#best concrete anchors for railings

[fixdex-fastening-technology]

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[noharaaa]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐈𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺:

��after all the cash I threw your way, this is how you treat your best customer?” You clenched your fists, heat rising to your face as his gaze lingered just a second too long. “You’ll come around,” he murmured, stepping closer, his smirk softening into something almost dangerous. “You always do.” Two years later, you found yourself standing in front of him again, in the same deadly game, his words haunting you more than you cared to admit.

╰᭡⿴༘͜─𖧷̷۪۪᪇ ༘᪇𖧷̷۪۪⃟ꦽ⃟:: ᰰ۪۪꧇⿴༘⃕▦᰷᰷ᰰ

𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 1 >>> 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 2 ‖ 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

It was the first time you saw death in person.

it was Ji-yeon. on the floor near the doorway with two bullets buried deep in her flesh. 

Her blood oozing out in thin rivulets across the cracked tiles under your feet. Her eyes were wide, unfocused, her lips trembling as if she tried to say something... but no words ever came. 

You were paralyzed. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t scream. All you could do was watch her life slip away from her face.

Some people barely remembered. You remembered everything… and blamed yourself most of all.

__________________

The rain poured down in gentle sheets, making the city lights blur into the grey, misty air. Your shoes clung to the wet concrete beneath you as you stood at the edge of the bridge.

The water churned beneath, causing endless ripples on its surface. 

The cold bit into your skin but you didn’t care. Your thoughts were louder than the storm around you, the distant hum of traffic barely audible.

Every rejection letter felt like a slap in the face. The looks of sympathy stinging like knives twisting in your gut.

“We’re sorry, but we’re unable to offer you a position at this time…”

Each rejection stringing together, the words repeating in your mind. You tried to do right this time, to escape the life that had ruined you. But the world didn’t forget.

And neither did you.

Maybe this is how it’s supposed to end. Not like anyone is waiting for me out here anyway.

Ji-yeon’s gone. Your parents’ gone. And you? You’re already a ghost.

You gripped the railing with your fingers. The coolness of the metal bit into your palms, anchoring you for a split second. The images of the prison cell came buzzed to the back of your mind. the suffocating walls, the echo of your own screams as nightmares dragged your under.

It had been two years since you'd been released. Two years of being a nobody.

No job. No purpose. No future.

And yet you still felt stuck. All trapped by your past, your record, your name. Trapped by the very first decisions you made at fourteen years old when—

“Hey! Hey, wait!”

A voice snapped you out of your daze. You looked over to see a woman running toward you through the rain, her jacket pulled tight against the weather.

“What the hell are you doing?! ” the woman yelled, her voice trembling but steady. She came to a halt several feet away, her hands up in surrender. “You don’t have to do this! Just- just come sit down, okay?!” ”

You looked at her, your heart racing. She didn’t look much older than you, her face pale and slick from the rain.

You thought about ignoring her. About looking back and watching the water under the Han River bridge take you.

But something in her eyes stopped you.

Without a word you let her lead you away from the edge,  your legs shaking as you sank onto a nearby bench. The woman stood next to you, her breath heavy and sharp.

“There’s a lot of rain,” she said, brushing raindrops from her cheeks. “Okay, listen. I’m gonna get my phone. It’s in my car, right over there. I’ll be right back I promise. Don’t move, okay?”

You didn’t answer. You just looked at the ground, your hands slightly fidgeting in your lap.

The woman stalled a bit, afraid that you’d run away the instant she turned her back. But eventually she jogged off toward the parking lot, her boots splashing through the puddles.

The silence that followed afterward was resounding. The rain felt quieter now, the storm receding into the background.

You just sat there alone, freezing on the bench outside as cool evening air enveloped you like a cold blanket. 

Then there was the sound of footsteps. Sharp and deliberate. Not the same hurried footsteps like the woman before you.

But these footsteps was slow and calculated, as if they had all the time in the world.

Your head shot up, heart racing.

He lingered just a few feet away silhouetted by the pale glow of a distant streetlamp.

The black umbrella protectively shielding him from the rain.

The man was tall, his posture unnervingly perfect. All his limbs held at the same angle. He wore a grey suit on his body, tighter than his frame and perfectly tailored. The kind of fabric that didn’t dare wrinkle. Even in the rain. 

But it was his face that made your stomach turn.

He had a smile that was out of place. Not here, not now. It spread across his face as though it was rehearsed in front of a mirror a thousand times. His dark eyes were set under his neatly combed black hair.

“Rough day?”

The words were casual, but his delivery wasn’t. 

They felt too polished, the words pouring from his mouth like he had asked the same question to hundreds of others before. 

Hi voice was soft and polite, but there was something under it … a faint glimmer of amusement, as though this whole situation was some kind of joke he was in on and you weren’t.

“Who the hell are you?”

The man tilted his head, his smile never leaving. He approached, the stride of his polished shoes on the wet pavement shattering the silence. The umbrella held in his hand shifted whenever he moved.

“It’s not important who I am,” he said, his tone light. “What matters to me is what I can give.”

“I have no interest in whatever you’re selling.”

He chuckled quietly, the sound a bit too measured. “Oh, I think you do.”

There was something in the way he carried himself. Relaxed but poised. 

He looked into the empty bench next to you and slowly sat down on it, folding the umbrella in one movement. 

The rain splattered against his shoulders, but he didn’t seem to notice or mind.

“You’ve been running for a long time,” he said, voice low and steady. “Running from your past. From your mistakes. From the debts that just keep piling up no matter how fast you go.”

“You don’t know shit about me.”

His smile stretched just a bit. “I know the jobs you’ve applied for. The form letters that said ‘no.’ The nights you’ve spent wondering if you should even bother getting up the next day.”

Your chest felt heavy, fingers nearly balled into fists.

He tugged at something in his pocket, slowly. and took out a small, clean card. 

The sight of it twisted something in your gut, it was a reaction you couldn't explain.

“This,” he said, raising the card to between two fingers, “is your way out. Your chance to start over. All you have to do call the number.”

You looked at the card and scoffed, “I bet there’s a catch.”

The man leaned back just a little, crossing one leg over the other with the same poised and casual gesture.

“No catch,” he said smoothly. “Just a game. One where the rules are easy, and the prize is … everything you’ve ever wanted.”

The manner in which he said it gave you goosebumps.

He held the card out longer, the hand steady, the smile as unshakeable as it was unsettling.

You still refused. Although your rejection came out a bit more uncertain, rather than negative.

“I’m not interested.”

“Oh, I think you will be. When you get ready to stop pretending you have other choices.” 

For a moment you wanted to toss the card away and erase that ridiculous smile off his face.

However, your hand moved by itself, it trembled when it extended to grab the card.

His smile broadened, dark eyes glinting. He stood up from the bench with an accurate similarity to how he arrived, flipping his umbrella back open in one motion.

"Good luck."

And then then he was gone, disappearing into the rain like nothing happened.

A week later…

The card lay frozen on the table, staring up at you like it was a living being. You were pacing around your tiny apartment. The man’s phone burned into your mind, replaying over and over. 

For hours you stared at it, wondering if you should call or not. 

You held the card yourself, your fingers shaking as you finally dialed the number.

Please don’t answer. Please don't answer…

But it rang once.

And there was the voice you recognized, smooth as ever. “Hello.”

You froze. You didn't expected to hear from him so soon.

“Uh…hello? I’m calling about the—”

“I’ll be there shortly,” said the voice. And the line went dead before you could respond.

__________________

The knock came quicker than expected. Twenty minutes, maybe less. Your stomach twisted as you approached the door. A sense of regret almost pooled in the back of your mind before you took a deep breath, pushing the negative thoughts away instantly. 

You were hesitant to open the door, but did so regardless.

And there he was again, the same eerie grin that never appeared to falter, his grey suit as fresh as the day he met you, not a single hair out of place. 

He then walked past you right into your apartment without waiting for an invitation.

“I trust you’ve made up your mind,” his voice was like butter.

You swallowed, shutting the door closed. “Not like I have much choice, do I?”

“Good. That’s what I like to hear.”

He moved to the small table in the center, placing down an envelope on its surface. 

Somehow the air in the room felt denser, as some nonexistent atmosphere was heavy with unwritten laws.

He gently tapped on the envelope with his index finger, “This envelope has what you're looking for. But to receive it, there’s one last step.”

“What step?”

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a blue tile. The vibrant color stood out against his bare hand, placing it onto the table and leaned back.

“A game. Win, and the envelope is yours.”

“What kind of game?”

“Ddakji. Surely you’ve played it before?”

Seriously?

“You’re joking.”

“Far from it,” he retrieved another tile from his other picket, it was red this time, and held it up between two fingers. “The mechanics are pretty straightforward. You make a move using your tile, and if you flip mine, you win.

“And if I lose?” you asked cautiously. 

“You’ll try again. And again. Until you succeed.” 

______________

It had taken what felt like hours. The recruiter had been merciless, watching each failed attempt with the same detached amusement, occasionally retrieving the tile and resetting it in front of you. He never flinched, never reacted, even when the sound of the slap echoed sharply in the small apartment.

Finally, after what felt like eternity, you managed to flip the red tile. It had been a clumsy move. 

more luck than skill, actually.

but the recruiter accepted it without question.

“Congratulations,” he said now, sliding the red envelope across the table toward you. “You’ve earned it.”

Your hands hovered over the tiny envelope. “What’s in it?”

“Your next step,” the recruiter said simply, standing and smoothing the front of his suit. “You’ll find the details inside. The games begins soon.”

He turned to leave, his movements as perfect and deliberate as always. At the door, he paused, glancing back over his shoulder.

“Pack lightly,” he said, his voice almost cheerful. “You won’t be needing much where you’re going.”

And then the door clicked shut behind him.

╰᭡⿴༘͜─𖧷̷۪۪᪇ ༘᪇𖧷̷۪۪⃟ꦽ⃟:: ᰰ۪۪꧇⿴༘⃕▦᰷᰷ᰰ

𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 1 >>> 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 2 ‖ 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

[ainewriting]

SHORT-STORY: Something Concrete (I)

It’s an awfully odd shade of blue that paints the sky. An unnamable thing, is the best Carlos can think to describe it as in the moment. It was an in-between brown and green and blue mixed together that really wasn’t quite blue at all. Unnameable and unremarkable.

The lukewarm tinge of plastic railing bathed in sun reaches Carlos’ fingertips and anchors him to ground as he looks up and up into nothing, and imagines nothing looking back.

Indescribable colours stretch beyond what he can see. Carlos wants to know what lies behind them. He had forgotten what he had once known, and so he watches the monotone shade of the sky bend and twist before his eyes, left always unblinking. Big blotches of new colour drifted in like clouds and suddenly it felt to Carlos as though he wasn't truly seeing anything anymore. It was as though he stood painfully with his feet against a line passed long before, ever so carefully attempting to return back to an unknown whence. He had a choice. Carlos wanted to know.

So he stepped over.

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

(A/N : This is a three-part miniseries so be sure to keep an eye out for the next bit :D! Thank you for reading)

[blog-for-ever1]

A Comprehensive Guide to Deck Removal

Decks provide an excellent outdoor space for relaxation, entertainment, and enjoying nature. However, over time, decks can deteriorate due to weather exposure, wear and tear, and structural issues. When a deck becomes unsafe or outdated, removal might be necessary. This guide will walk you through the essential steps and considerations for deck removal.

Best Deck Removal Company: Happy Panda

Why Remove a Deck?

Several reasons might prompt the removal of a deck, including:

Structural Damage: Rotting wood, broken boards, and unstable structures can pose safety hazards.

Upgrading: You might want to replace an old deck with a new design or a different outdoor feature.

Property Sale: Removing an old or unsightly deck can improve property value and appeal.

Landscaping Changes: Adjusting the layout of your yard or garden may require deck removal.

Steps for Safe Deck Removal

1. Planning and Preparation

Assess the Deck: Evaluate the condition of your deck to understand the scope of work required for removal.

Obtain Permits: Check with local authorities to determine if you need permits for deck removal.

Gather Tools and Safety Gear: Ensure you have the necessary tools (hammer, saw, pry bar, drill, etc.) and safety equipment (gloves, goggles, sturdy shoes).

2. Disconnect Utilities

If your deck has electrical wiring, lighting, or gas lines, make sure to disconnect these utilities safely. Consult a professional if you're unsure how to do this.

3. Clear the Area

Remove all furniture, plants, and other items from the deck and surrounding area to create a safe working environment.

4. Remove Railings and Accessories

Start by taking off railings, balusters, and any accessories. Use a drill or screwdriver to remove screws and a pry bar to detach nailed components.

5. Dismantle Deck Boards

Using a pry bar or hammer, carefully remove the deck boards. Start from one end and work your way to the other, removing each board one by one. Be mindful of nails and screws to avoid injury.

6. Disassemble the Frame

Once the boards are removed, begin dismantling the frame. Cut through support beams and joists with a saw, and use a pry bar to separate pieces. If your deck is attached to your house, carefully detach it to prevent damage to your home’s exterior.

7. Remove Footings and Posts

Depending on how the deck was constructed, footings and posts might be anchored in concrete. Dig around the posts and use a jack or lever to lift them out. For concrete footings, you may need a sledgehammer to break them apart.

Disposal of Deck Materials

Proper disposal of deck materials is crucial. Consider the following options:

Recycle: Wood, metal, and other materials can often be recycled. Check with local recycling centers.

Donate: If parts of the deck are in good condition, consider donating them to salvage yards or organizations.

Waste Removal: For materials that cannot be recycled or donated, arrange for waste removal. Many waste management companies offer construction debris pickup services.

Safety Considerations

Wear Protective Gear: Always wear gloves, safety goggles, and sturdy shoes to protect yourself from sharp objects and debris.

Be Cautious of Nails and Screws: Keep an eye out for protruding nails and screws that can cause injury.

Work with a Partner: Deck removal can be labor-intensive. Having a partner can make the process safer and more efficient.

Hiring a Professional

While DIY deck removal is feasible for many homeowners, hiring a professional can ensure the job is done safely and efficiently, especially for larger or more complex decks. Professionals have the tools, experience, and expertise to handle deck removal with minimal risk.

