel lighter, like slipping bits of warmth into a place that wasn’t supposed to have any. He never realized how much he’d gotten used to it until it was gone.

He exhaled, shaking his head. Get a grip.

The door creaked as a guard stepped in, handing him the next batch of intake files. He took them without much thought, flipping through page after page of familiar offenses—smuggling, theft, fraud. Nothing unusual. Nothing worth a second glance.

And then he saw their name.

His movements stilled. At first, he thought he mixed up their old papers with the recent ones, but no—this was a fresh intake. The details stared back at him, just as ridiculous as the first time. He read the reason for their second sentence, and—

“Again?”

A laugh rumbled from his chest, caught somewhere between disbelief and amusement. He leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair as a grin tugged at his lips.

“Are you obsessed with ketchup or what?”

Before he could think too much about it, a knock echoed through his office.

“Come in,” he called.

The door cracked open just enough for him to catch a glimpse of familiar, mischievous eyes peeking through.

He sighed, shaking his head, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him, curling into a smirk.

“Welcome back, sunshine.”

—

[ckret2]

Chapter 81 of human Bill Cipher not enjoying being the Mystery Shack's prisoner but being even less keen on being the government's prisoner: the feds are snooping around the shack, nobody likes this, and so a family meeting is called to discuss how to send them packing.

####

"I just kept telling him I didn't know anything," said Soos. He was slumped bonelessly on the couch, wiping his sweaty forehead with his sleeve and holding a soda in one shaky hand. "I accidentally said I don't know anything when he asked where he could get lunch in town!"

"You did good, Soos," Stan said. "That's how you handle feds—don't tell 'em anything."

Stan and Ford had called a household meeting, and now everyone was packed into the living room: Soos and the kids on the couch, Stan and Abuelita in the armchairs, Bill and Wendy at the living room table, and Ford out in the entryway so he could pace.

(Everyone was wearing deely boppers. Mabel had had a very productive day.)

Even Waddles and Gompers had been dragged to the mandatory meeting. Gompers had already eaten the pink pompoms off Waddle's deely boppers and was now trying to eat the hem of Dipper's shorts while Dipper tried to push him back from touching the sunburns on his legs.

"What are we gonna do?" Dipper asked. "Last year these guys tried to arrest Stan, and he was still using a fake name back then—so now, the agents could be after Stan or Ford."

"Dial back the pessimism. Right now, they're not after anybody," Bill said. "They're just following up on the eclipse from last week." And a tip about somebody dangerous in the shack. Bill pushed those worries aside. "They don't have any reason to come back!"

"Except the flash drive," Soos said. "Which they know is here. Inside the shack. Cuz they sensed it."

"Right. Yep. Except that," Bill said. "Hey, Dolores—howsabout you whip up one of your special 'welcome to the shack' dinners for them? I'm sure they'd enjoy it just as much as I did."

Dolores nodded thoughtfully. (The tiny sleigh bells on her deely boppers jingles.) "I could," she said. "But what would we do with the bodies?"

"We've got the perfect in-house body disposal! Chop 'em up and feed 'em to the pig."

"Nooo!" Mabel flung her arms protectively over Waddles. He oinked neutrally. "We're not feeding people to Waddles!"

"He'd probably love it!"

"Uh-uh."

"Fine, then the gnomes," Bill said.

Ford said, "Let's call murder 'Plan B.'"

Bill rolled his eye. "All right, smart guy, what's Plan A?"

Ford didn't immediately reply. He paced for another few seconds in the entryway, gathering his thoughts. "There are three ways this could end badly. We have to find a way to prevent all of them," he finally said. "One: the agents discover that there's something under the house and find the portal. Two: the agents remember there's something under the house, and realize they've been brainwashed. Three: the agents retrieve their flash drive, and that reminds them something's under the house."

Stan added, "And if any of those happens, we're both going to jail. Probably Soos too, as an accomplice. Kids might even be in trouble for escaping custody last year." Dipper and Mabel exchanged an alarmed look.

Bill looked at Wendy. "Hey, look who's off the hook." He held up a hand.

"Woo-hoo!" She high-fived him. "We'll visit the rest of you guys in jail."

Mournfully, Mabel asked, "If we get arrested, can you send me crayons?"

"I'll get you one of those boxes with a hundred crayons," Bill said. "And hide a shank in that yellowy green one you never use."

"Thanks."

But if any of those three scenarios came true, that meant government agents crawling all over Bill's portal. Best case scenario, it'd end up halfway across the country in a secret military base. There was tech left in the wreck in the basement that couldn't possibly be synthesized using Earth's current technology, and the Trilazzx Betian ship didn't have backup parts for all of them.

And that wasn't even taking that anonymous tip into account...

"I shouldn't have to go to jail," Ford grumbled. "I wasn't behind the crimes committed in my name, Stanley was."

"Hey," Stan said, "you're the one who impersonated a government agent! Besides, did you really not commit any crimes while building your dumb portal?"

Ford winced. "What's the statute of limitations on burgling radioactive waste?"

"Don't worry, Mothman," Bill called. (Ford self-consciously adjusted his deely boppers, which had paper moths taped to the ends.) "I tossed most of the incriminating evidence in the bottomless pit while you were asleep!"

"Wh— Is that where my lockpicking kit went?!"

"Haha, yeah!" Bill had bought Keyhole's loyalty for the next three hundred years with that.

Wendy waved a hand between Bill and Ford to interrupt their banter. "We can probably keep them from discovering the portal by just not giving them a reason to look behind the vending machine, right?"

"And if we keep them from getting Gompers, they won't get the flash drive," Dipper said.

Mabel said, "What if we put him on a plane to Japan! Do you wanna go to Japan, Gompers?"

Gompers looked at Mabel impassively.

"It's no good," Abuelita said. "It will take weeks to get a passport for the goat."

"Aww."

"There are plenty of ways we can keep their hands off the drive," Ford said. "We could just hide Gompers underground, for instance—there's no way their sensors can reach that far.

Oh no, not when it was clear someone had been down there tinkering with the portal. "Do that and they'll know we did something to hide it! We'll never get rid of them then."

"True," Ford sighed.

Bill said. "I'm most worried about them remembering something on their own. The agents mentioned the portal's gravitational anomalies from last summer—are they remembering something they shouldn't, or did you leave them with those memories?"

Ford hesitated, glancing uncertainly at Stan. Stan shrugged.

"Oh, right. You aren't the expert on how the memory gun operates." Bill rolled his eye toward Wendy. "You see how helpless he is without me around to feed him information?"

"Pshh, shut up. Keep me out of your weird old people academic grudge."

Dryly, Ford said, "Care to enlighten us with your superior knowledge, o god of wisdom?"

No, he really didn't. Not for Ford, anyway. He wouldn't even be grateful for it.

But, under the circumstances—knowing that the agents were after him, too... "Oh, why not," Bill said. "What did you enter in the gun? The exact wording."

Ford frowned, glancing toward the ceiling as he concentrated. "It was... I didn't know exactly how much they knew—I didn't even know which names they knew Stan under—so I tried to make it as broad as possible. I think it said something like 'Pines Household's Secrets'?"

Bill thought that over. "Okay. Okay, yeah, that works. That's perfect, actually—best answer you could have given. You never disappoint, IQ."

Ford was visibly unmoved by the flattery (which was just as well, because Bill had given it out of habit as he slid back into the role of teacher, and had immediately regretted it). "And I suppose you're going to explain why that wording is so important."

"I could," Bill said. "Do you want to know?"

Ford glowered at Bill, lips pressed together in a thin line. Bill stared back, brows arched expectantly. (Wendy looked between the two of them and snorted. Bill pushed her without breaking eye contact with Ford.)

Mabel said, "I wanna know."

"Good enough for me!" Bill hopped from his seat and crossed the living room to a spot where he could address the group more easily. "The memory gun doesn't actually destroy memories, it just severs the connections between those memories and the rest of the brain. Like snipping a squid's tentacles to free it from a squid king."

"What's a squid king?" Soos asked.

"It's like a rat king made of giant squid. It takes at least four to qualify because if their tentacles are knotted in a circle that's just a squid ring," Bill said. "So! Usually you find your own memories by their relationship to other memories. Driving by the grocery store reminds you that you need to go shopping, which reminds you that you're out of straws, which reminds you of when your doctor's eye got gouged out, which reminds you of those vampires in the library, which reminds you of that book you need to return, yadda yadda."

Stan said, "Wait, your doctor got what—?"

"He was fine, he had it coming, and I was nowhere nearby."

"And how's that get you to vampires?!"

"The tangy taste of blood left in your straw. Please hold any other questions to the end!" Bill said. "But, since the memory gun severs a memory from the ones connected to it, you can't be indirectly reminded of it—the chain's been broken. But the memory'sstill there. All it takes is a direct reminder to recall it, and then it starts reattaching to your other memories. Everyone with me so far?" He directed the question in Mabel's direction.

Mabel nodded. Ford opened his mouth to ask a question.

"Great," Bill said. "But! What gets severed is determined by whatever you programmed into the gun. So, for example, if you run into a vampire in the library, then get shot with a memory gun programmed with the word 'Vampires,' there's no more jumping from your doctor to that late book! And you won't remember your vampire encounter if you wander around the library—at most, you might get a sense of deja vu—but you will get back your memory of the whole thing if you run into another vampire!"

He nodded toward Ford. "So 'Pines household's secrets is the best phrase you could've picked. It means they forgot any Pines secrets—including Stanley's criminal record—any household secrets—including the machine in the basement—and since they only forgot the 'secrets,' they can run into anything that isn't secret without recovering their severed memories—like, say, the entire upstairs of the shack."

Slowly, Ford said, "Then that's why they remember last year's gravitational anomalies. The cause is one of our secrets, but the anomalies themselves aren't a secret—they're a matter of public record."

"Bingo," Bill said. "Well! That should be simple enough. Any questions?"

Mabel raised a hand.

Bill pointed at her. "Yes!"

"Are there vampires at the library?"

"Not anymore!"

"Aw."

Dipper asked, "Did you murder your doctor with a straw?"

"I did not and I won't be taking any more questions on the topic, it was a very traumatic experience" for the patient who went in after Bill.

Stan asked, "Why are you wearing a bedsheet for a skirt."

"Because somebody—" Bill shot Soos a dark look, "grabbed all my perfectly clean clothes for laundry day, and left me with a bedsheet and one dirty t-shirt."

Soos chuckled sheepishly. "Whoops. Sorry, dude."

Ford grudgingly raised a hand.

Bill grudgingly said, "What."

"Are squid kings real."

"Yes. As of last summer there were seven with at least fifty giant squid, but two were negotiating a merger so it might be six by now. I haven't had a chance to check!"

"Negotiating a merger? Do—do they combine voluntarily?"

"Oh, sure. In droves. It's a huge honor! The one I'm friends with says the psychic powers are totally worth the eventual zombification—they're ninety percent undead now and haven't regretted it once in five hundred years."

Ford opened his mouth, got stuck between three questions, and didn't manage to settle on one before Abuelita raised a hand.

Bill's attention switched to her. "Yes!"

With an air of patience unwarranted by Bill's actions, Abuelita asked, "Why are you standing on my TV."

Bill looked down. So he was. "This is my lecture podium."

Abuelita's eyes narrowed. Bill cheerfully ignored her. "Any questions about the memory gun?"

There was a general murmured agreement that, no, that part had been pretty clear. Stan snapped, "Now get off the TV."

As Bill hopped down and caught his balance, Wendy said, "So... as long as they don't know any of the shack's secrets and we get the flash drive out of Gompers before they're back, we're cool, right? We can just erase their files and say 'hey, sorry, the goat pooped this out, totally not our fault.' If they don't remember anything, it's not like they've got a reason to keep investigating the shack."

Bill tried to imagine how they'd react if he told them someone had anonymously reported him to the agents. What if they decided scapegoating him could protect the rest of them from the investigation? (And was he sure it wasn't someone in the room who'd reported him?) "Yep! Pretty much! That'd solve our problems!"

"Okay," Wendy said. "Great. So... we're good, right?"

The room studied each other uneasily, everyone waiting for someone else to answer. "Yes," Ford said unconvincingly. "We're good. Er—kids, we need to... discuss the details of... how to handle this. You don't need to stick around." He looked at Stan. Stan gave him a slight nod. (It made the googly eyes on his deely boppers wiggle.)

Dipper and Mabel exchanged a glance. Dipper said, "Are you sure? We could..."

"I'm sure. Maybe you should go upstairs," Ford said. "Leave Gompers here."

Mabel sat up straighter, preparing to argue, and glanced toward Bill; but when Bill shrugged rather than ready to defend her, she sighed and poked Dipper. "C'mon." ("Ow." He pushed her finger away from his sunburned arm.) They left reluctantly, Mabel escorting Waddles along with her.

Ford tilted his head toward the door. "That means you too, Miss Corduroy. Hup hup."

Wendy groaned. "Fine." She slid out of her seat and headed for the door. "Hey Goldie, let me know if anything interesting happens."

"You got it, cool girl."

Soos raised a hand. "Am I one of the kids?"

"Not today," Ford said.

"Aw."

Sensing a change in the atmosphere, Abuelita got to her feet. "I will get dinner started." She shuffled out of the room.

Bill waited until the door shut behind Wendy and he was sure the kids were upstairs; and then asked, "So are we kicking the kids out for the reason I think?"

"Afraid so. Now that the government knows the flash drive is here, they'll be back with a warrant as soon as possible. We can't waste any time." Ford knelt next to Gompers and pulled out a scalpel. "Somebody hold the goat down."

"Whoa!" Stan jumped to his feet. His deely bopper googly eyes rattled in alarm. "Were you just carrying that around?!"

Bill was abruptly reminded of one of the reasons he'd liked Ford. He squatted next to him. "All right, I can see where the drive's lodged, I can tell you where to cut—"

"Dudes!" Soos flung himself across Gompers. 'You can't cut him open! He's like part of the family! He's been eating out of the shack's garbage for years, does that mean nothing to you?!" (Gompers attempted to eat the foam lightning bolts off Soos's deely boppers.)

Bill groaned. "Come on, who cares?! It's not like he's a person anymore!"

The room stared at Bill. Stan said, "Did you say 'anymore'?"

Bill paused. "Forget I said that."

Ford sighed. "Fine, we'll try to find a solution without surgery." (But, Bill thought, he sounded a little disappointed.) "But if we're using a slower method, the agents might be back before we can retrieve the flash drive. We need a way to stop them from finding it."

"Or from finding the door behind the vending machine," Soos said. "Now that they know the drive's been here, they're gonna keep looking until they find it! What if they think it might've fallen behind the vending machine or something?"

"What we need is a distraction," Stan said. "Something that'll keep 'em from searching the shack too thoroughly."

"And ideally, something that will keep them from coming back," Ford said. "They keep returning to Gravity Falls because of the power surges and related gravity anomalies in town, correct? Obviously, the meteor shower story wasn't convincing enough. If we give them an explanation that lets them close the case completely..."

Which was all well and good, except they weren't just looking for power surges and gravity hiccups anymore. They thought somebody in the shack was a threat to national security. Bill had kept suspicion away from himself for the day by pretending to be a tourist, but if the eagles got serious, that wouldn't last long. If they were watching the shack, they'd realize Bill was a resident; and if they tried to investigate him at all, they'd quickly realize they couldn't find any legal records of his existence. Not to put too fine a point on it, but the Theraprism's reincarnation machine hadn't given him the right skin color to get away with that in this country, especially during a witch hunt for a suspected terrorist.

And, worse—what if they did identify him?

He'd heard Agent Trigger say Soos's alien keychains resembled the "real thing." The Bureau of Covert Investigations didn't tell all its agents about all its cases—but it sounded like these two had been to Hangar 618 at least once.

So had Bill.

Over 60 years ago, a military experiment had accidentally ripped open a very small hole to the Nightmare Realm. Not big enough for Bill to squeeze his full self through (HA! Not even close), but big enough to project a hologram through—something solid enough for the soldiers who'd detected the temporary rift to see and touch. And, naturally, they'd hauled his hologram to Hangar 618—the five-sensed suckers thought the projection was his real body—where they hid all their unidentified fallen objects.

It had been fun! He'd gotten to use all his army name puns (Major Pain, General Disarray, Private Shame, etc.), he'd lived out a centuries-old dream of snorting a line of gunpowder, he'd gotten Commander I-Don't-Even-Know-'Er to sing "On Top of Spaghetti" in exchange for Bill agreeing to leave the artillery room, he'd learned a dirty joke from the nurse brought in to assist with his vivisection, he'd introduced himself to half the base...

He'd introduced himself.

Somewhere, probably in some redacted appendix to Project Blue Book, the US military had a file on Bill Cipher—and so did the eagles. They knew his name. Hell, they even had his thumbprints—obviously alien thumbprints, that he'd retained when he reincarnated. Every object in the shack he'd ever touched carried the proof that he was Bill Cipher.

If whoever had sent the Bureau a tip had mentioned his name... Well, there were a lot of Bills in America, but not a lot using the last name "Cipher." There were probably under fifty living humans who knew about the triangle in Hangar 618, but for those who did, hearing that name resurface in Gravity Falls would blow their gelatinous little minds. He was sure they would love to get their hands on him again. He bet they'd be fascinated to find out how a triangle had fit into a human skin.

Getting hauled into a secret government facility had only been fun when his true self was still in the Nightmare Realm and the part of him in captivity had been a projection made of light, dreams, and lethal doses of radiation. Plus, that had been before he really, truly knew what it was like to be a captive. Now, the thought of being hauled back to that interrogation room—with the cheap metal chairs and gray floor and gray walls and stark sharp light—made him nauseous. The idea of being questioned about himself by some arrogant buzzkill in a suit sounded too much like therapy for comfort.

And it would be so much easier for them to keep him from escaping when he was weighed down by flesh.

Nobody was protecting Bill. The Pines weren't above throwing him under the bus if they thought it might save their precious little family from arrest. There was nothing for it. If he wanted to save himself—he had to help.

"Listen," Bill said. "I have an idea. It's iffy, and it'll require you all to trust me a bit..." He paused to give them an opportunity to laugh.

Only Stan chuckled. Good enough for Bill. "But, it might be our best shot."

"Okay," Ford said warily. "What is it."

"Bear with me," Bill said. "I bet I could get the head agent off our case by flirting with him a little."

And that time they laughed at him.

Bill patiently waited. "Okay, okay, ha ha, but the guy's been leering at me the last two days. Ask Wendy, she's the one who noticed! And do you know what his love life looks like? Because I do. Woof. Dry as a bone. That man's married to his work! He's lonelier than Elvis is!"

"Wait," Ford said. "What does that mean? Where's Elvis?"

"Not important. The point is, he's a soft target, he's already into this—" he gestured disdainfully at his human body, "and he's got the loosest lips in the eagles. I make a little small talk, I compliment his mustache and pretend I think working for the government is attractive, I keep him too dazzled to notice what's right in front of his face..." Bill trailed off. "And... that's as far as I've gotten. We'll figure it out as we go! Maybe I just distract him too much to do his job, maybe I strangle him in the bathroom and sell his body parts to half a dozen inhuman vendors in the Crawlspace, I don't know! I'll improvise!"

"It's barely half a plan," Ford said.

"It's the biggest fraction of a plan we have. What do we have to lose?"

"I think he might be on to something," Stan said. "I mean, consider it. Bill's an objectively beautiful woman."

The room stared at him. Bill flipped up his eyepatch to double his stare.

"What! It's just a fact!"

"Aww, Stan." Bill laced his hands together coquettishly and batted his lashes.

"Save it."

"Stanley. I had no idea you felt that way about me—"

"Can it, Cipher! " Stan curled a fist threateningly. Bill winked at him. Stan shuddered. "Eugh. Physical attraction's only gonna carry you so far, demon! Can you attract a man when you're talking to him? Because personally, I find you less appealing every time you open your mouth—and you were in the negatives the first time we met."

Bill thought about that. Bill thought about all his human cultists. Bill thought about all his human cultists whom he'd caught having scandalous dreams about endless staring eyes and cool black hands that buzzed with static and being fully exposed before the golden glory of an ever-watching false sun. Bill thought about that one time he tried to ask one of his sects to at least invite him to his own wedding and wait for him to RSVP before symbolically marrying more cult novitiates to him and they sorta nodded and said "okay" and then went and wedded him to another dozen Cipherwives anyway. "Yeah! Sure! No problem! I attract humans all the time! They can't get enough of this!"

"Okay, but can you attract a human that isn't into freaky space triangle things?"

Bill tapped his index fingers together thoughtfully. "Ummm..."

####

1981

A clubber eyed the hands of the man sitting at the bar beside him.

The man noticed the look and turned toward the clubber, grinning too wide, staring at him with yellowish slitted eyes that seemed to flash in the dim light like a cat's. "Yeah, I know." He drummed his fingers on the bar top. "Six fingers."

The clubber flinched at being caught staring. "Oh—sorry."

"Don't be! It's a built-in conversation starter!" The six-fingered yellow-eyed man laughed. "Hey! Have you ever had six fingers before?"

"Uhh," the clubber said. "Nnno?"

"Would you like to?" The man winked with both eyes, one at a time.

The clubber frowned at him in confusion, and then slowly turned away without answering.

####

"Sure," Bill cheerfully lied. "No problem!"

