#i know it might be annoying with my fixation on this but. pleas. let me have a win for once

[fishareglorious]

on the topic of willow, i know im living on nothing but a delusion and im ready to have my heart broken and my dreams dashed into the floor, but i'm banking on the fact that she might break the twenties curse of this game. something something fog hag

[redisaid]

Beneath the Blue Moon - Chapter 7

Half

Yes, I’m still working on this. No, this chapter is no masterpiece, but I gave myself a lot to juggle regarding who knows what, so there’s that. Alternate chapter title: Jaina gets annoyed by the Gen Z characters of the Alliance and a surprise guest

7750 Words

Read it on Ao3!

Days pull you down just like a sinking ship Floating is getting harder But tread the water, child, and know that meanwhile Rises the moon

Anduin’s most polite smile always had a way of conveying its own underlying current of constant worry. His youthful eyes--unmarred as Jaina knew her own were by crow’s feet and the more outward signs of worry--swirled beneath their blue with an ever-present maelstrom. Such was the weight of being High King, she supposed, or rather, a lad who had no one to guide him save the torrent voices around him that all pushed one agenda or another.

She did not count herself any different from them.

Still, he took the time to smile. He took the time to be polite. Anduin took the time to let her know he appreciated her, even if he had to know she had her own reasons for advising him. “Thank you for agreeing to meet on such short notice.”

“It’s no problem,” Jaina assured him.

Short notice had been a muttered request upon exiting their breakfast with the other Proudmoores that morning. A plea for a few minutes more of her time, in private. Jaina made a show of catching her mother’s eyes as she led the young king back to the Lord Admiral’s suite. She didn’t know why.

Maybe she wanted some approval. Some respect. Some acknowledgement that her life on the continents, lived so far away and so separate from her island home, had some meaning. Some good to be done, something worthwhile learned and earned from all the suffering.

Or maybe it was a shallower pettiness. Maybe all Jaina wanted was some acknowledgement that Anduin didn’t touch anything but that damn apple tart, just as she thought. Only Genn Greymane had been brave enough for the black pudding, and regaled poor Tandred with tales of his old Kul Tiran friends even after the youngest Proudmoore had informed him that most of those men had died long before he was even born. The living Windrunner sister, she knew, might have been brave enough to try as well, but thankfully both had begged off some excuse and were not in attendance.

But Katherine’s reaction had left nothing for her to go off of. There had only been the flat line of her mouth, and the effort it took for Jaina not to balk at her suggestion that she make the High King some of that strange coffee she’d made for them the night before.

No, Jaina had only been left wondering how much her mother might have truthfully researched about Quel’thalas, in all those years since she found out her only daughter’s destined love was an elf.

Anduin’s polite smile remained as he made a show of looking around the Lord Admiral’s suite. He fixated for a moment on a mounted map of the south seas, still smiling before he turned to where Jaina had taken up residence at the desk. Standing next to it, of course. She still wasn’t sure about sitting in the chair. That was her father’s chair. Not hers.

“No Alliance King has been in this room since my grandfather,” he noted.

Jaina laughed, despite it all. “No, they have not. I’d have ushered you to a meeting room or something, but I don’t quite remember where they are. At this point, I’m afraid to ask.”

“It’s not a misstep,” Anduin assured her. “It’s an honor. From one person who suddenly found themselves with a new and even more daunting title to another, it’s an honor, Lord Admiral.”

“You must truly want a favor to flatter me, Anduin,” Jaina told him.

“I’m not flattering. Just being a stranger in a strange land. Was it, um, was it fine that I didn’t eat the fish? Or whatever that black stuff was? Genn kept giving me eyes, but fish for breakfast? I can’t, Auntie. I just can’t,” he said, finally taking on the character of a young man again as his shoulders hunched a little bit beneath the lion regalia.

Jaina laughed again. “I didn’t eat it either, for what it’s worth,” she told him. “If you ask my mother, I’m sure she’ll tell you my taste buds have been ruined by being away so long. Truth be told, I’ve never liked fish for breakfast.”

If it made her a terrible Kul Tiran, so be it. She was. She loved the sea and winds, but swore more by the Light than the Tides, and never had a taste for fish. Shrimp cocktail, sure, but that was a favorite at parties in Dalaran. A proper Kul Tiran only ate his shrimp in beer batter, with tartar sauce, and even then would joke about it not being a proper fish, merely a palatable sea bug.

Anduin closed the distance to the imposing desk, taking a moment on the walk over to reach into his jacket to produce a rolled piece of parchment from a pocket within. “Truth be told, Auntie, I’ve come seeking advice, as usual. I have a draft of a ceasefire that could use a peacemaker’s eyes on it.”

A former peacemaker, she almost wanted to correct him. Jaina felt as if she had only been responsible for contributing to more and more conflict as of late. Late, that was rich. Years, it had well and truly been, since she could call herself a peacemaker. And even then, at what cost?

Still, Anduin set down a contract that would unite the forces of the Horde and Alliance yet again on a desk that still stank of Daelin Proudmoore in every way but the actual tar and salt smell of him, hater of orcs, man of many judgements and little reason.

And some part of Jaina felt she betrayed him again and again, each time she offered kindness when she should have fired every cannon in his arsenal.

“It sounds like you’re being more than just tentative on this idea?” Jaina questioned as her eyes followed the thread of words unraveling on the page, not really reading them or having the capability to read them in that moment.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a range of emotions dashing across the young king’s face. Anduin was no good at wearing a mask. He was young and ill-practiced in the art.

Jaina was neither of those things. She felt much, but stood still, staring at the words on the page, willing them to make sense. Willing anything in this world to make sense.

“I…Sorry. I’m just surprised to see that you are?” he asked of her.

Was she? Truly? Jaina still didn’t quite know. The banner of the Horde seemed to be placed collectively on all her problems, all of her sorrows. It had been so easy to leave behind her past calls for forgiveness and choose violence instead. Some days, she even cursed Thrall and Kalec for daring to temper her at the height of her fury. Some days, it seemed that the world would have been better if she had let that rage explode, drowning Orgrimmar, maybe even drowning herself in the process.

A violent end to violent means seemed to be most fitting. And yet, Anduin still came to her to ask about making peace.

He rallied against her silence, as if him talking more would open some floodgate. Jaina wished it would. “I just--with the news that the Horde have come to an agreement on the matter as of last night, I had hoped you would be excited to hear it. You’ve been stalling on committing Kul Tiras to war. I thought you had reason to hope for such an ending?” Anduin asked.

She had been stalling. That much, Jaina could be true to herself on. She would still not admit that it had anything to do with attacking Sylvanas directly. No, she might never admit to that. But yes, she had been stalling.

Anduin cleared his throat, sighing with a sound too gentle for his broad-shouldered frame. Every day, he looked more and more like Varian, yet acted less and less like his hot-headed, willful father. “Listen, Auntie. I know. I know what’s happened, and I know it must affect you in some way. I’m not asking for anything related to…that, but know that I understand it must be hard.”

Jaina could feel her neck jerk, muscles tight, snapping beneath the skin. How she must have looked like something wild and fierce--an animal cornered and without options. Or at least, the way that Anduin’s eyes went wide as she looked into them told her as much.

“What do you mean?” she asked through grit teeth.

The mask had slipped. Caution was gone, thrown to the wind. Her fingers tingled with frost again, and Jaina felt equal parts fury and shame, and shame for her fury. But it couldn’t be helped. These last few days had her so on edge that it was inevitable. Last few months. Last few years. Decades.

No wonder she was so ready to burst, her seams constantly stretching, ripping only in the privacy of her room. But this wasn’t her room, it never would be, and it didn’t feel right to cry here.

It was all Jaina could do not to scream.

But Anduin kept his composure as well as he could. He raised a hand out of instinct, but still responded as calmly as he could, “SI:7 has reported to me that Sylvanas is…changed. Her eyes are blue now, not red. One of my operatives has reported the soulmark on her wrist glows again. I don’t mean to intrude but--”

“Who? Valeera?” Jaina asked, turning her anger to the elven rogue, who had all but promised to deliver the news to her first and to keep Jaina’s suspicions secret. Yet she’d seen neither hide nor hair of her since that night. She’d been worried about her, and this was how she was to be repaid for it?

“What? No,” Anduin said with a shake of his head. “As much as I’d like to count her among SI:7’s numbers, she’d gut me if I did, and has told me as much directly to my face. I have given her a separate task as of late, but I honestly have no idea where she is or what she’s doing right now. This comes from one of Shaw’s agents.”

All of the sudden it seemed so futile. Her anger felt both impotent and infantile. Word was bound to get out. Things were already well beyond her control. Like it or not, if Anduin knew, others knew.

And now she knew. Something really had happened. Something really had changed. And Sylvanas wanted desperately to talk to her about it.

After all these years. All this pain. All the confusion. There might be some end in sight. But Jaina wasn’t sure if she wanted it all the same.

Jaina sighed away the last bit of her anger. It did no one any good, least of all her. She looked away from Anduin, back down to the peace agreement he’d laid on her father’s desk. It was there she left her golden gauntlet as she stripped it off, and the thick leather glove on top of it. Her hand looked a small and delicate thing without its usual armor, but she flexed it all the same. Enough, at least, to enjoy the moment of freedom, and for Anduin to see the mark that blazed blue again on her skin.

“I have been waiting to confirm some things,” Jaina explained. “But, this began the night before last. I…don’t understand. I don’t pretend to understand any of it, Anduin. But--”

“You don’t have to explain yourself or your reasoning to me,” he told her, not letting her go on further about it. “The matter of what you do with what’s happened is your business and your business alone, Jaina. I’m not asking for it to be the business of the Alliance. I want you to know that before you say anything else.”