[patioproductions]

How to Hang String Lights on Your Patio

String lights are the perfect way to instantly transform your patio from drab to fab. Their soft, romantic glow creates an inviting atmosphere for evening entertaining, dining al fresco, or just relaxing with your favorite beverage. But before you can bask in the magical ambiance, you need to actually hang the darn things. https://youtu.be/vtdO8LE6d8A With a bit of planning and the right hardware, installing patio string lights is a totally doable DIY project. This comprehensive guide will walk you through the entire process, from choosing the best string lights for your space to troubleshooting any issues that pop up after installation. Let’s get started! Choose Your String Lights The first step is picking out your string lights. Here are the main factors to consider: - Bulb style - Globe and Edison bulbs are popular options that add vintage character. Mini lights offer a more understated look. Choose the aesthetic you’re going for. - Bulb color - Stick to warm white bulbs in the 2700-3000K range for the coziest ambiance. Cool white bulbs above 4000K will be harsh and sterile. - Length - Measure the perimeter of your patio and buy enough string lights to go around it. It’s better to have too many lights than too few. - Outdoor rating - Ensure any lights you buy are rated for outdoor/wet locations. Check the packaging for an IP65 rating or higher. - Power source - Plug-in lights are the easiest option if you have outdoor outlets. Battery-powered are more versatile for installation anywhere. Plan Your Layout Once you’ve purchased your string lights, map out how you want them configured on your patio. Here are some options: - Perimeter -Outline the entire patio for even lighting throughout - Crosshatched - Crisscross lights overhead for a cozier feel - Focal points - Accent specific areas like seating zones - Asymmetrical - Drape lights loosely for a whimsical look Measure the area and make sure you have enough string light length for the design you have in mind. It’s better to buy more than you need. Install the Necessary Hardware To hang your string lights, you’ll need to securely anchor them in place. Here are some hardware options: - Eye hooks or cup hooks - Screw into wood structures like pergolas - Masonry anchors - Use for brick/concrete walls and surfaces - Staples - Attach lights to wood fences and railings - Zip ties/clips - Affix lights to metal poles and frames - String light poles - Standalone poles to mount lights from Space your hooks/anchors every 2-3 feet around the perimeter of your patio for stability. Use a level to ensure consistent positioning. Hang the String Lights Once your hardware is installed, it’s time to mount those twinkling lights! Here are some tips: - Unscrew light bulbs before hanging to prevent breakage - Start near your power source and work outward methodically - Use a ladder or step stool to reach high points safely - Keep lights pulled taut but avoid over-stretching - Affix the lights to the hardware using S-hooks, zip ties, etc. - Test lights periodically to ensure all bulbs are illuminated - Replace bulbs once everything is hung for full ambiance - Stand back and admire your handiwork when finished! Going the Extra Mile If you really want to take your string lights up a notch, consider these optional add-ons: - Timers - Automatically turn lights on and off at set times - Dimmers - Adjust brightness to set just the right mood - Remote controls - Control lights from your smartphone - Light sleeves - Protect wires from weather damage Putting in the extra work will allow you to fully integrate your string lights into your outdoor living space. Troubleshooting Common Issues Even if your string light project doesn’t go perfectly smoothly, these troubleshooting tips should help get things back on track: Lights not turning on - Check for loose bulb connections, faulty plugs, or circuit breaker issues Lights burning out - Ensure lights are not touching plants/trees or coiled tightly when stored Connections falling - Use extra clips/ties so connections don’t pull apart Damage from weather - Bring lights indoors during extreme weather as needed Lights blow in wind - Tie a guide wire between anchors for more stability With a bit of patience, creativity, and TLC, your patio will be glowing from the magical ambiance of string lights in no time. So go grab your lights, make a plan, and get ready to DIY an outdoor space you’ll never want to leave! Patio Productions is here to help you create your dream backyard. Let us know if we can be of assistance. Read the full article

[nillbuildingsolution]

Protect Your Building with Nill Building Solutions’ Waterproof Flange: The Best Solution for Waterproofing Needs

Nill Building Solutions is a leading provider of high-quality waterproof flanges for the construction industry. Their flagship waterproof flange products are designed to prevent water damage in buildings and are trusted by contractors and builders worldwide. In this article, we will take a closer look at Nill Building Solutions’ waterproof flange and why it is the best option for your building construction needs.

Superior Quality Materials

Nill Building Solutions’ waterproof flanges are made from high-quality materials that are resistant to water and chemicals. The materials used in the waterproof flange ensure that it is durable and long-lasting, protecting your building against water damage for years to come. Additionally, the materials used in the waterproof flanges are resistant to mold growth, ensuring that your building remains safe and healthy for occupants.

Easy Installation

Their stainless steel waterproof flanges are designed for easy installation, saving you time and money during the construction process. The flange features a pre-installed gasket that provides a tight seal, reducing the risk of water infiltration. The easy installation process ensures that your construction project is completed on time, without any delays or complications.

Meets Industry Standards

Nill Building Solutions’ waterproof flange meets industry standards, ensuring that your building is up to code and safe for occupancy. Their all waterproof flange has been tested and certified to meet industry standards, providing you with peace of mind that your building is protected against water damage.

Versatile

Their all waterproof flanges are versatile products that can be used in a range of applications, including solar installation, glass railing installation, plumbing and drainage systems. The flanges are available in a range of sizes, ensuring that it can be used in a variety of construction projects. The versatility of their stainless steel waterproof flange makes it an ideal choice for contractors and builders looking for a reliable waterproofing solution.

Cost-Effective

Their all waterproof flanges are a cost-effective solution for preventing water damage in buildings. The flange’s superior quality materials and easy installation process reduce the need for costly maintenance and repairs, saving you money in the long run.

In conclusion.

Nill Building Solutions‘ stainless steel waterproof flanges are the best option for your building construction needs. Their all flanges are superior quality materials, easy installation, industry standards compliance, versatility, and cost-effectiveness make it the ideal choice for contractors and builders looking for a reliable waterproofing solution. Protect your building from water damage with Nill Building Solutions‘ waterproof flange.

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[teamxdark]

The sun beat down from overhead, and the scent of salt carried over as the breeze guided the waves to the shore. Below his feet, the captain felt the soft rocking of the ship sway him from side to side, back and forth, a sensation so familiar that he had to concentrate if he ever wanted to notice it.

And, well... He wanted to notice it right then. Anything to keep his troubled thoughts at bay.

Shadow was no captain. He had never considered himself good for the role. He could govern himself just fine, but when it came to a group, the weight of responsibility for others pushed him to his worst.

The problem was that no one noticed it.

The hedgehog lifted his head, keeping a hand on his hat to prevent it from flying away, and looked up at the clear skies, dotted by a few seagulls gliding on the currents up above. A perfect day to set sail, as the navigator had told him; Knuckles had an exceptional sense of direction and the strength of body to carry out duties as the helmsman or at the rudder, even when weathering a storm.

Even though he still sometimes drank himself to sleep to handle the guilt of refusing to accompany her.

A flash of yellow swooped by his periphery, and the captain turned to see Tails hard at work, checking the rigging and assessing the sails. The lad was young but brave, and had exceptional knowledge about the structural integrity of the ship. He could spot issues that most would gloss over, even with years of experience. A prodigy, an asset, an invaluable member of the crew.

Shadow still saw the boy's hands shake as he retied the knots, and he knew he still slept in the same hammock as his brother, worried that he might meet the same fate as her.

"Here you go, Captain!"

Amy's cheerful voice interrupted Shadow's brooding, and she pressed a large sandwich into his hand. "It's the last day we can have bread, unsalted meat and fresh vegetables, so I decided to make everyone something special."

The cook was her own force of nature, with a bright and friendly disposition that made those around her feel calmer and happier, and she made meals so good, even with a limited pantry, that the crew swore she was capable of magic. Yet, Shadow had seen her at the cannons, firing mercilessly at those who threatened them. She never missed a shot.

She still cried into their stew, sometimes.

Amy carried on, bringing the next sandwich to Silver, who thanked her with a kind smile. The cabin boy was the newest addition, a stowaway-turned-crewmate that they couldn't manage to turn away. He was an odd one, optimistic and thoughtful, yet impulsive and filled with a rage that brought the worst storms to shame. His telekinetic abilities helped him keep the ship spick and span all over, and when obstacles couldn't be avoided, it was often he who held the ship together... quite literally.

Shadow knew she would have found him to be priceless.

"Ready to set sail, Captain?"

Shadow held back a sigh and looked over to his first mate. Sonic was leaning over the side of the ship, feeling the breeze hit his face, his eyes serenely closed as he noticeably avoided looking at the water. For someone who didn't know how to swim, Sonic still fit in the crew like a hand in a glove tailor made for it. A jack of all trades, he was quick, decisive, courageous, fearless...

She should have picked him.

Shadow's hand rose to his chest, feeling the bumps and indents of the necklace hidden underneath his shirt, until it stopped over his heart, where the jewel lied.

Pink. Heart-shaped. Not worth much by a jeweller's appraisal, but absolutely priceless to any and everyone on that ship. The true symbol of the captain.

"Sometimes you have to make the value yourself," she had told him as she slipped the stone back under her shirt, safe from view.

"Just about," he finally responded to Sonic, noticing how the other hedgehog's ear dropped a tad before lifting back up.

"Sorry Cap, but it doesn't really sound like it."

Shadow hated that he was right. He hated that he still didn't feel ready. He hated that he had such a fantastic crew that he didn't feel worthy of inheriting.

When he was only responsible for himself, it was one story, but he didn't know if he could stand being responsible for anything that could happen to the rest of them. Shadow knew himself; after so many years of following her orders, so many instances of breaking away from her plans because he needed to figure out something for himself, he had come to a conclusion:

He was selfish, self-centred, and unfit to be the one calling the shots for people who needed someone with a strong mind and a constant focus on the big picture.

Why did you give this to me, Rouge?

Any of them could do a better job. Sonic, though he seemed carefree, commanded attention and loyalty and inspired trust and morale. Amy was a natural leader, responsible and resourceful. Even Knuckles, who still fell for Sonic's dumb pranks, had shown that he could step up to the plate and lead when he needed to.

Shadow had been the wildcard, a mix of a lone wolf and a follower, a gun to be aimed and fired by someone with enough clarity of mind to know what she needed to shoot for in the long run.

Rouge had been the perfect captain, except for one thing.

For some reason, she had named Shadow as her second in command.

"Still comparing yourself to her?"

Shadow's hand fell from his chest. He refused to respond.

Sonic leaned back from the railing, opening his eyes to the sky. "I guess I get it. Big shoes to fill and all that. But no one's a perfect captain, you know. Captain Rouge might have been one of the best there was, but the instant she saw a pretty gem..."

"... we'd get sidetracked," Shadow finished, pressing his lips together. It was true; as great as Rouge had been, she had a weakness, and that weakness was why she wasn't with them now.

"I just wish she had told us where she was going..."

It was a question the crew often asked themselves. Why had their captain run off to find a treasure reputed to have a curse so terrible that the map was torn apart and scattered. Why they had spent the better part of a year sailing around to find the pieces. Why Rouge had put together the map in secret and left to find it alone, leaving Shadow her necklace with the announcement that he was in charge. Why she hadn't taken anyone with her, save for the joking offer to Knuckles to accompany her, which the echidna still managed to convince himself was a true offer as a way to find something concrete to blame for the guilt and fear that he felt. That they all felt.

Shadow had nothing like that. He envied Knuckles in a way for it.

"Think of it this way," Sonic said, once again pulling Shadow from his thoughts. "It's an adventure of our own, and the prize is finding her again."

Shadow clenched his fists, crushing his sandwich in the process. "If she's still alive," he muttered, saying what so many of them were afraid to even think about.

"Hey now, come on--"

"Six months!" Shadow snapped. "It's been half a year and there's been no sign of her at any of the rendezvous points!"

You left us. You left me here, with your crew, and now I have to do what I could never do.

"And that's why we're looking for her, right?" Sonic asked, remaining calm even as Shadow felt his world split apart, yet again, as it did far too frequently when he was left with his thoughts. "That's why you ordered this search. Because you know that giving up on her when there's still a chance is the worst thing you could do for her."

Shadow breathed in heavily through his nose, forcing his hands to unclench. Sonic was right. There was a stupid, dumb, idiotic, pathetic part of him that couldn't accept what he knew should be the truth.

Rouge, if we find you and you're still alive, I'm throwing you overboard myself.

"We set off in two minutes," he ordered, stuffing what was left of his sandwich into his mouth. Next to him, Sonic grinned and gave him a salute.

"Aye aye, Captain."

With that, he was off, no doubt relaying Shadow's order to the rest of them. Shadow, meanwhile, walked to the bow of the ship, looking out to the horizon as he drew the necklace out from under his shirt.

They had no leads. They had a great many countries and vessels after them thanks to their history of heists. The odds of finding anything helpful were so astronomically slim that they might as well be sailing to their deaths.

But if any crew could do it, it was this one.

And Shadow, no matter how little he believed in himself, no matter how much fear he held, had to lead them.

"Sit tight, Captain," he whispered to the necklace's heart-shaped gem. Behind him, he heard the sound of Silver raising the anchor and Knuckles calling out directions to Tails at the helm while he pushed the rudder.

It was time to begin their adventure.

[milkacchan]

I've been suffering from sensory overload these past few weeks, sometimes lasting days in a row. I started writing this while I was in sensory overload before coming back to it a little while later when I wasn't in an episode anymore. You can kinda see when the writing goes downhill lmao.

Anyway this is more for comfort and I know that it might help some other people looking for comfort that they can't get right now.

And I just really love Yachi 🥺🥺

So enjoy

It was imperative that you calmed the fuck down- if you flipped out, Yachi would too and keeping her calm was the whole damn reason you decided to officially join. She'd have a steady anchor and would keep her anxiety in check.

Aside from the constant harrassment of your math classmates- you were here mainly for her. Sure you enjoyed it and you worked your ass off to understand, but you didnt find a reason to be there if she wasn't. And right now, you weren't helping- you weren't doing what you came here for.

You were pissed off, you weren't sure over what specifically. But everything everyone seemed to do irked you. Every hit of the ball, every yell and voice, every breath. You were in sensory overload for the 3rd fucking time that week. You didn't know why it was happening and that pissed you off even more.

Maybe, maybe you could get through it if everyone just- ignored you. If no one spoke it'd be fine. Because the last fucking thing you needed was snapping at some undeserving soul.

Or just calm down, but no matter how hard you TRIED you couldn't. You couldn't shake it off. That also pissed you off. the whole thing was a vicious cycle that you didn't want to deal with.

So you sat quietly, you knew that'd make Yachi a little tense, seeing as you were always vocal and giving moral tips and what not- but that's the best you could give at the moment. To save her and anyone else.

Practice went on and thank GOD no one tried to speak to you- they were all too busy. Or at least looked it. You ignored the occasional glance or two from the team, most of them coming from coach Ukai who was CLEARLY concerned as to what the fuck was happening but you didnt care. You just wanted to make it through and then go home.

Practice finally ended, of course an hour after it was supposed to, but again, you didn't care. You wanted home.

They sat in the meeting and you quietly slipped out, feeling your nerves grow even more tense. You needed out. Ukais gaze followed your figure for a moment before looking back at the team.

The cool air biting your cheeks should've pissed you off- but it didn't. It was refreshing- but not enough. You walked towards the back of the club building and leaned against the wall, taking a deep breath. You needed to calm down, just enough to be relatively friendly. Relatively decent. You kept your eyes closed, gently sinking so you sat on the concrete, legs crossed and head back. You just listened- listened to what was around you, somehow missing the boys leaving the gym in the time you were out there.

"Having fun?" A voice asked, coach Ukai. You could hear the underlaying concern in his voice

You were too tired to look up. "A ball," you mumbled. "Sorry, I had to step out."

"I figured," he sat down. "I assume you probably don't want anyone near you, but I'm going to check up anyway, what's going on?"

"Nothing big, I just needed air."

"Been happening pretty frequently this week, hasn't it?"

You sighed, looking at the sky again. Did you really want to spill your guts to your coach? Did you even want him to know what was going on? It was enough that your friends had to deal with it occasionally, now you were going to burden the coach with it? "Yeah, it has."

"Any particular reason why?"

"Just- just overall. Sensory overload and what not. Just needed a minute to myself."

He nodded slightly. "Well the teams there for you, when you decide you want to be around people. Takeda too, from what he's told me, he has some zen methods or whatever he calls them. You don't have to deal with all that alone."

You hummed, turning your gaze to him. "Thanks coach."

"Do you want me to distract the boys- they'll be looking for you."

"No, it's fine. I have to walk Yachi home."

He nodded, waving before disappearing around the corner again. God, you were tired. After a few moments you stood up, walking around the club building. You slipped into the girls room to change. It was empty, Yachi must've been already done, Kyoko too.

You put your dirty clothes in your bag, you'd wash them tonight; maybe that would help alleviate the overall stress. Feeling like you had something under control. Then maybe you wouldn't go into Sensiry overload again.

You opened the door, only to be met with Hinata.

"'Hey," you mumbled, turning around and locking the door.

"You okay? Yachi's looking for you. She thinks you died."

"Yeah, I'm okay, tell her I'll be down in a minute."

He squinted at you but hesitantly nodded, turning and bounding down the stairs. "Yachi!!"

You watched quietly. You sighed and closed your eyes, tapping the railing a few times before slowly making your way down the stairs. The frustration was starting to flair up again- you weren't even doing anything. You were literally JUST walking down stairs. There was nothing to be mad at.

You hadn't taken two steps away from the stairs before there were arms wrapped around your torso. You didn't have to think to know who it was. Your arms found her shoulders and you rested your forehead in the side of her neck.

"It's happening again?"