####

There was a knock on the attic bedroom door. Mabel opened it.

Stan and Ford stood in the doorway with a sulky Bill in between them. Stan pushed Bill into the room and said, "Teach him how to flirt."

Mabel gasped in delight.

####

(Well that took way later than I wanted it to—but it's finally out.

Head's up, I've got two zine deadlines that take priority, my workload triples at the end of the year, and I'm currently preparing the house to welcome home a new baby*, so we might skip next week's chapter. Hopefully not, though; I'd hate to start the new year that way. We'll see.

*it's a snake. the new baby is a boa constrictor.

Let me know what y'all think! I'm looking forward to hearing your thoughts.)

[rishiguro]

VERDICT - NEUVILLETTE

warnings: mentions of murder. mentions of minor character death. reader has a brother. 3k+ words

a/n: happy angstober people

angstober event

you’ve heard a lot of stories about the fortress of meropide growing up in fontaine.

a prison, not just underground, but underwater, hidden from everybody. a place to lock away the criminals, with barely anybody ever returning after they served their time. personally, you’ve never encountered anybody that actually went there, only a couple of imposters, posing for the media with some wild stories. and while most of these stories sounded like they were trying too hard to get people’s attention with some wild preposterous claims and grotesque details, no one could ever really disprove whatever was said.

an aura of mystery surrounded the fortress and its so-called ‘duke’, like a thick fog, and everybody who dared to enter it to find out what was on the other side would never come back to tell the tale. 

who knows, you probably wouldn’t either.

because there was nothing left for you on the surface anymore. just like it was the case for so many people that you had briefly seen when you were given a small part of the fortress – your new home.

refusing to look at the man who was arguably the sole reason why you were in here in the first place, you kept looking up at the dirty ceiling above you. 

could you really spend the rest of your life here? the label ‘criminal’ forever stamped on your forehead for a crime you didn’t commit? 

tears welled up in your eyes as you remembered why you were in here, your chest tightening.

brother.

he seemed to notice your distress while sitting next to you, leaning his body slightly forward. “i’m afraid there’s nothing i can do,” neuvillette said, his voice sounding as apathetic as it did when he had sentenced you. 

blinking rapidly to clear your vision, you shook your head. “there must be,” you answered, turning your head a little. he couldn’t just leave you here, there had to be something he can do, anything, even if it was using his position of power as a literal ‘get-out-of-jail-card’. he couldn’t just turn his back on you, could he? “i swear, i didn’t do it. i’m innocent”

the man sighed, you don’t know if it was in defeat or annoyance. “you were proclaimed guilty”

proclaimed guilty by him. 

you clenched your jaw, pulling yourself up to sit upright on the bed, directly facing neuvillette now. “i thought you said you believed me”

for a long time, his belief in you was the only thing that kept you going. frankly, it was the only thing that helped you stay sane during your trial, the thing that kept you from bursting in tears as the prosecutor told some dramatic story to frame you for the heinous crime you were in for now.

crossing his arms in front of his chest, he looked down for a second, as if to gather his thoughts, carefully weighing his words in his mind. “this isn’t about what i believe in” 

you had to stop your jaw from falling slack, replaying his words over and over again in your mind. not about what he believed in? was this supposed to be a bad joke? a shocked laugh escaped you. he couldn’t be serious. “you’re the chief of justice! of course it’s about what you believe in!” you tried you best to keep your voice calm, but couldn’t help but get a little heated.

“it’s about what’s factual,” he replied immediately, his tone clearly not allowing any kind of protests. his eyes narrowed as he looked at you coldly, clenching his jaw for a second. he took a breath before continuing, his voice back to a regular volume. “and all the evidence is stacked against you” 

as he was talking you already shook your head in disbelief. “i’m innocent! why would i do such a horrible thing?” you reached out to him, grabbing his arm as he turned away, seemingly not wanting to see your outburst. was ist shame that was written all over his face? regret?

“tell me!” you demanded loudly, digging your fingers a little deeper into his arm in desperation. you had to stop yourself from shaking him as your voice grew unsteady and your breather grew a little flatter. “why would i kill my own family, my brother, when he’s the only person i had left?!”

it seemed like he didn‘t have an answer to that, not facing you while you looked at him, waiting for any kind of explanation.

he promised you that he believed you when you came to him with shaky knees and teary eyes, recounting the horrible accusations thrown your way.

he comforted you when you broke down crying, embracing you in one of his rare hugs unprompted while he muttered soft words into your ear, reminding you to breathe regularly.

he held you when you lashed out, angry at your brother for leaving you alone in this scary world and he held you when you fell apart later, feeling guilty for being the only one left and guilty for being angry at your brother in the first place. it wasn‘t his fault — and he certainly never wanted to leave you, you knew that.

the world was cruel and unjust.

but until now you believed that there was some sort of justice and fairness and neuvillette was the only reason you believed that.

even before you had met him you knew about him. his reputation was practically flawless — the people of fontaine spoke about him in a highly manner, a few maybe even more highly than they spoke of their archon: neuvillette was moral, just, fair, his verdicts always being the same ones that the oratrice mecanique d‘analyse cardinale would give, which made him seem infallible. 

and you believed it too. until he became the reason why you believed that the kind of justice served in fontaine wasn’t true, proper justice.

until you lost hope in the only thing that helped you stay sane after you came across the cold body of your own brother.

a shiver ran over neuvillette‘s back when he heard you laugh after his long silence. quickly you let go of his arm, dropping it like it was replaced by hot coals. “i can’t believe it,” you scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief again. this had to be a joke. would he really lie to you like that when you were the most vulnerable? “you never believed me when i said i didn’t do it, did you?”

much to your dismay, he stayed quiet, only pursing his lips slightly before pressing them together into a thin line. would he really betray you like that? was he ever on your side? “answer me!”

only when hearing your desperate pleas did he look at you again with his determined eyes. “i did. i thought you had no motive” he cleared his throat, shifting slightly in his seat before crossing his legs like he always did. “as you said, i didn’t think you’d gain anything from murdering your brother”

you recognized this neutral look on his face — the very same look he always took on whenever he was in court, listening to the defender and the prosecutor and finally also delivering his verdict.

“what changed?” you clenched your jaw, anxious about his answer. 

what would it be? did he let himself be swayed by the public opinion, listening to the voices booing your story out? did he trust the prosecutor's fabricated and seemingly flawless story? or were you simply not convincing enough?

“the facts changed,” he calmly stated, making you huff in disagreement.

“bullshit,” you spat, “you just found another story to believe in”

not waiting a second to retort, he leaned back slightly. “i told you, it's not about what i want to believe in, delusions aren’t what makes our justice. it’s fairness, facts,” he sighed. you don‘t know if it was in defeat or in a disappointed manner. his voice became sharper again its him putting his chin higher. “and that is what i represent”

“you‘ve convicted an innocent person,” you declared, mirroring his expression and posture. 

he would leave you here to rot, by now you were sure of it. and yet to you it seemed like he didn‘t really grasp the gravity of this.

neuvillette convicted you of murder. and if this wasn‘t bad enough, he truly believed that you had it in yourself to kill your own brother, your flesh and blood.

the only person you had left.

“i don’t give the final verdict. that is out of my hands,” he claimed, clearly referring to the oratrice — the huge scale behind himself in the court‘s opera epiclese.

was he really pinning the blame on a machine, denying any kind of involvement in your current situation? like he had nothing to do with this?

wasn‘t he supposed to be independent and just? wasn‘t this why he prided himself in his position and why the people of fontaine trusted him? because their beliefs aligned?  

“yet your decisions are always the same. how could you do this to me?”

instead of answering, neuvillette stood up, turning his back on you and taking a few steps towards the exit of your cell, well, dormitory.

could he really just leave like this and leave you behind? did he not feel any kind of remorse, pity, pain?

the echoing steps came to a halt a few moments after. you looked up at him again, only to realize he had already reached the exit. he had his hand on the dark wall, looking at you over his shoulder.

he couldn‘t even properly turn around to talk to you and face you after dooming you?

“i’m afraid there’s nothing i can do,” neuvillette stated in a matter-of-factly tone, “your sentence will be carried out accordingly, unless you wish to evoke your right to challenge a duelist”

so this was it? he would just go and leave you here?

“if there is nothing you wish to say to me, i’ll take my leave”

you knew neuvillette didn‘t exactly feel the way you did. he had troubles with emotions, often lacking the proper words to fully express himself and describing what was going on inside of him. and you used to pride yourself in being able to understand him regardless, possessing the ability to read him almost like an open book. you helped him navigate through the complicated world of feelings, taking your time and going at your speed.

but right now, you were second-guessing everything. was he even capable of any kind of emotion? did he just fool you all this time?

did he truly not feel any kind of remorse for what he did, for what he was doing?

you shook your head in disbelief. this had to be a joke, a sick prank someone played on you and somehow got not just the entire nation of fontaine, but also somehow managed to get neuvillette to play along. at least that‘s what you wanted to believe. “so that’s supposed ‘justice’” 

neuvillette turned around, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “it is justice,” he stated, “it’s about facts, not fiction”

you almost burst out laughing as he said that, so convinced of the system he served in. 

and truly, you once were too.

but you couldn‘t, not anymore. not after seeing how the trial against you turned into some sort of drama, like it was straight out of a book. journalists were publishing articles with grotesque headlines, bombarding you with horrendous questions that left you cringing uncomfortably. 

you watched as the story the prosecutor told got more and more dramatic, pointing at you accusatory as he recounted the ‘true events‘ of the fateful night, completely ignoring whatever you said to dispute his claims. “it’s not about facts, it’s about convenience! it’s just theatrics and entertainment!” you yelled as you jumped on your feet, not being able to contain your voice any longer.

“whoever presents the story that convinces the most people will win. and the people of fontaine are so easy to be swayed,” you continued, not letting the man in front of you get a single word in, “so thirsty for some juicy drama that lets them forget about their boring lives”

you couldn‘t stop yourself from scoffing again before letting a condescending laugh escape you. “and they don’t even have the critical thinking to reflect on everything”

your trial simply proved what you just told him. your point of view, your truth, simply didn‘t matter to the prosecutor or to the public. their story seemed to convenient, something that could be right out of a criminal novel that they loved to devour so much. the headlines in the newspaper were too sensational to be considered factual, too virulent to make any person doubt it. 

“the public’s opinion does not sway the sentence,” neuvillette claimed with a clenched jaw, starting to look agitated. 

and it seemed like they managed to get neuvillette on their side too. 

a sad smile appeared on your face. “then i guess you’re stupid too” stupid for not listening to your side, stupid to believe the prosecutor, stupid to not make a rational judgment.

too stupid to realize that your supposed motive wasn’t a motive at all.

money. why would you kill your own brother for money when the two of you never had anything to begin with? you couldn’t steal something when there wasn‘t anything in the first place. neuvillette knew that. he knew you came from nothing, he knew the two of you had nothing. 

and even if it was a motive — no amount of money would ever be able to heal the wound you had sustained from losing your brother.

how could he be so stupid?

“you’re acting childish,” he stated calmly. 

you were in jail and possibly would never see the light of day again. you were locked in an underwater fortress for a crime you didn‘t commit and nobody believed you.

and his worry was that you were acting childish?

“oh, i’m sorry for not being calm and collected like you after being unjustly sentenced for murdering my own brother!” you raised your voice at him again, angrily stepping closer to him. “and that by the one person that i thought actually believed me”

you had to swallow down the lump in your throat again, blinking rapidly before looking into his eyes again. 

how could he do this to you? was he truly so heartless? 

would he really leave you here, alone and heartbroken?

a familiar warm hand slightly caressed your cheek. “i love you,” he whispered to you, in the same loving voice he had always used with you. “but i cannot make any exceptions” he stepped back, the warmth leaving your cheek again, letting the cold creep up to you again. he looked almost hurt himself and you were almost willing to feel pity for him — maybe if he wasn’t the chief of justice. maybe if he couldn’t put a stop to all of this, “not even for you”

maybe if he had kept his promise to you.

your fingertips grazed over your cheek, longing for the warmth that neuvillette’s hand provided just a few seconds earlier. your chest tightened as you dug your teeth into your lower lip, feeling your eyes well up again. “so that’s it? you love me, but not enough to believe me? not enough to keep me safe? free?”

you clenched your fists at your sides, not noticing that he was doing exactly the same.

“this is about so much more than just you!” he exclaimed angrily, his voice practically booming off the walls, “you’re too self-centered to understand this!” 

did not wanting to rot in prison after being framed for a crime really make you self-centered? was that all he thought of you now?

“it’s my duty! my promise to the people from fontaine, my promise to our archon and my promise to myself to uphold justice,” he continued his rant, his voice growing uncharacteristically theatrical. 

was he really just a part of the theatrics of fontaine‘s supposed just court? was his equitable self just a ruse, an act he put on to fit in?

did you ever really know him?

“what about your promise to me?” your voice wasn‘t much more than a whisper as you spoke, looking up at him. not that you‘d be able to actually see him with how blurry your vision got from the tears in your eyes.

as childish and naive as it was, you couldn‘t help but wish for him to remember.

it was a late summer night, the first evening where you could finally go out. the past days it had rained with seemingly no end in sight and now you felt like you could finally breathe again.

you had been strolling around the city without any real goal, simply admiring how many people enjoyed the summer warmth after so many cold and wet days. 

neuvillette‘s hand was entangled with yours, the two of you walking in silence, simply enjoying each other‘s company. you had been seeing each other for a while now and yet it was still early enough for you to feel slightly nervous whenever you were near him, stomach turning and feeling butterflies when you held hands, hugged or kissed. 

it was on that day when he pulled you close to the fountain of lucine, wrapping his arms around you as the two of you spend some time listening to the ambience — the water running, the pigeons and other birds chirping and the few people talking around you, some whispering wishes to the fountain, some gleefully joking with each other. 

most people had already left when he turned you around to face him, letting go of your waist to grab your hands, pressing a kiss on your knuckles before he spoke.

it was the first time that he told you that he loved you, finally revealing just how much he cared for you and cherished you. how he would do everything in his power to protect you, how he would always believe you and how he would always stay by your side. 

how even when everybody turned their back on you, you would always have him. 

and yet here you were now.

you didn’t know what you would prefer — him forgetting about that day or him remembering, but simply not caring enough to act on it.

like everything he had told you — promised you — has been a lie. 

clenching his jaw, neuvillette turned around again.

no.

blinking away your tears you weakly called out his name, a part of you still expecting him to turn around.

don‘t go.

you hoped for a miracle, a change of heart. you wanted him to rush to you, to comfort you, to love you again.

maybe then everything would turn out to be okay again.

you stumbled, the back of your knees hitting the chair he had been sitting earlier, falling onto it.

don‘t leave me.

you still hoped that everything was just a big mistake.

you called out to him again, fighting against the tears that kept welling up in your eyes, leaving neuvillette‘s figure in front of you all blurred again. “what about that? why can you betray me like that, but not them?”

“i’m sorry” and with that he left, not even sparing you a single glance on his way out, as you pulled your knees up, hugging them while the tears began to roll over your cheek again.

reblogs are appreciated !

[seellove]

Could You Stay a Little Longer // drug dealer!sukuna x reader

Masterlist

Chapter 3 // (6.4k words) // Explicit - 18+

\|/ AO3 - Chapter 3 | << Chapter 2 | Chapter 4 >>

You're pursuing a master degree across the country, but are currently back in your hometown housesitting for your parents. They've told you all about their undesirable new neighbor, but when you start to get to know said neighbor, you realize he isn't all that bad. Your controlling boyfriend won't let up on you and you grapple with enjoying the company of this drug dealing neighbor boy, Sukuna. Nothing about this is going the way you planned, but is it so bad to let yourself be treated well for a change?

The cultural setting for this is technically economically depressed, rural USA where good paying jobs are hard to come by and there's not many opportunities in small towns, but it could really be anywhere that meets this criteria!

Content Tags/Warnings Throughout Work: Reader and Sukuna are mid 20s, mentions of recreational drug use and drug dealing, mentions of abusive/controlling/manipulative relationship (not Sukuna), could possibly be considered cheating depending on your interpretation (not Sukuna), angst, smut, fluff, time skip, prison time, happy ending trust!

Day 5 - Continued

“This is a collect call from an inmate at the Southeastern Regional Jail, press 7 to accept.” 

No.

No no no no!

Your heart plummets as you stare down at your phone. You want to press it and find out it’s someone else, but you also can’t bring yourself to proceed knowing you’ll hear his voice on the other line. 

His voice. The man you gave everything to last night, who you fell in love with in five short days. 

The one whose arms wrapped you up as you fell asleep, envisioning the rest of your life together. 

It can’t be over already.

The message repeats, breaking you from your existential crisis. You have to accept it, it’s time to wake up from the dream and face reality.

“Hello?” you say cautiously after pressing 7.

You hold your breath, heartbeat thundering in your ears as you await his voice because deep down you know it’ll be him. 

Moments later, you hear his voice saying your name, and it all but shatters you. Your heart disintegrates into a thousand pieces and you feel light headed, realizing you stopped breathing when you accepted the call.  

“Hey baby,” his deep voice says again, “you there?”

Fuck.

“Sukuna. I’m here,” your voice is so shaky, trying to keep your composure but your body just doesn’t want to cooperate.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get those donuts. And that you had to wake up alone. To this.”

His voice is so tender and it hurts even more as he continues.

“I don’t have a lot of time, maybe another minute, but obviously you can see I got arrested.”

“What happened?” 

“Long story short, I came up on a wreck in the river, a mom with two kids. You know how these backroads are, so narrow and easy to over correct. Anyways, I stopped to help and I guess when it was all said and done, cops searched my car and found some stuff. Enough to probably put me away for a while. I’ll be arraigned tomorrow morning, already called my lawyer and everything.”

“When can I see you? I need to see you,” you feel the tears starting to drip down your chin like soft dew collecting on leaves in the humid morning air. They slowly fall, a sign of your world, your future as you know it, slipping from your grasp. 

“You’ll be able to get out right? It’s not too bad, just a little slip up right? People go to jail all the time” you stutter, feeling the panic starting to mount. 

“Should be able to see me after the arraignment. Contact the jail now, it needs to be 24 hours in advance. Should let you come in tomorrow afternoon.” 

You put him on speaker and text all that to yourself because you know you are barely absorbing anything right now.

“You’ll get out though right?,” you say again, noticing he didn’t comment. 

He doesn’t respond at first, instead the empty silence seems to last for an eternity as you wait with bated breath.

“I will, but I don’t know how long,” he finally says, his soft tone doing nothing to assuage your worries. 

“I have to go, come tomorrow, we can talk more, and…well, I really wanna see you. Dying to actually,” he says and you swear you hear his voice shake. 

“I will, I’ll be there,” you try to choke out. This time is precious and you can’t waste it crying.

“Hey tomato girl?” 

“Yeah?”

“I’m really sorry.”

The call cuts off without warning, his voice still echoing in your mind. A voice you wish you’d heard more of. You don’t even have a voicemail to replay, relying on your memories alone.

You now regret losing that one precious night together. If you’d have known your time would be cut short like this, you’d have spent every waking second with him up until now. Soaking up his soft kisses, his strong embrace, the endless puns and jokes he annoyed you with. Everything you took for granted. 

It has to be some sick joke the universe is playing on you. You’d only been his girlfriend for what? Twelve hours? You guess you still technically were. No one else knows though, which is odd considering he’s someone you’d actually be happy to introduce to people. You are all alone in carrying this information, there’s no one to talk to, no one knows he exists in your life. 

Your parents know him, but you can only imagine their reaction if you told them he was your boyfriend…oh and by the way he got arrested today.

Burying yourself in the sheets, you can’t hold back the tears anymore. They quickly turn into full blown sobs, your body visibly shaking from their intensity. The stark unknown of it all is paralyzing. After all your talks of dreams and plans to be together, all you see is nothing, no light at the end of the tunnel. 

People go to jail all the time though, surely it wouldn’t be more than a month or two. A year at most. Sukuna does have a record, but it seems like it never really landed him in a cell for that long. He had a lawyer, he said, they’d surely help get him out. 

Also, he said he had been helping someone! He was a Good Samaritan! And got punished for it. Wasn’t there some kind of trade off that could have happened? 

Your mind is a mess and you won’t be able to calm down until you talk to him tomorrow. For now you might as well try to eat something and take care of the house chores. 

Walking into the bathroom you are met by your neck littered with the evidence of last night. He was a menace in bed, and not in a bad way. You’d lose track of how many times he’d made you cum, probably more times than the last year as a whole. His stamina was insane and even when he couldn’t get it up, he resorted to his mouth and fingers, never leaving you hanging. 

It was the most memorable night you’ve ever had.

Maybe the last one for a while depending on how this all shakes out. You can’t imagine wanting someone else. You’d wait for him…right? You had to, you were together, he was worth waiting for. Leaving him behind when things get tough is the weak way out.

You leave to go back home in two days. You hope to God you’ll have some answers by then, but something tells you that you won’t. It’s more likely you’ll go back, no one will know anything about your relationship with Sukuna so you’ll suffer in silence, and you’ll have to rely on sporadic calls from jail. 

Maybe you could become friendly with his lawyer, or his friends and family. The more you consider it, the more insane it sounds. No one in his life knows you exist, you feel you have no right to know any information over those he’s known the longest.