He was a good lad. A bit too empathetic, but Jaina loved him all the more for that. It was not a fitting trait for a king, but she found herself glad of it in that moment. Any other ruler would have tried to use her turmoil to some strategic advantage. But she knew she could trust Anduin to care, rather than to plot.

Still, she had to qualify that further, “I’d rather this stays between us, or at least as few people as possible for now.”

She saw him nod out of the corner of her eye. “It will, but I don’t think I can hold to that promise for long, especially if Syl--sorry--if she ah, is so open with the change.”

She didn’t realize Anduin knew her rule. Jaina expected it of her older compatriots, who had known her longer. But she supposed that it made sense. The boy king had grown up amongst those people, hiding behind their legs in meeting rooms and doing silly little impressions of them to make Jaina smile through said meetings.

“I suppose you can’t,” Jaina relented, finding that her eyes, as they had in her rare private moments these last few days, drifted back to the blue moon on the back of her hand.

“Especially not if we meet with the Horde tomorrow to discuss this agreement,” Anduin pointed out.

“Tomorrow?” Jaina asked.

Anduin nodded again. “Yes. The call to urgency seems to be well-understood among the Horde. I received a letter from the Warchief herself, as well as one from your friend Baine Bloodhoof, urging me to bring about negotiations speedily. Our spies too have noted strange movements of Horde troops, away from us, and toward odd places. They are preparing to fight something, just as we were warned of, but there’s yet to be any sign of a threat.”

“You drafted a ceasefire over the course of a night?” Jaina questioned, finally daring to look at the page below her again and willing the words beneath her gauntlet to make sense.

“I’ve had one drafted for months,” Anduin beamed. “Tyrande would be ready to skin me alive if she heard that, but you and I both know we can ill-afford this war. Justice and reparations are important, but making sure our people don’t starve and don’t face some greater threat alone are the most important things we can do for them now.”

As Jaina read, the agreement was indeed of a mostly generic flavor, with some mentions of more recent events and concerns filled in. She moved aside her gauntlet to read on, mentally taking note of some areas that were too lenient. Most of it was.

Again, while she loved him for it as a person, Anduin sometimes had too gentle a soul for a king. She wondered how he could still so easily forget and forgive, after everything. After what Garrosh had done to him. After watching him stand trial, and for there to be any debate at the horrors he had inflicted upon them both. After watching the chaos of the end of that farce, holding Jaina in his then scrawny arms, pleading as she choked on her own blood, shot by some nameless assassin, or simple accident. They never found out. She would never know.

It always ended like that. Every attempt to cooperate. Every time she seemed to be in the same room with Sylvanas. She would never even look at her. Those blazing red eyes would always be cast firmly toward the ground, the sky, anywhere but her. In the Undercity, as Jaina summoned all her strength to whisk Varian and his men away before they could renege on their promise. At the trial, when all Jaina wanted was some confirmation that Sylvanas didn’t cooperate and condone the tragedy she had allowed to befall her former soulmate and little sister. Even in the throne room of Lordaeron, echoing among the ghosts of the past that haunted both of them still, Sylvanas did not look at Jaina as she mocked the Alliance, and screeched like an animal, cornered and scared.

Jaina knew the feeling. She knew it well. She hated to be a part of it. Flying that ship to the rescue had been the right thing to do, but it had so nearly broken her. And for all of that, Sylvanas still couldn’t even look at her. And that time, Jaina didn’t even want to look at her either.

So how could it possibly be any different this time? Why would it be?

“Do you mind if I take some time to look this over and provide notes?” Jaina asked as the words started to blur together again.

Anduin grinned back at her, “I was hoping you would.”

Jaina found herself giving him a ghost of a smile in return. The stress of it all was too much, but he was still so infectious in his optimism. It reminded her of herself, honestly, in her younger years. Even after the Third War. Even after losing her lover and her father in the worst of ways. She had still hoped and hoped for better and brighter days.

Had she really stopped hoping? Had she really become jaded enough to believe that things couldn’t change? Or was it just easier to assume the worst?

Hope took work. Change took even more work. It was work Anduin was willing to put in. And Jaina felt guilty for not immediately wanting to do the same.

“I’m afraid I do have one more favor to ask of you, though,” Anduin continued. He was still smiling at her, but the weariness was back in his eyes. The worry. The storm to come.

“You want me at the meeting with the Horde,” Jaina concluded without needing him to ask.

Anduin sighed, nodding at this. “I should have known I was that transparent about it, but yes. I’d like to have you there to represent Kul Tiras as part of this treaty--I assure you for no other reason than that.”

“I am guessing the Horde will bring Zandalar to their table? And you wish to make a similar showing?” Jaina questioned.

“Yes. Princess Talanji will be negotiating on behalf of her father. It is important that we have our naval ally in--”

Jaina didn’t let him go on. She knew. She understood. There was no more to be said. There was no debate. Whatever reasons he would try to give were correct. For this to work, truly and completely work, Kul Tiras would have to represent the Alliance in peace, or if not, would be forced to do so at war.

“I will attend. I will support you, but know that I cannot speak for how effective I will be. These last few days have been, well, a lot. They have been a lot of things,” Jaina told him.

“I’m merely asking for your presence, nothing else,” Anduin assured her. “You don’t have to speak to her or do anything you’re uncomfortable with. I just need to show them that Kul Tiras stands with us. That is, if it does. If you do.”

“It does. I do,” Jaina said.

Despite the glow on the back of her hand. Despite the still roiling anxiety that wasn’t the same as her own. Despite Anduin’s optimism, Jaina had her doubts. She would never not have them. She’d seen too much, been through too much, and had always come out disappointed and broken down by a world that just didn’t seem to be capable of anything but violence. But, she knew that there would be no end to it without continuing to work toward what seemed like a futile goal. Perhaps, whatever had changed within Sylvanas would be enough to drive the world to change. Perhaps it would not.

But for now, it would save her from a war she did not have it in her to fight. It would save her from the end she both wanted and didn’t want for herself, and for Sylvanas. The end that she was so sure other attempts would lead to, yet they hadn’t. There had only ever been cold red eyes, staring at the ground, rather than to give away what lay beneath them. What was truly left of the woman she had once loved.

Though the last thing Jaina expected to interrupt her from her musings were two brawny arms, much larger now than the small ones that had held her in the Temple of the White Tiger, wrapping her in a fierce hug. Yet there they were.

“Thank you,” Anduin mumbled into the crown of her head. When had he gotten so tall, the little rat?

Jaina found herself returning the hug despite it all. She’d been on the receiving end of so many of these lately, but few had felt as genuine as Anduin’s. She could feel the tension in him still, the relief threatening to overtake it within the very muscles that held her close. He’d been afraid to ask this of her.

And she’d nearly proven him correct.

“No need to thank me,” Jaina told him. “We both know this is the right thing to do.”

“That still doesn’t make it easy,” Anduin replied.

“It never does.”

She stood in the warmth of his embrace a moment longer. An odd thought occurred to her then, intrusive and errant as any. She wondered what it might be like to hug someone cold, instead of warm. Someone who had no body heat to call their own, no heart beating faster for stress and worry, no heavy beats sighed out of the lungs. A body animated by cruelty’s will only, and kept so for a vengeance it had never been allowed to take.

And that was a bridge too far. A wandering over an edge Jaina could not allow herself to cross. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

She pulled away suddenly, perhaps too much so. “I will send a message in a few hours with my notes?”

“That would be great. Thank you again, Auntie,” Anduin said as he gracefully took that as a dismissal and pulled away himself.

Jaina looked about the expanse of the Lord Admiral’s quarters, all in all mostly just one sprawling room divided into sections with screens and hangings and pillars. It occurred to her then that this meeting had not met any of the standards of decorum it should have. Not that they mattered, to her or to Anduin, but as he’d said, there was something historic about him being here at all.

Yet what came out of her mouth was, “I should have made you coffee or tea or something. Sorry. I--”

“I don’t particularly care for elven coffee,” Anduin told her. “Too bitter. Though your mother couldn’t seem to stop talking about it at breakfast.”

She did, indeed, speak highly of the coffee and talk far too much about it for Jaina’s taste, and for her lie about where it came from to hold up.

“Kul Tiran tea is better, but still a bit on the strong side,” Anduin continued.

“You’re meant to drink it with milk,” Jaina noted.

Anduin made a very unkingly face at that suggestion. “I’d rather have fish for breakfast. No thank you.”

He made his way to the door with only a few more stops to say his goodbyes. Only a few.

And while Jaina wanted desperately for some time to think and process everything that had happened in these last few days, even in these last few hours, the silence that followed him was deafening. It blanketed the chamber like new-fallen snow, forcing a reverent quiet that Jaina was not quite prepared to face. For having to be alone with her thoughts for the first time in a while meant that she was, well, alone with her thoughts.

The evening before had been dominated by a private funeral held for Derek. It mostly consisted of her and Tandred standing back awkwardly with the honor guard as Katherine wept over a fresh grave. Jaina had asked her living brother if he even quite remembered the dead one. Tandred shook his head. He’d been only a toddler, after all. Too young and too much of a baby still to bear the weight of being not-Derek. No, that had only ever fallen on Jaina’s shoulders, and had been a cloud that hung over her last memories of this place before she left it for Lordaeron.

She and Tandred had a whiskey about it back at the Keep. Jaina went to bed exhausted, tipsy, and feeling as though she did not know her younger brother at all.

But thankfully, she had been exhausted enough to fall asleep quickly. And better yet, when she slept, she did not dream.

She’d woken early for a full gun salute for Derek before breakfast, and had let her mother lead the ceremony. Lord Admiral she might be, but she didn’t yet feel equipped to tell her sailors to fire for a man they likely didn’t remember. For who was Derek Proudmoore to anyone anymore? A lad who’d died at sea in a war people had tried to forget. No one remembered the boy whose smile lit up the docks with much greater regularity than the fickle Kul Tiran sun, save the mother that mourned him and the sister that couldn’t decide.