"Yeah," you whispered. "I'm sorry I tried to leave you out of it."

Yachi frowned and her eyebrows furrowed. "You don't have to leave me out of it. I want to be there."

You nodded, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath.

Eventually she pulled away, taking a fistful of your sleeve. "Hinatas already waiting, Kageyamas there too. But we can walk alone if you want."

"No, that's okay. We can still walk with them."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. Don't worry about it."

She nodded dropping the grip on your sleeve to take your hand.

She waved goodbye to the third years, and bowed to Tanaka and Nishinoya, doing her best so you wouldn't have to talk. You just kept to yourself, thinking about your own thing, that seemed to keep the overload at bay. At least for now.

The walk home wasn't as loud as usual, no doubt thanks to Yachi. She must've said something to them before hand. You were sure you'd get questions about it the next day, you'd deal with them then. It was nice that they took it into consideration, especially given how loud Hinata and Kageyama are in the first place.

Ukai was right, you wouldn't have to deal with this alone. They'd be there, subtly helping how they could.

You smiled slightly. You were fine.

[miraculousturtle]

euphoria

euphoria: (noun) a feeling or state of intense excitement and happiness [until it all crashes down]

[the aftermath of chat blanc]

(ao3)(ff.net)

-----

It haunts him: the dream he can’t remember, the one he can’t quite place. It haunts Adrien in the way he lives his life, but the seconds don’t always add up just right. Kagami blinks, her laughter short and precise, but there’s a glitch in reality when he feels nothing when he sees her smile.

“Adrien? Are you listening?”

His heart hangs heavy, unease a constant friend as he tries to muster up his own grin. “Of course,” he says. He grabs her to assure her. “But can you tell me your story again?”

They are having a study date. Their new relationship is precious and safe, but precarious when life reminds him of glitches, of mistakes, of all the things he can’t name. It itches his brain, forgotten memories, a funny thing that claws his patience.

Kagami narrows her eyes, the sharpness cutting through all nightmares that cling to daylight. Cool hands touch his cheek. “Not sleeping again?”

He places his palm over hers, relishing in the anchoring realization that her fingers fit perfectly between his. “No, no. I’m fine. You’re here and I’m fine.”

He means it.

“I’m happy that we’re able to be together, Adrien. You make me happy.”

He takes her palm and kisses it, his heart fluttering at her bashful smile.

Afternoon sun looks good on her cheeks, flushed and pink like a premature sunset. Adrien counts his blessings, thanks the heavens that their paths have met. Being with Kagami is akin to freedom, to having someone who truly understands him.

Even if, even if--

Adrien feels like he’s suffocating by a gravity that shouldn’t exist.

---

His dream plays on repeat. He falls in love with Ladybug for who she is and she falls in love with him for who he is and everything is perfect. His heart fills to the brim with adoration because she cherishes him more than anything, wants nothing but the best for him. There is no shame in his desperation when he soaks up her love like a drowning man needing air.

Their partnership effortlessly transitions to their civilian lives as he holds her close as they dance. Her every embrace is more precious than gold and her silvery smile paints his heart bold. Their friends are happy for them, her parents adore him, he feels like his world is entrenched in love in all ways. Friendship, family, romantic: all intersect in his beloved heroine.

He tells her he loves her with every breath and she does the same.

And nothing is more perfect, but he never remembers her face or her name.

It’s lunchtime as Marinette strides to the table, her back straight and confident. Her face, however, is red, her fingers trembling as she sits down to Alya. Both Nino and Adrien stop talking, curiosity getting the better of them. She is a paradox of timidness and boldness that seems echoing familiar.

“I--,” Marinette starts, her blue eyes marvelous and bright.

It’s the glitch in reality again, Adrien realizes. Sometimes when he looks at Marinette, she takes his breath away, like the far off dream becomes tangible because she exists. Marinette makes the glitch painful, like a sting that swallows him for wanting to change anything.

Alya gives her friend a patient smile. “What’s up, girl?”

The world pauses for a moment as Marinette loses all former shyness, it slides off her skin and she is born anew with a deep breath. Marinette beams, beautiful and stunning. “I—I told Luka how I felt about him and now—now we’re dating!”

Alya’s jaw drops, “You told a boy you liked him without me poking and prodding you!? What? Are you sure you’re Marinette?!”

Marinette nods, giggling and nervously tucks hair behind her ear. “I did. Just—took that leap, you know. Got out of my head. Like you always tell me to.”

“Way to go, Marinette!” Nino praises. He reaches across the table and pats her shoulder. “Never thought I’d see the day. You know—considering the last boy you liked—ouch!--I mean, you know, since you can be a bit shy around guys.”

Alya’s glare burns, but Adrien feels like he’s missing something when Marinette ducks her head and avoids his eye.

She smiles all the same. “Yeah, I know what you mean, but this time, it’s different. Luka is a nice boy and I like him. I can talk to him...”

Something is pressing on his heart again, the way that Marinette seems at ease. Adrien doesn’t like it, but he doesn’t know why this entire conversation makes him feel like he’s breathing concrete.

“Congratulations, Marinette,” he manages to say.

Her blue eyes fall to him and he feels breathless again.

“Thanks, Adrien.”

---

Sunset is warm over Paris, but deep down, he feels cold.

Knuckles knock on the side of his head. “Hello, Earth to Chat Noir! Are you even paying attention?”

Chat Noir blinks and finds Ladybug’s intense stare studying him too close. It’s the glitch, he tells himself, the dream can’t be real.

“Funny you say that. My girlfriend said the same thing to me recently.”

Ladybug stills for a moment. “Girlfriend?”

He swallows. “Yeah. I asked her out a few weeks ago. For real this time! You know her act--”

Ladybug puts her hand over his mouth and Chat Noir stops breathing. “Don’t tell me who it is! If I know her, then I’ll know her boyfriend too. We can’t know each other’s identities!”

He rolls his eyes, the cold in his bones too much compared to the warmth of her hand. “Yes, yes. I know. You’ve made it very clear.”

Ladybug smiles, but it is wobbly at best. “Not because I don’t want to know you, Chat Noir. There’s no one more precious to me than you.”

Chat sighs and pulls her into a hug. “You think too much, has anyone ever told you that?”

Finally, she laughs. “All the time.”

---

Saturday night is blissful, with city lights being the only stars that they need.

Kagami lets go of his hand, rushing forward to embrace her friend.

“Marinette! I’m so happy to see you!”

Marinette stumbles and peaks over his girlfriend’s shoulder. “What happened?”

Adrien winces and rubs the back of his neck. “She’s a little drunk.”

“A lot drunk! It tastes like juice, Netta. Like juice. There was a whole bowl of it!”

Marinette laughs, her pajamas the same pair he remembers from the last time. “Well, I somehow convinced your mom to let you spend the night at my house so why don’t we get you some water and get you to bed.”

Kagami pulls back and grasps Marinette’s shoulders. “Only if Adrien tucks me in.”

Marinette shoots him a pleading look and Adrien jumps right in. “Of course, Kagami. Anything you’d like.”

Kagami swings and hugs him instead. “Me.”

“Wha--”

Marinette stifles a laugh. “Oh my god, Kagami, I hope you remember this because you’re going to die.”

Marinette pulls his girlfriend by the hand and the three of them walk upstairs quietly trying to not wake up the Dupain-Chengs. Adrien learns quickly that Drunk Kagami is nothing like normal Kagami.

She has zero impulse control. Such as when she tries to engage everyone in an impromptu fencing match wielding a ladle.

“Kagami, no!” Marinette quietly scolds. “We can fence tomorrow. It’s bedtime now.”

Kagami shakes her head. “I don’t want to go to sleep. Not until I see Adrien leave.”

“I thought you wanted me to tuck you in?”

Kagami sighs and twirls the ladle in her hand. “I do, but...”

He reaches forward and stills her hand. In the background, he hears Marinette looking for something.

“What’s wrong, Kagami? You can talk to me.”

Kagami swallows, her drunk eyes glossy. “I know. But Marinette might still like you.”

His heart freezes the exact second Marinette drops something, muttering  shit .

Tension rains down in the kitchen for a beat before Marinette clicks her tongue. “I don’t like Adrien anymore, Kagami. Don’t worry. I’m with Luka now. I like Luka.”

There’s the glitch again and the dissonance of this moment strikes Adrien as wrong, wrong, wrong. Nothing about what was just said was right and he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe, he--

Kagami looks soulfully at Marinette and everything is wrong.

“Here, drink some water, Kagami,” Marinette gently says. “I just want you to feel better, okay?”

Kagami nods and takes the glass. “Thanks, Marinette.”

Adrien catches Marinette’s eye and she smiles, soft and sad. “Anything for my friend.”

---

Adrien dreams that night, but everything is wrong.

His love is—dead.

Because of him.

Ladybug is dead because of him.

The world ends because of him.

A distance grows between him and Ladybug, between him and Marinette and no matter how much he tries to forget, Adrien believes his life is in a constant glitch.

In his dream, he kisses his Lady soundly on the mouth as he has done countless times. They are civilians again and they are cuddling in the grass watching clouds go by. This date is like any other, perfect and serene.

“I love you so much. I don’t think you understand.”

She laughs, clear as a bell. “I think I do. I’d do anything for you.”

“Anything?”

She snuggles into his chest and hums. “Yes. As long as it means you’re happy.”

“I’ve never been happier than I’ve been with you.”

“Good,” his Lady says, but there is a silence that follows as her fingers curl into his shirt.

“But what?”

“But if we’re no longer together, I want you to be happy then too, okay, Adrien? Promise you’ll try to be happy.”

“M--”

“Promise me, Adrien. Be happy. Be free.”

He frowns. “Fine. I promise.”

She kisses over his heart. “Good.”

“Anything for you, my love.”

---

Waking up crashes down on him as his dreams fade away.

Eyes wide open, he stares at the ceiling.

“Ladybug knows.”

---

It haunts him, the glitch. The memories from then till now loop in his head, but remembering two timelines proves difficult as he paces a rooftop in the middle of the night.

“She has to know. She has to know,” he says to himself.

The moon is swollen, a painful doppelganger to his other life. Chat Blanc’s melancholy melody that echoes in his bones.

The yo-yo whirls past him, clinging to a rail for Ladybug to grapple. She swings up with ease, caution in her posture. She’s poised to greet him with friendliness and cheer, but her face pauses with concern.

“Everything okay, Kitty?”

“It’s real, isn’t it? You and me. Us. We were together, weren’t we?”

She stills, the way her eyes refuse to look at him rings loud with silent truth. “Enough to know it was real...but don’t worry, I don’t remember who you were...are, I mean. I don’t know who you actually are. I don’t have memories of it though. Just that...I know that we happened.”

“So you’ve known? How long? When?”

“I’ve known for a while now. Bunnix came and got me to fix the timeline.”

“So, I really destroyed the world.”

“Yes. No. No, Chat. It’s my fault. I destroyed it. I used being Ladybug for my own purposes. I wanted to tell a boy that I liked him, but I used Ladybug to do it.”

“What?”

“I used my powers to sneak around instead of telling him how I felt...”

He can’t breathe. “Does he know? This boy? Did you ever tell him?”

“No. I couldn’t. Because—I made the world end.”

“Ladybug—but that means, Ladybug. How did you make it not end?”

She smiled softly. “I had to erase my name from a present. Pretend it came from someone else. Somehow giving him the present helps us get together.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, I haven’t really figured out the entire timeline of that. But, all I know is that in the other timeline, our love…it caused so much pain. Is it? Are we really worth that?”

“You’re worth anything, Ladybug. Don’t you know that?”

“I’m really not. I’m not worth the world ending. We have...we can’t fall in love, Chat. Don’t you see? Us in love ruins everything.”

“That can’t be true! It can’t be--”

“Chat Noir!” she shouts. “Believe me, I wonder about it too. I wonder what we could have been! Chat Blanc—he was so kind, so true. I wonder what it meant to be in love with him. To somehow have all my dreams come true. But it’s not worth it. Not with everyone’s lives at stake. We can only keep the people safe. That’s our duty. No matter what we want, we are superheros.”

Chat Noir wants to argue, but he deflates. “It’s over, isn’t it? What could have been us?”

Ladybug sighs and cups his cheek. “In this life, we can be happy enough. I don’t need the moon and stars, I just want a chance to be.”

“I feel like we’re breaking up. Is that silly?”

“It seems like that, huh? But we won’t. I can’t lose you, Chat Noir. There’s no one I’d rather have at my side.”

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

---

Adrien accepts the dreams, accepts the glitch of all things that cannot be.

Moving on from Ladybug is painful, simultaneously in pieces, but whole as they fly through Paris together. There is beauty in their friendship, in their partnership that weathers every storm that Hawkmoth throws their way. He’s lucky enough to know her, to have her back when everything is going wrong.

Moving on from Ladybug is painful, but life becomes more beautiful with Kagami, with Marinette, with Nino and all his friends.

They don’t know it, but they hold his heart up when it wants to collapse again.

Winter finds them with soft snow and hot chocolate to keep them from the cold. Kagami is tucked at his side in a cafe, the glitch a faint memory.

She laces their fingers together and peers up at him with soft, sweet brown eyes. “I love spending time with you.”

He kisses her bangs. “Me too.”

---

Later that night, it smacks him in the face as they try to dodge a rogue akuma. Maybe he’s deluding himself, but he needs to say this out.

“Oh my god, Ladybug! I figured it out!”

“You know where the akuma is?!”

Chat Noir laughs, ducking from a stray missile.“What? No! I figured out why we didn’t work out.”

“...are you kidding me?”

“Listen, listen. I’m being serious here!”

“And I am seriously trying not to get hit!” Thankfully, she uses a trash can lid to deflect a random ball. 

“Ladybug, this is our bonding time. We’re gonna be fine.”

She growls and hurls the lid like a frisbee. “Okay, ol’ wise one, why did our love destroy the world?”

“Basically, if my calculations are correct, which they totally are--”

“Uh-huh.”

“Our love was basically an atom bomb from the get go. Plainly speaking, we just loved each other too much and we blew the world to smithereens.”

“Because I loved you too much?” she scoffs. 

“You know, if you said that to me a few months ago, I would die of happiness.”

“Chat...”

“Okay, okay. But seriously. That was our problem. We loved too much without substance. While you only heard about us from Chat Blanc, I remember being with you. I would have literally done anything for you. Any-thing.”

She tugs at him and they end up nose to nose, an explosion happening in the background. “And what caused this great revelation?”

“I don’t know...just. My girlfriend, I guess? I like her a lot, but I feel like everything with her is a lot more...possible?”

“...that makes sense.”

“Yeah?”

She rolls her eyes for a moment, then thoughtfully hums.“Yeah. My boyfriend--”

“Boyfriend!? You never told me you had a boyfriend!”

He’s distracted for a moment, until she pushes him down, a stray projectile flying past above them. “Whoops. Sorry. But yeah. My boyfriend. He’s uh. He’s awesome. I feel like I can be myself with him. It’s nice not having to worry about being Ladybug, you know?”

“Yeah. I get that. When I’m not Chat Noir, my life is a lot more strict. My girlfriend gets that and we have a lot of the same interests.”

“Sounds like my friends. Their parents are beyond strict, but thankfully they have each other. I’m glad they ended up together.”

“Ha, is this the mystery guy you tried confessing to, but somehow wound up with me instead?”

Ladybug says nothing, but glares. 

“Oh shit. Really?”

“Yeah...I was really in love with him and psyched myself out too much when I was around him. My other friend is better suited for him. I kinda gave up when I realized that. Which is okay! I’m just glad they’re happy. God, being young and in love is hard.”

The moment is a little too real, a bit too close to home to be comfortable. 

“You want to know what’s not hard?” He says.

“What?”

“Being with you.”

“Oh my god. You’re going to fall in love again with me if you keep that up.”

He grins, his baton extending to catch an akuma. “Pretty sure that’s my line!”

---

It happens randomly over a weekend, but Kagami breaks up with him. January air is crisp as they walk hand and hand down the street.