What you have is real though, there’s no doubt in your mind. Everyone else however wouldn’t understand how you both could fall in love in mere days, hell you don’t even understand it, but you believe that this all happened for a reason, and you believe in the love between the two of you. 

Would they label you a gold digger? An opportunist? Someone only after the drug king’s money? If his parents could have heard his plans, they’d see it was so much more than that. He wanted to be better, he was going to be better. 

As you start to doom scroll on your phone to try and pass the time, you come across a post from your cousin. Then you remember he works at the jail! It’s one of the few decent paying jobs with good benefits in the area so he’s been there since graduating high school. 

He should be able to at least give you some information on what to expect. You find his contact and call him.

“Hey cuz,” his warm voice greets you from the other line.

“Hey there, how’s it going?” you ask, relieved to hear a familiar voice right now. You grew up together and have always remained close, even when you moved away.

“Oh the usual, just working to live,” he laughs. “You in town right?”

“Yes, that’s actually kind of why I called. I, um, oh shit, sorry,” you stutter, suddenly scared of divulging what was going on.

“Are you okay?” he asks, concern lacing his voice.

You mute the phone, taking a massive breath to try and compose yourself to keep the panic at bay. For some reason talking about it makes it more real and causes you to fracture all over again.

“I-no, not really. Look, if I tell you some stuff, can you promise to keep it between us?” you finally muster out.

“Umm, yeah. Ha, well depends,” he says with a nervous laugh. “Did you do something illegal?” 

“No! Nothing like that. Personal stuff. You promise?”

“Yes, hit me.”

“Someone I’m close to got arrested this morning. He’s in Southeastern…where you work,” you force out.

“He? Is it someone I know?” 

“Yes, it’s a guy. He’s…my boyfriend…or at least was, not sure how all that works when someone gets locked up,” you chuckle, “I don’t think you’d know him, he’s my parents neighbor.” 

“Oh shit. I’m-wow, I don’t know what to say. I’m really sorry you are going through this. Have you been able to talk to him yet? Normally once you get processed you are able to start making calls.” You can hear the empathy in his voice, and it makes you want to cry all over again at the thought of someone being there for you. 

“He called a little while ago. I don’t really know what happened, he didn’t go into many details.”

“How are you doing with the news? Are you okay?” your cousin asks. 

You start to choke up, unable to stop the emotion from bubbling up again. Fuck it though, he won’t make you feel bad.

“No…no I’m not. I’m devastated. I’m also scared. I have no idea what is going on, no idea what is going to happen, and all the unknown is killing me. Can you tell me what is going to happen?” you say between sobs, struggling to get the words out.

“Oh sweetie, I’m so sorry. I think that’s a normal response to someone close to you getting arrested. Been in this job for years now and I’ve seen all kinds of responses. All humans react differently, so what you are feeling is valid, just know that. 

Now to what happens. Well, he hopefully contacted a lawyer once he got processed. Tomorrow will be the arraignment at the courthouse. That’s where the charges are presented and you reply whether you will plead guilty or not guilty. It’s also where bail would be set. His lawyer will be there with him. You said you don’t know the nature of the crime?” 

“Just know it’s something with drugs. He’s got a record, that probably makes it worse right?”

“Maybe, drug charges are sometimes federally mandated depending on the amount and nature of it.  And if it’s been multiple offenses, it could double the sentence. Once the charges are presented, they’ll know pretty quickly what kind of time he’d be looking at.” 

You have no idea how much he had on him. Why the fuck did he have drugs with him anyways! You wish you could kick Sukuna right now…you might actually kick him tomorrow. What the fuck was he thinking!

“Okay, I don’t love that, but at least I have an idea of how this is going to shake out. What’s it like visiting someone in jail?” 

“It’s pretty simple. You get searched and go through a metal detector, then get brought down to a visitation room where you wait until the inmate is brought in. A guard will be in the room and you basically sit at a table and talk. It’s not all dramatic like in the movies with someone in chains in a sterile room, that’s maximum security type shit.”

Interesting, so you’ll be able to be in the same room as him. 

“Can you have physical contact? Like hugging and kissing?” you ask, a little embarrassed. All you want is to be pulled against his chest and feel his strong arms wrapping around your back. 

“Yeah, it depends on the guard how much they allow. I can find out who’s on duty tomorrow and tell them to take it easy on you.”

You’re starting to feel a little better about everything. Sukuna’s got a lot of money too, maybe he’ll be able to get out on bail! You’re not sure why you keep trying to convince yourself of these things, but it gives you hope until you can talk to him tomorrow.

You shoot the shit with your cousin for a little while longer before hanging up, collapsing on the couch and staring at the ceiling. 

It’s dark out, you didn’t even know you’d been on the phone that long, noticing the pitter patter of rain on the roof. At least it helps to make everything seem less hopeless and empty, providing background noise to focus on.

Even as you lay your head on your pillow that night, the sounds of rain falling through the leaves outside helps quell your racing mind. 

A fitting end to the day, even the sky was grieving now that you had no more tears left to fall. 

Day 6

You settle into the plastic chair the guard directs you too. The room is nothing special. Two other similar chair and table setups sit staggered in the room, the ceiling feels low, a vending machine hums in the corner, and there is very little natural light from the small windows along the wall. 

You chat up the guard for a bit and you find out he’s a good friend of your cousin which you are thankful for. He told you to just behave and not to do anything suspicious and he’d leave you both be for the most part.

The chair is super uncomfortable, but then again you figured comfort wasn’t high on the list of priorities for a jail. Guess you were lucky to have a chair at all.

Anxiety and anticipation are clawing at your insides. You are ecstatic to see Sukuna, but also terrified at learning more about the situation. Since last night you’ve been deluding yourself into this headspace of if you don’t know what’s happening, you won’t feel as bad. 

At least you’ll finally have some idea of the situation going forward, even if it’s bad news.

The door opens and his tattooed face and crimson eyes are the first thing you notice. Then it’s the exhausted look on his face and his hunched over figure in the orange jumpsuit as a guard holds his wrist cuffed behind his back. He lights up when he sees you, shooting you a grin that threatens to melt you into a pool under the table. It’s taking everything in you to not launch yourself across the room to jump into his arms but protocol said to wait until the guard gets him situated.

Also, those face tattoos in his prison attire makes him look even hotter as he moves across the room. Even through the loose clothing you can make out the outline of his chest and arm muscles. Obviously it’s not the scene you want to be witnessing, but you can’t argue that your man looks hot. Maybe a good Halloween costume idea in the future?

The future. 

What does that look like? It’s easy to envision your ideal life together, but every daydream gets derailed by an unknown force that makes everything go blank in your mind. The anxiety won’t allow you to see past this no matter how hard you try.

The guard passes him off to your cousin's friend who waits for the other guard to leave before removing the handcuffs. He whispers something to Sukuna, likely the same spiel that you got about leaving you alone on the condition that he doesn’t try anything stupid.

Sukuna turns, walking towards you. Once he approaches, you stand up and throw yourself against his chest, wrapping your arms around his back, hands barely touching due to his large stature. Burying yourself into the scratchy jumpsuit material, you dig your fingers into his back, squeezing him with everything you have as if making sure it's really him standing in front of you. 

You finally pull back and realize his chest is now damp from tears you didn’t even know came out. All you were focused on was holding him and touching him again while your body had this silent somatic response.

“Fuck you Sukuna! What the fuck were you thinking? What the fuck happened?” you choke out as grief overwhelms you. He just cages you against him, earning a chuckle in response as you sob into his chest. 

“It’s not fucking funny!” you try to slap him but he’s just too strong.

He leans back, staring down at you and hits you with that adorable boyish grin, pulling your chair out for you and gesturing for you to sit before he takes his spot on the other side.

“Don’t cry, we are together now. It should be a happy time,” his voice is soft, wiping away the tears from your face. 

“Well I was not happy to get a call from jail. Now tell me what fucking happened.” 

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you. I guess all the blood got trapped in my dick from the night before, and there wasn’t enough left for my brain,” he laughs, taking your hand in his, planting a kiss on your knuckles. 

“That’s not funny! This is serious!” you try to stifle a giggle, but it’s just impossible not to do that around him. You are glad he’s acting like his normal self, so carefree even in the face of tragedy. 

“Oh okay. Well, the other theory is that I had a bad case of post nut clarity and was like, I have to get away from this girl before she absolutely consumes me. Jail is the only place that would keep me from seeking you out,” he smirks again, leaning back his chair with his hands behind his head. 

The smug look on his face and the way he’s leaning back and spreading his legs across from you is so damn hot. The combination of tattoos and prison attire make him look like a true bad boy.

“You’re absurd,” you roll your eyes and smile back at him, fluttering your lashes. 

“Fuck you’re killing me sweets,” he bites his bottom lip, looking at you through lidded eyes that are darkening the longer he sits there. The intrusive thought of him bending you over and fucking you on this table is infiltrating your mind and you can’t be bothered to shut it down. 

“Hey you are the one riling yourself up over there,” you tease, earning a playful scoff from Sukuna.

“However, I bet you’re thinking the same thing I am right now,” you continue in a low voice, pressing your thighs together as you feel yourself slipping even deeper into the fantasy. This is not what you expected to happen, but there is something about him mentioning last night that is making your thoughts devolve into those moments with his breath hot on your neck, his fingers digging into your hips as his veiny cock dragged along your soft walls.

“If it involves this table and me being balls deep inside of you, you’d be correct,” he murmurs, giving you an almost predatory look as he licks his lips, eyes darting around the room before locking back onto your face.

“Oi guard!” he suddenly whips around, “can I touch my girl in here?” 

You feel yourself heat up in embarrassment at his audacious question. This is the opposite of behaving!

“The clothes stay on and you stay in your seat, inmate,” he responds with an amused look. 

“Oh so I can reach under this table and-“ 

“No. You can kiss, and hold hands above the table. That’s not what kind of visit this is,” he chuckles. 

“Fuck man, that’s brutal,” Sukuna turns back around with a pout, adjusting his pants as best he can. 

“I know, I’m sorry. All I can tell you is to try to get on the list for conjugal if you want to do that,” he says from across the room while Sukuna sulks, chin resting on his arms on the table. 

“What’s that?” you ask.

“A visit where you get an apartment to yourselves for 24 hours on the prison grounds. As you can imagine though, there’s a lot of prisoners and only one unit, and everyone wants to go for the same reason.” 

Oh. You feel odd being so open about sex in here, but fuck it, at this point you don’t really have a lot of options and surely this guard was used to dealing with sexually frustrated inmates. 

“Fucking you all night and then getting locked up immediately after is a special kind of hell,” Sukuna whines and the guard just laughs, walking back to the other side of the room. 

“Tell you what, I’ll give you some time while I take a piss. Ryomen, hands to yourself, stay in your chair, and clothes stay on. Miss, you can move around. You speak of this and I’ll make sure she never comes to visit you again, and I’ll certainly make sure you never get chosen for conjugal.” 

Sukuna’s eyes practically pop out of his head as he processes what the guard says. 

“I won’t say a word,” Sukuna’s voice rises in excitement, bolting straight up, eyes locked onto you as the guard handcuffs his arms behind the chair. 

“Woah, freaky,” he snickers as the guard leaves.

“Your time starts now,” he says as he shuts the door.

“Oh my god, pleaseeeee come touch my dick. Jerk me off, stroke me, rub me, I don’t even care, just fucking touch me. I neeeed it,” Sukuna is whining again, pushing himself back away from the table. 

He sounds like a pathetic teenager begging his girlfriend to feel him up for the first time and it makes you snicker as you move your chair next to him. It’s not hard to find his dick from the tent his erection is making in his pants. 

He hisses and tries to stifle a moan as you grab him through the fabric. He’s so hard, no wonder he’s throwing a fit. You grip him tightly and start pumping your hand along his clothed length. 

“Fuck baby oh my god,” Sukuna mutters as his eyes roll up to the ceiling before squinting shut.

“Can you finish in a minute?” you give him your most sultry tone as you start to move faster. 

“Mmm, gonna fuckin’ try. Feel like a fuckin’ virgin right now. So sensitive,” he groans. 

Sukuna starts bucking his hips up to meet your hand, his breaths getting heavier as he exhales deeply from his throat with each thrust.

You’ll try to help him out as best you can. Leaning against his neck, you give your best attempt at something similar to phone sex.

“Yeah? Thinking of me riding you? My cunt so tight and wet around your cock? Tits in your face bouncing while I take all of you soooo deep, ass clapping against your thighs.”

Sukuna moans again, hips jerking faster as you leave a trail of your hot breath on his neck.

“Fuck Kuna, keep going. Right there! Oh god Kuna, gonna cum all over your cock, grip it so tight and you better cum deep inside me. Won’t waste a drop baby-“

“Fuuuuuuckkkk” Sukuna emits a deep growl from his throat as he starts jerking in his seat and throbbing in your hand, clearly cumming in his pants. His eyes are squeezed so tight and jaw clenched so hard you swear he’s gonna break a tooth. 

He’s gasping for breath as you let go of him, head hanging down against his chest before sitting back up to plant a soft kiss on your cheek. 

“Ohhhh, my god. I fuckin’ love you,” he grins, a flush spreading across his face as you move back to your side of the table. He looks like a kid on Christmas morning. You’ve never seen someone so elated over a handjob through their clothes but hey beggars can’t be choosers right now.

“Alright, times up!” 

The guard comes back. He doesn’t say a word, just uncuffs Sukuna again and moves back to the other side of the room as if nothing ever happened. 

“Sorry you have to sit here now with your boxers all dirty,” you whisper.

“Goddamn don’t apologize, I’ll sit in my cum stained boxers for three days if it means you’ll touch me,” he laughs. 

“Crazy boy. But now I want some answers. What happened when you left the house and what happened at the arraignment earlier?”

Sukuna drags his hands down his face, clearly not excited to talk about this.

“Was trying to avoid this conversation honestly.”

“Sukuna, you were gonna keep me in the dark?”

“No! Not my intention. I just feel like you are gonna be disappointed in me and you aren’t going to like where I take this conversation.” 

You’re a little confused what he means by that, but you settle in to listen, nodding at him to keep talking.

“When I left your place, I had the bright idea to take the product I had in my house and pass it off to one of the subordinates nearby since I was going to the donut shop anyways. I was serious about leaving that world, so might as well jump start the process. 

So, as I’m driving, you know the bridge over the river after that section of sharp curves in the road? Well, I came out on the other side and saw a car in the river. I called the police, told them what was up, and went down to try to help. 

Long story short, it was a mom and two little kids. I pulled mom out first and told her to go to shore, then swam down and pulled the kids out one by one. One window was open thank god, they were just panicking though as the water was filling up. 

I told the kids to hang onto my back and got us back to shore. Everyone seemed okay, just in shock and terrified of what had happened understandably. 

Guess while this was happening, cops showed up and ran my plates, realized I had a suspended license, searched my car, and got arrested on the spot. A wild turn of events honestly.”

You stare in disbelief as he talks. That has got to be some of the worst luck you’ve ever heard. He did such a good thing, he could have kept going and left them to die. You’d probably still be snuggled up in bed together if he had.

The selfish side of you wishes he’d kept driving, which is kinda fucked, but the dark part of your mind can’t help it.

Sukuna is a good man though, and he’s paying the price for this series of unfortunate events. You both know he did the right thing and are glad he did save those innocent people.

“Why didn’t you just wait for someone to come to your house and get that shit ughhhhh,” you groan, burying your face in your hands. 

“I don’t know. If I could go back I’d have never left your bed,” he says softly, propping his head up on his hand, elbows resting on the table. “You just looked so peaceful and cozy I didn’t want to drag you out of there.”

You just stare at him, eyes glossy as you both hold back the tears. So much regret, everything could be so different if he���d have just stayed put. 

“And the arraignment?” 

He sighs, looking down at the table to collect his thoughts before looking back up, trying to keep himself composed.

“Not good tomato girl, not good at all,” his voice is quivering and it seems like he’s fighting against losing it by forcing a smile across his face. 

“Drug trafficking charges. Five years minimum. No bail. Lawyer said with my record might be more like seven to ten years. 

You swear the earth stops spinning and your vision goes black. Your heart plummets to your stomach, suddenly feeling nauseous and dizzy. 

That’s so long. That’s way too fucking long. 

You feel physically ill and stifle a dry heave which turns into trying to choke back a sob. You can hear nothing, everything muffled as if you were six feet underwater. Sukuna’s lips are moving, but you have no idea what he is saying.

Cold. 

You are freezing, body shivering as you slip into shock. Ears ringing, breath trapped in your throat, unable to replenish the oxygen in your lungs. 

Strong hands shake your shoulders, jolting you from this state as if you’ve been drowning and you’ve been pulled from the water. Everything seems bright, the hum of the lights seems louder, and you gasp for breath.

Sukuna is in your face, hands on your shoulders. He was the one shaking you.

“Just breathe, in….out…. No, look at me, look me in the eyes not past me. Breathe with me.”

His crimson eyes slowly come into focus as you try to concentrate on replicating his breaths. Still trembling, you reach up and grip his arms, attempting to ground yourself and come back to earth. 

Sukuna’s worried look morphs into one of relief as he realizes you are okay. Well, as okay as you can be after learning your boyfriend might be in jail for the next ten years. 

“It’s okay, it’ll be okay,” Sukuna’s soft voice coos, thumbs tracing circles where his hands rest on your collar bones.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”

“It’s okay, I had the same reaction when I met with my lawyer yesterday.”

You both sit in silence, staring at the floor. You wish you could just wake up from this nightmare; grab his arm and walk out the doors together into the warm sunshine. Instead you feel like you’ve both been capsized at sea, grabbing onto something to keep from totally drowning…except for you wind up in two different currents and slowly drifting away from each other. 

Maybe you’ll end up in the same place depending on the currents, or maybe you’ll end up on opposite sides of the world. Either way, you have no control over the outcome.

“You can continue,” you eventually force out.

“My trial date will be in about a month or two. Lawyer fought to have it expedited to get it over with. That’s where I’ll learn the actual amount of time. I know I can’t fight the charges, but we want to get the sentence reduced as much as we can. He’s hopeful I’ll be eligible for parole. Gonna try to share the story of my plans of going back to school and doing an apprenticeship, how I want to be better, how I don’t deserve to be locked up for that long since I want to turn my life around,” he tries to sound hopeful. 

His arms drop down to cup your hands, large hands swallowing up yours as he squeezes them. A serious look appears on his face and he sits up straighter, staring intently into your eyes. 

“Don’t wait for me.”

“What?” your heartbeat is pounding in your ears again, unsure if you heard him correctly.

“Don’t wait for me. You heard me tomato girl.” 

You don’t even bother trying to hold back the sobs as the floodgates open. 

“N-n-no! Sukuna! What? Why would you say that?” you stutter through the anguish plaguing your entire being as you feel your throat closing up all over again. 

“Shhh, it’s okay. You deserve to live a good life, a normal life. Not with a felon behind bars. I’m not worth putting your life on hold for a third of your life. Cuz that’s what it would be, we’d be in our mid to late 30s when I get out.” 

“Well then we’d still have the other two thirds of life to enjoy together! I-I can’t. I can’t forget you, I could never,” your whole body is shaking and a splitting headache is starting to surface from the constant crying.

“Do you not want to be with me?” you stutter, lip trembling as you try to hold back your emotions to speak.

“Of course I want to be with you! Fuck girl I want nothing more. But you’ll move on from this, it’s only been a few days. It hurts now, but over time it’ll get better. I just want you to be happy and I feel like you will be miserable watching me rot in here for years.”

“Okay but you don’t get to tell me how I’ll feel Sukuna!”

“You should try though. I won’t know any different since I’ll be locked in a cell. I don’t want to be the reason you look back and regret spending these years waiting for my lousy ass.”

“Are you trying to break up with me? Because if that’s what you want, you need to just fucking say it,” you feel anger bubbling up now. It feels like he is stringing you along with this weird pseudo idea of wanting you but also telling you to go live as if you weren’t exclusive.

He swallows hard, trying to maintain his stoic demeanor during this conversation. He knows if he falters, you won’t listen. As it is, you're fighting him. He won’t be mean, he won’t use anger or threats to force you away. You don’t deserve that. He’s already put you through enough. Sukuna just hopes you sit back and think about what he’s saying. 

“I-I can’t. No,” Sukuna mutters. “I guess what I’m saying is that I’m not expecting you to be loyal to me during this time. Just know my heart is yours and if I get out and you are waiting there for me, I’ll be the happiest man alive. But if you aren’t and I see you living a fulfilling life with someone else, I won’t come pester you and blow that up. You won’t even know I exist, I’ll never bother you again.”

Of course he wants you to wait for him. You’re the love of his fucking life. If things were reversed he’d be furious if you tried to suggest something like this. 

His selfish desires want you to come visit him every week, talk on the phone every day, and try to get this conjugal visit the guard spoke of because god knows he’d fucking tear your ass up for 24 hours even though he’d probably be shit in bed after being celibate for months or even years.

But doing all that would fuck with your emotions, keeping you from moving on and living your life. He doesn’t want you to put your life on hold because he had to go and be a piece of shit and blow it all up. 

Guilt is weighing heavy on his heart, all those promises he put in your head just a day ago that he would no longer be able to keep. It feels like he strung you along even though he had no idea he’d hit rock bottom like this. He wants you to cut the line, he doesn’t want to drag you down with him.