Jaina thought it might be better if he’d stayed with the Tides, forgotten.

But that, she decided, was enough of that train of thought. She’d promised Anduin notes. She was going to make them.

She found his agreement on the desk again, and with it her glove and gauntlet. She put these back on as she read over the document, not wanting to have some guard or butler see what she’d so readily revealed to the young king. Anduin, at least, she knew could keep a secret.

Despite best efforts to focus otherwise, Jaina’s eyes kept wandering to the blank desk calendar beneath the document. The emptiness of it stared back at her, demanding filling--demanding reconciliation with the busyness of her thoughts. Her head was full of worry, but her schedule didn’t reflect it. A guilt gnawed at Jaina from within, honed true by decades of overwork.

No, this would not do. She knew, at least, that she’d be busy tomorrow.

She grabbed a pen and scratched out a space on that date as “Ceasefire meeting”. She hadn’t even asked for the time or the location before agreeing to this. That was foolish of her, wasn’t it?

Jaina turned toward the door again, thinking of going after Anduin to ask for these details, or if he’d been gone too long that she’d be better off sending a runner. Only then did she catch the flash of bright red amongst the otherwise drab and dark colors of the very Kul Tiran room.

“Finally,” drawled a husky voice from the screened off portion of the room that acted as the bedchamber, where only Valeera’s crimson boots were visible, just hanging off the bed she must have otherwise been sprawled on. “I thought you were going to stare at that fucking desk all day.”

“Finally yourself,” Jaina said as she set the pen down and made her way across the room. “Where have you been?”

“Considering you sent me to a specific location to obtain a specific bit of information, I’d hope you would remember that,” Valeera noted as she sat up, coming into full view as Jaina both rounded the screens and she rose from the deep green quilt--an odd contrast to her red.

“Are you alright?”

It was Jaina’s first instinct to ask that question not because it had been longer than expected, or because she had reason to doubt Valeera’s skills, but because the elven rogue looked tired. Beyond tired. Exhausted, even was not the word for it, as familiar as Jaina was with the concept.

But there were bags under Valeera’s eyes that would cost her a pretty penny to ship back to Stormwind for their weight. Within them, beyond the fel green overglow, swirled a mess of thoughts that could rival Jaina’s own in their knotted glory. Her usually resplendent mane of golden hair was haphazardly shoved into its usual ponytail. Her makeup wasn’t quite right. The lipstick was too pale, bold mascara mostly gone, remaining only in bits of smudged grey beneath her lower lids.

“I look that much like shit, huh?” Valeera asked back.

Jaina didn’t know how to respond to that, but thankfully Valeera didn’t give her much time to think about it.

“Whatever. I assure you that Dazar’alor is lovely this time of year, Lord Admiral. You’re not the only one who’s been having a shitty week, you know. But if you’re wondering how shitty the Warchief’s has been, I might have some news,” Valeera offered.

“Have you been crying?” Jaina asked.

“That’s not the question I’m here to answer,” Valeera snapped back, her sharp elven features quickly deepening into a scowl.

“I suppose not,” Jaina relented. She felt her heels click back onto the floor, not even realizing she had leaned forward, or reached out a little toward her friend.

Valeera pulled the legs that had been dangling over the bed up, crossing them beneath her and looking smaller than ever. Without the boldness of her makeup, she looked younger too. Though Jaina guessed that in numbers, they were nearly of an age, that still made Valeera quite young for an elf.

“Shall I report to you then, Lord Admiral? What a treat, I don’t get to report to anyone much these days,” Valeera went on, still easily sliding into her usual snideness.

“Can I, as a friend and not the Lord Admiral, offer you something first? Tea, water? I have coffee too,” Jaina started, at least attempting to be a gracious host for this second off the books meeting of the morning.

“I hope you enjoyed that fucking coffee,” Valeera spat with a particular level of venom that Jaina didn’t quite understand.

“Wha--”

“Anyway,” Valeera went on, flicking a stray strand of blonde hair out of her eyes as if she didn’t just stare daggers through Jaina a moment before. “You didn’t tell me Sylvanas’ eyes were such a pretty bright blue in life.”

“They weren’t. They were grey,” Jaina corrected. She’d meant to tell Anduin before.

“Well, they’re fucking blue now,” Valeera told her. “Also I know you hate when people say her name around you and I try to respect where I can, but it’s going to come up. Sorry.”

“She’s not alive, though?” Jaina knew the answer to this question before she asked it. Somehow, she would know. Something had changed, but not enough.

“No. She still otherwise looks the same,” Valeera reported. “And is the same, undead and all. Doesn’t really breathe unless she speaks. Ashen skin. Spooky voice. All that shit. Her eyes are just blue and her wrist blazes with a matching blue moon to yours. But don’t ask me how or why. She wasn’t even telling her Rangers, from what I could hear. They were rather annoyed about that.”

“You were that close?” Jaina asked.

“I’m very good at what I do, Jaina,” Valeera assured her. “Plus, she has a very pretty ship there, anchored in that harbor. I wanted to take a tour and so generously gave myself one.”

“For two days,” Jaina pondered.

“I told you I had other business,” Valeera deferred with a wave of her hand. “Do you want to hear what else I’ve seen or not?”

“I’m sorry, you’re right,” Jaina said, finally relenting enough to sit on the edge of the bed next to her.

“She was injured,” Valeera went on. “As you said. One of her Rangers tended her, a foul-mouthed thing with a cute little bob cut. Shame I didn’t follow her instead.”

“You followed one of them?” Jaina asked. “For two days?”

“I hope you liked that fucking coffee, Jaina,” Valeera said with a wince. “This room even stinks of it. Ugh. I really fucking hope you liked it.”

Jaina tried her best to piece together how Valeera could have been connected to that bag of coffee. She herself was beginning to get sick of hearing about it now, but couldn’t puzzle it out. “And if I asked you as a friend, perhaps, to explain that to me?” she ventured.

“I’d rather die,” Valeera stated as a matter of fact. “Frankly, I’d rather go back to my apartment and pass out if you’re going to keep hounding me about how long it’s been.”

“I’ll stop, I promise,” Jaina said, resisting the urge to reach out and take Valeera’s hand.

No doubt the kind gesture would have fallen on deaf ears, long ears that sunk into a posture that told Jaina there was a lot more to that coffee comment than she’d ever know. Something had happened. Something not all together good, but not bad enough to warrant asking for help with--though Valeera’s sense of what she might need help with had never been the best.

Still, it was enough for Valeera to sink past her threat, groaning for a moment as she buried her head in her hands and carried on her report in slightly muffled tones, “She spoke to her Rangers of that coffin stunt I’ve already heard so much about, and one of her Val’kyr. You ever see one of those things up close? They’re insane-looking. But there was only the one. I don’t know where the rest were. But she genuinely wants this peace. Her people are as confused as we are.”

“What do you mean?”

It had been so much easier to believe it was all orchestrated. That this was just another plan after a plan, another ruse, another lie. Another attempt to smash the hopes of the Alliance, to grind down those that dared to fight in Azeroth’s name, rather than for some darker goal. Though Jaina, for all her conspiracies, could never truly come up with a motive for Sylvanas’ actions throughout her years of undeath, and certainly not lately.

It had been impossible, honestly, to understand what, if anything, motivated her beyond the death of Arthas.

“Nathanos Blightcaller seemed quite annoyed that his efforts to destabilize Kul Tiras were being put to an end,” Valeera explained between the gaps in her crimson-clad fingers. “Her other Rangers were confused as well, but far more helpful than him. But relieved. Definitely relieved. The Horde as a whole seems to be.”

“You of all people should know that our intelligence said that they did not have the resources to withstand this war for long--”

“--without the Zandalari. Yes, yes I know,” Valeera told her. “But the Zandalari will negotiate with them on this peace. They had to be convinced for war, but as bloodthirsty as Talanji is, Rastakhan is an old man, and thankfully he sees no need to bet at war.”

It was so easy to forget how whip smart and informed Valeera was. For all her flirtiness and posturing and youth, she probably knew as much, if not more, than the whole of SI:7 on the state of the world, from all its various sides and viewpoints. Jaina at times envied her and other times pitied her. Sometimes it was better not to know.

And sometimes it was worse.

“I don’t understand it,” was all Jaina could say.

“I don’t either,” Valeera said, lifting her head again to look at Jaina. “Not completely. No one seems to. But, you do realize that you have the best chance to do so out of anyone, right? Sylvanas wants very much to speak with you. I heard her say it herself, and give directions for correspondence to be sent to you directly.”

“I very much do not want to speak to her,” Jaina answered to that, though her curiosity alone was eating at the truth of that statement.

“Well,” Valeera said as she stood, walking toward the massive window that overlooked the harbor, her own green-tinted gaze lost toward the western horizon. “That’s your choice, I guess. Funny things, choices. Very funny things.”

“Are you sure you’re alright, Valeera?” Jaina had to ask again.

“I’ll be fine,” she answered, gaze still distant. “Just…admiring the view. I need to sleep, bathe, and drink something very strong. Maybe in that order. Maybe not. I don’t have anything else to tell you about what I saw that you don’t already know.”

“Do you want a room here at the keep? A portal to Stormwind?” Jaina offered.

“Nope. No, I’d like to make some more bad choices first,” Valeera replied. “I’ll see myself out. You know how to find me if you want me.”

“I don’t.”

“Exactly,” Valeera said, turning to Jaina with the ghost of her usual grin, lips a too natural pink instead of salacious red, and then promptly disappeared into thin air.