“Mom is moving us back to Japan and well—we’re a little too young for long distance, I think.”

Adrien enjoys one more date, enjoys one more embrace.

He kisses her goodbye and he wonders if he would have ended the world for her.

---

Life continues and glitches go unspoken in Adrien’s life.

He spends time with his friends.

There are no more dreams about the timeline that never was.

He feels like his heart is finally moving on.

---

Until it doesn’t.

---

His world almost ends in Spring, the sun particularly scorching high on the rooftops. It is a standoff between Ladybug and Chat Noir against Hawkmoth.

This moment tastes bitter in his mouth, like he’s going to throw up for some reason.

Some taunts are said, some pleas are made, but nothing matters when Hawkmoth makes the first attack. Everything goes wrong when the Hawkmoth’s cane pierces Ladybug’s suit. Her stomach darkens maroon red as her face pales.

The world stops spinning as she falls to her knees and Hawkmoth stumbles back. It is almost as if it took this long for him to realize he’s been battling children.

“I—I didn’t,” the old man stutters, but Chat Noir ignores him as he files to his lady’s side.

He wraps around her and holds her close. “Get out here,” he says clearly. “If she dies, I will kill you.”

Something slides back into place with that declaration, like the glitch that never happened finally makes sense. Adrian would end the world for this girl, no matter what life they happen to live in.

“I’m gonna turn back soon,” Ladybug says. “I don’t want him to see him.”

Chat Noir scoops her up and leaps away, knowing for a fact that Hawkmoth won’t follow.

“Where should we go? Is there somewhere safe?”

Ladybug grunts for a moment. “Marinette’s room. The one above the bakery.

His fingers grip into her skin, just something to hold on. “She’ll help us?”

Ladybug sighs. “No, she won’t.”

He lands quietly on the rooftop, unsure why they’re here then.

Ladybug touches his face, her thumb smooth across his cheek. “Because I’m Marinette and I’m going to need you to help me, Adrian.”

---

Ladybug’s suit sparkles away and he’s left breathless.

The glitch comes back to stay.

---

It all happens so fast. The memories of before, Marinette’s face in center view. Getting Marinette’s parents to take her to the hospital. Their first kiss. The doctor performed a quick surgery. That last day.

Even no longer wearing the suit, Adrien can still feel her blood on his hands.

The hospital chairs are uncomfortable, but everyone sags with relief when the doctor says Marinette is in the clear. Her parents see her first, then Alya and Nino, and then finally, there’s a push at his shoulder.

He blinks and Nino nods to the door. “Marinette’s asking for you. You should go see her.”

Adrien walks to the door, every moment too surreal as his heart hammers in his chest. She sees him and smiles and gestures for him to sit.

“You know,” is the first thing he says.

“I know.”

He doesn’t have to ask for how long or how much because the brittle smile Marinette gives him is more than an answer enough. The room doesn’t have enough air in it and Adrien isn’t quite sure who is more fragile between the two of them.

He swallows, his mouth dry. “Where’s Luka?”

She gasps, and twiddles his fingers. “It’s too confusing to be with him...with all the memories. I’m sorry I didn’t understand before. To know and not know. It’s--”

“...agony,” he offers, his heart guarded.

She nods, her eyes a little teary. “I should have told you the truth sooner. I thought this was for the best.”

Adrian laughs and leans forward, dares himself to take her hand. “You need to stop thinking that you know what’s best for me. You always do that.”

“It’s because I--” her words die in her mouth, her fingers curling around his in panic.

He smiles and kisses her knuckles. “I know. Me too.”

He is quiet for a moment before he speaks again. “This time, we can take it slow. We already know what happens when we rush in. This is our timeline now. There’s no glitch here.”

And it is then, when Marinette looks at him, the sun is setting across Paris, that he finally understands love is less than euphoric and something more calm and consistent.

“I’d like that.”

[squirrelly831]

Kidnaps Her [Jaehwan and Sanghyuk]

This is a yandere au! A bit more on the darker side of things. It strays away from the idea of love and more to control and so I leave you with that as my warning. There’s violence and lots of it for some members. You’ve been warned.

I’m not playing… There’s violence. Not for the weak hearted or easily triggered by violence.

Enjoy~

He was her best friend. The one who she could confide in or cry to, but there were other benefits too. They weren’t unfamiliar with each other’s bodies, the heat that they received from the other, the heated kisses that would lead nowhere the next day. He had done things to her that only other men could dare dream to do as he would severe any ties she had with another man at a drop of a hat. They were lucky to make it passed first base, but he made it clear that second and third were reserved for only him.

She was clueless to the obstacle he made himself in her relationships. She always thought they left because they found better or that she was lacking. Each break up hurt more than the last and she found herself in her best friend’s arms time and again upset and defeated. But, he always had a way to cheer her up--he always knew how to help her. 

And there she was again, wrapped up in his arms as her heart ached. He combed a hand through her hair as she cried in his chest. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes towards the back of his skull. He didn’t understand why it made her so upset. She should be thankful that those creatures were out of her life, that they left before they could dig their claws into her. He whispered comforting words as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. His lips lingered on her forehead long enough to draw her attention to him. She tilted her head up to see him uncaring of the tear-stains down her cheeks. Even with those stains, she looked like a goddess to him. He wasted no time capturing her lips with his. He was cleansing her--purifying her. He shifted his weigh, pushing himself over her as his hand pressed her on the mattress. He wanted more--needed more of her.

However, her tiny hands pressed against his chest in a feeble attempt to push him off. An action that alerted him--she had never denied him before. He pulled away from her to see fresh tears escaping her. “Sorry” her voice shook as she rubbed her eyes with her forearm. “It’s just--I slept with Jayden three days ago and for him to just break up with me afterwards. It feels disgusting--I feel disgusting.”

“You what” he hadn’t meant for how harsh his voice came out, but this rage was something he couldn’t put a lid over. A growl sounded as he jumped off of her like she had struck him with thorns. He ran his hand through his hair as his eyes darkened. “You slept with that-that thing like some whore” He shouted. 

A flash of pain crossed her face as she slipped off his bed. She bit her bottom lip as more tears blurred her eyes, “So, I’m some whore now?” Her bottom lip quivered. “Maybe I am--Maybe I am just some cheap whore. But, you continued to sleep with me too, so what does that make you?” She turned away from him and ran out of his room. Never stopping until she was out his apartment complex not knowing of the destruction that was soon to follow.

Jaehwan

Jayden went missing. Gwen should have saw the signs when her ex disappeared without a trace. Everyone questioned her--believed it was her. She didn’t understand it. Jayden wasn’t the type to run away especially when his life wasn’t the one in ruins after sleeping with her. Friends began to withdraw from her, people she didn’t even know now whispered about her and how she had gotten away with hurting Jayden. It was a rumor even police looked into and yet she was clear from any suspicion. However, no one made any attempt to console her. Jayden hit it and left, but that didn’t mean she didn’t care for him. She really thought he was the one. 

"Gwynevere.”

Her head shot up from the textbook she was studying from for psychology. It was a subject she enjoyed, picking the brains of others and observing all she could about people was her specialty--which made her question how she didn’t see his signs. 

Jaehwan grinned widely as he approached her at the library table and threw himself in the chair across from her. “How many of your so called friends stayed with you after the dumbass’s disappearance?”

Her head jerked as his words repeated in her head. “It was you--” she stated, a tone of disbelief wrapped around her words. “You caused everyone to--” her throat ran dry, “to hate me.” 

Jaehwan smiled a loving smile. One he flashed her often, “I didn’t make them hate you. I was showing you that no one would love you lik--”

“Don’t touch me!” She swatted his approaching hand and stood quickly. She gathered her belonging. “Don’t ever come near me again, Jaehwan. OR I’ll call the fucking police...”

“How dare you!” Jaehwan growled as he shot up from his chair and chased her down. She neared the stair rail exit of the library to escape him, “You think I’d just let you leave?” He reached out and grabbed her hair. A yelp left her lips as he yanked her away from the stairs, her one way of escape. 

“You’re a fucking psycho” she tried to claw at his hand as her materials fell from her hand. Jaehwan released her but her relief was short lived as he shoved her violently down the stairs. 

“I’m psycho?” He let out a cruel laugh as he took the steps slowly. “I’m the psycho? Then what the fuck are you? You teased me and used me for your personal pleasure, but I’m the crazy one?” Gwen tried to move, but he kicked her down. He proceeded to step on her until her head hit the concrete and she began to lose consciousness.

When Gwen came to, she found herself on Jaehwan’s bed. She sat up and a sharp pain , her head spun as she tried to recall what happened. 

“Oh, good. You’re up” Jaehwan entered the room with a cup of water. He smiled at her as she attempted to stand up. She swayed as Jaehwan reached out to help her stand, “Ah ah ah, I wouldn’t do that. You probably got a concussion.” 

Gwen swatted his hand from her only to be shoved to the ground. “Don’t you ever stop me from touching you!” He snapped. Jaehwan slammed down the cup of water and took a seat in his chair. His fingers interlaced with one another as he looked away from her in annoyance. “After all I’ve done for you over the years and this is how you treat me? Apologize.” 

She moved back from him still on the ground, “You think I’ll apologize to you? You’re a crazy fu--”

He stood from his seat, her words died on her lips as he approached her. His aura frightened her as he loomed over her. Jaehwan was waiting for her to finish, “Well finish what you were saying.” His demeanor was different from the one she saw in class.

Jaehwan’s face remained unchanged as he looked at her, “Get on your knees and apologize. You’ve been really rude” his hand reached down and pulled her chin up to see him. “If you do it right, I won’t have to punish you again” his voice caused shivers down her spine.

“I’m sorry--” she yelped as his hand pulled her hair with a force. She got on her knees as she tried to ignore the pain, “I’m sorry I was being disrespectful” her voice quivered. “Please, I’ll be good. I swear.”

Jaehwan’s hand loosened before it was extracted from her hair, “See, that wasn’t so hard.” He knelt before her and pinched her cheeks in his hand. His eyes darkened, “You still have a lot to learn, but I’ll train you well, kitten. As long as you do what I say, nothing bad will happen to you.”

Sanghyuk

It had been days since Melody saw Sanghyuk. She had made it a point to avoid their favorite place on campus. She got her coffee from the pod stations near her class that never had anything but cold day old black coffee. Her meals in the cafeteria were no longer with Sanghyuk but with a group from her art class that had begged her for months to join them. She began to really live--Sanghyuk was no longer attached to her him and suddenly more people surrounded her. 

But she was never really without Sanghyuk. Sanghyuk bided his time, waited for her to have a moment alone before he spoke to her. Except, that never came. Day in and day out, Melody was with someone. A classmate, a new friend, or a new interest. It made Sanghyuk pissed. Why did these people think it was okay to come between Melody and him? He’d call her phone as he hid in the shadows and he watched how she pulled out her phone, saw his number, and silence the call before placing it back in her bag. 

Months had passed, Melody would be lying if she said she didn’t miss Sanghyuk. He was her best friend, the guy who helped her through everything from her heartbreaks to studying for an exam. He was her anchor, but he hurt her too... She pulled out her phone to call Sanghyuk, maybe she could talk things out with him. Maybe they could move passed whatever this was... They could go back to being friends-no strings or benefits. 

However, before could call him, her phone rang and the name of one of her art friends flashed on the screen. She picked it up with a bright smile as they spoke about have a gathering at Patricia’s home to celebrate the end of term. Melody hung up and headed to catch a cab to Patricia’s apartment. All thoughts of Sanghyuk were put on hold, she didn’t want to keep thinking about it when it only upset her more.

When Melody arrived to Patricia’s apartment, she was surprised to see the door cracked open and no sound inside. She pushed the door open more to see a gathering of shoes in the doorway which only made her more curious. “Patty? Nico?” She called out as she entered the apartment. The eerie silence that followed gave her shivers. She headed down the hallway to the living room where she was met with a horrific surprise. Melody let out a shriek as she scampered back to the archway of the hallway. The living room was painted with the blood of her friends and some others she didn’t know. They were all lifeless some slumped on the other while others were more mutilated.

In her frightened state, she didn’t hear the footsteps behind her. “This is your fault” his voice was cold and dead of emotions. 

She pushed herself from the archway as she turned to see Sanghyuk covered in blood. “H-Hyuk? Wha-what is---” her eyes trailed down to his hand where the blood covered knife rested and her words died. 

“You did this” he took a step towards her ignoring the blood he stepped in. “You left me for these-these things.” His hand shifted the knife to point it at her. 

Melody didn’t stay to find out what he would do next. She took off further in the apartment hearing the sound of his boots close behind. She ran straight into Patty’s bedroom and slammed the door just as Hyuk’s hand hit the wood. The sound of the knife driven into the door echoed as Melody fastened the lock. 

A cold laugh sounded, “You think this will keep me away, Mel?” He banged on the door harder, “You think you can keep me away from you?” Melody looked around the room before deciding to slip under the bed and hid herself behind the couple containers she found. 

It was only minutes before Hyuk broke down the door as he slammed his body into it. The wood snapped under the pressure and he made his way inside. “Mel, come out... We can talk.” His voice was calm--it was the voice of the Hyuk she knew. “I’m sorry I called you a whore--Really, Melody I am. I was just hurt. I love you. I’ve always loved you and I wanted to be your boyfriend for so long...” He confessed. 

Melody held her breath as she saw his shadow near the bed. She squeezed her eyes shut as she prayed that the containers around her shielded her from him. She held her breath as the room went quiet. 

“I didn’t want anyone else to have you. I know I should have just told you how I felt, but I thought I made it obvious.” He continued. His voice ventured further from her as the creak of a door sounded. Melody let out an almost silent shaky breath. Her eyes widened as something grabbed her leg and yanked her violently from under the bed. The room spun as her head hit the container and soon she found herself looking up at the dark eyes of her former best friend. His lips twitched as they shaped upward.

”Found you.” 

Taekwoon and Wonshik|| Hakyeon and Hongbin

Credit to gif owners

Written & revamped by Squirrelly831

♕ REQUEST

☮ VIXX MASTERLIST

∞ ULTIMATE MASTERLIST

[yeojaa]

SUGAR HIGH, chapter iv. (w. JJK)

You're not entirely sure when it happened, though you'd come to terms with it. You'd counted the days, waiting for the inevitable. You'd truly thought you'd be okay, but by the broken, half-beating thing in your chest - you knew you'd never really been prepared.

alt summary.  You thought you’d known real love and maybe you had - it just wasn’t with who you thought.

pairing.  jeon jungkook.  mentions/involvement of ot7.

tags.  angst, break up, post-break up, comfort, OT7, slow burn, friendship, moving on, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, emotional bagge, fluff, canon compliant, jeon jungkook is bad at feelings, jeon jungkook is a good friend, jeon jungkook is a sweetheart.

rating.  general (for now?)

word count.  ~2100

chapter 4.  How’m I Doing

They say all that ever matters is timing.  You think they must be right - because no matter how good you've always been together, the timing is just never right.

He's awake before you and for once, he doesn't mind how his internal clock has him stirring before the sun has risen. It gives him time to linger here, where he belongs.

It feels oddly domestic, his arm hooked around the pillow and the other barely breaching the divide between you.  Tips of fingers ghost over where you'd be if you only shifted an inch, trailing through the heat radiating off your frame.  He exhales a sound like frustration but there's only warmth in his mouth, peeking past his teeth like rays of sunlight.  

Like this, Jungkook allows himself to daydream.  To imagine endless summer skies and you weight of your hand in his, laughter curling out of your mouth like smoke and filling the space until he's drunk on the sound.  He drifts between your cotton candy smile, so saccharine sweet it gives him toothaches, and the feel of your hip nudging his through choreography he'd love nothing more than to practice with you.  (You'd hate it - two left feet, you'd argue - but he'd insist.  You'd always say yes.)