“I can’t make you do anything, but I implore you to try to see where I’m coming from. I won’t be upset, I’ll understand,” he continues.

You respect him and sit quietly, running through the scenarios in your head. You know you want kids. Waiting until your late 30s wasn’t what you had in mind. How would you answer people if they ask if you’re single? Tell them no, that you’re waiting ten years for your man to get out of jail? 

Yes. Yes you absolutely would! He has his wishes and requests but you have agency in this too. You can make your own choices and live how you want to. If waiting for him is what you want to do, there’s nothing he can do about it. He’s made it clear though that he’d immediately find you when he’s out. How you spend your time until then is up to you.

“Five minutes.” the guards voice sounds from the corner. 

Fuck! 

The panic is coming over you again. You have to be strong though, you can’t waste these precious seconds. 

“If I write to you will you write back?” you ask. “It doesn’t have to be romantic, just like pen pals. Can you do that for me?” 

“Sure, I’ll do that,” he agrees. To him it’s a decent compromise, probably hearing his voice and seeing his face would just make this harder for you to get over him. 

“Alright, let’s wrap it up you two.” 

You both stand up and you hug him tightly, inhaling his scent one last time, fingers tracing and squeezing every inch of him, trying to memorize the curves and feel of his body, knowing you’ll forget over time. You’ll both age and grow into different people. A lot can happen in 5 to 10 years.

“I love you Sukuna. Forever. Wish you could’ve stayed with me a little longer, but I’m thankful for the time we had. I’ll always remember it.” 

“I love you too. Always will. You’re a strong and amazing woman, I know you’ll be successful wherever life takes you.” 

He gets cuffed once again, but leans down one last time to plant a soft kiss on your lips. A parting gift that you’ll try to remember for as long as you can.

He’s guided away and looks back at you, his crimson gaze locking onto yours one final time. 

One last sentence lingers on both of your lips, the words you both couldn’t bring yourselves to say for your own reasons. 

I’ll see you on the other side. 

<< Chapter 2 | Chapter 4 >>

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+18 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓸𝓻 𝓓𝓝𝓘

𝙾𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝙼𝚘𝚋𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚛!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙵𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚎 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

📖 𝙻𝚘𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚊𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚌 𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚘 𝙿𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝙿𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝙿𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚋𝚢 𝚂𝚊𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚊 𝙲𝚊𝚛𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛 💕

Warnings contain spoilers: blood, cheating, swearing, name-calling, threats, soft!rafe, mentions of killing partner, kissing, general violence, guns, ownership kink, pet names.

Sexual content in pink if you want to avoid that 🩷

Reader’s POV:

You watch as Rafe gets taken away in cuffs, your body and mind completely numb. Your eyes stay on his until the very last moment; heart shattering when he leaves your sight. This isn’t the OBX… this is a new city, new charges, and higher stakes considering all that had happened tonight.

He said he didn’t murder anyone when you talked to him in prison, but he couldn’t say that anymore. How could he possibly get out of this? I can't breathe... I need to get out of here.

You look around the speakeasy, stares still drawn to you, waiting for what you’ll do next. You take a deep breath, shutting your eyes, letting your tears roll down your cheeks. I need to calm down... Deep breaths, deep breaths. I need to think this through. You open your eyes, retreating to the booth, sinking in again.

Your hand trembles as you grab the bottle of Chateau Lafite Rothschild, pouring the rest into your glass. Rafe was surprised… He had no clue that the gun and drugs were in the Mercedes. Tony planted those. I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t do more, possibly attaching some sort tracker to the car as well. I’ll leave the Mercedes at the valet until I hear back from Rafe. There’s no way I’m bringing that to our place. Better safe than sorry.

You toss back the rest of the wine, attempting to ease your nerves just enough to leave the bar alone. Snagging your purse, you flee the table; head on a swivel yet again, just like you were the night you came home from jail. Your heart races with your mind, Tony’s looming presence palpable. You step toward the front, walking to the bartender.

“What can I get you, dear?”

“I need to pay the bill… Could you call me a cab for me, please? M’going to The Château Eza on Presidential?” You push the words past your trembling lips.

“The bill was taken care of. The gentleman you came in with tossed a stack of cash. Did you want change, Miss?” He asks as you look down at the wad of green in his hand, well over the tab. “No… No. Umm… Give it to the waitress. Could you call the cab, please?” You plead, hearing yourself getting impatient.

“Are you alright, Miss?” He asks as he leans in a little closer.

“Call. The. Cab,” your voice come out hoarse and shrill; the bartender backing off in a instant.

BUZZ.

Your heart sinks as your phone vibrates in your purse—a call. Your cellphone continues to buzz and buzz. There’s only one person it could be. The pulses stop; your anxiety piqued as you wait for the notification to roll through.

Your hands continue to tremble uncontrollably as your aching heart pounds audibly in your chest. You pull your phone out of your purse, holding your breath as you see the name on your missed call log. Tony. Time lags and lags as you wait for the message and the cab. The safest place you could be in the moment is the bar. I don’t need to be waiting on the curb. It would be so easy for Tony to drive by and pull me inside. Hell, he’s probably waiting out front right now.

BEEP.

Just do it… Listen to it. It’s only his voice. He can’t hurt you over the phone. Do it. You mash your finger against the screen before you can think about it any further, pulling the phone to your ear you wait for the inescapable.

📞 “Princess… What are you doing? Why aren’t you answering the phone? I mean you’re not with your little boyfriend. Is there someone else keeping you away from me?”

“Real sorry about Rafe. I’m sure the two of you had big plans for the evening. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, pretty girl, but he’s not comin’ home anytime soon.”

“You're so lucky to have me, doll. Nobody else would put up with you and your bullshit. You two are messy, stupid, and reckless. How could you be so fucking dumb? Huh? You don’t think I bugged your phone, bitch? You don’t think I hid cameras in our bedroom to keep YOU safe? Don’t you think I’ve got cameras in MY business to protect MY investments?”

“I had the pleasure of listening to the two of you all week long, hearing you talk about what a piece of shit I am. How you wish you were with him. How beautiful your miserable fuckin’ existance would be if you never met me. Me? Are you fucking delusional? You ungrateful cunt. After everything I’ve done for you. This is how you repay me?”

“And, you have the nerve to call me a cheater? A liar? I had to listen to you play with your slut pussy for a man you barely know. One night with another woman. One night after working my ass off for us, making us more money than you could ever dream of, more money than your worthless ass could bring in in two lifetimes. And you couldn’t just let it go? You had to destroy my car? Fuck my business rival? Leave me? You’re never fucking leaving me. Ever.”

“It took everything in my power to not have Rex come over and shoot you both. Lucky for you I got a shred of love for you left.”

“You're gonna regret this decision until your final fucking breath; I will find you tonight. I will bring you home. I will lock you away. And I will kill that pathetic excuse for a man— I’ll do it nice and slow. And you will watch, sweetheart. That’s a promise. 📞

CLICK.

“Miss,” the bartender taps your shoulder, startling you, making you fall back into the bar; everything around you falls out of earshot as the world crashes down around you. You clutch the brass rail for support, knuckles whitening as you stare out onto the bar. “Miss?” He tries again in a gentler tone.

You turn toward him, chills running down your spine as you catch a glimpse of Tony.

No…

You slam your eyes shut, drawing a few deep breaths as you try to compose yourself. “Yes,” you whisper, lifting your puffy eyes to the bartender. My mind is playing tricks on me.

“Your cab is here, Miss.”

“Thank you.” You look over your shoulder, mind vacant, as you watch Tony disappear into the back of the restaurant, heading toward where you and Rafe had sat. No mind tricks just terror. You sprint in the other direction, steering toward the door, weaving around couples until you push out into the open air. You look around frantically for the cab, ripping off your YSL pumps, sprinting out into the road.

You grab the handle, jarring it open, practically falling into the rented car as Tony busts through the double doors behind you. He smiles wickedly; his predatory stare reaching yours. “Go. Please,” you plead. The cab driver presses the gas, swerving onto the road as Tony’s big fists bang against the glass. You turn, watching him watch you out of the rearview mirror as the two of you speed away into the night.

“H-Holy shit… Oh my god,” you huff, collapsing in your seat, gasping for air. You bury your head in your hands, fighting back the urge to shut down completely, your body slipping into a state of hysteria. Rafe was right. Men like him don’t take no for an answer. They take what they want. I’m sure security is high at our place. All I have to do is get through the door. You look ahead; eyes matching the cab driver’s who quickly looks away.

“Umm… Are - Are you alright, Miss,” he asks.

“I just need to get home.”

“Of course. Of course. We’re almost there... Uhh, was that your husband?” He asks as his voice cracks with fright, still shaken up too.

“An ex.”

“Oh, I’m sorry-”

“Don’t be,” you interject. “I’m with someone else.”

Rafe… You go to your safe haven in your mind, recollecting your blissful moments with him. His eyes, his lips, his words; the night you met.

BUZZ.

You pull your phone from your purse; eyes tight, physically afraid to look at the name on your screen. Please don’t be Tony. Please.

Nothing… Just a blackness.

BUZZ. BUZZ. BUZZ.

Oh no…. No. No. No. Shit. The burner phone.

You look back at your old device in your hand in a panic—a tracking beacon straight to you. The cab rolls to a stop. You quickly thank him as you set your old phone on the car floor, kicking it under the driver’s seat, accepting the call from an unknown number on the burner.

“Hello?” You ask as you bound out of the car, running toward the front doors of The Château Eza.

“He’ll be out tomorrow,” a man on the other line confirms as the doormen draws open the entry.

“Who’s this?” You ask.

CLICK.

The dial tone blares in your ear as you jam your finger against the elevator button, watching the lit numbers overhead fall. Who was that? He’ll be out tomorrow? Rafe will be out tomorrow? Your hand shakes like a leaf as you clasp it over your lips to dampen your cries of relief. Warm tears roll over your hands as he does the unthinkable yet again.

The door glides open, leaving you one step closer to safety. Your stomach falls as the elevator pulls you up, lifting you to the top floor. You’re a mess of emotions, happy to be alive without falling into Tony’s grasp, completely devastated over Rafe; elated that in a few short hours you'll be together again. Hopefully, that is… Until you see the whites of Rafe’s eyes, nothing is promised. Tony has so many opportunities to take his revenge between now and then.

DING.

You take out your phone, thumbing to the notes app, looking for your unit number. 10B… Pressing and turning the key, you step into your new space. Bending around, you twist the lock shut, affixing the two additional bolts.

Fuck.

You press your hands against the closed door, forehead rested against it, breathing a sigh of solace. I made it. You take a few moments to collect yourself, drinking in the silence around you. You smile gently, brushing a few stray tears off your cheeks as you run your hand over the triple-lock security, double-checking each. My man… This has Rafe Cameron written all over it.

Damn, I wish he was here with me.

You let out a deep, shaky sigh as you imagine walking in, seeing this with him for the first time. His strong arm would be wrapped around your waist, stealing happy glances as your eyes twinkle with excitement, taking it all in. You look toward the kitchen, heart warming, as you see a large vase of flowers and a few wrapped gifts.

You lean in, smelling the sweet blossoms. My favorite. You open the first gift, blushing as you see a mess of lace, straps, and clips: a new lingerie set from La Perla with matching stockings. You open the second, a brand new pair of red bottom heels, inky black, completing the outfit. You hold the last box in the palm of your hand, far smaller than the rest: Robin’s egg blue with a crisp white bow. You undo the ribbon and pop open the lid to find a dainty “R” necklace. You take it out of the box, wrapping it around your throat before clipping it closed, looking at his initial resting on your chest, right above your heart. “Tomorrow… He comes home tomorrow. He’s gonna be fine.”

You walk around your new space, taking it all in. It's lavish, furnished, untouched, and unlived in. A large window stretches across the living room, giving you the perfect view of Charleston. This place must have cost Rafe a fortune. He probably didn't even get a chance to relax; his free time between jail and the club spent doing these sweet things for me: the car, the flowers, the gifts. It’s too much.

You walk down the hallway, looking for your room. A guestroom, a bathroom, an office; here we are—a dark, wooden, four-poster canopy bed with crisp white sheets greets you. Beautiful pieces of art and large baroque mirrors adorne both sides of the bed. You stroll to the closet, turning the knob, walking inside. The floor is littered with bags when you enter it, different designer brands that you mentioned loving in your phone calls with Rafe. You run your hand along a few items he had hung up for you: a few date night dresses, some lounge sets, and silk pajamas.

You smile softly, seeing something a little more comforting: a Dooney & Bourke luggage set with a leather-burned tag. Rafe Cameron. You lay it down on the floor, unzipping it, before drawing back the top. Perfect. You pull out an oversized crewneck sweatshirt and a pair of plaid pajama bottoms, drawing them up to your nose, breathing deeply as you catch a hint of his cologne.

You grab the top, closing it again, stopping in your tracks as you see a small leather-bound book with a pen looped on the side—his journal. Your curiosity gets the better of you; snagging it out of the bag you add it to your little pile of his things. You hug them to your chest as you walk into the bedroom, changing, feeling more at peace.

Maybe he’ll call me tonight… I want to hear his voice. I want to thank him again. I want to tell him how much this all means to me. Grabbing the journal, you amble to the balcony door, pulling on the handle. The warm night breeze hits your face; the busy town still alive below. You pull up a chair, taking a seat, cracking open the book with a smile.

✒️ I can’t believe I’m writing this, but tonight I saw someone who has already turned my world upside down. I don’t want to get ahead of myself; I know I am, but she might be it. The situation is awful. I’m sitting in a cell. But honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever been happier. It happened unexpectedly. I was gettin shoved down the hallway by the cops, just goin through my own shit at the time, and there she was, standing there like an angel. We crossed paths, and everything changed for me. She’s beautiful, of course, but it’s more than that. She lit up the darkness with a smile.

Goddamn, that smile… I could look at it forever. I’m still tryin to make sense of it all, but I can’t stop thinkin about her, and I don’t want to. For now, I’ll ask around… these cops are as crooked as me, and at the end of the day, everyone has a price. I have a few questions I have to ask. First and foremost, her name. Second, and honestly, the least of my worries, what the hell is she doin here? ✒️

✒️ Tony… She just had to be Tony’s girl. Not for the fact that I'm worried about dealin with him. I'm worried about her. He has no problem putting his hands on her — beating the living shit out of a woman. That woman. My girl. She said she'd like that. She said she'd let me take care of her.

She tried to play tough for me, but her beautiful eyes didn't lie… She’s terrified. I didn't want to talk about it more than I had to, waste any precious time talking about him when I could be gettin to know her better, but I could see it in her movements and the way her smile didn’t quite meet her eyes like it did on the first night.

I’m scared that if I can't take care of this for her, if I'm unsuccessful in takin’ him out, he’ll hurt her tenfold. Failure is not an option. Tony’s done. He was done the moment her black and blue eyes stared into mine. Even if it doesn't work out for her and I. He’s dead. Thinkin about him doin that shit to her again makes my blood run cold. Never again. I wanna protect her, but I'm trapped. The good news for me and the bad news for Tony I have nothin but time to think. I can't wait to kill that fucker.

I can't lose her. She’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met… pretty, intelligent, warm. We’ve spent so much time talking, laughing, and getting to know each other better. I love the way she thinks and the way she sees the world. The way she sees me. She's not scared of me; curious, sure. But she's not frightened of me.

I can picture the man she wants and I want to be that for her. I want to be all she needs. I want to be everything she desires. It’s like she’s unlocked a part of me that I didn’t even know was there. I can honestly say I have never felt love or been loved by another person… this is the closest thing. ✒️

✒️ I know it’s early, and maybe I’m getting ahead of myself, but somethin about this feels right. I’ve finally found someone who understands me and sees me for who I am. I can’t stop thinkin about the girl. I finally found someone I can trust. Someone besides Wheezie, I guess… Someone who listens when I speak and wants to know more.

Trust doesn’t come quickly to me after everything I’ve been through. I’ve always kept people at arm’s length. But with her, it’s different. I need her close. She has this presence that makes me feel safe. ME. She’s making me feel safe. That’s so insane to say. I’ve shared things with her that I’ve never told anyone else cause I’ve never felt the need to. She understands me in a way no one else has.

She’s not playin games with me. She’s honest and open. I’ve let my guard down, and she accepts the man I am, flaws and all. She’s not tryin' to fix me. That’s rare. I don’t take it for granted. This woman knows who I am, and she keeps coming back. I can breathe easier when I’m around her. I'm in love. ✒️

✒️ Whatever it takes to keep her safe I’m gonna do it. No matter what. I’m trying to stay strong for her but I’ve been worryin about her all day and all night. I know she’s scared. When she comes for visits she’s constantly looking over her shoulder, even when she’s surrounded by cops. When we’re on the phone she’s constantly pausing for the slightest sound just to check. Every part of my being is tellin me to protect her. I’ve been runnin through scenarios — I have one chance and I gotta do it right.

I’ve started lookin into safety measures—ensuring the place I find her is secure: cameras, locks, security. It’s probably overkill. But I don’t want any regrets when it comes to her… Fuck. I can’t even think about that shit.

She's got nothin to her name. That man controls everything. She’ll need a car, money, and an escape plan incase I fail. Nothing can happen to her. This is more than just protecting her physically. I want her to feel safe and know she can trust me, no matter what. She’s everything to me, and I will eliminate anything that tries to take her from me. Once Tony’s gone, it'll be smooth sailing.

I won’t let fear control us. Not now, not ever. That meeting will be his last. ✒️

✒️ I’m still trying to process everything that happened tonight. But Jesus Christ… We’ve been building up to this moment for a few days now. There’s always been this strong sexual chemistry between us. Tonight, everything came together beautifully. I knew what I was doin, and she willingly took the bait. What are you wearing? Just a simple question. She could have given me any answer, but she chose to tease me. Fuck, she could have been in sweats for all I know. But that's not the picture she painted for me—My dream girl.

The conversation flowed so well, my girl submitting to me completely, each breath, each moan sounding like a song. I wasn’t even touchin myself, but I never felt more satisfied hearing her cum on the other line. I didn’t realize just how much I craved that connection with her. I don’t think I’ve ever moved that fast in my life after that talk ended. I just wanted to get back to my cell, shut my eyes, and replay it in my mind over and over. I'm snickerin to myself like a schoolboy just writing this. Seriously… I'm at a loss. It was fucking amazing. It was perfect. She is perfect.

I know this changes things between us. It just keeps getting better and better. We both needed it. We both needed to relieve some pressure. Now I can’t stop dreamin about what it would be like to have her. If I got that much pleasure from that I’m in trouble. I bet she's thinkin about it too. I swear I knew just what she needed. She‘ll be putty in my hands when I care for her. She won't even have to think just feel.

I don’t wanna lose this feeling. This is that forever type of love. Today was the day I’ve been dreamin about for what feels like forever, and it's only been a few days since we met. This woman owns me. Every part of me. ✒️

✒️ Tonight’s the night. The last night before I’m free. The last night I’ll spend alone. I know she’s gonna be scared tomorrow. She’s tough, but she’s not meant for this shit. That’s why I love her. She give me balance.

Get in, get out, and move on.

Princess, I’ve said this before, you’re a curious woman. I’m sure you’ll go through my shit. I want you to. I guess I’ve been writing this for you all along.

There’s just a few things I need you to know, sweetheart. I have never been loved— I can say that with certainty. But I think you love me, even if you haven’t used those words. I can see it in your eyes, in the way you speak to me, in the risks you’ve taken for us. I know no one would be leavin anything like this behind for me to read. No one but you, baby.

When you find this I don’t know where we’ll be. Or, where I’ll be if shit doesn’t go my way. Hopefully we’ll be married or somethin. You’ll be digging through my shit, tryin to find some old Polaroids I took of you in that pretty lingerie you were describing to me on the phone. Either way, I hope when you read these words they mean as much to you as they mean to me.

I’m not great at vocalizing my feeling, because I’ve never had anyone concerned with hearin them. So I want there to be no mistake that you are the only thing that matters. I love you more than I have loved anything. I want so badly to be a part of your life. I value you more than myself, more than power, more than money, more than anything I’ve ever held.

You’ve changed me.

I hope you know that everything I’ve done was done with love. You’ll always be my girl.

Thank you for everything.

Love,

Rafe ✒️

You wipe away your emotion on Rafe’s sleeve, studying the rest, not wanting to miss a word. The next couple of pages are just little notes he must have taken on your calls: your favorite flowers, stores, color, foods you love, things you like, things you hate. But then it gets deeper; little notes about the sweeter things in life: your goals, fears, and hopes for the future.

You thumb the little book, fanning the pages. One last page… You follow his detailed plan, down to the minute about how today should have gone. The weight of the last line tugging at your heartstrings.

She'll be safe and happy.

Oh my god, Rafe. You shut the book, pinching the bridge of your nose as you draw breath. Grabbing the railing, you look down at the street below watching your tears free-fall, hitting the pavement.

No.

You try your best to talk yourself off the ledge you're on. The hair on the back of your neck pricking straight as you see the man again. Like a monster in a horror film this man just keeps coming back. Tony glances down at the bar napkin. Did the bartender tell him where I was going? He looks up fast, and you crouch down, falling out of sight, stealing glances at him through the slight space between the rails as you break out in a cold sweat.