---

It was noon before Jaina managed to finish her notes for Anduin and fill out a small portion of her expected meetings and appointments on the calendar. She still hadn’t sat in the desk chair, opting instead to spread her mess on the dining set for the most part. It was closer to a hearth, she told herself. The day was proving chill and dreary--very typical for Boralus. She was just looking after her health by staying warm and dry by the fire.

An excuse that crumbled into dust as she set out into the rain that afternoon in a cloak not quite fit for this amount of rain, and with as few of her honor guard as she could manage. She’d talked them down to only two, large gruff men whose names she’d already forgotten and who smelled of fish and salt and whose dark beards and brawny frames reminded her too much of her father beneath their kettle helmets and weathered breastplates.

She’d only agreed to bring them to distract them from informing her mother of this errand. No, for once, Jaina wanted some semblance of being alone. She wanted some time to think for herself.

“You may stand watch at the gate to the cemetery,” she suggested as they approached the top of the hill.

The guard to her left grunted at this, clearly displeased by the suggestion.

“As a favor to your Lord Admiral,” Jaina reminded him. “Who would like to have some words in private with her deceased brother, hmm?”

The right guard grunted to this in a more affirmative tone, and this seemed to be enough to placate lefty.

Jaina was really going to have to try a little harder with names, wasn’t she?

Even so, she nodded to them as they took up a place at either side of the cemetery gates, following her orders without further grunting in either the complaint or compliant categories.

The Proudmoore’s private cemetery was not large. No good Kul Tiran great house’s was. The children of the Tides were meant to die at sea, not sick in bed or bedeviled by land wars in foreign kingdoms. Jaina had always wondered if she’d meet such a shameful fate. If her mother would tisk and shake her head, saying it wasn’t proper. It wasn’t good.

As if death ever could be.

Derek’s grave was still as fresh as it had been that morning. It was clustered between Daelin’s and distant uncle. No one any closer in blood. No, Jaina had shamed her father to lie here, and could only blame herself for the fact that her brother now did as well. But at least she had been kind enough to have Daelin’s body sent back.

They never listened to her. Derek too. She would always be their daughter and their little sister. Too young and too precious to know anything.

But she knew more than she’d ever wanted to.

Jaina made a point of avoiding Daelin’s grave, leaning over Derek’s only as she placed a bundle of flowers on it. They were rather sorry looking things. Some later summer daisies and lupines that were shabby when she bought them on the way out of the city, and had only drooped further for the walk. Jaina didn’t know if her brother had a favorite flower. She’d only been a little girl when he died, after all.

A little girl that was not him, and never would be him. Never would be enough to replace what had been lost.

There was so much she wanted to say, but no words came to her.

What good would they do anyway? Would she rail at him, scream out the frustrations of a girl long dead herself, replaced with a jaded woman of thirty-six years that never got what she wanted and couldn’t even accept a historic request for peace? Would she blame him for this? For her life? For her losses?

No. It wasn’t his fault. It never had been. He had just been gone and easy to blame.

“I lost my elder sister too,” Sylvanas had once told her, as she lay in her arms at the Spire, and said all these words she wanted to say and more against the warmth of her skin. “Alleria left me behind to pick up her mess--to take the honor that should have been hers, though we both knew she never wanted it. And at first, I hated her for it. I hated her with such burning, seething anger. But it took me years to recognize that for what it was. It was grief. Grief wearing an ugly mask.”

“All of you just--” Jaina finally spoke into the rain. “You just leave me. You promise so much, and then you leave.”

The words fell as listlessly as the rain--more like a mist with gravity. Just enough to make one wet and cold and uncomfortable, but not enough to instill fear at the power of some great storm.

It was all so pointless. The rain. Her words. Her sentiment.

She couldn’t stop them from leaving her. Father, Derek, Sylvanas. Fuck, include all of them, all of the disappointments and promises old and new--Arthas, Uther, Antonidas. Rhonin, Kinndy, Pained. She could list name after name, and maybe that was why she could never remember any new ones without practice. Her head was too full of the names of the dead, of those she had survived only to cry bitter tears in the rain and not be able to give a reason for them.

“You are alone,” a voice sounded across the empty hilltop.

Jaina turned to the source of it, rain whipping off of her hood and the exposed tail of her braid. She readied her magic, fingertips crusting with frost at the unfamiliar sound.

Only to be met by the form of a graveyard angel. A figure that would be out of place in a proper Kul Tiran graveyard, whom would have no meaning to a people that prayed to the Tides and not the Light. But where she should have been made of stone, this angel’s flesh shimmered a faint ethereal blue, made of both something and nothing. The white feathers of her wings caught the dim light of the afternoon, then shifted to black as they beat, then white again--unable to decide what color they truly were. Her face was covered by a strange winged helmet that matched scant pieces of armor that otherwise covered her.

A Val’kyr. Valeera was right. They were a sight up close. Jaina had only ever seen them as distant glows across a battlefield.

“I mean you no harm, Jaina Proudmoore,” the Val’kyr said, her voice strangely accented and booming. “You have either been surrounded by your allies or sleeping this past day. I was told to meet you only if I could do so discreetly.”

“What do you want?” Jaina asked of her. “I’d ask who sent you, but I know.”

“Indeed you do,” the strange creature agreed. “I am Signe. I serve Lady Sylvanas Windrunner, bound to her soul much as you are. And I come bearing a message for you.”

“I…I don’t want another message,” Jaina told her.

Signe extended an arm regardless. She was massive, so much so that her arm was nearly as wide as Jaina’s entire body. The letter she held in her hand looked comically small. “I have been tasked with delivering this and will not return until I see it done. I made many attempts to get your attention otherwise, but you have been distracted. Your allies never leave you alone.”

“They don’t, but I don’t want your message,” Jaina tried again.

Signe regarded her for a moment, though how Jaina could tell she was doing so was a mystery to her. The Val’kyr didn’t move except to flap her ever-changing wings and keep herself aloft.

“She never left you,” were not the words she expected to come from the creature’s mouth next.

“What?”

“Take the letter,” Signe requested again.

“How do you--”

“Take it.”

Jaina reached out. She took it. The back of her gloved hand brushed Signe’s fingers. The contact made her skull buzz. Like going through an unfamiliar portal. Like arcane overload threatening her after Theramore. Like waking from a nap, disoriented and groggier than when she’d fallen asleep. Like stepping between worlds, a peek into the void between.

She didn’t like it.

The wind stirred. The rain made a brief show of force, pattering against her cloak. Behind her, the flowers blew off of Derek’s grave and rolled onto Great Uncle Henry’s, but Jaina wouldn’t notice them.

“Good,” Signe offered. “My mistress wants a reply, but does not expect one. I must return to her.”

“What do you mean she never left me?” Jaina finally managed to ask.

“She is still here. She was not always, not truly. But she is now,” Signe offered before her wings beat hard, lifting her off into the rain before Jaina could ask again.

She was still too stunned to scream after her, for all she wanted to. All she could do was slip yet another blue envelope with her name written on it in perfectly constructed Thalassian characters into her pocket for the second day in a row.

Jaina would think about whether or not she’d read it on the walk back. First, she had to ask herself why she took it at all.

[fangirlfics]

Trouble Sleeping (Loki x reader)

I swear if this deletes for a third time Im gonna cry 

KINDA A SLOW BURN BOIS

also I didn’t finish reading it over for mistakes bc I’m lazy 

summary: y/n and Loki used to be very close friends and sometimes when she had bad nightmares he’d use his magic to calm her mind, a few years have passed and they’ve grown apart. Her nightmares come back and hesitantly she seeks Loki’s help again 

word count: 3,592 wahahahaha

y/n leaned over one of the balconies that overlooked the kingdom’s private garden. The weather was perfect, the temperature ideal, sky blue, and the plants were all thriving feet below her. Despite the scenery however y/n’s attention was fixated elsewhere. 

Down in the depths of the garden, propped up on one of the fancy golden benches was the youngest Asgardian prince-Loki. His dark raven hair was combed back as he turned to the next page in his novel, the cover matching the shade of green displayed on his clothes. y/n couldn’t help but sigh as she watched the handsome prince, they had once had an unbreakable bond. It was always Loki and y/n-best friends, one wouldn’t be seen without the other. But somewhere among their late teenage years, Loki had become more cold and distant towards y/n-leaving her alone in the giant halls of the castle to wander alone. That’s when her and Thor’s relationship grew stronger-she had always been friends with the God of Thunder but after her and Loki’s relationship crumbled to pieces he was there to cheer her up. 

“Oh there you are!” Thor’s voice boomed-pulling y/n from her daydream. y/n glanced once more at Loki before turning her attention to her tall friend. “I was looking for you!” He beamed. 

“What can I do for you, your highness?” y/n asked with a playful voice.

Thor smiled, putting his hands together before continuing, “I was hoping that you would join me and-” his words faded as he glanced down to the gardens and caught sight of Loki. y/n’s attention soon turned to the railing in front of her as she traced her fingers along it’s smooth surface. “You still watch him.” Thor told her, his normally enthusiastic voice was now dry and serious. “How long have you been thinking of him?”

y/n furrowed her eyebrows, playing with her fingers. “I never stopped.” She confessed, “I know it’s foolish but I can’t help it, I..miss him more than I can even begin to explain.”

Thor was silent as he watched the girl glance back down at the gardens then to the sky. “Let’s go...horseback riding.” He suggested, getting y/n attention. “To lift your spirits, we can go with Sif a-”

“No.“ y/n blurted out, “nobody else-I don’t want to embarrass myself again by falling off my horse.“

Thor chuckled, “nobody is going to think low of you-” he looked at y/n once more sensing her silent plea ”very well then, just us.” He agreed, making her smile.