He closes his eyes and it's you at his side, keeping him anchored to this reality he's so often surprised by.  It's you laughing with Hoseok, bursting into an impromptu slide and disappearing behind fingers when he's focused his lens on you.  It's the two of you in the kitchen, adjusting to each other with practiced ease and cowering when Seokjin reminds you both of the burning banana pancakes.  It's you swiping the rain from his eyes, pulling him beneath a shared umbrella while the sky opens above you, so heavy it sinks into your bones.

He imagines being swept away during the holidays, Christmas shopping in between trying on silly costumes, elf-hats pulled low over your ears.  He kisses you at midnight on New Years and he nearly forget about the fireworks going off above your heads - there are enough of those between you.  He finds your face in a sea of thousands, serenades you like there's nothing else in the world.  

He daydreams about all the things he's never had.  

(Whoever said daydreams hurt had never dealt with a reality like this.)

 You're studying his face like a woman possessed, as if maybe, just maybe, you could burn this image into your mind for the rest of your days.  That it could be your saving grace when he's halfway across the world and you're reminded that you're alone again.  

You memorize the slope of his nose and the gentle curve of his lips, the way the little freckle smack dab in the centre draws your attention without even trying.  You examine the way his lashes flutter with each breath, the way his forehead tenses here and there, brows drawn together by something you wish you could smooth away.

You want to give him the world. 

Instead, you're gingerly reaching out, puppeteered by your quick-beating heart.  

It feels like electricity shooting through your veins, igniting your bloodstream as the tips of fingers graze his temple.  You touch him like he's precious, crystal, about to shatter into a million pieces.  Within your brassy broken cage of bones, your heart skips a beat.  You withdraw--

"Don't stop."  He's caught your wrist in the same moment you've pulled away.  He's pleading, hopeful and sweet.

When you card through his powder puff of hair, a smile spreads like butter, too big for his face and crinkling the corners of his eyes.  A hum of contentment parts his lips and he's leaning into your touch, seeking warmth like a sunbathing cat.  You gladly oblige him, alternating between stroking the swell of his cheek, doodling nonsense into the margins of his skin, and sweeping his mop of brunette behind his ears.  

You stay like this for minutes that stretch on in silence - only broken by a vibration of his phone.

"You have to go," you speak the words faintly, muffling the sound against your pillow.  You know how you sound - disappointed and just a little petulant.  You don't mean to.  

He hums, as he always does, and catches your fingers in his own.  His large palm engulfs yours but your fingers, long and thin from years of piano practice, easily combat his.  You giggle once, soft and low, as he twines them together, gently knocking yours - his? - knuckles against your chin.

"I do."  It's like a nail in a coffin, the finality of it.  "Why don't you come by later?  Everyone will want to see you."

The thought makes you smile despite yourself.  You'd missed them, too.  "Okay."

Your acquiescence seems good enough for him and he's bright-eyed and bunny smiled, mouth splitting wide.  He's still got your hand in his, refusing to let go as he rises up, holding himself comfortably upon one elbow.  There's emotion in the way he looks at you, takes in the way your bangs drift hazy over your vision and your teeth worry your bottom lip with self-conscious abandon. 

"You'll be okay, you know."  His reassurance is stronger than the sun's rays, more concrete than the ground beneath your feet.  It's equal parts a statement and a promise.  He'll make sure you're okay - he always has.

Because he's the person who dives without thought, swimming among the shipwrecks in your eyes.  He's the one who has always brought the light to those cracked hulls and broken boughs.  He's ignored the swirling void and gnashing teeth, refusing to leave behind the buried treasure he knows sits beneath the trench.  He'll pull you to the surface, even if it means drowning in your ocean. 

"I know - I have you."  

 Once he's called for a car and you've both brushed your teeth, you wait outside the front door together.  You're sipping at coffee - or trying to - and he's leaning on the railing, light bathing his handsome face in a way that makes your heart stop.

He was your best friend but you'd be lying if you said he wasn't breathtaking.

"We've got meetings until about 3 PM.  I'm not sure what's going on after that but you can probably just come by then."  Jungkook is studying his phone, scrolling through unread messages and deftly ticking back responses.  He's got his bag hiked over his shoulder, lighter now that he's unloaded your souvenirs, and seems perfectly at ease.  Without glancing up, he's holding out a hand for your mug of coffee.  You pass it to him without a word, watching the way the steam curves  around powdery skin and drifts into the early morning.

He takes a sip, nose wrinkling in that distinctly Jungkook way, and hands it back to you.  "Too hot."

"I could've told you that,"  you murmur around a mouth of beguiling laughter, happily returning both cold palms to the ceramic.  Heat warms you to your core as you drag your lips through scalding liquid once more, staring at him unabashedly.

"What?"  He notices - of course he does - and levels you with what's meant to be a demanding stare.  Perhaps it would be, if not for the way his expression splits in half, suspicious facade giving way to a smile that could only be described as beautiful.  "Soomi-ah, you know it's rude to stare."  And there's that bunny quality, two front teeth standing center stage.

"I'm just glad you're home." 

He scoffs to hide the sudden rouge that colours his cheeks, tinges the tops of his ears.  He's immediately pulling you against his side, careful not to dislodge the cup from your hands.  It's silly, the bashfulness that rises in his chest and settles like an unfamiliar weight on his shoulders. 

Jeon Jungkook was many things but shy wasn't one of them - not really. 

He'd grown into his long limbs and wicked smile, frighteningly aware of the effect he had on most people.  He'd learnt to command it, switch it on and off so quickly it'd cause whiplash.  Gone was the timid fifteen year-old, replaced by a larger than life idol with a pouty mouth and a body that could make you cry.

But that was only out there - to them, the people who loved him and his hyungs unconditionally. 

Here, with you, he was just Kookie. Even if you rarely used the nickname now. 

(You said it didn't belong to just you two anymore, and he supposed that was true.  He wasn't just yours anymore.)

"I'm always just a phone call away," he murmurs into the top of your head.  He's said it once and he'll say it again, even if you don't believe him.  He knows it's just your stubborn nature that keeps you rooted in place, refusing to take up any more space in his life.  He also knows you'd call if you really needed him.  You always did.

You nod, the only indication you've heard him.  You know, you know. 

"Your car's here."  

It's like the ending to a bittersweet fairytale - the strike of a clock at midnight. 

He squeezes you a little tighter and you allow yourself to loop an arm around his impossibly small waist, gently squeezing his hip.  Then he's gone, taking the steps two at a time as he bounds down to meet the sleek black sedan.  You're not sure who's in the driver's seat - whether it's one of the boys or a manager or someone else entirely - but you catch the way a hand pops out of the window.  A quick wave.  Someone you know, then. 

Right before Jungkook steps into the passenger seat, he's waving as well, wrist flailing like he's boneless.  "I'll see you later!"  He calls, disappearing inside and behind the shadow of a tinted glass.  You wonder if he even hears you when you call out.

"Bye, Bunny."

 "She's back home."  There's surprise lacing the rich baritone, turning the statement into a question as soon as Jungkook has slid across supple leather.

The younger man hums, slotting his backpack between his knees.  "Yeah, recently."  He doesn't offer anything more as he cards a hand through his hair and shifts to recline fully into the seat.  He's ready to head back to the complex and take a long hot shower and prepare for the day.  Hopefully there'll be something to eat, considering how early it is.  He's sure Seokjin will have whipped something up.

"We weren't sure where you ran off to so quickly but Yoongi-hyung had an idea."  

"Why would Yoongi-hyung think I was there?"  Jungkook doesn't have time to catch himself before the his words are rolling off his tongue, seemingly held by a string that furrows his brow.  He ignores the way Taehyung's own raise, disappearing into his carefully styled fringe.  

"They talk, you know."  Whatever sixth sense the elder has seems to drive him to continue his first though, molasses heavy on his tongue in an effort to smooth whatever feathers he's ruffled.  "We all do.  She's our friend, too."  A moment of silence as he rolls to a stop, nodding politely at the halmoni that is helped across the street by what he assumes is her grandson.  "Yoongi-hyung said she'd been sad lately, so he figured you'd want to see her as soon as we got back."

Jungkook isn't sure what the emotion clawing up his throat is or why it feels like bile and envy, licking acid over his vocal chords.  He doesn't even realize he's holding tension in a vice grip until he's loosening his hand, little crescent moons dug into the soft flesh of his palm.

He shouldn't be jealous.  He doesn't really even think he is jealous.

Hurt, maybe.  That makes more sense.

"Oh."  He wonders if it comes off poorly.  By the way Taehyung shifts in his periphery, he's sure it does.  

So he clears his throat and offers a contrite smile.  These are his hyungs, his best friends, his brothers.  He knows better.  He thinks you'd reprimand him if you caught him like this.  You'd tell him they were your friends, too, and that you could never have enough people who loved you.  You'd make a point about ARMY, about the people who've raised thousands of dollars in his name and wrote you letters thoughtful enough to make you breakdown.  He'd have to agree.

An abundance of love was the best problem to have.

"She's coming by later,"  Jungkook relents, lolling his head to the side as he speaks.

Taehyung beams, boyishly handsome and relieved by the melting tension.  Long fingers tap the stirring wheel as gears turn in his head.  He hasn't seen you in forever - ages longer than his maknae - and he can't help but imagine the ease with which you'll slot back into their lives.  Even if only for a little while.

"Great.  Let's keep it a surprise."

notes.   i realized i haven't been proofreading anything so i apologize for any mistakes littered through past chapters. i'm going to start planning out future ones so hopefully there will be more rhyme and reason moving forward. @-@ 

this chapter was heavily inspired by eric nam's "how'm i doing". https://youtu.be/D46_enlxfP8

[secret-engima]

Stand Strong Drabble: Shaking Hands

(Okay so this was less intentional angst and more my thoughts exploring, just a little, of how Amissa must have felt when she realized that she was going to KEEP JUMPING WORLDS. That nowhere was permanent. That nothing she did or was done to her could make it STOP and how that effects her even now, all these worlds later, even after the Astrals promised her safety and permanence here. Basically all hail the Angst)

...

     Blood, bullets, screaming. All around and in the air and inside her. Copper on her tongue and suffocating her lungs while Flames exploded out of her control in one last gurgling snarl of Fury-Betrayal-Rage-.

     Sun-warmed cobblestones under her fingers, too large clothes sliding off her shoulders as she stared down at fresh pink scars littering a prepubescent torso and cried. 

...

     Amissa opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. Waited patiently for the feeling of lead tearing open her lungs to fade and the cold thrill down her spine of again-again-forever-again to fade. She counted the familiar cracks in her ceiling, breathed in and tasted the soft fragrance of her plants. Let them anchor her to the present —to the world, her last world— with the faint thrum of their life forces. She closed her eyes and counted to five, rolled out of her bed in resigned silence. She wasn’t going to be able to fall asleep again, not after that. She knew better than to tempt the dreams.

     She slipped on the knee-length dressing gown her Kids had given her a few birthdays ago, padded across the cold floor and nudged open the doors to the rundown balcony attached to her room. The railing had crumbled years ago under the persistent assault of the tree growing up against the side of the building, but she had never needed the railing in the first place. Not when the branches were thick enough to climb and she had no fear of heights or falling to stop her from climbing up into the foliage in her nightclothes and dressing gown.

     Amissa swung up into the highest branches and looked out across the persistent gloom of little Galahd, busy as ever in its more nocturnally orientated schedule than the rest of Insomnia. She took in a deep breath of air that tasted like magic and the jungle, listened to the faint but persistent drums of some folk song being played a few blocks away, let the shadows hide her form from the view of the passing Kingsglaive darting by on the rooftops on their way to or from a shift.

     All very different from the bright sunshine and warm cobblestones of her dream.

     Good.

     She hated that dream.

     Amissa lifted her hands in front of her face, flexed her fingers, examining their shape, the scars on different places. Adult hands. Normal hands. Something that so many people had but so few appreciated. She pressed her hands over her sternum, pushed her fingers against certain old scars until they throbbed. Old scars she had carried for years and years, lifetime after lifetime. 

     Scars she had carried ever since the first time she’d died.

...

     Flame-soaked bullets rattling the air, the churning fear in Lambo’s eyes as he cradled I-Pin’s unmoving —but breathing, alive, just unconscious— form closer to him and ran away on her orders —her promise that she would be right behind them even though they knew that was a lie, that the backup she was sending him and Fūta to retrieve was just an excuse to get them and the unconscious I-Pin to safety—, leaving her to face the bullet rain alone.

     The taste of the ice cream on her tongue from what had been a pleasant trip out with the kids until an entire enemy famiglia crashed in. The furious haze of taking down more-more-more opponents until she couldn’t and she lay on the floor of that ice cream parlor, suffocating on her own blood and forcing her Flames out in one last attack to keep them from chasing after the children.

     Waking up on sun-baked cobblestones —not the cool tile of the parlor floor, not even the hot concrete pavement of the street outside—, suddenly a child rather than the adult she had finally had a chance to grow into —a chance ripped away twice already by worlds she had existed in one moment and then been torn from in a blink—. Pulling at her blood-soaked shirt until she could look down at the pink, rounded scars that looked like they were weeks or months old rather than minutes.

     Looking up at the concerned voices of the small woman and her massive husband as they approached what they thought was a child in oversized, bloody clothes and spoke in a language that was like German but not quite —another language, wrong language, wrong faces, fictional faces even when she’d been in a world she’d already once known as fictional—.

     Realizing she’d jumped again. Left everything behind again and sobbing into her shaking hands because if death couldn’t stop it…

     Then nothing would.

....

     “Màmag?” Amissa blinked back to the present —new world, different world, last world-she-hoped-she-prayed— to the sensation of someone gently clasping her trembling hands and pulling them away from the bullet scars she was obsessively rubbing at. She looked up into Luche’s worried expression and his flared nostrils and realized she was suppressing again.

     She relaxed her scent and shakily squeezed his much steadier hands, “I’m fine, Luche. You just got off duty, right? You should go sleep.”

     He shifted into a more comfortable position on the thick branch instead, his hands firmly wrapped around hers, as if holding on tight would disguise the way Amissa’s hands trembled-trembled-trembled —hands that had remained surgically steady even during the worst battles and most terrifying, daemon-filled nights— from the things in her head. His scent unfurled, warm like cinnamon and ticklish with just a whiff of garlic. Her eldest sniffed thoughtfully at her scent and then purred comfortingly as understanding dawned in his eyes —he had always seen her too well, just like he saw most people too well, saw them in the way that let him push their every button for good or ill—, “You’re not going to disappear, Màmag,” he whispered quietly, “and neither are any of us.”

     Amissa took a deep breath of air that tasted like jungle instead of concrete and gasoline and rubber like the rest of the city. She looked out over the home she had helped carve out of the refugee district that had started out as a total slum and listened to the heartbeat of all its people —the heartbeat of old-old magic whispering mine-safe-home-welcome-mine—. She thought of ancient beings promising that they would let her stay. That no matter what happened, so long as she did her best to care for the inhabitants of their world, they would keep her soul from being stolen away again. “This Star is the home of your body and soul for the rest of your life,” they had said, “and it will become your eternal resting place when your life passes, this we so swear.”

     She thought on that, clutched it internally like the promise it was but-. But…

...

     Rain and cold and confusion, a small town somewhere in Japan that didn’t look right somehow, a sick feeling as she realized it had happened again. An umbrella appearing over her head and a gentle, if slightly vacant voice saying, “Ara! You look so cold, sitting out here in the rain. Come inside, come on, come on, I made plenty supper for a guest-, oh you’re soaked- Tsu-kun! Tsu-kun get a towel out of the bathroom! Don’t worry about a thing, dear- no- no need to cry. You can stay in our home for as long as you like, I promise.”

...

     Too-big clothes that had fit perfectly moments ago, round, pink scars where there had been fatal open wounds. The clatter of concerned feet as two strangers-who-weren’t ran up to her and crouched down, “Oi- oi kid what are you doing out here in the middle of the street-. Holy-! You’re covered in blood, what happened to you? No let me see, I can help. Come on, come on let’s get you out of the street… there we go. Don’t be scared little one, we’re not going to hurt you, I’m Izumi, this is my husband Sig. Do you have parents we can call? … A home then? … Well. I suppose you’ll just have to stay here then. No, no, don’t argue! You’ll stay here as long as you need. What kind of housewife would I be if I abandoned a child to the streets?”