He has a building name, he doesn’t know where I am. Your eyes double, hand clutching over your open mouth containing your gasp as a man steps behind Tony, pressing the barrel of a 9mm handgun to the back of his skull. Tony lifts his hands in the air, surrendering quick. The masked man mumbles something to Tony; the two turning into the street, headed toward a beaten-down mechanic’s van. You rise on your feet, tracking the two of them. This has to be one of Rafe’s guys.

RING.

Your burner phone trills, resounding on the balcony, echoing down to the street below as the van's back door pops open. Tony looks over his shoulder, scoping you out, making you freeze. He barks your name, fighting from the man, his booming words muted by the harsh whip of a pistol. Tony falls to the pavement, hands clutching the asphalt; a blow so brutal a small puddle of blood forms, dripping from the back of his head onto the street. Tony gets yanked to his feet, thrown into the back of the van before the doors slam shut. The punisher runs to the front, tires squealing as they speed away.

You catch your phone on the final ring, bringing it to your ear, greeting the caller on the other end with a gasping ‘hello’ as you fight for air.

“Princess?” You hear Rafe’s deep, raspy voice on the other end of the line.

“Baby. I— Uh… Umm,” you stammer as the words get caught on your lips. You clear the lump in your throat narrowly, stumbling back into the penthouse.

“Did you have company, y/n?” He asks, just the slightest bit of concern laced in his tone like maybe his boys didn’t pull it off. “I told Barry you needed your beauty sleep, and if anyone came by, he would have to send them home… Did he do a good job, baby?”

“Yes. Thank you,” you whisper shakily.

“Beautiful,” Rafe hums.

“M’sorry about tonight, y/n,” Rafe whispers. “This is not what I was hopin’ for.”

“Don’t apologize, Rafe. I - I wish you were here so I could thank you n’take care of you-” Your voice trembles as your adrenaline runs high.

“Tomorrow, baby,” Rafe adds. “Tomorrow night, and every night after that. Aight?”

“Yes… Thank you,” you sniffle, unsure of what you can and can't say on the phone, mind spinning from the deadly cat-and-mouse chase with Tony, emotional over Rafe’s words and Tony’s voice message. “I don't know how’ll ever thank you.”

“Baby, hey. Hey. I said, ‘I got you’…”

“You’re lovely, Rafe Cameron.” Your soft voice comes out in a pitiful cry.

Rafe laughs warmly, finding contentment in your view of him still, mere moments after the man executed a hit on your ex. He wants you to see everything: the light and the dark, choosing to stand by his side regardless. “Only for you, princess… Can you pick me up tomorrow at 9?”

“Of course I can,” you confirm, breathing a sigh of relief as you catch the time on your bedside clock—just a few more hours.

“I got a meeting with a client. It’ll be quick…”

“Just a conversation?” You ask.

“Just a conversation,” he confirms in a twisted tone. Tony’s done. “Then we can get outta here, princess; relax, spend a little time at the beach. Just the two of us?”

His Hideaway in Nassau…

“I’d love to.”

[ginkgo-phyta]

Can I request Spencer (later seasons, post prison era) gifting his gf an initial necklace, but the pendant is his initial?

i.e.

"This is nice, Spence, but my name doesn't start with an 'S'."

"Yeah, but mine does, and you're mine."

Feel free to take it as far as you like 😏

A/N: ehehe yes ofc, i love thissss, but also a lil funny bc my name DOES start with an S :P so imma change the dialogue a bit. keepin dis sweet- there is a lil steamy moment for like two sentences however mostly this is fluff, hope you enjoy it, my love!

Fluff, no warnings (?), gender neutral language (im p sure, lemme know if i missed something!), 2.5k words

Spencer’s apartment is flooded with the music of joy; light jazz pours from an old style radio in the living room, your shared laughter tumbles into the rest of the place from the small kitchen, the sound of knives and forks scraping decorated ceramic plates signals the end of a well-enjoyed meal.

It was date-night for the two of you, a rare occurrence as of late due to Spencer’s teaching commitment. Initially, you were excited, thinking you would be getting more of him to yourself. You kept that thought to yourself, though, seeing how upset he initially was at not being able to help his team in the way he wanted to. That exhilaration was shut down particularly quickly as Spencer had begun bringing his work home with him. When he was working only as a profiler, sure he’d be away from you most of the time, but when he came home he’d spend all of his time present and in the moment. Now, at times, having him home almost felt worse than when he’d be away.

In the moment, however, everything was perfect. This is how you wished every night could be. The two of you bumping shoulders as you both prepare dinner; glasses of wine clinking with a cheers; old love songs serenading your flushed ears as Spencer pulls you into his arms to delicately waltz around the kitchen; his balmy eyes peering down into yours, speaking words of love and comfort. This serene feeling of domesticity was addicting. Life had been a whirlwind the past year, with it only being about six months since Spencer came home from prison. Things were jarringly different at first, both of your lives changing the way being wrongfully imprisoned changed Spencer, but you didn’t care. You could fight every battle life threw your way as long as your beautiful boy was by your side. Some days were more difficult than others, when Spencer would be reminded of the atrocities he witnessed in jail or what he had to do to survive. He’d isolate himself, snap at you, or push you away; but this evening was a good night- it almost felt like you had your old lover back.

“Dinner was delicious, angel.” Spencer beamed at you from the other side of his compact dining table, using his cloth napkin to wipe at the corners of his lips. 

“Well,” you chuckled, pushing out of your seat to collect both of your plates, “you helped me, that’s probably why.” 

Spencer quickly followed your movements, whisking the dishes out of your hands with a sweet kiss pressed to your cheek before taking them to the sink. “It was all you, beautiful.” he had whispered against your skin while leaving your side. 

You silently shook your head, picking up your wine and water glasses to be washed. “Should I dry?” you questioned as he turned on the faucet, pulling a tea towel from the cabinet below you. 

Spencer shook his head, “It’s okay, they can air dry.” he spoke with a little shrug.

“Okay!” you responded bright-eyed, throwing the towel down onto the counter next to you, a bit too excited at the prospect of not doing anything. Your reaction peeled an infectious laugh from Spencer's beautifully cerise lips, his nose scrunching involuntarily. You could stand there and just watch him exist for the rest of eternity. 

And you did just that for a minute, took in the sight of him humming along to the jazz standard wafting in from the other room, engrossed in scrubbing the food stuck to the pans you cooked in. His jawline and upper-lip were shadowed in scruff, trailing down the sides of his Adam’s apple. His hair was long now, wavy and pushed back from his face, exposing his strong forehead and giving you unrestricted access to gaze into his gentle cinnamon eyes. The years passing changed his appearance in so many ways, and you loved every bit of it. Your eyes trailed down to graze over the top of his chest, exposed by the first few buttons of his deep cerulean shirt undone; they moved over the slopes of his broad shoulders, and down to his arms working steadfast to clean up the remnants of your meal. It didn’t escape Spencer how you were drinking him in without a care in the world, paying no mind to his elbow occasionally bumping into your torso.

“You having fun there?” he teased with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, eyes never leaving the task at hand. His words spurred you forward. 

You simply hummed in response as you moved to stand behind him, your front pressing firmly into his back. Spencer’s eyebrow arched questioningly, but he kept his mouth shut, simply letting you do as you pleased. Your head peeked over one side of his arm, hands sliding down until they reached the cuff of his sleeve. Deftly, you began folding them up, “Just helpin you,” you mumbled as a throwaway explanation, moving to his other side to do the same. Fingernails scratched at his newly exposed forearms, your muffled giggle turning Spencer’s smirk into a wide grin. “Done!” you announced, wrapping your arms around his abdomen before nuzzling your face into his broad back. Over the barrier of fabric, the running water, and the sound of his scrubbing Spencer barely heard you ask, “Didn’t I help so much?”

His chuckle sent vibrations into your cheek, “Yes, honey, you were a big help. Thank you.” Content, you pushed your face further into his shirt. 

The two of you stood like that for a few more minutes, Spencer trying his best not to move too much in order to keep you comfortable. You haven’t back-hugged him like this since before he was framed, and he didn’t realize how much he missed it until this moment. He washed the dishes a bit slower than normal, reveling in the heart-warming scene. Soon, however, he was done. 

As soon as he turned off the water, you were off him, moving to pick up the once-forgotten tea towel and face him, leaning against the edge of the sink. “Thank you for your service, soldier.” you unseriously saluted before taking each of his dripping hands in his and patting them dry. 

A titter broke through his smile as Spencer reverently gazed down at you, the way your eyes twinkled under the soft-yellow lights of his old kitchen, your beautiful hands turning his own over to attack any remaining droplets of water, your eyebrows twitching reflexively here and there in focus. The first time he laid eyes on you all those years ago he was shot in the heart by Cupid’s arrow, and it has stayed there, firm in place, ever since. 

As soon as you were done, Spencer softly cupped your face in his palms, your fingers wrapping around his wrists as he tilted your head up to look at him. He leaned down, pushing a passionate, yet gentle kiss onto your mouth. Before you could deepen it, he pulled away just enough to mumble, “I have something for you.”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise, and you looked up at him in confusion as he pressed one more peck to your lips before moving into the other room, your hands chasing after him. Once his words processed in your brain you perked up, excitedly following behind him.

“You got me a gift?” You question, reaching where Spencer stood at the side table by the front door, right in front of the intricate, gold trimmed mirror you hung up just last week. Your eyebrows furrowed as you watched Spencer pick up the weekly newspaper, “Uh, you got me the…local paper?”

With a roll of his eyes, Spencer wordlessly pulled you to him by the waist, mimicking your earlier actions by pressing his front into your back. You stumbled a bit, catching yourself by grabbing onto the forearm wrapped around your torso, holding you up, Spencer’s fingers digging into your waist. You peer at him curiously through the mirror before he whispers in your ear. 

“Look,” he motions down with his chin, and you do as you’re told. Spencer moves the haphazardly folded newspaper to the side, revealing a glimmering deep emerald velvet box. From the size of it, you could tell it was some jewelry other than a ring. You gasped in shock, not even having seen its contents. “Spencer…” your voice was meek and unbelieving. 

He watched you through the mirror, his cheek pressed against your temple as he opened the box before you. Your alluring eyes widened to their limits, hands flying up to cover your mouth. Your gaze whizzed to meet your lover in the reflection, “You got me a necklace??” your words dripped with incredulity. Spencer had gifted you generously in the past- rare books, handmade accessories, clothing you had your eye on, tickets to see your favorite artists live- but never before had he bought you jewelry. You never minded, content with wanting the first piece he gives you to be an engagement ring. That being said, this surprise moved you immensely. You took in the gorgeous necklace shining proudly up at you. A dainty chain in the metal you wore the most, in the middle sat a heart-shaped locket, no bigger than the tip of your pinky-finger. Before you could speak again, Spencer shifted to open the locket for you, revealing two pictures. One was older, taken at JJ’s wedding; Penelope had been going around taking photos of everyone and as soon as she neared the two of you, Spencer scooped you up into his arms as if you were the bride. The moment frozen in time showed you in the midst of a bellowing laugh, clutching to Spencer’s shoulders in shock, with your boyfriend looking upon you as if you were an angel incarnate, an equally wide smile plastered across his face. The second photo was more recent; you had invited the whole team out to a picnic brunch shortly after Spencer was released and this time Emily was the one taking candid photos. The two of you were cozying up at the edge of the yellow gingham blanket, Spencer's arms wrapped tightly around your figure rested between his legs. In the photo, his hand was cupping your jaw, tilting your face up to bring your lips close to his, the snapshot proudly showcasing his grinning mouth just centimeters from your own with the sunlight stretching out in the background. 

“Oh, Spencer,” you were at a loss of words, your fingers hesitantly tracing the silhouette of the pendant, “It’s so beautiful, my favorite pictures…” you murmured. 

Spencer hummed and nodded in response, setting the box down to take the necklace out of its confines. He straightened behind you, stretching the necklace out in front of your face, “Let me put it on you, baby.” he whispered, mouth barely moving. 

You happily obliged as he brought the chain closer to your neck, moving your hair to one side to better allow him to clasp it behind you. Spencer watched you the whole time through the mirror while your eyes were fixated on the necklace. The cold metal of the locket hitting your warm skin caused a minuscule gasp to part your plump lips, but Spencer noticed it all. The way your chest rose and fell faster, chasing after your quickened heart; the way you drew your bottom lip in between your teeth; your uncertain hands grasping at his trouser legs behind you. Once the chain was secured, the locket resting perfectly in the dip of your collar bones, Spencer placed soft, warm kisses to the exposed skin of your shoulders and neck, holding eye contact with you with each; even as he moved your hair to dutifully pepper the other side. You sighed as his arms returned to engulf your waist, tighter than before, your hands moved to rest on top of his. He noticed your eyelids flutter close just for a moment, taking him in, before they opened again and your gaze shifted back down to the reflection of the necklace. Your eyes glinted with uncertainty upon noticing the engraving on the locket you hadn’t fully processed earlier. 

“‘S’...” you spoke, reading the letter dangling from your neck. You kept your inflection steady, trying to make it seem like you knew exactly what it stood for, but Spencer knew you better than that. Before you could make any assumptions, he spoke up.

“For ‘Spencer’.” he stated matter-of-factly, his face moving up from your shoulder to rest against your temple again. 

You smiled at him, more confused than before, “But aren’t you supposed to put my initials on it. You know, cuz it’s my necklace?”

“No,” he murmured sternly against your hair. Spencer’s left hand slipped down to grab onto your right hip, his right hand traveling up your sternum to thumb over the locket before splaying out to rest just below your throat, the heart pendant resting on the back of his hand.

Another, louder gasp sucked through your lips as Spencer tugged you closer to him, your back arched a bit as it stretched, bum pushing into his groin. 

“I put my initial,” he started again, heading dipping down to mouth against the shell of your ear, his eyes looking at you in the mirror through his cocoa lashes had you biting your lip, “Because you’re mine. And now everyone will know it.”

Suddenly, you whipped around in Spencer’s arms, throwing your own over and around his neck, hugging his body close to yours. He stumbled back a bit in shock, grabbing onto your lower back to steady himself before a laugh shook through his shoulders. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” you enthusiastically repeated, pressing kisses along his stubbled jawline with every word. “I love it so much, Spencer.” you pulled back all the way to stare up at him, gaze filled with genuinity. One of your hands remained on the back of his neck, the other coming down to fiddle with the locket, “This is the best gift I’ve ever gotten.” 

His previously mischievous demeanor melted off his back as Spencer drank in how you dripped sweetness. “I’m so happy to hear you say that, honey.” His hands rubbed up and down your back. “I know things have been…complicated lately. I’ve been distant and cold, which I want to apologize for, but you’ve been beside me through it all. You’re my rock, and I just wanted to show you a bit of my gratitude.” 

You shook your head as you pushed up onto your tippy-toes to kiss him again, the hand on your locket moving to lightly scratch at the side of his neck.

“I’m all yours,” you muttered against his lips, tilting your head to the other side to slot yours upon them again. You pulled away after a couple seconds, “You don’t have to thank me, my love. I know you would do the same for me.” You pressed a few more kisses to Spencer’s supple lips before pulling back again, causing him to huff. “Are you mine?” you whisper.

Innocent doe-eyes coupled with a small pout had a quiet groan dragging from Spencer’s throat. He brought a hand up to trace your bottom lip with his thumb before tangling his fingers in your hair, 

“I’m yours, baby.” he nodded. “Only yours.” With that, he pulled you back in for a sensual kiss.

A/N: omg sorry if this sucks im so sleepy right nowwwww it took so long to write this for some reason i cant process words properly but i wanted to finish this! i loved writing this piece, and i hope y'all like reading it. ANON! how'd i do?

[yanderehsr]

Can I get a yan!Neuvillette with a Kafka!reader, who is a famous criminal with a big bounty?

Neuvillette😳... Hope you'll enjoy

Trigger Warning: Yandere, Obsessive behaviour, Possessive behaviour, Kidnapping

Neuvillette felt disgusted with himself, his heart beat faster for this criminal as you stood on trial, a blush he couldn't control was forced on his face as he read out your crimes, you admited to each and every one, a smile on your face like this was all some silly joke. Hell, you even flirted with him.

You annoyed Neuvillette so much but at the same time you made him feel whole, he wanted you, he needed you. You probably thought you could escape this trial just as you had before but he would make sure you face your punishment and go to jail... said jailcell being his own bedroom.

As you try to escape Neuvillette will take you down, he tells the Garde to let him take you to prison, as soon as he doesn't see anyone he will take you to his house where you can face your punishment forever at his side. Neuvillette felt disgusted with himself but he couldn't care less as long as you were by his side.

"You may be a criminal but now you will spend the rest of your life besides me whether you want to or not, I am sure I can reform you, forever to be mine my love"

[veilkeeper]

Act 3 Emmrichmance: Lich Edition

alt title: if you're really determined, "'til death do us part" is only a suggestion

okay so, after the point of no return some pretty major stuff happens in the romances. @/crossdressingdeath and i talked in DMs about how, as far as we can tell, all the romances have some sort of unfinished business going into the endgame. in the lucanismance, it's him cutting rook off from saying they love him, in the davrinmance it's a discussion about davrin's fear that one of them is going to die just as he's starting to imagine a future with them, and with emmrich it's The Argument™—which as i've discussed before, is emmrich and rook having an argument about his insecurities. in the lich path, which is what i'm specifically talking about here, the argument is about his concern that rook is going to die at some point, and his fear that he's going to mourn them forever. the argument is left unresolved after some pretty intense back and forth, where rook calls him out on pushing his insecurities and fears onto them, and they have to shelve it to head to tearstone island.

to their credit, they do try to apologize to each other. in banter on tearstone island, emmrich very clearly regrets starting an argument, but he and rook both agree that now isn't really a good time and that they'll talk when they get home.

and then rook almost dies in front of him and gets thrown into fade jail by solas.

uh oh!!!!

if this isn't the manifestation of all his fears, i don't know what is. for all intents and purposes, he has lost rook. he's sure they're alive—trapped in a prison meant to hold gods, but alive—and since he's a lich i have every confidence that there was not a moment of rest in the weeks it took to rescue rook. he's their fade expert, he's the best equipped to find them, and he has to, because otherwise the last real conversation they had was an argument he never got to apologize for, and he will have to live with that guilt for an eternity.

i really have to wonder if he ever would have been able to bring himself to stop looking for them.

and while i suspect their LI is always the first person to grab a hold of rook to pull them out of the fade, there's a special flavour to it when you're romancing emmrich. knowing that he's probably been obsessively trying to find them. the sheer relief he must have felt when he reached through the veil and was able to get his hands on them, to pull them through and back into the safety of his arms.

he fusses after them, too. urgently takes them to the necropolis so he can be extra certain that solas' hold on them is gone. he was afraid he'd lost them forever, he wasn't going to waste any time making sure they'd be as safe as they can be. and then he says,

"I will let nothing part us again, my love. Not in this nor any other world."

he says it in that level, sort of indulgent tone that he says all his romance lines in, so it's easy to mistake this as him being poetically hyperbolic. but let us never forget that this is the man with such a profound fear of death that he became a lich just to avoid it. he's not half as well-adjusted as he likes to appear.

when he says he would not let anything separate him and rook again, he is dead fucking serious.

he wakes them up at dawn despite knowing they need rest—i think, perhaps, because it isn't enough to have them breathing in front of him. that he needs to hear their voice and have the reassurance that they're here and real and alive and safe, at least right now. "I would move the world before I lost you again," he says later. before the final fight against elgar'nan, he says he has plans he wants to make with rook, that he wants to be safe and at home with them. if i had to guess, i'd say rook i going to have a hard time shaking him for anything after this. i don't think he's ever going to feel like they're safe if he can't see them. hope you like a clingy boyfriend.

it's kind of the inevitable conclusion to what i was talking about in my sacrifice of souls meta—none of his actual fears around death and dying and grieving have been addressed, and he's hitched his wagon to immortality. and now that he's almost lost rook, he's realized that there is no universe where he's ever going to survive losing them for real.

and we all know the lengths he's willing to go to stay alive.

[lorbanery]

Someone has definitely written a fic where Terry McGinnis realizes and has to come to terms with the fact that his parents kind of fucked him up, right?

Like, he's Batman. Batman deals with fucked up families. Eventually he's gotta learn to recognize the red flags of an abusive household, of how kids act out when they're being mistreated at home, of what are appropriate consequences for behavior and how that changes based on the kid's age.

And I know the show tries to go out of its way to be like "well Terry really WAS a pretty badly behaved kid" like ooohh he was in JUVIE for a whole FEW MONTHS but also like

Let's really think about this for a second

This whole "Terry was a Bad Kid" narrative ultimately hinges on one particular event: His arrest alongside Charlie Bigelow. Now I don't think they ever mention how old Terry's supposed to be during the series, and they certainly never mention how old he was when he and Charlie got arrested. But we DO know that the arrest happened 4 years before the events of the series because in the episode where all of this backstory is elaborated on, they mention that Charlie's sentence was 4 years. Now, Terry's in high school, which narrows his present day age to between 14 and 18; but the fact his mother got custody after his dad died makes it pretty clear he can't be older than 17.

So if we're GENEROUS.