“Thank you.” She laughed, giving him a hug. It caught Thor by surprise but he then loosely wrapped his arms around y/n in return. “Thank you for everything,” y/n whispered, “really, I don’t know what’d I’d do without you. I’m blessed to have a friend like you.”

“Of course.” 

Neither of the two friends noticed that down in the gardens Loki clenched his jaw, snapping his book shut and silently retreated to his room-they also didn’t notice the pair of blue eyes staring through the window at them, when they returned laughing on horseback. 

_____________________________________________________________

 There was fire everywhere, thick black smoke made it impossible for her to breath. She was choking-desperate for air. She fell to the ground as the fire closed in quickly-it’s heat trapping her in the room. There was no hope, no help was coming and it was impossible to escape, with a loud crack the ceiling caved in leaving her trapped screaming out as the furious flames burned her alive. 

y/n woke up with a start, beads of sweat lined her forehead although her room was cool and she found that her hands were shaking. Realizing it was just a dream she lied back down, covering her face with her hands as she tried desperately to fall back asleep. She got no more sleep that night.

The same thing happened again in the coming days and three days later while in training, y/n who was running on less than four hours of sleep was doing rather well. In one quick movement she jumped up-kicking the sword right out of Fandral’s grip. 

“Very good!” Volstagg commented from across the room.

“Yes.” Fandral agreed, “show me that move and I’ll show you some of mine.” He winked.

“Just give me a time and place.” y/n responded playfully, earning a laugh. 

“Impressive.” Fandral commented at her response. (she normally responded to his joke flirting with an eye roll) 

“Yes impressive.” Loki commented from behind Fandral. “That y/n can apparently chase after two men at once.” He said this while staring casually at Thor. Sif went stiff inder the tension and Thor opened his mouth but y/n spoke first.

“I’m sorry?” 

“Well by the looks of it, you can’t seem to decide between Thor and-” 

“Brother that’s enough.” Thor warned, taking a step forward.

“I’m just putting out a warning, you do know what they say about these sort of things.” Loki remarked, not meeting her eyes.

“You know full well that I am not chasing after anyone.” y/n said, growing aggravated. 

“It sure seems that way.”He then opened the door to the room and left.

“You know what?” y/n responded, dropping her sword to the ground with a loud clang “I am tired of this.”

 “y/n I think it best if you ignore him.” Sif spoke up, “nobody is accusing you of anything, we all know you aren’t that sort of person-”

“Thank you Sif, but I am not taking this.“ y/n exited the room in pursuit of Loki, who was a few paces ahead of her walking calmly. 

“I don’t like being followed.“ He simply called out to her, because his room was only about a minute walk away from the training room he reached it fairly quickly.

“What is your problem?“ y/n asked him, putting her foot in between the door and it’s frame as Loki was about to shut it.

“I don’t have a problem, now if you’d excuse me I’d like you to leave me alone.“ 

 “Then leave me alone.” She huffed, “hold your silvertongue and stop acting as if you’re above me because you’re not.”

“Is that all?“ He asked her calmly, “you’re done with your childish tantrum?” 

“Oh you are so-“ y/n narrowed her eyes.

“So what?“ Loki asked with an eye roll.

“Terrible.“ y/n blurted, earning a cold laugh from the God of Mischief.

“So I’ve been told.“ He stated bored.

“No, I mean you’re really terrible and for so many reasons.”

“Such as?“  

“You want a list?“ y/n asked with a bitter laugh, “ok well you think you’re better than everyone and you’re not, you poke fun at other people because it’s amusing to you and-and everyone-I mean everyone thinks that you’re a snake, ever since we were younger, and I can’t believe I’m just now realizing that..they’re probably right.“ He swallowed hard furrowing his eyebrows, “you used to be my best friend Loki, I’d defend you from people’s accusations when you weren’t around and..I wasted my time because you are everything people say you are and worst.“ She saw the look in his eye, she hurt him-good now he understood how it felt. 

Loki glanced away-looking down at the girl again. “Is that all?” He asked, trying desperately to remain collected. y/n scoffed. “You may think you know me but I know you much more, don’t forget, I’ve been inside your head. People may think I’m a bad person but I can live with that, you on the other hand can’t stand the fact that someone might not like you, so much so that you’ll break down about it. You’re a weak fighter, you’re not as clever or as witty as you seem to think, and frankly I don’t understand the fascination Thor seems to have with you, you’re nothing special.”  

y/n pulled her foot from the doorway. What happened to us? She was about to cry and she did not want him seeing that. “Is that all?” She asked, reciting his previous question.

“Yes.“ He spat coldly. 

“Good.“ She turned to walk away as Loki stayed in his place trying to keep the impression that he didn’t care.

Late at night y/n tossed and turned in her bed, trying to fall asleep after waking up from a particularly realistic dream-she had thought that by laying still she’d trick her body into falling asleep but that didn’t happen. She knew that she had been able to power through the last few days with almost no sleep-but she’d certainly crash if she didn’t get any sleep soon. The thought of making a visit to Loki for help came to her mind, but she really didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing she wanted/needed his help. Screw it. She thought after another couple of hours, her clock read 2:35 as she swung her legs over her bed and slipped on her slippers and robe. 

The halls were dark and empty except for the occasional guards, which she was careful to avoid (she didn’t want to raise any suspicion). Thank God her room was only a three minute walk from Loki’s. It was once she was already in front of Loki’s door that she started getting second thoughts, but she was there already and the worst that could happen was getting the door slammed in her face or no answer. She raised her cold knuckle, letting it hover over the door’s fine wood before knocking. “It’s y/n..” She announced barely above a whisper, “trust me I really don’t want to ask for your help but I see no other option an-”

The door opened a small crack. “you do realize what time it is, right?” Loki’s annoyed voice asked-he didn’t sound like he had just woken up, maybe he was having trouble sleeping also.

“I know.” At her response Loki opened the door wider, revealing himself in a pair of emerald colored pajamas. “Look I know-” at the sound of approaching footsteps (guards) Loki stepped aside, giving her a cue to get in. She did, turning to face him one he closed the door again-his back facing the door he put his hands on his hips.

“What do you want?”

“I can’t sleep.” She said sheepishly, “I just-I’m getting the same nightmares again and I thought that maybe just this once you could, you know..” She put hands up, wiggling her fingers to imitate magic.

Loki rolled his eyes, “first off that’s not at all how magic looks, second why should I help you?”

“Just this once!“ y/n practically begged, “please. I’ve have not been sleeping at all I just need one hour. I won’t make you sleep on my couch like I did when we were younger, you can just...alter my thoughts or something and I’ll leave and-” 

“Fine.“ Loki agreed, grumpily. He walked back over to his bed, getting in between the covers on the left side. “Well?“ He asked when she stared blankly at him. He rolled his eyes again, “Obviously if you go back to your room I won’t be able to sense when I have to alter your thoughts and you’ll just come back to make a racket when you have another nightmare.“ y/n nodded slowly, making her way to the right side of the bed. “Besides it’s a big bed, just stay on that side-away from me.” She laid down, hesitant at first as she tightened her robe around herself. Loki leaned over, placing a finger and thumb over her temples to enter her mind. 

When she woke up she was in the same exact position that she was in when she went to bed and Loki was standing directly above her looking annoyed once again. It was still dark outside as he looked down at her from where he stood. “It’s about time, I’ve been trying to wake you up for the last two minutes.”

“What time is it?“

“6:05..the castles about to start waking up, you should leave before more people get uo to avoid being seen.“ y/n nodded in agreement. 

“Ok“ she walked to his door, turning to watch as he laid back down in his bed. “And Loki..“

“What?“ He sighed.

“Thank you.“ She said softly, leaving the room right after. Loki was left surprised.

“Look I know I said just once-” y/n whispered that night outside of Loki’s door, it was past 2 a.m. again, but surprisingly Loki let her in again.

“The faster you stop pestering me, the better.“ Loki told her harshly. He had woken her up at 6 a.m. again like he had done the the last time. The time after that Loki woke her up at 7 and the time after that she had woken up past 8 to see Loki sitting in a chair some feet from her sharpening his knives-when she had asked him why he hadn’t woken her up he had simply reminded that he could just teleport her back to her room, that way nobody would know she had spent the night there.

Flash forward a month later, y/n tiptoed to Loki’s room in her nightgown again, the nights were getting hotter which had led to her to leave her robe behind. When she had reached Loki’s room she didn’t need to knock, since he now left it unlocked for her. 

Once she laid down on the right side of the bed (more towards the middle now rather than all the way on the edge) Loki laid down about a foot from her. They didn’t go to bed right then however, since they had formed a habit of talking before falling asleep. “Have you been sleeping better?” Loki asked the girl beside him.

“yes.” 

“Good...”

y/n rolled onto her side to face Loki, “Thank you again.” He nodded. “You know for someone who hates me, you’re actually quite kind to me.” The corner of Loki’s mouth folded up slightly,

“I don’t hate you...” He rolled over onto his side to face her, “but what I do hate-“ he then had explained the entire plot of a book just to express his hatred for one detail in it. 

y/n woke up in the middle of the night with a start, her nightmares had came back. As it turned out Loki wasn’t in the room but when he got back with a glass of water he noticed she was off right away. “I’m sorry.” He quickly apologized, sitting beside her, “I was just-I didn’t think-”   

“I know, it’s fine.“ y/n told him, but his hand was still on her shoulder and his blue eyes still held worry in them. “I’m just-I’m going back to bed...“ Loki nodded, watching as she laid down again. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?“ She nodded.

As she began drifting off she felt Loki take her hand in his. Later on in the night y/n woke up randomly, but she wasn’t facing Loki anymore-instead she was facing his dim window, she felt warm but not from the covers and to her surprise she realized that the prince’s arm was around her waist, keeping her close. Their legs were tangled mess at the bottom of the bed and she could hear his slow breathing as he slept peacefully. She looked around slowly, trying to figure out a way to move away to avoid the embarrassment when he wakes up-but just as she began to shift around she heard him speak up. “What time is it?” up. 