...

     She blinked herself free of the memories, met concerned blue eyes with her own mismatched gaze, and smiled “I know, mo baeg solas. I’m fine.”

     He stared back at her for several minutes, then smiled back and shifted to settle closer to her, so close their shoulders were touching and he could drag her hands into his lap as he rested his head on her shoulder. With a quiet voice he began to fill her in on the silly, inane things that had happened to him and the others on their last shift, mentioned the things that they wanted to do with her later when everyone was off duty and well rested. He spoke as if they were just relaxing in the tree for no reason other than to chat, and she responded with a relaxed scent and amusing gossip she’d picked up from the Citadel servants. Agreements to all the future plans and little habits that only meant the world to people who had known what it was like to be without those comforts for years.

     She laughed like she was calm and happy and fine.

     He politely pretended that he didn’t know she was lying.

     They both ignored his fingers twined around hers in his lap, as if that would make them stop shaking.

     They both pretended not to notice when it didn’t work.

[wordywarriorwrites]

Chapter 18: On Va Voir

Masterlist: The Boss of Brooklyn A03 Story Link Author: @wordywarriorwrites​ Summary: When it comes to being The Boss, James Buchanan “JB” Barnes rules with an iron fist. For him, there’s no room for sentiment, and certainly no time for distraction, even if it is in the form of an old flame. Steve Rogers had bowed out of the life a long time ago, but a twist of fate brings him right back into the fold, and face-to-face with a man he once loved. When a game of cat and mouse turns into a matter of life and death, both will be forced to decide whether they’ll be loyal to the business, or faithful to each other. A/N: Bucky Barnes Mob Boss AU. Stucky. For: @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan Star’s Multi-Fandom Follower Celebration with the prompt, “Why did you do it?” & @sherrybaby14 Sherry’s Fall Into You Challenge with the prompt, “Show me. Prove that you can handle me.” Warnings: Language, violence, drug use, alcohol, smoking, explicit sexual content, illegal activities. *Re-blogs are welcome. Plagiarism isn’t. *

Steve had only been in France for four months, and while he hadn’t exactly unpacked his bags, he was already starting to feel at home. The apartment he’d rented in Île Saint-Louis was small, but comfortable, and suited his needs.

The island was quiet, intimate, and full of centuries-old architecture. Eight streets, four quays, and far removed from the capital. An awe-inspiring place that beckoned one to stroll along the docks, stop and take pictures of the statues and stained-glass windows, and indulge in famous ice-cream from Berthillon.

He’d moved to Paris, not only to get the hell away from everything and everyone, but also to get back into the very lucrative art smuggling industry. Steve hadn’t been in the game for some time, but it was something he knew, and could easily fall back on. Paris was the art capital of the world and he’d earned his stripes in some of the best galleries in New York; he’d also kept tabs on the movers and shakers over the years and still had connections and contacts.

Steve was already looking to get back to business, and while the fresh start, new surroundings, and exciting job opportunities were more than enough to keep him occupied, he wasn’t fully engrossed. He’d unintentionally become distracted by Mason Dubois and had been seeing him for a little over a month.

When Wanda introduced them, Steve had been curt, and too preoccupied to care if he’d come across as impolite. Whatever bad first impression he may have made on Mason hadn’t deterred him, and about a week after Steve got the keys to his new place, he’d found a welcome basket of cheese, bread, fruit, and wine on the doorstep. The note that accompanied it had been tongue-in-cheek flirtatious, and Mason had included both his number and an invitation for coffee.

The first meet up had been informal, with no expectation, pressure, or false promise. Then, they started texting, and eventually, breakfast dates turned to brunch, and lunch to dinner. After that, it was wine-tasting and bar-hopping; movies and junk food; early morning trips and late-night phone calls.

Mason looked at him unflinchingly and directly; he didn’t shutter his emotions or hide his intentions, but he wasn’t pushy, either. Smart as a whip and completely forthright, Mason was honest about what he got up to when he was away and just as truthful when he was present. A mop of curly brown hair; dark, bedroom eyes; closely-cropped beard; and a body that proved he both enjoyed and took care of himself. He was the real deal, the complete package, the quintessential dream man...

But Steve hadn’t slept with him – hadn’t even kissed him -- and couldn’t account for the hesitation.

“I need you to come clean, mon bel ami.”

Steve looked away from the view and arched an eyebrow, “About what?”

Mason sat back and tilted his head slightly to the side, “What’s wrong with you, exactly?”

Steve paused with his wineglass halfway to his lips and laughed, “Looking for flaws already?”  

“Just trying to understand what’s going on inside that head of yours.”

“You don’t want to know – trust me.”

“Au contraire, I want to know everything about you,” Mason countered teasingly. “What makes you smile, what makes you mad. What you dream about at night and what your mouth tastes like...”

“You’re shamelessly persistent.”

“Oui. And you assertive, and yet, très réticent. You’re a contradiction. Like a petit chaton.”

“Did you – did you just call me a kitten?”

The arrival of their main courses meant Mason couldn’t respond verbally, but the mischievous wink and smirk spoke volumes, and he was pretty sure it wasn’t the 1967 Dmaine Romanee Conti that made him blush. Steve listened as he spoke to the waiter; he understood bits and pieces of the politely-toned commentary, and when the server departed, Mason picked up his fork, and placed his napkin in his lap.

A perfectly balanced vintage and amazing food kept them both focused on something other than coy banter. Lighter conversation centered around what was on their plates, which they exchanged a couple of times, followed by a chocolate soufflé that was the pièce de résistance of the meal.

They were served their after-dinner cognac out on the veranda. Far away from the door, in a barely illuminated corner, Mason reached into his pocket, and pulled out a pack of Gauloises. Even though the brand was no longer manufactured, and there was absolutely no smoking on the restaurant’s property, he got away with having his way because he was the type of man people made allowances for.

Mason lit the cigarette with practiced ease, tossed the box and jewel-encrusted lighter down onto one of the concrete side tables, and took a seat. While he got in his nicotine fix, Steve sipped, and stared out at the water. The air was brisk, but did little to clear his head or calm his thoughts.    

“Who hurt you?” he wondered, breaking the silence. “And is the connard still breathing?”

Steve looked down the balloon glass in his hand and sighed. The question was a loaded one and not at all benign. Rough and deep-timbered, Mason’s voice resounded, and loathe as he was to acknowledge it, the accent and hard-edged intonation sent a shiver up and down his spine. He wasn’t used to this; had never been wined, dined, or seduced, and didn’t know what it was to have a man’s utter and complete attention outside of the bedroom. It was awkward, thrilling, and deeply unnerving.

And he just wasn’t ready for it.

“Beneath it all, I believe you are a cautious, shrewd man,” Mason asserted. “That is why you make me chase you. Vous aimez jouer à des jeux.”

Steve jerked his head up and turned to face him, “I don’t play games.”

Mason stared back at him for a time before he put his cigarette out. The Beauté du Siécle was something to be savored, but he uncharacteristically gulped it like it wasn’t worth nearly three-hundred thousand dollars a bottle and poured from a decanter made of crystal. He set the glass aside, got to his feet, and closed the distance between them.

The drink Steve had been holding to his chest like some sort of protective fucking barrier was pried out of his hand and put down on the flat cap of the balustrade. Mason caged him in by placing his hands on the railing on either side of him; he’d effectively trapped him, which meant there was no avoiding or escaping the fierce look in his dark, dark eyes.

“You’re worth pursual, but all running must stop eventually, oui?”

Another inquiry, but also one he could not provide an answer to. One hand transferred to his hip, anchoring, and vice-like. The other, tender and gentle against his cheek. A caress that moved down his jawline and a thumbpad that swiped whisper-soft across his lower lip.

“Are you going to stand still and let me kiss you, Steve Rogers?”

A careful, tentative brush – like a wide-eyed, expert painter who had already picked a hue, but was still trying to decide where to begin on the canvas. A shared breath that tasted of candied fruit and nutmeg. Tongue slipped and dipped between parted lips that were pliant and supple. Steady, steady, steady, until it wasn’t. Swaths and strokes and starbursts of vivid color. Pressed up together; thigh-to-chest; palms roving; and fingers dug in like claws.

Steve didn’t understand half of what rasped in his ear and against his throat – all he knew was that his heart was pounding and that Mason knew how to fucking kiss…

In the distance, someone cleared their throat. It took a forceful ahem and an additional cough before Mason growled low in his chest and lifted his head.

“Si ce n’est pas une question de vie ou de mort, partez,” he snapped.

“Désolé de vous déranger,” came the reply. “Vous devez prendre cela.”

Steve opened his eyes in time to see one of Mason’s personal security detail walking toward them, phone outstretched, and face placid. He stared at his feet, as if not making eye contact would minimize the intrusion somehow, and even went so far as to turn his back when Mason accepted the cell and began speaking.

His words were clipped at first, but then, they became cold. Rapid-fire French that Steve had no hope of keeping up with. The first words that made sense were, “Steve is with me,” and then, something about his apartment that he didn’t quite follow.

“Are you expecting a visitor?” Mason asked after he hung up.

Steve furrowed his brow and shook his head, “No, why?”

He tapped the screen and handed over his phone. The photos were unfocused and a bit blurry, but the car parked beneath the streetlamp just outside his building revealed a driver with an all-too-familiar profile. There were a few more in the series that showed Bucky appeared to have been there awhile and hadn’t budged.

Mason was a man with many enemies, and when they started dating, he’d asked Steve’s permission to put a guard on standby outside his place. It was for his own peace of mind as well as Steve’s protection, and it was only supposed to be when he wasn’t home. Steve hadn’t protested at the time – after all, he was in an unfamiliar city, and didn’t have anyone to watch his back, so, it was better to be safe than sorry.

It made sense that whoever was on duty would take pictures of anyone or anything unfamiliar or out of order. What didn’t make sense, however, were the candid shots of Steve himself. They were too close up and far too vivid to have been taken from a cell, and they’d also been taken while he was at home and out on the town. The private moments had been captured without his consent, and the shock of Bucky being in France and parked outside his place paled by comparison.

Something in Steve’s body language or expression must’ve tipped Mason off, because the cell was suddenly snatched out of his hand, and quickly stowed away. Mason was on the short-list of people nobody ever dared to take a swing at, but Steve did, and he issued a sharp jab to his nose. Mason didn’t stumble, but he did grunt, and the blood that bloomed was as red as Steve’s vision. The guard immediately stepped forward, but Mason raised a halting hand, and the man stopped in his tracks.

“I deserved that,” he muttered.

“You think?” Steve scoffed.

“Mon chat, I can explain--”

Steve didn’t ask the guard to move or stick around to listen to any excuses; he just turned on a heel, hoisted himself up and over the railing, and landed in the sand a few feet below. A quick, one-block jog saw him onto a busy street, where he hailed a cab, and told the driver there was an extra one-hundred euro in it for him if he put the pedal to the floor.

The incentive prompted a direct-route, wild ride that got him home in record time. Steve paid, hit the pavement, and made a beeline for Bucky’s car. He pounded his fist on the window, told him to get lost, and hot-footed it to his front door.

“Wait!” Bucky shouted after him. “Please, would you just--”

Unsteady hands meant the key missed the lock a few times, but he got there eventually, and darted inside. Once past the security door and inside the vestibule, Steve bypassed the elevator, and took the stairs three at a time. Eight flights later, he was in his apartment, and the first thing he did was out his cellular and pulverize it beneath his heel.  

The go-bag was on the top shelf in the closet. The gun, passport, burner phone, and cash were hidden beneath a loose floorboard next to the bed. On the back of a take-out menu, he scribbled out a note for the landlord, counted out enough money to cover the lease-break and cleaning fees, and dropped it on the kitchen counter.

In, out, and down the back fire escape in under three minutes. Behind the building, there was a loose brick in the façade, and all it took was a slight tug for it to come out. The set of keys he’d tucked away were still there, and Steve had just put the brick back in place when the sound of his name, squealing tires, and gunfire echoed in the air.

Translations:

Mon bel ami – My handsome friend. Au contraire – On the contrary. Très réticent – Very reluctant. Petit chaton – Little kitten. Connard – Asshole; motherfucker; bastard. Vous aimez jouer à des jeux – You like to play games. Oui – Yes. Si ce n’est pas la vie ou la mort, partez. – If it’s not a matter of life or death, go away. Désolé de vous déranger. Vous devez prendre cela. – Sorry to bother you. You have to take this. Mon chat – My kitten.  

Chapter 19: On the Line

Everything: @jennmurawski13​​​ @nerdy-bookworm-1998​

Steve Rogers: @patzammit @hearttoearth​ The Boss of Brooklyn: @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan​ @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety​ @captain-rogers-beard​ @lilliannaansalla

[luckthebard]

Because I think I’m in a minority with this interpretation, and because I admit it’s likely to be incorrect and I’m nothing if not willing to later eat my words when I’m wrong, here’s my understanding of Why Caleb has a hard time talking directly about his larger goals:

I don’t think he has a clear idea of what, exactly, he wants to do. I’m basing this off a few things Liam’s said on Talks as well as the “text” of the show, the most prominent being a quiet “I don’t think he knows what he wants” from a few weeks ago. There’s also his statement that, without some kind of goal to “fix” what he did wrong, Caleb wouldn’t have a reason to keep going. So, the idea that he needs to fix his mistake (not atone, or get revenge, but fix it) was all that kept Caleb alive for 5 years alone in the wilderness. 

But, I also don’t think Caleb ever had a clear or concrete idea about how to do that. Once he had access to the Cobalt Soul library, he studied the possibility of time-travelling magic, but the only things he found pointed to it being pretty much impossible. I don’t think this made him give up that nebulous “fix it” goal, but I also don’t think time travel was something he was hyper-focused on, or was the sole avenue he was considering. 

But this is also why I think he has a hard time when Beau presses him on what he wants, what his long-term goal is. Because, having never had to explain it to another person before, I think Beau’s curiosity kind of exposes how...unclear and unfocused his goals are. I don’t think he’s evading her, I think he doesn’t really have a good answer for her pointed and valid questions. As a slight aside, I also think the very vague nature of his goals is also what causes people (audience and other characters alike) to leap to conclusions about his intentions or motives. Beau was valid in assuming he wants to mess with time, but while that was something he considered, he never really said it outright and it might not be at the forefront of his mind anymore. Sort of like how Liam has had to remind people that Caleb never said he hates the Empire, even if certain parts of his backstory had led a lot of people to conclude that he did.

Which is why I think this latest step of realizing that going after Ikithon might now be possible with his friends and the tentative alliance with the Krynn is so significant for Caleb. It’s the first time he’s had a clear, defined goal beyond “fix it.” And it’s important character development! He describes his long-term goals to Beau in the end of episode 57 as: “I have said some crazy things to you, I have railed against the elements” - that seems like a newly self-aware description of where his headspace was just 6 months ago. The unclear, rambling goals of a man living alone in the woods for 5 years are not necessarily going to be the goals of a person who’s recently made close friendships he thought were impossible for someone like him, who’s realizing that he cares about others and that that might affect his intentions and actions in new and unexpected ways. Him changing his mind about how to respond to his past mistakes and sins is an important part of character growth, even if he has to hold on to the impossible and vague “fix it” goal as a sort of anchor to keep going.

“We can do some good.” “I think that’s the best retribution for Caleb Widogast.” - I think he agrees, and I also think this is something he thought impossible just 6 months ago.

[riseandshinelittleblossom]

Hoping for Home Ch 6 - “If I Didn’t Have You”

Sorry for the wait, guys! Catch up here!

Disclaimer: Just borrowing the characters except my originals.