If we assume that Terry is 17 during the events of the series

that he's 17 when Charlie's released from jail after serving a 4 year prison sentence

that would make Terry, AT THE OLDEST ... 13 years old when he was arrested

thirteen

years

old

when his parents got divorced

thirteen years old

when his mother declared that she couldn't deal with him, that his father was the only one who could "control" him, and gave up custody of TERRY, but not of his little brother

thirteen years old when his parents SPLIT UP him and his little brother, who had to have been a kindergartner at the oldest at the time

Like this is cruel. With the exception of some extreme circumstances, you don't do that to kids. You don't just separate siblings like that. Like, not to say that it doesn't happen, just to say that I don't think I'm off-the-mark in assuming that pretty much every modern child development expert would very much suggest you DON'T DO THAT. Like I know there are folks out there who know very well how it feels, but for the rest of us just imagine being thirteen years old and your mom says she wants custody, but only of your sibling, she doesn't want custody of you.

PERSONALLY

I THINK THAT'S PRETTY FUCKED UP

Oh and let's not forget that it is at least heavily implied if not outright stated that this divorce was at least partially triggered by Warren suspecting Mary of cheating because these two redheads gave birth to two kids with jet black hair. Yeah I wonder why a tweenage Terry was so angry and spending a lot of time out on the streets instead of at home where his parents were constantly fighting about whether or not he was "actually" their kid?????

And it's not like she changed her tune about him after he moved in! At even the faintest WHIFF of rules bending she was ready with an accusation of Terry going back to his old ways. DESPITE him completely turning himself around. Like juvie worked for him the way authoritarians want it to! He spent a few months in juvie after doing One Bad Thing, got scared straight, and decided he was never going to do Bad Things again. Hooray! The fictional criminal justice system works! Sure he was still getting into fights, but he was doing it to try and help people. He did his time, he turned his life around, the boy is an A student, he's had four years proving himself Not a Delinquent. Yet Mary McGinnis is CONSTANTLY jumping on any excuse to assume that Terry's up to no good.

And I will admit that she's probably justified in jumping to conclusions initially upon finding drugs in Terry's backpack. But I still find it a bit EXTREME, given, again, his recent history up to that point, that Mary refuses to even CONSIDER believing Terry when he says they aren't his and he's not using them ... until he gets a drug screening.

And don't even get me started on the way Matt talks about him. This kid is in elementary school there's no way he's come to the conclusion all on his own that his older brother who, as far as we know, he hasn't even SEEN in FOUR YEARS is just a delinquent who's always secretly up to something. Oh but he's been living alone with Mary this whole time HHMMMMMMMMMM

I'm harping a lot on Mary here, but listen that's just because Warren's dead and so we only got to VERY BRIEFLY see him and Terry interact. Given that brief interaction? I don't have a problem assuming that he treated Terry much in the same way, as a delinquent constantly on the brink of a relapse. he just benefits from being killed off for Plot purposes so we can't see all the ways that plays out like with Mary.

Anyway it kills me every time Mary McGinnis treats her son like shit and Terry goes all

*pained bishounen face* Even if I didn't do what she's accusing me of, I still deserve her suspicion and I can't blame her for it.

[tinfoil-jones]

Gravity Falls: For Your Own Good, Ch. 8

Summary: A few years after moving to Gravity Falls and having his lab built, Stanford Pines happens upon his estranged twin brother, Stanley. He mentally prepared himself to be suffocated by his brothers neediness all over again - what he wasn't prepared for was Stanley walking right past him like he didn't even notice him.

Rating: M for language, violence, and adult implications

Preface: Dialogue only, but some actions will be annotated for clarity. Cross-Posted on AO3 Here

First - Prev - Next

CH.8

“You’ve been down here forever PhD. Maybe you should… I dunno, leave your evil basement sub-lab? Maybe eat something other than an entire tube of toothpaste?”

“This isn’t toothpaste. It’s a calorie-rich blended solution formulated specifically for daily nutrition, in a convenient tube to avoid the need for cutlery.”

“Doc. Read the label.”

“...”

“You should probably sleep too if you mixed those up.”

“You’re just trying to get me to leave so you can escape.”

“I’ve broken out of county jail, the trunk of a sinking car, a shipping crate, cement shoes, and even my loan sharks book club meeting. But this? A forcefield? A real, no-shit forcefield? I don’t have anything for that… anymore.”

“What was that last part?”

“I said I can’t break out of sci-fi prison. Go to bed already, Doc - it’d be a lot easier for me to sleep too if you weren’t hovering over there, looking at me all sad like I’m some stray at the pound about to be put down.”

“Fine, but don’t go anywhere.”

“Well there goes my plans for the night.”

“...What plans?”

“For the fifth time, it’s called sarcasm.”

“Now that I think about it, I think I still have an invention I need to calibrate…”

“Specs was right; how did you survive out here by yourself?”

(...)

“Thanks for helping me clean the place up, Fiddleford. I’ll admit, I’ve been putting it off for a while now.”

“You don’t say… You know, you still haven’t told me what that extra level in your basement is for.”

“I’ve already told you, it’s a private study.”

“You’re so secretive about it.”

“Private study.”

“Alright, alright.”

“After we’re done here, I have an anomaly in the woods I need to check out; would you be willing to keep an eye on the house and the lab while I’m gone?” 

“I have no problem making sure your brother doesn’t disappear into thin air, of course I’ll stay back for your peace of mind.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“It’s what you meant - oh don’t make that face at me. I’m not trying to make fun of you, I think it’s… Endearing, that you care so much even if you have the worst ways of showing it.”

“...Just keep an eye on the house. And maybe go down there every so often to interact with him, the isolation isn’t doing him many favours.”

“How did your last talk with him go?”

“He’s still convinced that I’m grieving over my ‘real’ twin, and using him as a substitute because we look alike. He can acknowledge that the timeline and traits line up, and that he himself has a missing past, but he still thinks he’s a ‘Malone’ and not a ‘Pines’. I don’t know why he’s being so resistant to the possibility…”

"You know... 'Stan Malone' sounds mighty similar to 'Standalone'. 

*Ford facepalms*

“I thought it was clever.”

“It is, that’s why I’m mad.”

(...)

“-and it’s actually called ‘Backupsmor’? That’s its name?”

“Yes.”

“Wow. They didn’t even bother hiding what they were huh?”

“I suppose so. What about you, Stan?”

“Pft, I didn’t go to college. I’m… pretty sure? I didn’t graduate high school.”

“You’re not fully sure?”

“F, I can only remember back when I was 17, and I was already living on the streets. I don’t think I could have graduated by then. Not like it would have helped me.”

“17, you say? Interesting…”

“What about you? Your whole family full of geniuses like you?”

“Everyone’s… smart in their own way. I’m the only member of my family to attend college, however. The rest of my family works on a hog farm.”

“That’s pretty cool, striking it out on your own.”

“Mighty kind of you to-.”

“Good-looking, smart, and independent? I like that in a-.”

“I’m back!”

*Fiddleford hastily presses the mute button on the containment unit*

“Stanford, you’re back! How was it?”

“I was hoping it was something new, but it was just the gnomes trying to utilize the size changing crystals. How were things here?”

"I was just getting more information on what past he does remember- didn’t rightly get much because he is such a flirt."

"He's only doing it to a) make you uncomfortable, b) make you let your guard down, or c) charm you enough to convince you to free him."

"Well he hasn't quite succeeded on any of those. Does he flirt with you?"

"That's disgusting, Fiddleford. I don't know how you do things in Tennessee, but here it is improper for siblings to-."

“Genius, didn't you just say he doesn't believe you're related?"

“Somewhere in there he must still know I'm his brother. Which is a good thing for us because his memories can't be buried too deep."

TAPTAPTAP

*Fiddleford presses the mute button of the cell to unmute it*

“No, that's not it. That motherfucker is ugly.”

“Ugly? We have the same face!”

“Yeah, but on you it doesn't work.”

To be continued...

[commsroom]

mission launch for minkowski's crew was in march 2013. ostensibly, they were put through some mission training, though the extent and effectiveness of that is kinda dubious. pagliacci takes place in 2013, exact date unspecified. but it has to be early. let's say... mid-january.

eiffel thought he had ruined the rest of his life before he'd even turned thirty. he probably spent his thirtieth birthday in jail. and then... for some number of days, weeks, maybe even a couple of months, he exists in this state of, well. of limbo. cutter gets him released from prison, and flies him out to canaveral. he doesn't speak to his family, obviously. they don't want to hear from him, and don't even know. he's still a prisoner, but no one around him knows that, either. at some point in this time frame, goddard first exposes him to decima, before hilbert even knows who he is. and he lives wherever goddard is accommodating him, and he has to go about his day-to-day life in this transitory state between a 26-year sentence he'd just started really grappling with, and the very immediate reality he's now about to be sent into deep space instead.

they give him a certain amount of freedom; it's not like he can go anywhere. he doesn't do much, anyway, is not feeling appreciative for his momentary second chance at life, given the circumstances. he blows off most of his mission training, and they're surprisingly lax about that, which in retrospect probably should have been a sign. he sits around and smokes, mostly. gets takeout food. but he goes to see movies, as much as he can. as much as he wants to punish himself, he needs to do something, or he'll go crazy, and it's not like he'll get a chance to see a movie in a long time. he was already resigning himself to maybe never going to a movie theater again.

the film adaptation of les misérables was released in december 2012. it's entirely feasible it could've been one of the movies he saw in this time period. i think the idea adds some resonance to his shared reference with minkowski in the finale, at least, in the way it pulls things full circle. intentionally or otherwise. and, incidentally, the 2012 film adaptation of les misérables, a story that notably features an ex-convict protagonist seeking redemption, was released on december 25th. call that serendipity.

[kjack89]

Dial Drunk

5 times Enjolras bailed Grantaire out of jail, and one time, well...

The door of the holding cell clanked open and as one, the nine men sitting inside glanced up. “Alright,” the booking officer said in a bored tone, glancing down at his clipboard. “Bail’s been posted for arrestees Bahorel, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Enjolras, Feuilly, Joly, Lesgle and Prouvaire. You’re free to leave after you sign out at the front desk.”

There were a few grumbles as the men started to get to their feet, but Enjolras remained resolutely seated, his brow furrowed with a frown. “What about Grantaire?”

The man in question chuckled darkly, tilting his head back to rest it against the wall of the holding cell. “Is that actual concern for me that I hear, Apollo? I could die happy.”

Enjolras ignored him. “Pontmercy was supposed to post bail for all of us,” he said instead, aiming his words at Courfeyrac as if the man was somehow still responsible for the actions of his former roommate some five years after they had stopped living together.

Courfeyrac just shrugged. “Don’t look at me,” he said. “I mean, we all know Marius is a bit of an idiot, maybe he miscounted.”

Combeferre shook his head. “I’m probably wrong and should defer to the lawyers amongst us but I thought I remembered reading something in one of the articles about reforming pre-trial detention that an individual can only post bail for 8 detainees at a time.”

“And so I must’ve drawn the short straw,” Grantaire sighed. “Story of my fucking life.”

Bossuet clapped him sympathetically on the shoulder. “On the other hand, you could take it as a compliment that Marius thinks you’re the one most likely to survive an extended stay behind bars.”

Bahorel snorted so loudly the bars of the cell almost rattled. “Sorry but literally not a single one of us would survive an extended stay behind bars.”

“Speak for yourself,” Feuilly said. “I know how to whittle.” At the blank looks he received, he huffed a sigh and added, “So I can make a shank. No wonder none of you would survive in jail.”

“This is making our goal of prison abolition seem oddly self-serving,” Joly murmured in an undertone to Jehan, who stifled a laugh.

Combeferre cleared his throat. “Not that I’m not sympathetic to Grantaire having to be stuck in here, but I’d just like to remind everyone that since Marius posted bail, we’re technically now here voluntarily.”

“Yeah so GTFO,” Grantaire said with a grimace masquerading as a smile. “Let me rot in peace, etcetera.”

Enjolras looked like he wanted to argue more, but Combeferre muttered something in his ear and he made a face before filing out of the cell. “Serious miscalculation on Marius’s part with this one,” Courfeyrac said brightly as he followed everyone else out. “Because God knows you’re going to complain about this for the rest of all time.”

Grantaire gave him the finger and Courfeyrac winked as the officer closed the cell door behind him.

Sighing again, Grantaire sat upright, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck before settling back against the bench. “You need anything?” the booking officer asked.

Grantaire shook his head. “Nah,” he said dismissively. “Not my first rodeo. Hopefully I won’t be stuck overnight, but I’ve slept in worse places.”

“Oh, yeah?” the officer said with mild interest.

Grantaire nodded. “Central booking at the 16th Precinct is a piece of shit,” he said brightly.

The officer barked a laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He gave Grantaire a long look. “Should I ask what you were picked up for previously?”

Considering the answer to that question was a vast litany of misdemeanors (and felonies reduced to misdemeanors) that the boys in blue tended not to appreciate, Grantaire hesitated. Thankfully, he was saved from having to answer at all by the crackle of the officer’s walkie-talkie. “Just a moment,” the officer told him, heading out of the booking area and Grantaire let out a sigh of relief as he slumped on the bench.

“You’re free to go,” the officer said upon returning, and Grantaire looked up, surprised.

“Really?”

The officer nodded, opening the door to the holding cell. “Bail was posted. So I guess you’ll have to save your rap sheet for the next time you’re in here.”

Grantaire snorted a laugh. “I’d say there won’t be a next time, but…” 

He ducked out before the officer could respond to that, making his way to the front desk, stopping in his tracks when he saw Enjolras leaning against the desk, clearly waiting for him. “What’re you doing here?”

Enjolras straightened. “It didn’t feel right leaving you in there,” he said with a shrug that didn’t quite come across as nonchalant as he’d probably intended. “And I happened to have some cash on me, so…”

“Between this and being worried about my welfare, you’re gonna give me the wrong impression,” Grantaire said.

“Guess that depends on what impression you’re getting,” Enjolras said, and Grantaire’s eyes flickered to his and away again, feeling suddenly tongue-tied. Enjolras cleared his throat, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. “Anyway, we should get to the Musain to debrief.” He glanced at Grantaire. “Unless you’ve got something better to do.”

Grantaire just shook his head, and gestured for Enjolras to lead the way. “After you,” he said, his voice low, and together they walked out of the precinct, their arms just brushing against each other as they headed to meet their friends at the Musain.

— — — — —

“Jesus Christ,” Enjolras muttered as the booking officer removed the handcuffs from a sheepish-looking Grantaire. Well, as sheepish as a man sporting the beginnings of a pretty impressive black eye could look, anyway. “Here,” Enjolras said roughly, holding an ice pack out to Grantaire. “I posted your bail as well.”

“Thanks,” Grantaire muttered, taking the ice pack and wincing as he pressed it against his eye.

Enjolras pursed his lips as he gave him a once-over. “Any other injuries I need to worry about?” he asked.

Grantaire just shrugged. “Nothing that won’t heal on its own.”

“Because that’s reassuring,” Enjolras sighed, rubbing his forehead, but when he looked at Grantaire again, there was something almost soft in his expression. “You didn’t need to do that.”

What he could see of Grantaire’s expression tightened, just slightly. “You didn’t hear what that guy called you.”

He said it calmly, evenly, but his hand automatically balled into a fist at the memory. Enjolras reached out automatically to rest his hand on Grantaire’s fist until it relaxed. “It doesn’t matter what he called me,” he said, his voice low. “I can take care of myself.”

“Of course you can,” Grantaire scoffed. “But that doesn’t mean you should have to.”

Enjolras just shook his head, running his thumb across Grantaire’s bruised knuckles, a testament to the fact that despite the black eye, he’d emerged from the fight victorious. “I should’ve brought another ice pack,” he murmured.

Grantaire just half-smiled, twisting his hand so that he could lace his fingers with Enjolras’s. “It’s fine,” he said softly. “It doesn’t really hurt at the moment anyway.”

Enjolras cleared his throat and looked away, but he didn’t try to untangle his fingers from Grantaire’s. “Well,” he said, “we should, uh, get out of here.”

“Before they realize you have about a half dozen outstanding warrants for your arrest?” Grantaire asked with a smirk, his voice quiet enough that only Enjolras could hear.

“You’d be amazed what having a multi-million dollar settlement pending against the city will do to the police’s willingness to bring you in,” Enjolras said with a smirk. “Not that I want to test that, of course.”

“Liar,” Grantaire said, grinning. “But better safe than sorry, I suppose.”

He started toward the door, pausing when Enjolras didn’t immediately follow. “Thank you, by the way,” Enjolras said, and Grantaire glanced back at him.

“Anytime,” he said simply. “Thanks for bailing me out.”

Enjolras gave him a look that was half-amused, half-exasperated. “Just don’t go making a habit of it,” he warned. “One day I won’t be here to bail you out.”

“Only because you’ll probably be locked up with me,” Grantaire said.

“Well,” Enjolras murmured, not quite able to stop his smile, “you’re not wrong.”

— — — — —

Grantaire rested his elbows against the bars of the holding cell, his arms dangling into what was technically freedom on the other side. The booking officer, some new guy he didn’t recognize, gave him a look but didn’t say anything, which he took as a small victory, and he allowed himself a small smirk.

A smirk that faded as soon as he saw Enjolras, escorted by another officer. “No dice on bail?” Grantaire asked, seeing the look on Enjolras’s face.

Enjolras shook his head. “No, they’re going to go through the whole arraignment rigamarole. I’ve already let Pontmercy know.” He made a face, casting an irritated look at the booking officer who was pretending not to listen to their conversation. “Apparently they take battery of a police officer pretty seriously these days.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Grantaire muttered. Enjolras sighed and Grantaire gave him a look. “Don’t even start,” he warned. “This wasn’t about you not being able to take care of yourself—”

“That wasn’t what I was going to say,” Enjolras interrupted, his voice tight. “I’m well aware that cop would’ve bashed my head in if you hadn’t intervened.” He shook his head and sighed again. “I was going to say thank you.”

“Oh,” Grantaire said, managing a tight smile. “You’re welcome.”

Enjolras just shook his head again. “You still shouldn’t have done it,” he continued, “because honestly, I’m not worth all that—”

“You are, though,” Grantaire said, in a tone that brooked no argument. Enjolras scowled and Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Fine, then why don’t we make a deal?” he said. “I’ll stop defending you when you stop bailing me out.”

“At the rate you’re going, I won’t be able to anyway,” Enjolras said sourly. “Not without putting up some major collateral.”

Grantaire shook his head. “And I’m definitely not worth that,” he said.

Enjolras’s eyes met his. “You are, though.”

For a moment, it looked like Grantaire might argue. Instead, he reached for Enjolras’s hand, bringing it up to kiss his knuckles through the bars of the holding cell. “No touching,” the booking officer barked, and Grantaire rolled his eyes as he reluctantly let go of Enjolras’s hand. 

“Will you be at my arraignment?” he asked.

Enjolras shrugged. “Someone’s got to post whatever bail amount the judge decides,” he said.

Grantaire half-smiled. “In that case, I’ll be the one in the front.” 

“Pretty sure that’ll be the judge,” Enjolras murmured, grinning when Grantaire rolled his eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow. I promise.”

“It’ll be the only thing that gets me through spending the night in here,” Grantaire told him, and it was Enjolras’s turn to roll his eyes, though there was obvious affection in the motion.

“Pretty sure Bahorel was right,” he said. “You definitely wouldn’t survive in jail.”

Grantaire just shrugged. “Only if you were in there with me.”

Enjolras shook his head, reluctantly backing away toward the door. “Still time,” he said, and Grantaire’s eyes narrowed.

“Don’t you dare do anything stupid while I’m locked up in here.”

Enjolras just smirked. “See you tomorrow,” he called over his shoulder as he left, and Grantaire sighed, though there something strangely content in the noise, despite, or maybe because of, the circumstances.

— — — — —

Grantaire didn’t meet Enjolras’s eyes as he rapped his fingers impatiently against the front desk at the precinct, waiting for them to bring him his personal effects. “Do you have any idea what time it is?” Enjolras asked, his voice tight. Grantaire looked pointedly at the conspicuous clock on the wall and Enjolras’s scowl deepened. “Exactly, it’s 2 in the fucking morning. I have a 7 o’clock meeting, which you knew damn well, so why you had to go pick a bar fight with some guy twice your fucking size—”

“So sorry to be an inconvenience to you,” Grantaire drawled, slurring his words just slightly. “Can’t imagine what it must be like to have made plans that get interfered with by someone else’s priorities.”

Enjolras ground his teeth together. “Are we really doing this here and now?” he asked.

Grantaire just jerked a shrug, not meeting his eyes. “Do you have something better to do?”

Enjolras sighed and scrubbed a tired hand across his face. “I’m sorry that I had to cancel tonight,” he said, with as much patience as he could seemingly muster, considering the circumstances. “But I needed to get this proposal done ahead of the meeting tomorrow, and I don’t really see what the big deal—”

“You never do,” Grantaire interrupted, still not looking at him. “That’s the problem.”

“You knew going into this—”

“Just like you knew going into this that I’m a drunk and a disaster,” Grantaire interrupted, finally looking at Enjolras, his expression hard. “Well, congratulations, Apollo, it looks like we both knew what we were getting into and yet somehow, we’re both still disappointed.”

Enjolras just shook his head. “I’m not,” he said tiredly. “I’m not disappointed, Grantaire, because that would require me to actually expect better from you, and I learned my lesson on that a long time ago.”

Grantaire just grinned, a horrible, twisted grin. “Right back atcha.”