“Sorry...” She apologized growing red, “I don’t know how-“  

“It’s fine.“ She heard Loki whisper. 

“It is?“

“This is quite comfortable.“ He whispered again, then he moved slightly closer-resting his head on her shoulder and he fell asleep again-she assumed that he was half awake and didn’t fully process what had happened. She decided it didn’t matter and fell asleep again, after all he wasn’t wrong-it was comfortable.  

There was a loud noise that woke y/n right up, making her jump. Now she realized that she was facing Loki again, her arms were wrapped around his neck like in a hug, his head was nuzzled in the crook of her neck-their legs still a tangled mess. Bang! Bang! There it was again, she lifted her head, looking towards the door as it came again-bang! Bang! 

“Loki” She whispered, gently shaking his sleeping form. He ignored it, pulling her closer in response instead. “Loki, someone’s at the door.” She whispered, trying not to laugh. He sighed looking up towards his door.

“Just ignore it, they’ll go away it’s probably a servant or-”

“Loki!” Thor’s voice came from the other side of the door, “Loki, I know you’re in there! Open the door.” Loki rolled his eyes, standing up to make his way towards the door. 

He opened the door a few inches, “what do you want?” He hissed.

“I-” Thor paused, “are wearing your nightwear?”

“Why is that of any importance-what do you want?”

“er, Loki is there someone in there with you?“ Thor asked. 

y/n held her breath, afraid that somehow Thor would hear her from the doorway. “I-no!” Loki snapped, “What are you talking about?”

“Alright, alright I apologize. I’m here to ask if you have seen y/n? I’ve been searching for her, she’s normally turned up somewhere at this time it’s past 10.” 

“No I don’t know where she is, I haven’t seen her. Check the garden, she’s most likely wandering around there.“ He shut the door, turning back to y/n. 

“Past 10?“ y/n asked, covering her mouth, “I should’ve been awake two hours ago.” Loki shrugged. “Can you teleport me back to my room, I should go to the gardens since Thor’s looking for me.” Loki looked at the ground with an unfamiliar look in his eyes before nodding. “Thank you.”

The girl had spent more time with Thor training than she had expected that day, leading her to take an extra long shower at night to get clean. She hadn’t realized until she looked at her clock that it was past 10-normally she’d already be at Loki’s room by now. Quickly she dried her hair and changed into her nightwear. 

She was about to leave and opened her door and unexpectedly Loki was there with his hand raised looking like he was about to knock. They stared at each other for a moment before she spoke up, “Loki? What are you doing here?” 

He glanced to the side, not wanting to meet here eyes as she awaited his response, “I thought..” he said glancing at the ground before back to her, regaining his composure “that you-“

“Weren’t coming?“ She finished for him, he nodded.

“So I came to see if you were ok, I’ll leave.“

“Wait, no.“ She told him, grabbing his wrist and taking him by surprise, “I was just coming it was just taking me longer, but you can sleep here if you want since you’re already here...?” He nodded in agreement, stepping into her room.

He settled himself into the bed, opening his arms for her to crawl into which she quickly did. The two laid there for a moment, listening to the quietness as Loki slowly brushed through her hair with his fingers.      

“remember the other day when I said that you were terrible?“ y/n suddenly asked, getting Loki’s attention. He stopped running his fingers through her hair. 

“Yes, why do you ask?“ He responded cautiously. 

“I was just mad at you. I’m sorry.“

He took a moment to think to himself, “I didn’t mean what I said either."

“Can I ask you something?” y/n asked after a while later.

“What?”

“Why did you push me away?” She asked, shifting herself to meet his eyes.

Loki sighed-only it wasn’t from being aggravated this time. He backed up a few inches from y/n-staring straight up at the ceiling. “It’s because..”

“Because what?”

“I had noticed that you and Thor were becoming closer and decided to..abandon you before you did me. I thought it’d hurt less that way.”

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, everyone always seems to choose Thor over me, I just assumed you would, in time, do the same.“ He confessed, still not meeting her gaze. 

“Loki...“ she set her hand on his shoulder waiting for him to look at her. “I would never abandon you for Thor, sure Thor is my friend but so is Fandral, so is Volstagg, so is Sif and I’m not abandoning anyone for them.“

He nodded.

“And tonight..“ y/n spoke up again, “when you thought I wasn’t coming-“

“I assumed you wouldn’t need me anymore, especially after you had spent so much time with Thor.“

“Loki!“

“What?“

“Don’t be like that!“ y/n told him, sitting up, “I do need you! I’ll always need you, I need you don’ t doubt that, and not just because of stupid nightmares, because I care for you and I love you, ok?”

Loki smiled to himself, “you love me?“

“Yes you stupid-“ she stopped talking because Loki had leaned in, capturing her lips in a kiss, taking no time to hesitate she leaned into him further deepening the kiss. After about a minute they pulled apart-resting their foreheads together. 

“I love you too.“

[blubberingmess]

[Beautiful]

Pairing: Bucky x plus size!reader

No plot, just your average normal smut :)

Warning: smut (m/f), slight dirty talk, daddy kink, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, cunt slapping, a very short thought about anal, unprotected sex (I can't rhyme, but yeah, use condom, kids.)

There's no denying at the fact that bucky loves his women thick, has a bit more meat on their bones. But what's more beautiful than a big curvy woman? Big curvy woman with confidence. It's a big turn on for Bucky, seeing a woman flaunting her beautiful assets without giving a single fuck to whoever tries to say otherwise.

So the moment Bucky met you, he just knew he'd be a total goner.

Your 'I don't give a fuck' personality, your body, the way you move, the way you carry yourself, it's everything Bucky ever wanted to a woman. How your chin is always held up high like a queen, It's beautiful - you're beautiful.

And you're his.

"Damn Bucky, your girl's looking good." Sam whistled in appreciation as the three of them-- Bucky, Sam, and Steve-- look over and saw you chatting with the rest of the guests.

You're wearing a luxurious red bodycon dress that hugs your curves, it also makes your ass look good than they already are, while also wearing those black stilettos that Bucky loves so much.

Bucky grins with pride at the awe look in his friends' faces, chuckling to himself. "What are you talking about? She always does."

It's true. No matter what you wear or if your hair is all over the place and looking like someone just ran over you (morbid, I know), you're still the most gorgeous human being Bucky had ever laid his eyes upon.

While Sam and Steve continues back on conversing about something Bucky don't really give a damn about, his eyes are fixated on you. Traveling up and down your round form like a predator hungry for his prey, unconsciously licking his lips when you down the rest of your drink.

How did he became so lucky?

You gave the guest a smile before turning your head towards the table where you know Bucky is seated, and saw him already has his eyes at you. Heart skipping a beat at the lovesick expression on his face, a look you know is solely meant for you.

"I have to go," you said to the guest without looking at them. Walking towards your man, purposely made your walk slow and teasing. He watched you with a hungry glint in his eyes as you made your way towards him, biting his bottom lip at the way you sway your wide hips from side to side. Sam and Steve already know what's going on and decided to leave the table to go to the bar instead, good for them.

You flashed your boyfriend a playful grin, placing both of your hands on his broad shoulders, unconsciously (or not) giving him an eyeful of your cleavage.

"Hi."

"Hi." He chuckled, grabbing your plump waist and giving it a gentle squeeze. "You look beautiful in that dress, baby."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He then smirks. "But I rather see you without one right now."

You were about to open your mouth to tease him back when the music started blaring to a more upbeat song, a female voice calling for your name after. Breaking your gaze from Bucky, you saw Wanda waving her hand at you from the dance floor with Natasha on her side.

'Dance with us' Natasha mouthed.

You jerked your head down to Bucky, silently yelling at them in your head 'I'm busy!' Hoping they'd get it which they did, but sadly, didn't care as the two gave you puppy eyes.

Chuckling, you took a step back from Bucky, a frown visible on his face. "We'll finish this later."

He groans, leaning his head back. "You're a fucking tease, you know that?" You only winked as a response before making your way towards your two girl friends, while the dance floor started to be filled with dancing bodies.

Bucky is now left sitting there, feeling a bit annoyed from the interruption and also extremely aroused. He sighed, his pants that had tighten by just a small amount of time from your teasing, taking a sip of his champagne.

Nope, Bucky thought. I can't take this anymore.

The heated gaze you'd sent his way for the past twenty minutes while biting that kissable lip of yours, all while sexily grinding with the Wanda and Natasha to the beat of the music. It's all sent his body on fire, specifically, down south.

You just love torturing him don't you? Love how you can make him squirm and growl possesively at the sight of you, taking pride of every second of it.

Bucky slammed his third glass of champagne on the table before sauntering towards your dancing figure, pretending you didn't just saw the way he looks at you from afar.

"Hello ladies, can I borrow my girl real quick?"

You gave Bucky a knowing look while he just innocently smile in return, both knowing it'll be far from quick - maybe the whole night and early morning. Without actually waiting for a response from the two, Bucky practically dragged you away from the party by the wrist and in the elevator.

As soon as the elevator door closed, he slammed you to the wall and smashes his lips against yours heatedly. You moaned when you felt his tongue slithered inside your mouth, easily gaining dominance.

"Thought I didn't noticed your teasing, baby girl? Dancing in that pretty little dress of yours - fuck." Bucky groans, harshly squeezing your ass before letting go and giving it a nice slap.

It felt like hours before the door finally opens. Bucky, like the impatient man he is, crouched down carries you on his shoulder, his flesh hand not leaving your ass.

"Can't wait to fuck this ass," Bucky whispered to himself.