 Song for this chapter: “If I Didn’t Have You” By Thompson Square

Tags: @ao719 @cocomaxley @leelee10898@fullbeaumonty @choiceswreckedme @ritachacha @itsstillnotwhatyouthink@blackcoffee85 @indiacater @drakesensworld @carabeth @daniv2278@cosigottahavefaith @gibbles82 @innerpostmentality@perfectprofessorherokid @darley1101 @jovialyouthmusic @liamxs-world@thequeenofcronuts @blznbaby @stopforamoment @zilch3382@wannabemc2 @jlouise88 @lodberg @jasieschoices

The lights of the private waiting room of Valtoria Medical were bright and mind-numbing. Not that Libby's mind was feeling much of anything other than fear and regret.

    She'd clung to Drake like a parasite since they'd gotten word. In the swirling vortex of everything that had happened to her the last couple of months, culminating in the accident, he seemed to be the only constant and so she allowed the warmth of his arms to be her anchor.

   The rest of the room was packed with courtly figures,people that she had considered friends in another life. Maybe she still did, even if the pain she'd caused them all had caused them to think of her differently.

            They'd been in the emergency room for four hours now, all of the children had been lucky in a manner of speaking. Bartie and McKenzie were virtually unscathed by the accident, a few bumps and bruises between them. Abel had a cracked rib. Will's right forearm had required twelve stitches where it had been pinned in the accident.

   Emma was, by far, the worst for wear. Preliminary scans had shown no signs of permanent brain damage nor any cerebral swelling or bleeding. However, she still had not woken up.

    The doctors told the duchess that her daughter seemed to be responsive to outside stimuli, which was an excellent sign, but they wouldn't know more until she awakened.

     “Can I have your jacket, Drake?” Libby asked raising her head off of his shoulder.

    “Sure, Scott.” He slouched the blazer from his shoulders and handed it to her. She stood to cross the room, intending to use the jacket to cover her son's sleeping form,but she paused when she watched Liam wriggle from his own coat and drape it across Will instead. Her heart stopped for a moment, taking in the way Liam cared for the young boy that he wasn't even sure was his son.

     Libby spun on her heels, handing the jacket back to Drake. “Nevermind.” She smiled softly as he draped the garment over his knee. “I'm gonna step outside for some air.”

     Drake stood from his seat, twisting his torso in a stretch before he draped his jacket over Libby's bare shoulders.

    “Keep it, then. It's cold out there, Scott.”

   She hugged the blazer closer offering her friend a warm smile. “You'll call me if she wakes up?”

  “Of course we will, Libby” Olivia told her as she placed her polished nails on her old friend's shoulders. “Take all the time you need. We'll come get you if anything changes.”

    Libby faced the Queen, her eyes darting back and forth over the woman's face. She noted the lines at the edges of Olivia's eyes that she hadn't sported in their youth. They were laugh lines, Libby assumed, and she couldn't help but wonder what must've changed for Olivia over the years for her to have gained them.

    “I can't tell you what this means to me. After everything I've done…”

    “You are our friend, Elizabeth. Emma is your daughter no matter which way everything else plays out so, come hell or high water, we're here for you. We can sort the rest out later.” Olivia said.

     Libby wandered outside, finding a small courtyard boasting a few benches and a gazebo. Seeking the refuge the small structure provided she made her way over to it. As she drew closer to it, she noticed a thin cloud of smoke hanging in the air just above it, the smell of nicotine  wafting by.

     Stepping inside she found Maxwell leaned against one of the railings. His thoughts seemed to be far off in the distance as he absentmindedly flipped the ashes off the end of his cigarette.

    “Those things will kill you one day, you know. Do you have another?”

     The brunette man peered over his shoulder at her, narrowing his eyes slightly. Against his better judgement, Maxwell pulled a silver case from his inner jacket pocket, popping it open to offer Libby what was inside.

    “Suppose you need a light too?” He grumbled placing his own bit of vice between his lips as he reached for his lighter.

    Libby took a long drag, exhaling the smoke out into the night sky.

    “Since when do you smoke?” She asked him desperate to break the silence.

   “Eh, my second wife was a social smoker. I picked it up from her. Usually I only smoke socially as well, but tonight…” Maxwell's voice trailed off as he planted his palms on the railing in front of him, leaning into it.

   “I know what you mean. I quit just before I came to Cordonia for the first time.”

     A silence hung between them, but somehow it was more peaceful than Libby imagined it would be. She watched as his shoulders subtly rose and fell with each breath, his dress shirt taut against the well defined muscles on either side of his neck.  She parted her lips to speak, the uncharacteristic stillness of the man who'd once stolen her heart beginning to make her uneasy, but nothing came out.

   He must have been feeling the same way because he exhaled loudly before whirling around to face her. Hopping up to sit on the railing he said, “I know this isn't exactly the best time to say this, but Libby, I've missed you. Every single day.

  I'm sorry for the way I behaved earlier, but the truth is...it doesn't matter. I'm just...I'm really happy to see you again.”

    She smiled softly at his confession, taking a step closer to him.

    “I'm really happy to see you again, too, Max.”

    She wanted to apologize profusely. To tell him all about the days - the years - she'd spent missing him too. However after the night's events, she found herself too emotionally drained to even begin.

    She dropped her cigarette, smashing it out with the toe of her high-heel.

   “Maxwell, I-.” Libby began, but was interrupted by the sound of stilettos clicking quickly over concrete.

   “Libby! Emma's awake. They said you can see her now.” Olivia huffed.

     Drake stopped at the coffee vending machine. Eyeballing the selections, he scoffed when he saw the chai latte button. The odd drink that started this whole mess.

  Liam came up behind him, leaning against the wall. “How is she holding up, Drake?”

    He sighed, running a hand over his chocolate locks. “Ya know. I mean, she's okay but she's upset. It was easy for me and Sav and Hana. Our kids were bruised, but they're fine. Emma is…”

   Drake and Liam both averted their gazes the what if too much for either to bare while looking at the other.

    “I'll stay with her, Li. I know that it's not exactly something you can do at this juncture.”

   Liam smirked and shot his best friend a bit of side eye. “Oh I have no doubt that you will stay by Libby's side. I just wonder if you aren't doing it more for yourself at this point.”

    Drake furrowed his brow. “What are you talking about?”

   Liam continued to smile smugly as he crossed his arms over his chest.

   “Liam it isn't like that. Libby is my friend. And ya know, not for nothing but I did pry her from her life and all but force her back here. So excuse me if I feel a little bit responsible for her.”

   The king chuckled. “As I'm sure Maxwell felt responsible for her all those years ago, old friend.”

   Drake shook his head with an eye roll. “Whatever you say, Your Highness.”

     In a flash Libby was at Emma's bedside, her petite fingers grazing through the young girl's blonde hair.

   “Mama, I'm so so sorry.” Emma croaked.

   “Shhhhhhh-sh-sh. None of that. I'm just so happy you're all okay.”

  “Your Grace, I have ordered an MRI. Assuming things look normal on that end I would say you can take the Lady home tomorrow. I would like to keep her here until then for observation. Typically with a concussion-” Doctor Monroe was interrupted by the sound of the door clicking open, revealing Liam and Maxwell on the other side.

   Monroe offered a deep bow as the men made their way into the room.

   “I apologize for the intrusion. I hope it's okay that we've come.” Liam said, nodding to the doctor.

   Libby smiled, turning her eyes back to the caretaker.

   “Typically with a concussion we don't see such a significant loss of consciousness, so I just want to be sure there isn't more going on than meets the eye. For now, she just needs rest. I'll give you all a few moments.”

     Doctor Monroe stepped out of the room and the door clicked behind him.

   “How are you feeling?” Maxwell asked, taking a stance at the foot of her bed.

   “Honestly I'm fine. A little bit sleepy, but... Mom?” Emma answered and Libby quirked an eyebrow.

   “I don't really know how all of this courtly stuff works, but that nurse that saw me before you came in...she said I'm lucky to be alive. That means I could've died tonight and I never would have found out which one of you is my father. I'm not okay with that. Can we just do a paternity test? Please? We're at the hospital anyway, and I know that maybe this isn't the best time but-.”

  “I agree with her, Libby. Ultimately the decision lies with you, but after tonight's events... I'm very keen to find out myself. Maxwell?” Liam butted in.

   The dark haired man was staring into the distance and he shook his head at the mention of his name.

   “I wasn't going to bring it up given the circumstances, but yeah. The sooner the better.”

     Libby chewed her bottom lip. Scanning her daughter's face she found nothing but certainty, a rare trait for a person of her age. Slowly the nodded her head.

   “I don't see why we can't bring it up with Dr. Monroe in the morning, before you're discharged.”

       Will was curled up next to his sister when the doctor entered the room.

     “So what exactly are you going to do? Draw some blood?” He asked as the man washed his hands, applying a fresh set of sterile gloves. He picked up two kits from the counter and faced the twins.

    “I'm going to swab your cheek. One tiny in and out, that's all.” Monroe explained.

   “ And that's it? Then we'll know who our dad is?” Will shifted his weight suddenly very anxious.

   “Well we will have to swab the men on question. All of the samples will be sent to our lab for analysis. The results usually take 4-6 weeks. Then you will know who your dad is.”

   Emma squeezed her brother's hand, calming him by measures.

    Libby smiled from her chair in the corner. She had always been amazed by their ability to always know just what the other needed.

   “It's okay to be nervous.” She told her children.

   “Well if you had done this a long time ago we wouldn't need to be.” Will scoffed.

   “Will, don't.” Emma scolded and he rolled his eyes.

    After marking and packaging each sample, Dr. Monroe headed towards the door.

   “I'll have these sent priority, Your Grace. As I said, we should know something in 4-6 weeks. In the meantime, you're free to take young Emma home. There are some papers waiting for your signature at the nurse's station.”

   “Thank you, Monroe.” Libby started turning towards her children. “I'll be back in a few. Will, help your sister get ready, please.”

    She strode down the corridor headed for the nurse's station when she saw Liam round the corner.

   “Ah, Libby. I was hoping to speak with you. The doctor informed me that it could take some weeks to get out results.”

    “That's right, Your Majesty.”

    “Please,that's not necessary. We're discussing whether your children are my children, I think we're beyond pleasantries.”

  The redhead grinned at the ridiculousness of the whole situation as the king continued.

   “In any event, Olivia and I would like to invite you and the twins to stay at the palace while we await the results. It would give me some time to get to know your children better.”

    Libby tilted her head.

   “If I find that they are mine and I've squandered this time that I could've shared with them because I wasn't sure I will never forgive myself, Lib. At the end of the day I don't feel I will have lost anything at all by getting to know them if it turns out that they are Maxwell's children, and I would love the opportunity no matter the results. What do you say?”

   “I…” she paused a moment. “How many security vehicles does the King's Guard house at the palace?”

  Now was Liam's turn to be confused as he cocked his head to the side.

   “Twelve. But why does that matter?”

   “Well although I'm grateful that they escaped with their lives the fact remains that they are teenagers that stole a car and wrecked it. I will still have to punish them. Washing and waxing twelve card seems severe enough.”

  Liam laughed, his blue eyes twinkling beneath the fluorescent lights of the hallway. “Wait. You're- you're not joking.”

   Libby raised a brow. “I most certainly am not. We'll be there tomorrow morning. Thank you for the invitation, Liam.”

   He turned to leave, bouncing on the balls of his feet when he remembered. “Oh. I should tell you that I've invited Maxwell to stay as well. He seemed keen to seize the opportunity as well, though he has neither accepted nor denied my invitation. Just thought I should give you a heads up.”

     Libby waved her hand flippantly. “That won't be a problem. I don't know why you think otherwise.”

    Liam let out a laugh from deep within him. “Of course, Your Grace. How silly of me to think that it would be.”

[roxywashere]

What’s Up, Danger

Rey acclimates to her powers

Rey Walker, better known as the superhero Neon, had very suddenly become a celebrity after being inducted into Astra’s League, the world's most prestigious superhero organization. She sat in the League's headquarters, FursTech Tower in Danesville, Wisconsin, at 3 in the morning January 1st 2101, watching as 24-hour news stations scrambled to uncover everything they could about this random punk-rocker who had just been thrust onto the world's stage. Her best friends and long-time crime-fighting partners Hilda Furst, Elle Ectric, and Shailene Octavia stood around watching the same holographic screens where they were also being analysed for the same reasons.

“This is so weird,” Rey commented as she watched the TMZ office argue about the team’s power levels while all still wearing party hats from their New Years party just hours before.

“You’ll get used to it,” Aradia Furst told her. 

“I’m literally being interviewed by like 17 people every single minute and I hate it,” Hilda said. She was apparently Aradia’s second cousin three times removed (Hilda’s great-great-great-great-grandparents were Aradia’s great-grandparents), which Hilda had only learned when she saw it on MSNBC’s coverage of her. “I’ve never killed myself in public before but I’m this fucking close to doing it just to have one less body for everybody to interrogate.” She’d never been this stressed out by her power before, at least that she’d let her best friends know.

“This is exactly why I don’t like going out in public,” Elle said.

“Well, I guess you’re going to be travelling exclusively by lightning bolt forever now because your ass is famous worldwide.”

“I wish my ass was famous,” Shailene mumbled.

“Don’t go getting any ideas, now,” Aradia chastised. “We’re public figures, we have to keep a clean facade.”

“I mean, do we have to? Or is that just how things have been done? What if it’s tasteful? With, like, a real photographer?”

“If you want to draw Astra’s ire, go ahead. But I’ll be looking down my nose at you the whole time.”

“All I heard was ‘go ahead’.”

“Do you pay us?” Hilda asked. “Or would we have to do brand deals and shit.”

“You each get a monthly stipend which will support a quite comfortable housing arrangement,” Aradia answered. “Anything else you wish to earn on top of that is up to you. I would suggest that you wait to get comfortable with your new income before you start trying to supplement it.”

“Is that on top of, or replacing, your basic income program?”

Aradia was at a loss for words. “No League members have ever been on the program before. I never even considered that it was a possibility.”

Rey’s phone dinged with a new message. She was actually kind of surprised that it wasn’t just constantly going off since the press conference. The text, and the ones that immediately followed it, read:

Hey, this is Felicia The waitress From the diner You gave me your number Are you busy right now? You’re probably busy You can ignore me if you’re busy

With a brief burst of her superspeed Rey texted back:

                                          I'm not busy don’t worry                                           Just watching the news                                           hyd?

What is this, the 20s? ‘hyd’?

                                          I’m old fashioned

I get enough old fashioned at this fucking diner

                                          Is your shift over?

Almost. Another hour

                                          You work third shift often?

Only tonight I drew the short straw to work the new year shift

                                          You busy after?

I was planning on sleeping

                                          That’s probably a good idea

I could wait until after getting an early breakfast tho

                                          Wanna come to Danesville?                                           I know a couple places

Danesville is a 10 hour drive from here

                                          I can carry you                                           Btw, whats the actual address of the diner                                           I kinda just stumbled upon you last time

1 Mile Run Rd Allenwood PA We’re right next to Little Mountain State Park off I-80

Suddenly Hilda jumped out of her seat, yelling “FUCK!”

“What is it?” Aradia asked.

“The Harlequin just showed up at one of my bank security guard jobs. Midwest Federal.”

A plasma trail traced from the chair Rey had been sitting in to the workshop’s balcony, where Rey already was, leaning over it to look out over the city. “Alright Aradia, time to hold up your end of the bargain.”

“I suppose it is.” Aradia got to work casting a portal, but instead of waiting Rey jumped over the railing and ran down the side of the building. Running down a building was always much harder than running up one, but it was so much more exhilarating. On her way down, she sent one last text to Felicia:

Gotta go. Duty calls. See you in an hour hopefully If I never text back then that means I’m dead 👉😎👉

She made it to the bottom with no problems, and flowed through the city until she stopped in front of the bank. Five of Hilda in bank security guard uniforms were standing with their handguns pointed at the door. All the lights inside were dark, and the front door looked like it had been smashed in. A second later the portal Aradia had been casting finally opened, behind Hilda and Rey.