The officer returned with Grantaire’s belongings, and Grantaire grabbed his phone, wallet and keys, returning them to his pockets. Enjolras took a deep breath, but whatever he clearly wanted to say seemed to stick in his throat, and he looked away. “C’mon,” he said instead. “Let’s go home.”

Grantaire nodded once, shoving his hands in his pockets as he slumped after Enjolras, neither man touching the other.

— — — — —

“He’s not technically under arrest,” the cop told Enjolras as he led him back to the holding cell. “But that’s because we couldn’t really mirandize him when he was passed out.”

Enjolras eyed Grantaire, sprawled across the bench in the holding cell, and sighed. “So once he’s coherent, he’ll be charged with, what, drunk and disorderly?”

The officer nodded. “Yeah.” He glanced at Enjolras. “Look, it’s not my place, but, uh, maybe look into getting your friend some help?”

“Yeah,” Enjolras murmured, his expression drawn. “Maybe.” He sighed and turned. “Guess I’ll go preemtively pay his bail—”

“Apollo?” Grantaire croaked, and Enjolras sighed again.

“Give us a moment?” he asked the officer, who just shrugged.

Enjolras crossed to the bars of the holding cell, his arms crossed tightly in front of his chest. “Tell me,” he said, his tone clipped, “were you trying to get hit by a car by passing out in the street, or would have just been a fun little side effect of this spectacular attempt at blowing up your life?”

Grantaire groaned as he forced himself into a sitting position. “Honestly don’t remember if it was deliberate or not,” he muttered, swaying slightly as he blinked unfocusedly at Enjolras.

“There are easier ways of killing yourself,” Enjolras said.

Grantaire managed a small, sharp smile. “Don’t worry, I’ve considered those as well.”

Enjolras’s expression tightened and he looked away. “You used your one phone call for me,” he said.

Grantaire shrugged. “Didn’t know who else to call.”

“Probably anyone besides your ex.” Grantaire flinched and Enjolras sighed before telling him, as firmly as he could manage, “This is the last time. Do you understand?”

Grantaire barked a dry, humorless laugh. “If there’s one thing I can promise, Apollo, it’s that this won’t be the last time.”

“Maybe not for you,” Enjolras said. “But I’m done. So the next time you get picked up for a bar fight or public intoxication or whatever suicidal shit you decide to get yourself into next time, call someone else.”

He didn’t wait for Grantaire to answer, just turning on heel to leave him in the holding cell while he went to go pay his bail.

One last time.

— — — — —

The phone rang, and rang again, and Grantaire’s grip on the phone tightened. “Come on,” he muttered to himself. “Come on, pick up, pick up.”

But the phone just rang until the tinny, robotic voice informed him that no voicemail had been set up for this phone number, and he heaved a sigh as he hung up, a headache blooming in his temples that had absolutely nothing to the better part of a handle of whiskey that he’d worked his way through that evening. 

“Nothing?” the booking officer asked, and Grantaire ground his teeth together at the fake sympathetic tone.

“Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p’, and he scrubbed a hand across his face before heading back to the holding cell.

The booking officer trailed after him. “Do you, uh, want to try calling someone else?”

Grantaire just shook his head. “No,” he said, crossing his arms in front of his chest as the officer opened the door of the cell for him. “I’ll try again later. He’s probably asleep.”

The officer glanced up at the clock that showed it was barely 10pm, and he shook his head as he closed the door after Grantaire. “Your choice,” he said with a shrug.

Grantaire sighed heavily as he slumped down onto the hard metal bench, his fingers twitching as if he wanted to reach for an absent glass or bottle of beer, or else for a hand that used to be his to hold. His throat felt tight and he swallowed hard, tilting his head back to rest it against the wall of the holding cell.

He closed his eyes against the tears that he could feel prick in the corners of his eyes, though he honestly didn’t know if he was crying because Enjolras hadn’t picked up, or because there was a part of him that still thought that maybe, in the morning, he would. One more time.

[nyxdreamweaver]

Meeting the Cabin of Eternal Nap Time

Jason's POV

Word count: 4,906

Warning: Spoilers to TLH, grammar issues, the HOO canon has derailed and crashed into the Grand Canyon!!

Likes ❤️, reblogs 🔁 and comments 💬 are much appreciated :3 Lmk if you want to be tagged for the next updates

Ao3 link

<<Previous Coming Soon>>

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────

Jason and the redhead, who introduced herself as Rachel, and Annabeth put Piper on the couch while Silena rushed down the hall to get a med kit. Piper was still breathing, but she wouldn’t wake up. She seemed to be stuck in some kind of coma.

“We’ve got to heal her,” Jason insisted. “There’s a way, right?” Seeing her so pale, barely breathing, Jason felt a surge of protectiveness. Maybe he didn’t really know her. Maybe she wasn’t his girlfriend. But she tried to help him even when he thought she was a stranger and they’d survived the Grand Canyon together. They’d come all this way. He’d left her side for a little while, and this had happened.

Mara put their hand on Piper’s forehead and grimaced. “Her mind is in a fragile state. Rachel, what happened?”

“I wish I knew,” she said. “As soon as I got to camp, I had a premonition about Hera’s cabin. I went inside. Annabeth and Piper came in while I was there. We talked, and then—I just blanked out. Annabeth said I spoke in a different voice.”

“Was it a prophecy?” Chiron asked, walking closer.

“No. The spirit of Delphi comes from within. I know how that feels. This was like a long distance, a power trying to speak through me.”

Silena ran in with a leather pouch and she knelt next to Chiron, who was checking on Piper.

Annabeth continued for Rachel. “Chiron, what happened back there—I’ve never seen anything like it. I’ve heard it in Rachel’s prophecy voice. But this was different. She sounded like an older woman. She grabbed Piper’s shoulders and told her—”

“To free her from a prison?” Jason guessed. Annabeth stared at him. “How did you know that?” Chiron made a three-fingered gesture over his heart, like a ward against evil.

“Jason, tell them. Silena, the yellow vial, please.” Chiron trickled drops from a medicine vial into Piper’s mouth while Jason explained what had happened when the room froze—the dark misty woman who had claimed to be Jason’s patron.

When he was done, no one spoke, which made him more anxious.

“So does this happen often?” he asked. “Supernatural phone calls from convicts demanding you bust them out of jail?”

“Your patron,” Annabeth said. “Not your godly parent?”

“No, she said patron. She also said my dad had given her my life.”

Mara frowned. “I’ve never heard anything like that before. You said the storm spirit on the skywalk—he claimed to be working for some mistress who was giving him orders, right? Could it be this woman you saw, messing with your mind?”

“I don’t think so,” Jason said. “If she were my enemy, why would she be asking for my help? She’s imprisoned. She’s worried about some enemy getting more powerful. Something about someone dangerous rising from the earth on the solstice—”

Annabeth turned to Chiron, panicked. “Not Kronos. Please tell me it’s not that.”

The centaur looked miserable. He held Piper’s wrist, checking her pulse. At last he said, “It is not Kronos. That threat ended long ago. But …”

“But what?” Silena asked.

Chiron closed the medicine bag. “Piper needs some rest. We should discuss this later.”

“Or right now,” Jason said. “Sir, Mr. Chiron, you told me the greatest threat was coming. The last chapter. You can’t possibly mean something worse than an army of Titans, right?”

“Oh,” Rachel said in a small voice. “Oh, dear. The woman was probably Hera. Of course. Her cabin, her voice. She must have shown herself to Jason at the same moment.”

“Hera?” Annabeth’s snarl was even fiercer than Seymour’s. “She possessed you? She did this to Piper?”

“Rachel’s sorta right,” Jason said. “The woman did seem like a goddess. But she wore this—this goatskin cloak. It's the symbol of Juno, isn’t it?”

“It is?” Annabeth scowled. “I’ve never heard that.”

“Me either,” Mara said, speaking up. “We usually don't have Roman goddesss hijacking our oracles or coming out of magic stuffed leopard heads.”

Chiron nodded reluctantly. “Of course. Juno, Hera’s Roman parallel, in her most warlike state. The goatskin cloak was a symbol of the Roman soldier.”

“There’s something else I haven’t told anyone yet.” Jason said, everyone in the room was quiet. “Before I woke up on the bus, I had this dream and someone spoke to me. There was this giant goddess with a lotus crown asking me to free her as well, that must be Hera. Maybe it’s all connected.”

Silena’s face looked a bit surprised as she connected the dots. “That must be the reason why Olympus has shut down, and why Mr. D and Miss Hestia left: Hera went missing and got captured by someone so they recalled all gods to protect themselves.”

“So Hera has been imprisoned?” Rachel asked. “Who could do that to the queen of the gods?”

Annabeth crossed her arms. “Well, whoever they are, maybe we should thank them. If they can shut up Hera—”

“Annabeth,” Chiron warned, “she is still one of the Olympians. In many ways, she is the glue that holds the gods’ family together. If she truly has been imprisoned and is in danger of destruction, this could shake the foundations of the world. It could unravel the stability of Olympus, which is never great even in the best of times. And if both Juno and Hera has asked Jason for help—”

“Fine,” Annabeth grumbled. “Well, we know the Titans can capture a god, right? Atlas captured Artemis a few years ago. And in the old stories, the gods captured each other in traps all the time. But something worse than a Titan … ?”

Jason looked at the leopard’s head. Seymour was smacking his lips like the goddess had tasted much better than a Snausage. “Juno said she’d been trying to break through Hera’s prison bonds for a month but she couldn’t do it.”

“Which is how long Olympus has been closed,” Mara said. “So both Greek and Roman gods must know something bad is going on.”

“But why use her energy to send me here?” Jason asked. “She wiped my memory, plopped me into the Wilderness School where Leo and Piper are, and sent you a dream vision to come pick me up. Why am I so important? Why not just send up an emergency flare to the other Greek gods—let them know where Hera is so they bust her out? Why is even Juno involved in the first place if she’s a Roman goddess?”

“The gods need heroes to do their will down here on earth,” Silena said. “That’s always been that way. Their fates are always intertwined with us demigods.”

“That’s true,” Mara said, “but Jason’s got a point. Why him? Why take his memory? And why would Juno try to help Hera?”

“And Piper’s also involved somehow,” Rachel said. “Juno sent her the same message—Free me. And, Annabeth, this must have something to do with Percy and Emir disappearing.”

Annabeth fixed her eyes on Chiron. “Why are you so quiet, Chiron? What is it we’re facing?”

The old centaur’s face looked like it had aged ten years in a matter of minutes. The lines around his eyes were deeply etched. “My dear, in this, I cannot help you. I am so sorry.”

Annabeth blinked. “You’ve never … you’ve never kept information from me. Even the last great prophecy—”

“I will be in my office.” His voice was heavy. “I need some time to think before dinner. Rachel and Silena, will you watch the girl? Call Argus to bring her to the infirmary, if you’d like. And Annabeth and Mara, you should speak with Jason. Tell him about—about the Greek and Roman gods.”

“But…”

The centaur turned his wheelchair and rolled off down the hallway. Annabeth’s eyes turned stormy. She muttered something in Greek, and Jason got the feeling it wasn’t complimentary toward centaurs.

“I’m sorry,” Jason said. “I think of myself being here—I don’t know. I’ve messed things up coming to the camp, somehow. Chiron said he’d sworn an oath and couldn’t talk about it.”

“What oath?” Annabeth demanded. “I’ve never seen him act this way. And why would he tell me to talk to you about the gods...” Her voice trailed off.

Apparently she’d just noticed Jason’s sword sitting on the coffee table. She touched the blade gingerly, like it might be hot enough to burn her skin.

“What is it?” Mara asked, glancing at the gold sword as well. “Oh! This is the sword you were talking about earlier.” Jason nodded, watching the two inspect it.

“Is this gold?” Annabeth said. “Do you remember where you got it?”

“No,” Jason said. “Like I said, I don’t remember anything.”

Annabeth nodded like she’d just come up with a rather desperate plan. “If Chiron won’t help, we’ll need to figure things out ourselves. Which means… Cabin Fifteen. Rachel and Silena, you’ll keep an eye on Piper?”

“Sure,” Rachel promised. “Good luck, you three.”

Silena and Rachel waved goodbye to the three demigods as they exited the Big House.

“Hold on,” Jason said. “What’s in Cabin Fifteen?”

Annabeth walked into a different direction than Jason and Mara came from. “Maybe a way to get your memory back.”

────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────

They headed toward a newer wing of cabins in the southwest corner of the green. Some of them were fancy, with glowing walls or blazing torches, but Cabin Fifteen was very different.

It looked like an old-fashioned prairie style house with light blue walls that match the blue window shutters and a cream white thatched roof. It may not be fancy or cool looking like the others but Jason thought it was pretty homey. On the blue door hung a wreath of crimson flowers—red poppies, Jason thought, though he wasn’t sure how he knew. Nor does he know why he knew six different ways he could eat the poppies if found stuck in the woods. One part of him wanted to question his strangle knowledge but deep down Jason knew he wouldn’t get any answers.

“You think this is my parent’s cabin?” he asked.

“No,” Annabeth said. “This is the cabin for Hypnos, the god of sleep.”

“He’s also the twin of Thanatos, the god of Death and the cabin of my half brother.” Mara mentioned casually, making Jason confused. Both on what Mara just said and why they’re here.

“Then why—”

“You said you forgot everything when you woke up,” she said. “If there’s any god who can help us figure out memory loss, it’s Hypnos.”

Inside, even though it was almost dinnertime, there were many kids who were sound asleep under piles of covers. Soft violin music played from somewhere. A warm fire crackled in the hearth. Above the mantel hung a tree branch, each twig dripping a white liquid into a collection of tin bowls. Jason was tempted to catch a drop on his finger just to see what it was, but Mara held his hand back.

“Don’t touch the branches,” She warned. “Those are leaves that produce a special liquid just like the Lethe river. You could have your memory fully wiped clean if you drank it, only children of the Underworld could drink without any consequences.”

Jason nodded, really glad that he didn't touch the hanging plant.

The air smelled like fresh laundry. The cabin was so cozy and peaceful that Jason’s eyelids started to feel heavy. A nap sounded like a great idea. He was exhausted. There were plenty of empty beds, all with feather pillows and fresh sheets and fluffy quilts and maybe he could take a quick—Mara nudged him in the arm. “Wake up.”

Jason blinked. He realized his knees had been starting to buckle.

“Cabin Fifteen does that to everyone,” Annabeth told him. “If you ask me, this place is even more dangerous than the Ares cabin. At least with the Ares kids, you can learn where the active landmines are and if you get hurt, you could go to the infirmary and get patched up but if you end up falling asleep here, you’re stuck until someone comes to rescue you.”

Jason’s spine shuddered at the very idea of being trapped in a magic nap haven, he pinched his arm to keep him awake. “Got it, stay awake.”

Both Mara and Annabeth glanced around the beds– which was everywhere. There were hammocks hung up, sleeping bags covering the ground, and many mattresses of different sizes littered through the comfy cabin. Jason was careful not to step on the blankets, scared that he might hurt a sleepy and defenseless demigod.

“So who are we looking for?” Jason asked, muffling a yawn.

“We are looking for our friend, Clovis.” Mara answered. ”He’s not the Head Counselor of the cabin, but he is an expert with dreams and memories. If anyone here that can look through your mind and bring back your memories, it’s gotta be him.”

Jason wasn’t sure he wanted someone to look through his head, let alone someone that Annabeth labelled more dangerous than the entire Ares cabin, but he had no choice. Unless Juno decided to give his memories back early, this kid is his only hope. The two dark-haired girls found Clovis pretty easy: he was, of course, passed out on a dark blue bed. He was covered in a giant blanket with a black cat stuffy lying on top of him. The kid looked like a baby cow. He had an ivory tuft of hair on a wedge shaped head, with thick features and a thick neck. His body was stocky with pale white skin similar to Jason’s, but he had spindly chubby arms like he’d never lifted anything heavier than a pillow. Jason wanted to coo at the sight but Mara beat him to it.

“Aww.. I feel bad now. He’s so sleepy looking.” She murmured. Clovis shifted around in his sleep, subconsciously grabbed his cat plush, cuddling with it, making Mara and Jason go ‘Aww..’ again.

But that didn’t stop Annabeth.

“Clovis! Wake up.” She said, waiting for the stout boy to get up and help. When he didn’t get up, Annabeth was about to try again but Mara stopped her.

“Don’t worry, I got this.” Mara said. She knelt down to the boy before grabbing his shoulders and shaking him awake. “Clovis! The Hermes cabin messed with your cabin’s homemade candles and now it smells like seaweed and fish sticks!!” they shouted, making the boy wide awake.

“What!? How dare they!” Clovis gasped, sitting up and squinting. His eyes were filled with malice and plans of revenge. “The violet and honey scented candle sticks we made were perfect for comfort and sleeping and they just go fuck it all up! I’ll cursed them all with three weeks of horrible nightmares–”

“Actually, I lied, we just needed to wake you up.” Mara interrupted, ruffling with his hair. “Sorry Clover.”

Clovis scowled at her and pushed away her hand. He then crossed his arms, which reminded Jason of a giant, cranky teddy bear. “How dare you? You’ve betrayed my trust by lying about our special candles, leave now traitor. I’m going back to sleep. Good night.” Before he could pass out, Mara yanked his pillow off the bed, holding it hostage.

“That’s not fair,” Clovis complained. “Give it back.”

“Then stop napping for a minute.” Mara said. “We need your help.”

“Well you need a nap, you’re being very rude.”

“No– I mean yes, but not right now.” they sputtered. “What I need is your help.”

Clovis yawned loudly, making everyone else yawn as well. “After that, I can go to sleep?”

“First, you help,” Annabeth interrupted. “Then you can go to sleep. I promise”

Clovis sighed. His breath smelled like warm milk. “Fine. What’s your problem?”

“Actually, Jason here needs help.” Mara explained. “He’s a new camper here. Right now, he’s unclaimed but he has a weird gold sword and memorizes the Roman gods and monsters names instead of the Greek ones.”

Clovis hummed in reply. He kept humming and humming until he managed to hum himself back to sleep. Mara smacked her forehead while Annabeth huffed in annoyance. Annabeth thumped him into between the eyes, and Clovis sat up straight again. “I’m awake, mom!”

‘This must happen a lot.’ Jason thought.

Clovis shook his head around and squinted at the group. “Okay, new camper with a cool, gold sword and weird knowledge. What does that have to do with me?”

“Well if this helps, I also don't have a single memory of my life since this morning.” Jason imputed helpfully.

That must have been what Clovis wanted to hear because he didn’t pass out. He actually stood up and stretched, staring wide-eyed at Jason. For the first time today, his eyes were full of light and really wide open.

“So you’re dealing with memory problems? Why didn’t you start with that!?”

Jason was about to say ‘Well, we were getting to that part.’ But Clovis already moved on, walking over to a corner with a velvet blue couch covered in fluffy pillows and a large, soft armchair. The Hypnos’ kid sat down in the armchair and waved Jason over.

“Come! Sit, sit.” He said, patting the couch.

Jason went over and sat on the pillow-covered couch but he hesitantly looked at Clovis, whose smile was a combination of a sneaky cat and a mad scientist. “What.. are you going to do?”

“I’m going to place a trance on you, and while you’re in a trance I’ll try to find where your memories are locked up.”

Jason was having second thoughts about this now, but this was the only way so he took a deep breath and asked, “What do I need to do?”

“You just need to follow the sound of my voice and hold this candlestick.” Clovis grabbed one of the candles sitting on the windowsill and handed it to Jason. The tiny blue flame danced around with the gentle breeze, emitting a sweet mix of cinnamon and ginger.

“But please cover your mouth if your nose feels itchy. Last time this happened, someone,” Clovis glanced at the girls, Annabeth quickly looked away in embarrassment while Mara muffled a grin. “sneezed in my face during the process.”

Clovis laughed at the memory. His laughter sounded sweet and comforting, like a weighted blanket sitting on Jason’s shoulders. The faint smell of cinnamon and red poppies seeped into his nose as Clovis continued to talk with him.

“So tell me, what was the first thing you saw when you woke up?” Clovis asked.

“Well, when I woke up on the Wilderness bus, Piper was sitting next to me, holding my hand.”

Clovis hummed in reply. “What else happened?” He moved his hands and held Jason’s face, cupping it delicately. Clovis’ warm hands touching Jason’s cold skin, sent a chill down his spine.

“Then she calls me.. her boyfriend, which was really shocking because I never thought I could date someone so pretty like Piper. And… Leo also appeared, saying that.. we’re friends.”

“Okay, what happened after?”

Jason was about to say some more but he had slowly forgotten what was about to say next. Something about…Leon.or maybe.. Penny.? The whole room was silent, except the sound of Clovis’ calming voice quietly speaking to him, telling him to stay focused on him. Jason was ready to answer another one of Clovis’s questions, all fine and dandy.

And soon, Jason was no longer in Cabin Fifteen.

He found himself stuck in the woods again. Unlike the first dream he had earlier, the trees stretched high up to the sky, covering it with its leaves. The faint scent of Arroyo lupine filled Jason’s nose as he attempted to walk through the dense woods.