You both haven't talked about trying anal yet, but neither of you are against. Who knows? It might happen sooner or later, depends on how tempting you look - which is every fucking day.

He got to his door and hastily opens it, slamming the door shut with the heel of his shoe.

You giggle when he unceremoniously laid you down on the bed making you slightly bounce. He gave you a quick yet sweet peck on the lips before kneeling down on the edge of the bed.

You immediately strip out from your dress, leaving your body exposed with nothing but your lacey panty and your stilettos.

For Bucky, everything suddenly stilled as his eyes trails the length of your body, absorbing the sight in front of him. From his view, Bucky could see the wet mark in the middle of your panty, a clear sign that his baby is aroused and it's all because of him - just for him.

Gorgeous, Bucky thought to himself. Absolutely stunning.

Bucky snapped out from his lovesick daze the moment he saw you roll your hips against the mattress, silently begging him to do something - anything.

"It's okay, baby. I gotchu," he whispered as he began stripping off his clothes, giving you show. Slowly pulling off his coat and unbuttoning his shirt.

"I'm gonna fuck you so hard the only word that'll be coming out of your mouth tonight is my name." And it's not Bucky.

He smirks when he heard you let out a small moan, pulling his shirt off completely and kicking off his shoes. "You like the sound of that, baby girl? Bet you fucking do."

"Please Bucky."

"Patience, sweetheart." Was his only response before scooting down so he's now facing your clothed pussy, groaning as he inhaled your sweet scent.

"Fuck. Smell so good." He hooked his finger on your panty and moved it to the side. The sight of your glistening pussy made his cock twitch, already feeling the arousal forming at the tip.

"Bucky, please, I can't take it-- oh~" a pornographic moan escaped your lips as Bucky latches his whole mouth on your clit, sucking on it harshly while simultaneously using his tongue to rub the nub.

"F-Fuck, yeah, that's it." You gasped as he let go of your clit for a moment just to lick a fat strip from your entrance to the top, before once again latching his soft pink lips around your clit, sucking on it harshly like a pacifier.

"So good - yes! Yes! Yes!"

One of the things that you love about Bucky is that he doesn't half-assed on pleasuring you, making sure you're satisfied wether it's a quick fuck or a long hours of love making. He will eat you out like a starved man, temporarily ignoring the very strong urge to just slam you down and drill into you like he wanted.

He will always put you first.

Bucky sat back up before you could even reach your peak, gently rubbing his fingers up and down your slit.

"Bucky, plea-- ah!" You let out a small scream when he suddenly gave your clit a slap, not enough to actually hurt but enough to make you jolt in surprise.

"Wrong name, baby girl," he growls out all while pulling off his pants as well as his boxer, throwing it somewhere around the room. His dick is standing up thick and proud, a small drip of precum on top.

Oh, he's in that mood huh?

"Daddy, please fuck me. I can't take it anymore," you begged, pulling your knees up and spreading your legs apart, giving him a clear view of your wet cunt.

"Fuck, baby, look at that." Bucky is in awe as you completely exposed yourself to him. It's not your first time having sex, but damn, does it feel like it everytime.

That's is all your fault. You made the man insatiable; made him crave for you all day - everyday. He cannot seem to get enough of you no matter how many times he gets a taste, and he don't think he will ever get enough.

Bucky grabs his rock hard dick and gave it a few pumps. The sight of you spread out for him like this, it feels like a dream.

"So wet and needy. Is this all for me, baby?" He asks, tapping the head of his cock against your clit a few times, before sliding it up and down your slit in a teasing manner.

Bucky grunts in disapproval when he didn't hear you answer and just moaned at his lazy rubbing. He pulls his cock away and gave your cunt another warning slap, making you jump in surprise.

"Use your words."

"Yes daddy, I'm sorry," you whimper as Bucky began circling your red and swollen cunt, spitting on it before pressing two flesh fingers inside in one go.

As much as Bucky likes to see you come undone by his metal fingers, he loves the feel of your slick walls against his flesh ones. Feeling your arousal around his fingers, so warm and velvety - especially around his cock.

You gasped out loud when he began thrusting hard and fast, prepping you up. Even with his fingers bucky can still feel how tight you are, getting him all more excited than he already are.

He placed his metal hand on the back of your thighs, pushing it up so he could take a better look and he knows you like it that way.

He added a third finger and your puffy cunt just swallows his fingers hungrily, coaxing him to push his fingers inside knuckles deep.

"Yes Daddy, oh my gosh!" You can feel the your stomach tightening. Bucky started to feel your walls clenched on his fingers, a clear indication that you're about to come.

"Come for me, (Y/n)." He doesn't have to say it because your legs clamped around his arm, rolling your hips through your orgasm as you moaned his name out loud.

Bucky didn't waste any more time and hover above your body, lining his throbbing cock at your entrance. In one swift thrust of his hips, he had buried himself inside. Bucky groans as your walls deliciously squeezed him, already wanting to milk him dry.

"Shit - relax, doll. You're squeezing me too hard." You breathe in and out, eyes clenched tightly as you relax yourself on the mattress.

Bucky smiles, leaning down to kiss you lovingly and comfortingly on you forehead. "That's it, baby girl. Relax." Slowly, he began to grind his hips against yours. His eyes locked on your face as it contorts to a look of pure pleasure, your breathing started to get ragged as his thrusts gets harder; much more faster.

Before you know it, he was now pounding your slick cunt. The wet obscene noise, slapping of skin to skin is now much more audible.

"Fuck me harder, Daddy. Please!" And harder he goes. He hooked his strong buffy arms around your thighs and placed them on his shoulders, before slamming into you over and over again. At this point you are now screaming in pleasure, head tilting back as your body bowed.

Bucky's gaze trails down from yours face, down to your soft breasts, your round middle, and then down to where you both are connected. He could see your wetness coating the base of cock. A particular roll of his hips got your toes curling, instinctively jolting up, your nails digging shallowly on the skin of his back, marking him.

You squealed. "Fuck!"

"Right here, princess?" He asked as he keeps on hitting that spot again and again. He sat up, gripping your thick thighs tightly and resumes his fast pounding.

You opened your eyes and witnessed how Bucky's face morphs into a blissful look; eyes closed tightly and his head tilted back. A fine sheen of sweat covering his chest making him look so good.

"I'm gonna come," you gasped. You could tell he is too because his thrusts are getting sloppy and desperate. Your legs shakes as you came, moaning and chanting out his name 'Bucky' like a prayer.

With your walls fluttering around him and that lewd, fucked out look on your face sent him over the edge.

He groans as he came deep inside of you, staying balls deep for a few moment before pulling out. He watched as his cum drips out of your hole, soaking the sheets underneath you.

"Fuck, look at that. Such a good girl for me," he praised. You could feel him slides himself inside a few times and then completely pulls out, laying down next to your spent body.

You're heart is beating fast against your chest, not because from the sex (although that's mainly the reason) but for the man you've just did it with.

Bucky is still gasping, pupils are still dilated as he turn his head to the side to look at you. A fond smile formed on his lips when he noticed that you're already focused at him.

"You okay, princess?" He asked, now turning his body to his side. He lifted his metal hand up when he noticed your eyes are still a bit teary and dazed, gently holding your cheek in his large palm.

"Great," you breathed out before flashing him a soft pleased smile. You were about to stand up to clean yourself up when Bucky quickly grasped your wrist, pulling you back onto to mattress, caging your body with his.

Looking down at you with a playful glint in his eyes, cocking his head to the side. Something hard poking your belly and you don't need to put two on two together to know what's about to happen next.

"You're insatiable."

"What can I say? I have a wife who just looks so stunning and perfect every single fucking day." He chuckles darkly. "It's hard to not want to fuck you on the nearest surface - fill your pussy up until you're dripping with my cum, until--"

He stops.

Suddenly, his eyes slightly widens. You waited, he seems to be having an inner battle with himself. Eyes darting around your face, searching for something you don't quite know.

"Are you okay, baby?" Bucky's whole body tensed up at the word, though quickly relaxing soon after. Soft blue eyes flickering from yours and down to your round belly then back up, silently suggesting -- begging -- for something.

Oh boy.

This is my first ever smut and It feels like my first fic all over again.

[whumperscorner]

Hello! I've just discovered your whumpy FFXV fanfics and oh my gosh I absolutely adore your writing and ideas! I love a whumpy Prompto story! I've looked over the whump bingo and I think Prompto and "Strapped to a bomb" would be a really interesting/whumpy story! Of course please don't feel pressured to write this if you don't want to and I'm so sorry if this comes across as rude. I hope you have a lovely day!

Ah thank you anon! Don’t worry it definitely doesn’t come off as rude :3 I’m really happy you’ve enjoyed my writing!

Decided to try someone kinda new with this, going with Cor’s pov for the first time, so hopefully that will still be somewhat enjoyable eheh

BTHB #6- Strapped to a Bomb

Fandom: Final Fantasy XV

Characters: Prompto Argentum, Cor Leonis, Nyx Ulric (a little bit)

Whumpee: Prompto Argentum

Word count: 2568

Warnings: none

This work can also be found on ao3 :3

Cor lets his eyes finish skimming through the document in his hand. Then he throws it onto his desk along with all the other documents he’s read through and sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. It’s been a very long, very uneventful day. Glancing at his watch, Cor is relieved to find there’s now only a little over an hour until he can leave. Though of course then he has to make his way through the traffic of the streets surrounding the Citadel, which is always a nightmare at this time of day. Now with the furrow between his brows made even deeper than usual, Cor returns to the paperwork. He’s moving on to what he thinks should be the last document in the pile when heavy breathing and rushed footsteps sound through the otherwise empty corridor.

"Marshal-"

"What." Cor's voice is tinged with irritation. This better be damn important for someone to barge in right at the tail end of his workday.