“Wait,” Shay said, double-taking at the balcony of the workshop behind her. “How did you...”

“I’ve been here for like five minutes, guys,” Rey taunted.

An ATM came flying out of the bank’s front doors, followed by a shrill roar. Rey stepped out of the way, pulling one of Hilda who was also in the way along with her.

“What the fuck was that? I thought you said the Harlequin was in there?”

“I swear to god I saw her mask for an instant before she killed me,” Hilda said.

“Is she working with somebody new?”

“Let’s not wait to see...” Aradia said. “HARLEQUIN!” I know you’re in there. You’ve slipped under my radar for far too long.”

Another roar rang out. And then a slow stomping, slowly growing closer. And eventually some creature stepped out of the shadows, with red-and-white checkered scales, wearing the Harlequin’s mask: a plain featureless oval, half red and half white. Except the mask had been split across its width, a third of the way up, by a thick crack which was now its mouth.

“What the fuck is that thing?” Elle asked.

It spoke, in a low, rasping tone. “Hello, Aradia. Recognise me?”

“Why should I, fiend?” Aradia demanded.

“Twofold, witch. Your father was a thorn in my side for decades, one. And you and I spoke face to face only 7 days and a few hours ago, two.”

The Harlequin had been a consistent foe of her father in his early days before joining Astra’s League, this Aradia was familiar with. But, seven days and a few hours ago, Aradia had been at Johanna Kerr’s christmas ball, before it had been blown up by what evidence suggested was the Harlequin, or at least her goons. Aradia would have remembered encountering this beast there.

“What happened to you, Harlequin. This is something new, even for you.”

“I’ll spare you the details of my weakness, if you please. I’ll only have you know that it was and remains to be very painful.”

Something clicked in Aradia’s mind. Could it have something to do with the massive explosion the Harlequin had triggered after Aradia had left the christmas ball? If she had been at the ball to trigger the bomb, she likely would also have been caught in it. That would be more than enough energy to disrupt the impenetrability of her superhuman skin and possibly cause this strange alteration. It was a chemistry gauntlet to work through some other time, however, and especially not as a mere thought experiment.

“Then allow me to relieve your pain,” Aradia announced, straightening her back, and drawing herself up into the standard casting stance, one hand held in front of the other, fingers ready to trace magic circles into the air. “Girls, do what you do.”

The very first thing the Harlequin did was wrench a piece of the door frame out of the wall, and attempt to use it as a javelin to spear Aradia. As before, Rey leapt in to pull Aradia out of the way of the projectile, which embedded into a concrete wall across the street.

“Don’t worry about me getting hit,” Aradia told Rey. “I’m more robust than I look. Focus on taking this thing out.” She then quickly summoned a simple but strong magical barrier, and used it to give herself cover while maneuvered herself next to Hilda.

Meanwhile, Elle and Shay put their powers to work together, performing one of their favorite tag-team moves. Shay reached out and liberated the bronze fixtures from the destroyed door, which she psychically compacted into two rods and Elle then pumped a voltage differential into. Shay launched them at the Harlequin, which hit and elicited a scream as the voltages equalized through her.

Once Aradia had sidled up to Hilda, she asked of her “I’m going to need you to duplicate something for me, quickly.”

“What is it?”

Aradia knelt down and anchored her barrier to the street. She then plucked a dimly glowing white jewel off one of her necklaces and handed it to Hilda. “Its magic and that's all you'll understand even if I explained it. Took me a few years to understand myself.”

Hilda took the jewel and quickly duplicated herself to five, before passing the now 5 jewels to the middle-most her and re-condensing herself back to one. She repeated the duplication once more, before handing them to Aradia. Piled together in a hoard of 25, their combined glow was now about as bright as an average light bulb.

“That’ll do quite nicely,” Aradia said. She dumped all but one into her sleeve, cradling the last one in her palm. She pumped her light through her skin into the jem.

Aradia stood up, clenching her other fist and dissipating the shield she had summoned. She tossed the jewel towards the Harlequin, and yelled “Rey! Blast this with me!”

While Aradia cast a spell to focus her light, Rey zipped in and examined the jem. In the compressed time that her power afforded her, she grabbed it out of the air, and made a deliberate pondering pose for a long enough fraction of a second that she would be visible doing it. She then walked up to the Harlequin, and held it out in front of the Harlequin’s mask. While the Harlequin did a double-take at the audacity of the act, Rey asked “This a good spot?”

“Perfect.” Aradia illuminated the jem with a brilliant white laser projected from her fingertip. Rey, for her own part, channeled her power to siphon some of the plasma that was fueling her into it as well. It was less than a second before Rey felt a crack, and took that has her cue to let go and back away very casually.

Rey watched from a roof across the street as the jewel exploded, throwing the Harlequin through the wall of the bank. 

She only recently had been able to go this fast, after Aradia had given her an upgrade: The Heart. The Heart was a backpack fusion reactor that produced functionally infinite plasma for her to fuel her power with. She use to be able to consistently hit speeds of about fifteen miles a minute, but she’d only be able to sustain that for a handful of minutes. With the Heart, however, she’d been clocking a mile a second, and she had been able to sustain that for at least fifteen minutes, long enough to run from New York City to Danesville, without a sweat.

She pulled her phone out and checked to see Felicia’s response:

If that becomes the last text you ever send anybody i’m donating this phone to the smithsonian for their astras league exhibit

Rey smiled, and put her phone away. She went to step off the roof, but stopped when she noticed a strange flower growing out of the gravel spread across the roof. She summoned some plasma to her palm to shine a light on the flower, which closed its petals against the intense beam of sun-simulacrum.

She heard a crunch against the gravel behind her, and as quickly as she could she turned to face the sound, delivering her neck quite nicely into the grasp of a viney tentacle.

“Well, well, well,” world-infamous supervillainess Babalon said, as she lifted Rey off the ground.

She was dark-skinned, indian-american if Rey remembered the various tv specials about her correctly. Her hair was a long braided tangle, interwoven with branches and interspersed with flowers. She was wearing a bodysuit that was either made of leaves or designed to look like it was made of leaves. Holding her up off the ground were a dozen or so ten-foot-long, inch-thick vines that sprouted from her back and waist, one of which was stretched out and holding Rey. Each vine ended in a bundle of two-foot-long “fingers” each of which could move individually but tended to be used in groups. The fingers were what was wrapped around Rey's neck, preventing her from making her retreat.

Babalon drew herself closer to Rey. “It seems the self-pompous priestess of light has found herself a new disciple. Wanna know what I did to the last one?”

“I'm good, actually. Hey, why'd you name yourself Babalon?” Rey responded, grabbing the vine around her neck with both hands and channeling some of her plasma into it. Babalon recoiled as two feet of that vine was instantly incinerated.

“She gave you the Light too?! HOW?!” Babalon screamed as she swung another of her vines at Rey, faster even than most other superspeedsters Rey had ever met. No wonder she was on the top tier, worthy of being one of the few that drew Astra herself out to fight.

Rey needed to actually focus. Her new upgrade gave her an edge, but only barely.

She boosted herself backwards, remembering just a little too late that the edge of the roof had been behind her. She tripped over the parapet and fell back over the edge, and slowed time down to give her some space for thought. She was about 5 stories up. It would take about 4 seconds to reach the ground. That was plenty of time. She brought her hand to her chin and pondered.

She had only had three hours to adjust to her new power level, but she was fairly confident in her ability. She had developed one specific new skill, something almost unnoticeable that she had nonetheless noticed running up and down buildings all night. She just needed to figure out how to do it on purpose.

She felt the writing mass of plasma on her back, the Heart, given to her by Aradia. She felt its warmth, its light. “The Light”, Babalon had called it. Astra, local goddess she was, had never revealed what it was that fueled her cosmic might, but she did do a lot of glowing while she used it. Was this the same Light? Rey had no idea, but it was a fun little supposition to make. And it did somewhat explain the aforementioned new skill.

“Are you... posing?” Babalon asked, apparently appalled by the gall Rey was exhibiting.

Rey had been focusing on both her inner monologue and maintaining the hand to the chin, and hadn’t noticed that time had resumed normal speed and she hadn’t continued falling.

“What the fuck?!” Shay yelled. “I’m not doing that!

Rey looked at herself. She appeared to be just standing at a 90 degree angle from vertical, 45 feet above the street. “Huh. Didn’t know I could do that.” As she moved, the plasma trail that indicated she was using her power traced her every gesture.

Babalon lunged over the edge, and Rey cut out her power to drop herself out of reach. Shay reached out and grabbed Rey before she hit the ground, following the unprecedented failure of Rey to reactivate the hovering part with the rest of her powers.

“That was weird,” Rey told the others as she righted herself. “Anyway, what’s up with this bitch, Rad?”

Aradia gave Rey a look of annoyance for using her nickname. “That’s Jane Newark. She’s...” Aradia sighed. “A pseudodemon, and a Whore.”

“Wow, strong words. But, I get the idea. Let’s kick her ass.”

A brick whizzed past Rey's head. “Forgetting something?” the Harlequin growled.

“Elle, help me out with Babalon, the rest of you keep dealing with dollface.”

Elle zapped up to the roof with Babalon, with Rey following.

“The witch’s new toys are out to play, I see...” Babalon said as she circled the two. “I’ve killed 5 of Astra’s League, you two small fries don’t stand a chance.”

“You haven’t seen anything yet,” Rey said winding up a punch, Elle standing behind her. “Elle, now!”

Elle jumped forwards, converting herself into pure electrical energy, electrical plasma. She wrapped herself around Rey’s arm, and Rey absorbed her and used her energy to launch herself forward, fist first. Elle released herself the instant Rey’s fist hit Babalon’s chest, exploding out of Rey’s hand, shooting forwards and launching Babalon into the sky.

Elle continued to the clouds, dragging Babalon along with her. She rematerialized periodically, taking opportunities to give Babalon a kick or two before returning to plasma to dodge Babalon’s flailing vines. On the ground, Rey flowed through the streets, following Elle’s flashes of lightning.

Elle eventually let Babalon go in the middle of a cloud over a field outside the city. She struck down to the ground, and started waiting for Babalon to fall down to her. Rey caught up only a few seconds later. They acknowledged each other with a fistbump that crackled with static and neon.

“So what was with that flying thing back there?” Elle asked.

“I don’t really know. This nuclear backpack Rad gave me has some fucking magic in it or something.”

“Can you do it again?”

“I mean, probably. I don’t know how though. How do you do it?”

‘“It’s just an instinctual extension of my power. But it’s not really the same as, like, how Astra flies.”

“I mean, obviously. But I gotta start somewhere.”

“What if you just try running up?”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“When you run with your power, it’s like pushing yourself in the direction you want to go, right? Just do that, but up.”

“I don’t know...” Rey was silent as she looked up to inspect Babalon's progress towards the ground. “Wait, shit, I just got it.”

“Got what?”

“It’s the Garden of Babalon, because she controls plants.”

Elle sighed. “That does make sense, yeah. You wanna give it a go, with me giving you a boost?”

“Give what a go?”

“Running up.”

“I mean, sure. But you gotta promise to catch me if it don't work.” Rey reached out her hand towards Elle

“Deal.” Elle took Rey’s hand. “3, 2, 1...” Elle converted to lightning and crackled over Rey’s skin as Rey absorbed her, before Rey knelt down and then jumped into the air, Elle releasing herself to give Rey a little extra height.

Rey tried doing what Elle suggested, activating her power to try to force herself higher. As Elle jumped out of her, Rey tried to siphon some of the extra energy Elle had given her, and add it to her reservoir.

She didn’t expect that she would be rocketed into the sky at the same speed she could run. She passed Babalon, still on her own journey down, before she knew what was happening, and hit the clouds in a single second.

Elle, still nearly on the ground, for a second thought her friend had exploded or somehow vaporized herself, until she backed away and saw Rey’s plasma trail tracing a thick, bright line straight up. “Holy shit, Rey.”

Rey, now whizzing past the clouds, considered what to do next. She calmly pulled some plasma from the Heart, though not nearly as much as she used to get into this position, and then tried activating her power downwards to slow her still very rapid ascent through the atmosphere. She managed to stop herself before she got to the point where the air would be too thin to breath, and then let herself start to drop back down to Earth. She periodically slowed herself down, until she was continuously doing it, and was floating like she had done accidentally before. She experimented with the hypothetical throttle of her power, gently increasing and decreasing to raise higher and lower, and then tried to change the angle at which the was directing her power, and managed to achieve something quite analogous to how she assumed someone like Astra could fly.

She glanced down, and noticed Elle zapping around a very angry looking dot, and dropped down to join her.

“Nice of you to join us,” Elle said as Rey gently fell to a stop a few dozen feet above the grass.

“Hey, turns out, I can totally fly.”

“Join the club.”

“We just did, like 5 hours ago.”

“Shut and help me, Rey.”

Rey dropped down to the ground, where Babalon was swinging her vines wildly to try and and reach the two heroes floating just out of her reach.

“You getting tired yet?” Rey asked her. “If you want I could go get Astra, somebody you can actually get some good swings in with.”

“Don’t act like you’re too powerful for me. You haven’t laid a finger on me either, you stupid punk.”

“Tell that to your singed vine.”

Babalon lunged at Rey, growling with frustration. Rey zipped past her vines, and grabbed the vine harness that anchored her plant limbs to her human body. Rey pumped plasma directly from the Heart onto the vines, incinerating them and burning away the leaf-like costume Babalon was wearing.

Babalon swung one of her human arms, hitting Rey and sending her flying.

Rey crashed into the grass, rolling and yelling in pain. “FUCK! I think my rib is broken...”

Babalon, now robbed of her major advantage and seething with rage, stomped towards the now vulnerable hero. “That’s why it takes Astra to handle me, you petulant child. She can take a hit.”

Elle zapped over to Rey, to put herself between Rey and Babalon. “You get back, you bitch.” Elle unwound the chains she kept wrapped around her arms, and started swinging them, striking sparks between them. “We aren’t done here, yet.”

“I’ll just kill you both, then.”

Elle ran at Babalon, and then zapped around her, leaving her chains corporeal enough to wrap around Babalon’s arms. Elle materialized behind her and twisted the chains to bind Babalon’s arms behind her. “Do anything stupid and your heart’s a piece of burnt toast.”

“Bold of you to assume I have one.”

“Well, if you say so.” Elle pumped 10,000 volts across her hands, sending the current across Babalon’s shoulders, setting her skin on fire most evidently. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Elle atomized the chains and rematerialized them back on her own arms, and then kicked Babalon to the ground, where she screamed in apparent agony. “Rey, do you think you can walk?”

Rey slowly got to her feet, grunting occasionally whenever she agitated the broken rib. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Can you send up a flare?”

“Yeah.” Rey raised her palm up to the sky, and launched a plasma ball into the air, arcing slightly towards the city.

A portal appeared a dozen seconds later, out of which Aradia, Shay, and Hilda stepped. Rey saw, through the portal, the Harlequin, restrained tightly by a few dozen feet of chain wrapped around her, being loaded into a police van.

“Good work, girls,” Aradia congratulated. “You are certainly working hard to earn your place on this team.” Aradia strode towards the writhing Babalon, and pulled all of the adamantium from the jewelry she was wearing and sent it to lift Babalon and hogtie her. “Wait until Astra hears how the youngest members of the League took you down on their own.”

“Your threats of humiliation mean nothing, witch,” Babalon spat.

Aradia muzzled Babalon with the remaining adamantium she had. “Shut the fuck up, Whore.”

Rey limped over. “Hey, I don’t suppose you got any healing magic, do you?”

“Depends how severe your injury.”

“Broken rib?”

“Just one? No trouble at all.” Aradia quickly danced out a spell, which sent a warmth up through Rey’s ribcage. “Now, I would suggest you rest for a while before...”

“No can do, doc, I’ve got a date to keep.” Punctuated by a communal sigh from all five of the other women, Rey zipped off.