Redwood Parks. The name echoes through his mind as the bushes rustle behind him. Gray wolves from different directions start coming out of the bushes, surrounding him like a piece of prey. The wolves led him to the remains of an old house. During this, Jason showed no sign of fear towards them. Deep inside, he knew they wouldn’t harm him. But was it out of care or because of an order, Jason wasn’t so sure, but he knew Jason couldn’t show any weakness to them. Weakness was a plague that’ll get him killed here and now.

One of the wolves that were walking beside him bared its teeth at Jason before snapping at his heel: both a playful gesture and a threat. Jason snapped his teeth back at the wolf. Always fight back.

Soon, the strange pack of wolves walked Jason inside the ancient house where a pool of water stared back at him. It seems bottomless with a blue mist surrounding the whole thing. Wanting to investigate the area, Jason tried to step forward but the wolves began growling at his defiance. Soon, a female wolf appeared from the shadows, towering over him glaring at Jason with calculated stormy blue eyes. She wore a grin that is a mixture of a smile and a snarl, both dangerous if Jason doesn't play his cards right.

‘You of all demigods would know better than to step forward without an order’ The She-Wolf spoke with hostility.

Jason looked up to the wolf. “I think.. I know you.”

Her ears flicked around and her eyes flashed, but Jason understood it- she wasn’t a human but a wolf. They don’t use words but their body to speak, and what she said was. ‘That you do, but in order to complete her mission, your mind has been wiped clean and you were placed there to meet them.’

“Her mission..?” Jason said, trailing off. “You’re talking about Juno- I mean Hera, right?”

Just then, the other wolves growled in unison and the ruins’ mist began to clear away. The imagery that he saw almost made Jason want to gag, even if he didn’t understand what it was. Two glowing orbs stood in front of him, sharing two different scenes. The first orb revealed an image of a familiar vine dirt cage, woven like a ball of twine. Sitting inside was a woman dressed in black robes, looking more exhausted every minute but he could feel the remaining power she had left radiating from the cage. The second cage meanwhile, looked more inky and corrupt, it radiated a more malevolent energy that even the giant she-wolf shuddered from it. Before he could ask, the mysterious cage shook and slowly rose upwards from the ground. Jason looked back at the wolf, puzzled about what this meant. “What is this? Who’s inside the other cage?”

‘That is the enemy of the sky.’ The wolf growled, her eyes glared with malice. ‘The ground wishes for the crown to rise again by misusing our sacred land.’

“Well where is this place, then? I can come over there and help you, just tell me where it is.”

She huffed. ‘You wouldn’t become half of the soldier you are if we made it too easy for you. Besides, you’ve made the journey before. After all, it was the place where it all began for you.'

“But how?” Jason pleaded. “I don’t even know who I am, let alone where I’m supposed to go.”

‘Nil sine labore: nothing without effort. You have conquered the impossible and you will do it again. Now our time to talk has come to an end. Now, arise. Son of-’

Everything happened in a flash. Jason sat up, gasping for air and jerked his head around. Annabeth, Mara and Clovis all stood by him, sharing a look of anxiety and worry, though Clovis looked more intrigued than beforehand. Jason rubbed his eyes. “What happe-”

“You were about to fade away.” Annabeth said abruptly. The look in her eyes made JAson believe that Annabeth- much like the she-wolf from his dreamscape, likes to get straight to the point. “We had to wake you up from the trance. You were asleep for less than five minutes.”

Jason’s shoulders sagged after hearing that. “I’m assuming that you couldn’t find anything?”

“If by anything you mean your memories or any answers to your predicament, then you’re right but also wrong.” Clovis said a bit too cheery. “While I couldn't find out your parentenge or why you memorized all of Roman mythology, I did find something interesting. See, your memories are ‘gone’ but not erased, they’re just blocked out by magic. Usually, I could bring them back after one dream session but in your case, it’s a special one. There are only two ways to bring them back.”

“Which are?” Mara said, trailing off.

“One, you would have to find the one responsible for this and make them reverse the magic on you. That might be difficult depending on which god casted the spell since the gods can be fickle and can change their minds quickly on a whim but it can be accomplished.”

“What about the second option?” Jason asked.

“The second one involves more on Jason’s ability rather than the god’s ability. When I went inside Jason’s mind to have a look, there’s a giant wall built around the suppressed memories, making your mind wiped clean. There are some bits of memories that weren’t locked away, hence why you can remember the Roman god names and your name. Another thing I noticed was the tiny cracks forming in the wall. Whoever did this, the magic they casted is fragile, like they did this during a weakened state out of desperation.”

“If you want to get them back, you must find a connection to your old life- a key and open the lock on your own at the right time. This is also pretty difficult and very vague but it can also be accomplished as well.”

But Jason didn’t understand. How in Tartarus was he supposed to find something that’s connected to his old life? Maybe his sword was a clue? It did give him a glimpse of someone he knows.

Annabeth frowned. “Well, what does that mean?” she asked, sharing Jason’s thoughts out loud. “When is the right time? And how are we supposed to know what this ‘key’ is?”

Clovis yawned, once again making everyone yawn in unison. “I don’t know, only the Fates and the Author truly knows the full picture.”

Ignoring that cryptid and odd reply, Jason made sure not to show his disappointment on his face. He patted Clovis’s shoulder and smiled. “Well, thank you for trying to help. It’s better than nothing. I’ll see you around.”

“No problem.” Clovis murmured, flopping back into the comfy armchair and already halfway asleep. But Clovis looked back at Jason and winked at him. “If you ever want to take a nap with us– come by some time.”

Jason felt his face warming, but before he could answer, Clovis fell asleep.

A distant conch shell horn echoed in the background, and Annabeth sighed. “Alright, it’s dinnertime now.” Jason and Mara both gave her a look, but before either of them could protest Annabeth said, “Look, it’s not like I’m giving up helping you with your problem. But what I am saying is that you won’t find a solution here. You’ve been given a quest by both Juno and Hera, so we’re going to need to discuss that during the campfire with Chiron and everyone else, and you’ll be off in the morning. Besides, I got a feeling you’re feeling hungry.”

With precise timing, Jason’s stomach growled making the trio laugh before getting shushed by one of the dazed Hypnos’ kids. The three demigods started exiting out of the cabin, tiptoeing carefully around the sleepy bodies of the hypnos kids.

“Bye Clover!! Sorry for lying to you!! I’ll bring you a gift to apologize soon.” Mara loudly whispered, closing the cabin door behind them.

Jason sighed, finally free from the powerful magic from the cozy nap cabin. The day was almost over by the time they left and while they didn’t find out about his past, at least there was another way to get back his memories. Looking up, the once cerulean skies were now a fiery orange fading from the west. Many campers were leaving their cabins and started walking to the east, chatting with friends about the day’s events.

“We should head to the pavilion now.” Annabeth said, breaking the silence. “We don’t want to be late and miss dinner.”

Mara’s ears perked up at the word, ‘dinner’. “Oh yeah! Dinnertime! Perfect timing ‘cause I’m craving a cheeseburger and some french fries.”

Just then, a noisy owl swooped down towards the trio and landed next to Marar. It’s feathers were a shade of mahogany, the frantic bird’s coat was messy and dirty and it only had one long feather sitting on top of it’s head. The owl was shrieking and hopping around in a panicked manner, like it’s trying to tell them something. To Jason’s surprise, both Mara and Annabeth understood what it was saying.

The owl was flapping it’s wings and pointed in a different direction. During this, Annabeth’s eyes widened while Mara shouted aloud, “They’re doing what?..With what!?! Ok, Annie, go take Jason to the pavilion. I’ll take care of the problem.” The goth girl dashed after the owl leaving the two behind.

Jason glanced down at Annabeth. “Will she be fine?”

She hummed. “Yeah, I’m sure. Come on, the pavilion is this way.”

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────

A/N: Finally done with this chapter. Made the Clovis and Jason scene pretty gay, I swear someone possessed me.

Next chapter will finally star Mara's POV and the story will follow this POV order for now on

Jason, Mara, Piper, and Leo

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────

Taglist: @punkeropercyjackson @dontspillthefrijoles43 @puriteenism @aurantiumred @yawnwhatyadoing @emmidemi @justhereforthememesnangst @padfoot-sirius-black @darwizzylover @sarcasticallyperfectperson @its-teeem @novaclips3 @an-asexual-crow

[epicbuddieficrecs]

Weekly Recap | December 11th-18th 2023

🎵 It's beginning to look a lot like Christmaaaaaaas 🎵

If you guys have any Christmas buddie fics to recommend, drop them in the comments!

Also, I see your reblogs, your tags and your comments, and I really appreciate them! 😊

Complete

We might end up real close by thewolvesof1998 / @thewolvesof1998 (S2E1: Under Pressure, PWP | 2K | Explicit): “Said you wanted us to bond. We might end up real close.” When Buck said those words to Bobby just merely few hours ago, it had been a joke about how if the bomb went off they would be reduced to blood, shards of bone and flesh, mixed so together that you wouldn’t be able to tell them apart without DNA testing. He hadn’t meant it in the way that it was now true with Eddie balls deep in him as he fucks Buck against the tile wall of the firehouse showers, both of them still fully dressed, uniform pants undone and pulled only down to mid-thigh in their haste.

in the moonlight you look just like an angel in disguise by smilingbuckley/ @smilingbuckley (Post-S6, Cabin fic | 35K | Mature): While Christopher is at camp, Buck and Eddie go on a vacation of their own to a small cabin in the woods... It goes as well as you'd expect.

got nothing but love for you (fall more in love every day) by smilingbuckley/ @smilingbuckley (S6, Secret Relationship | 6K | Mature): 5 times Buck and Eddie are almost caught + 1 time they are

this is a place where I feel at home by smilingbuckley/ @smilingbuckley (Buck&Bobby | 1K | General): After watching parents mourn the loss of their children, the 118 go to check up on their children. And Bobby... he's staring at Buck, and Buck is confused.

something 'bout the time of the year by smilingbuckley/ @smilingbuckley (Christmas, Getting Together | 20K | Teen): “We need to talk,” Eddie looks up from his phone to see Christopher standing in the kitchen doorway with his arms crossed, his crutches leaning against the wall beside him. “That doesn’t sound good,” Eddie teases and locks his phone, “What about.” “Buck,” Christopher answers and walks over to the table, sitting down in front of Eddie. “He always tries to make Christmas happy for others. Aunt Maddie said they didn’t celebrate it when they were kids. We need to give him the best Christmas this year.” “You have a plan?” (Part 1 of The Diaz Christmas Experience)

want your love in every flavor by smilingbuckley/ @smilingbuckley (PWP | 2K | Explicit): After getting together and Buck promising he'll stay the rest of the month at the Diaz house, they go back to his loft to pack. But the excitement of finally being together gets them distracted. (Part 2 of The Diaz Christmas Experience)

Santa Baby by smilingbuckley/ @smilingbuckley (PWP | 2K | Explicit): Buck has to be aware of what the Santa suit did to him. And to the single mothers visiting, his mind supplies, and his fingers tighten their hold on the steering wheel. He hates when he gets jealous. Maybe it’s not jealousy, because he knows Buck would never flirt back or something. But he feels something when he sees those moms bat their eyes at him, probably imagining taking the sexy Santa home. But, he thinks, I am taking this sexy Santa home. (Part 3 of The Diaz Christmas Experience)

happy new year by smilingbuckley/ @smilingbuckley (Established Buddie, NYE | 2K | Teen): It's quite magical to actually have fireworks around them as they kiss. Buck had always felt them, imagined them in a very cartoony way. Now it’s real. The ground shakes slightly underneath his feet with the loud rumbles. The lights flicker against his closed eyelids. And Eddie’s mouth is warm and loving against his. (Part 4 of The Diaz Christmas Experience)

merle said mama tried, but the prison still won by oklahoma/ @malewifediaz (Christmas, Getting Together | 3K | Teen): Eddie goes to (mall) jail.

Of Love, Hospital Jitters And Christmas Lights by callmenewbie/ @callmenewbie (Established Buddie, Hurt Chris | 6K | Teen): Eddie and Buck end up in the hospital waiting room a few days before Christmas

to wake up by your side is all I wanna do by smilingbuckley/ @smilingbuckley (Living Together, FWB | 14K | Mature): After a fire destroys his loft, Buck moves in with the Diazes indefinitely. Except neither he, Christopher, nor Eddie wants him to move out. Buck gets used to being fully included in the Diaz family and the changes it brings to be with them full-time. It's a dream come true, especially when things between him and Eddie start developing in a certain way.

when your world is on fire by smilingbuckley/ @smilingbuckley (Established Buddie, Hurt Eddie | 6K | Teen): The 118 responds to what should be a normal house fire only to find out that one of their own is stuck inside and believed to be dead.

it's so dark tonight (but you'll survive certainly) by lemonzestywrites/ @lemonzestywrites (S5E6 Speculation | 5K | Teen): Eddie struggles with the aftermath of being held hostage and Buck is there to help keep him from crashing.

when it rains in california by lemonzestywrites/ @lemonzestywrites (Getting Together | 4K | General): The minutes pass, and the rain falls with a scattered tapping on the ground. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had seen it rain like this in LA, quiet and calming, leaving a nice undisturbed haze across the city skies. He wants to bask in it, even for a moment. Well...maybe not in the rain. Buck’s more than okay watching it afar from the awning in Eddie’s backyard.

temptation comes from wants we cannot yet claim by lemonzestywrites/ @lemonzestywrites (Coma Eddie | 8K | Teen): He thinks back to waking up with Buck in bed beside him, of family breakfast and lazy morning ins. All of that sounds…it sounds wonderful. Perfect even. And of course, he’d want it here. Here where he can experience these things. And even for a fraction of a second let his mind wander and believe it’s real. Even when it’s not. He knows he shouldn’t- can’t. But God, Eddie wants. He wants, and he wants- “You could stay here.”

can't make it stop, give me all you got by 42hrb/ @exhuastedpigeon (PWP | 4K | Explicit): Eddie and Buck fuck in a club at Pride

men made of stone and forged in fire (even you deserved to be so softly loved) by lemonzestywrites/ @lemonzestywrites (First Kiss | 5K | Teen): A quiet night in and a hand running through his hair, those two simple things usually don't do much to phase the average person. But Eddie is a different story.

share this hour of make-believe by fleetinghearts/ @shitouttabuck (Quarantine, Pre-S4 | 1K | General): or, quarantine finds eddie sharing a bed with a pillow-thief and sleep-talker. he minds less than he thinks.

all i want for christmas by lemonzestywrites/ @lemonzestywrites (Christmas, Proposal | 3K | Teen): Eddie decides to finally pop the question to Buck, but his proposal doesn’t go quite as he planned.

jadeite hearts could never cost this much by lemonzestywrites/ @lemonzestywrites (Getting Together | Teen): Eddie and Buck spend their first night together after their first kiss. Adorable fluff ensues.

exactly what you were looking for by lemonzestywrites/ @lemonzestywrites (Established Buddie, Proposal | 3K | Teen): While washing the dishes, Eddie comes to a gentle revelation.

a two inch difference by lemonzestywrites/ @lemonzestywrites (Getting Together | 3K | Teen): The height difference between Buck and Eddie is only two inches, which isn't a significant one by any means- until it is.

🔥 the last shred of truth in the lost myth of true love by lemonzestywrites/ @lemonzestywrites (Friends With Benefits, Post-S6E13 | 25K | Explicit): “If…If you’re really curious about if you’re still good at sex, you can practice,” he says slowly, partly from nerves and also because Eddie is still unsure if he should even say it at all. But once again, self-preservation is only a few steps too slow, and Eddie rips the bandaid off before he can rethink it all. “With me.”

Hold Me Close and Hold Me Fast by giselleslash (Post-Lightning strike | 5K | General): Buck dies and Eddie knows he needs to finally let go of the fear that’s been keeping him from telling Buck everything, because that fear is nothing compared to seeing Buck suspended in the sky far from his reach and lost to him. He’s going to bring Buck home.

Be My Baby by elless (Established Buddie | 1,6K | Explicit): Buck and Eddie enjoy some time alone. And maybe take an important step forward in their relationship.

🔥 dream sweet of me by spaceprincessem/ @spaceprincessem (Dimension Travel | 16K | Teen): buck is in an accident and wakes up in a universe where the 118 don't know who he is

you were the wilderness I crossed into by rowan_wood/ @transboybuckley (Post-Coma, Getting Together | 9K | Teen): or: the 118 has a 24 hour shift, and zero calls. The firefam spends it playing games, and everyone takes the opportunity to tell Buck just how much they love him. (Part 1 of bottle episode)

blind hope's my home by rowan_wood/ @transboybuckley (Fluff & Smut | 5K | Explicit): or: the first day of Buck and Eddie's new life. They fuck, they dance, they fall even more in love. (Part 2 of bottle episode)

WIP

🔥 Precious & Fragile Things by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Small Miracles AU, Angel Buck | 10K | 4/? | Teen): Buck is the Fallen Angel of Petty Temptation, who has been tasked with tempting human Eddie Diaz to sin and enjoy life, but just a little. He thinks the job will be easy - get in, get out, go back to Peru to continue messing around with eternity. But when Buck arrives in Los Angeles, he finds Eddie is harder to tempt than expected, and more compelling than Buck had hoped.

🔥 Right Where You Left Me by hyacinthusbloom/ @thebloomingheather (Canon Divergent, Post-S4, Angst | 20K | 19/? | Explicit | Warning: Rape/Non-con): "Therapy?" Eddie suggests. Buck almost laughs, but instead says, "I'll go if you go." Because he had fully expected him to be chicken shit, to disagree, and instead Eddie, the bastard, replies, "Deal." Or Buck never tells anyone that he slept with his therapist and deals with the butterfly effect years later.

Kiss Me Once Cause You Know I Had A Long Night by I_still_dont_understand_13 / @sherlockcrossing (Prompt collection | 15/? | 10K | Teen): 100 kiss prompts.

[tree-of-growth]

FINALLY - THE LONG AWAITED “FRUIT CULT: WHERE ARE THEY NOW?” POST HAS HIT THE PRESSES!

It’s only been like. 3, 4 months since the saga ended so this is right on time fuck you! - It took a LONG time setting up interviews to record all this information ESPECIALLY since the majority of the ex fruit cult members hate me and I had to go undercover to procure them.

So, at long last - here it is!

The Tree of Growth / Fruit Freaks - Where Are They Now?!

Apple is living their best life (for the most part) under the care of Allison in their shared home in Illinois. They have come out as nonbinary and aroace (and cut their hair!!) and spends plenty of time in therapy and at their local community garden, munching on apples and garlic bread. They also enjoy coloring. Oh wait- oh shit :/ the drywall got them. Oops. Nevermind. Rip.

Fig has joined an incredibly shady secret government organization and is working on an extremely top secret mission as we speak (probably has something to do with hunting down Mulberry though.) She and Cherry remain happily married and are making it work long distance.

Shrimp Man / Cherry Tomato has broken out of jail, hopped the border, and bought a beautiful cabin by the seaside where he will spend the rest of her days in (moderate) peace!

Lemon / Sadie is finishing her agriculture degree and renting a lovely house in the New York countryside with Polaris and their foster daughter Charlotte. They are in therapy and using gardening and animal husbandry to cope. She’s planning on proposing to and marrying Polaris for real once they graduate and settle down a bit more.

Lychee / Polaris is finishing up her astrophysics degree at Cornell with Sadie and Charlotte. She’s developed a particular interest in radio astronomy and has scored an especially exclusive summer internship that will almost certainly lend her to a fantastic career after graduation. They regret their time with the cult but can’t help but miss it, maybe - just a bit.

Date / Allison is currently fulfilling their prison sentence in community service as Apple’s caretaker! They reside in a small bungalow in Illinois. They’re desperately homesick and missing their family (and Percy) but is doing their best to take genuine care of Apple (but maybe not top notch. Who can blame them.) They regret everything :)

Cherry / Aura was deported to Canada and has returned to the Children of the Sun (very fun hippie commune). Technically they are jailed there but the hippies aren’t too fond of the prison industrial complex so I’m sure they’re vibing. Fig brings them “cool stuff that THEY CANNOT TELL the government about” from time to time.

Mulberry / Vrispeta is not dead!! After Area 51 they’re just trying to figure out what to do with her life. You can follow her adventures at @muppetjokernum8ereightfan ! I think she’s on the moon right now or some shit?!

Peach is in physical recovery after being turned into a quadparalegic thanks to Apple and is currently staying with his boyfriend while waiting for their prosthetics to come in. He is in a lot of debt.

Custard Apple has just woken up after a very long nap and is extremely confused.

Acai / Percy died of lead poisoning :( they’re out there rotting in the ocean, somewhere… - their ghost is likely haunting the shit out of Allison :) (Affectionate haunting, of course, nothing crazy.)

Starfruit has gone back to their normal life - but is still very dedicated to the Fruit God! He is also still posting at @squireofthegrove

Orange went home with her mom and is currently working on finishing her One Piece binge an hour at a time.

—————————

If YOU are an ex member of the fruit freaks and have something you’d like to share about your life after that is not listed here, feel free to reach out and I’ll edit you in <3

But enough of those losers - What about me?! The infamous mysterious tog blog… Who am I?! Was I really just Lemon pulling a fast one on the rest of the group? Or was that only a facade ?? Am I an angel?! A crazy super fan?! The Fruit God Herself?!?

Heh. Wouldn’t you like to know.

I’ll continue posting here on occasion. Its members may have moved on but the Tree is eternal.., And I have many… many unfinished plans….