"You’ve been summoned at the entrance," says the breathless recruit. "it’s something about your son."

It doesn’t even take a full second for Cor to react and be up on his feet. He grabs his jacket and phone and hurries out of the office along with the recruit. Not that it’s out of the ordinary for Prompto to come to the Citadel, whether it’s Cor he’s coming to see or Prince Noctis whenever he’s around. Normally he would just let himself in though, and that along with the frantic look on the recruit’s face - no, something has to be wrong.

"What’s the situation?" Cor asks, not bothering to look back and just assuming the recruit is following him as he strides down the hall.

"I don’t know, I was just told to get a hold of you quickly." Comes the answer from behind. Cor almost has time to get annoyed at the lack of information, but the recruit keeps going. "Glaive Ulric and Glaive Altius are there already, and when I left they'd started working to evacuate employees outside of the Glaive."

Cor curses under his breath. Evacuation of the other employees? He trusts Nyx and Crowe enough to make that call, but since they have it has to be something serious. Cor enters the elevator and taps his foot impatiently on the floor, infuriated by how slow the descent is seemingly going. His mind races through all the different possibilities for what could be going on, and how Prompto could be involved in it.

The familiar dingand the sound of elevator doors opening cannot come soon enough, and the second it does he's on the move again. It takes him almost no time at all, though still too long in Cor's mind, to make his way to the doors at the main entrance. From the vantage point there he can already see parts of what's going on. Further down the staircase are multiple glaives already at work. Cor recognises Crowe where she stands at the side, gesturing to the people around and obviously in the midst of the evacuation work. He spares a short moment to send the recruit, who is still following behind him, over in her direction with orders to assist in the evacuation work. Then he sees Nyx, standing a bit further down, and then finally he sees a familiar tuft of blond hair. Prompto is talking to Nyx. Cor can't hear what they're saying as he makes his way towards them, but he can tell from meters away that something is wrong with Prompto. It's the way he's holding himself, tense and unnaturally stiff in his movements.

When Cor is close enough, he sees Prompto’s eyes widen, and his mouth opens in a silent plea. Cor lets his own expression soften some and sends him a reassuring nod. It’s at least intended as one, but he’s not sure it helps. Prompto still looks so very scared, and it pricks Cor’s heart painfully. He's about to turn to Nyx, to demand an explanation as to what's going on, but his attention is caught by something else. Peeking through behind the half-open zipper on Prompto's hoodie is some foreign object.

"Open your hoodie Prom, let me see that." Cor says. His mouth feels too dry all of a sudden, but he keeps his voice low and calm despite it. Prompto shifts uneasily but complies. With two shaky hands he fumbles a bit with the zipper, eventually getting it up. What reveals itself is a jumbled mess of wires and various cylindrical objects in black and grey, all fastened together with tape and zip-ties, strapped around Prompto's stomach like a horrid belt. It's most definitely home made, but there's no mistaking it. Cor recognizes explosives when he sees them.

"The hell-" Cor hisses. Though he immediately regrets that and cuts himself off when Prompto shrinks in on himself as if the curse is directed at him. Worry and disbelief swirl around in Cor's stomach. He turns his head to Nyx so fast his neck nearly twists. "What's going on here?"

The look on Nyx's face mirrors Cor's own emotions, and the crease to his brows deepens as he answers in a hushed voice. "Crowe and I found him standing here just earlier, says someone put that," and he motions with his head towards the device. "on him and dropped him off here with orders to go inside. He didn't see their faces."

Now anger flares up in Cor along with all the other conflicting emotions. Someone had dared to put a godsdamn bomb on his son. Cor feels his body tense up, and his hands balling into tight fists. He wants his hands on them, to make them regret ever thinking they could touch Prompto. But that will have to wait, Cor knows it. The top priority has to be getting that thing off of Prompto safely. He bites back another curse by pressing his lips into a thin line and wills himself to loosen the fists, though the tension still lingers in them.

"Bomb squad?" He asks.

"Already called, should be here any minute." Comes Nyx's answer, and Cor nods. He'd rather they were there already, but pushes that thought aside, they'll just have to wait. He then turns his attention back to Prompto. His son's eyes are wide and fearful, darting in between Nyx and Cor. His hands clutch the ends of the hoodie hard but even then, Cor can see them trembling faintly. Now that nobody's talking anymore, he suddenly becomes aware of Prompto's breathing. How strained it is, coming in short, shallow gasps. As if he's trying not to breathe at all.

Now every part of Cor's body urges him to rush to Prompto's side. To reassure him and tell him that everything will be alright. He knows he can't do that but takes one calm step forwards regardless. "Prompto-"

"No!" Prompto gasps, jerking back a step and stumbling slightly. It catches Cor completely off guard, and he stops dead in his tracks. Lifting his hands in a placating manner.

"Wha-"

"Don't come closer, please." Prompto's voice is barely more than a whisper, but to Cor it seems he might as well have been shouting. "If- if it blows, I don't want to hurt you."

Cor feels like he's just been hit in the chest with something hard. This isn't how things are supposed to be. Prompto, his sunshine, should not have to be this scared- for himself or for Cor. Cor sucks in a sharp breath, and despite what his brain is screaming at him to do he takes a step back to where Nyx is standing. It takes considerable effort to keep his voice calm when Cor speaks up again. "Okay, okay. Prompto look at me," he urges, trying to hold his son's gaze intently with his own. "I'm going to be fine, and you're going to be fine. Do you understand?"

After another moment Prompto nods weakly, even as his eyes glaze over with unshed tears. Cor sighs, and wonders what on earth is taking the damn bomb squad so long. He's about to turn to Nyx with this same question when, as if on cue, Prompto's breath hitches and his eyes fixate on something over Cor's shoulder. He turns around and there, finally, he sees a group of about seven or so men and women prepped with armoured suits making their way down the staircase. It draws some stares and gasps from the few not in the Glaive who are still there, but thankfully the evacuation work has come so far that there aren't many around.

Cor lets his shoulders sag ever so slightly in relief as the woman who seems to be in charge of the group comes over to him and Nyx. They exchange a few words and what little information they have on the situation, and she nods in affirmation and begins her work. Ordering three of her people to secure the streets and immediate surroundings to the bottom of the staircase, and the rest to come with her as she movies calmly towards Prompto. Cor tries to send him another encouraging nod, but he looks possibly even more terrified than before. The wide, unsure eyes and trembling lips are not something Cor wants to see on his son's face ever again if he can avoid it.

"They," Prompto tries, but it comes out more a choked gasp than anything else, and he hurries to try again. "they said not to touch it." The words almost trip over themselves in the rush to get out, and Prompto sends Cor a pleading look. Almost desperate as members of the bomb squad are getting closer to him.

"These people know what they're doing, kid." Cor urges on, thankful that his voice carries such authority and doesn't betray any underlying worries. "Let them help. I promise it will all be fine." Anything else is out of the question, he thinks, but he doesn't say that. Instead opting to take on as soothing and confident an expression as possible.

Prompto nods again, but doesn't look any more convinced, letting slip a tiny whine when the approaching bomb technicians are close enough to touch. The woman orders the hoodie to be removed, and her associates make quick work of it. It's close to torture, Cor finds, having to stay where he is and only watch. Prompto stays stiff and unmoving as the hoodie is removed and thrown to the side, where Nyx goes to pick it up. In the clutter of people now around him, Prompto looks like a forlorn kitten, fixed to the ground and scared to move in any significant way.

"Timer?" asks the woman loudly.

"None ma'am." comes the answer.

At this the woman turns her attention back to Nyx and Cor. "We're sure it's timed?" She asks. "No chance it could be remote controlled?"

Cor opens his mouth to answer but to his great surprise, and the woman's too it seems, Prompto beats him to it. "It's timed," his voice shakes slightly as he speaks. "they said so when they dropped me off… f-fifty minutes." he stammers, then his voice dies down again.

A moment of stunned silence goes by, then the woman curses loudly. "You should have said so sooner!" She snaps. Cor sees how it makes Prompto shrink in on himself and hears his stuttered apologies. They need to figure out how much time they have left, and the last thing he wants is for Prompto to panic now. So he takes a careful step forward, intent on getting Prompto's attention away from the lady.

"Prompto look at me!" He implores loudly, cutting Prompto off in the midst of his train of apologies. "Just look at me. I need you to tell me how long you stood here before anyone arrived, can you do that?"

"I- 6 maybe 7 minutes, I think." He answers, swallowing hard. Cor nods at him again then hastily checks the time on his phone. It's been almost 30 minutes since he left his office, though to him it feels like much longer than that. Still, that doesn't leave them with much time, only a little under 20 minutes. Cor relays the information out loud, to which the woman nods and goes back to her work, not wasting another second on talking.

Through all this Prompto has been keeping his eyes locked on Cor, exactly as told. So Cor sees it the second he returns his attention to his son. That now with the working hands of multiple people back around his waist, and the knowledge of just how long he has left until an eventual untimely death- a little under 20 minutes, it's all too much. Cor can see it all swirling around in his head, can read it in his face. It's one of the effects of having cared for someone from when they were a small child, Cor knows his son, and he knows the breaking point is coming.

"Prompto," he begins softly, "keep your eyes focused on me, okay? Only on me, ignore anything else." Prompto nods, chokes out a sob, and lets the first few tears come. Cor sees them rolling down unhindered, and the wet streaks they leave on freckled skin. "It's okay," he hushes, barely even noticing that he's taken a few more steps towards Prompto. "you've been brave today. Now just let us fix the rest, okay? It'll be alright."

Cor keeps speaking softly like that for what somehow feels simultaneously like an eternity and no time at all. The tears are still running down Prompto's face, but he's managing to keep his attention mostly on Cor and not on the rest of the situation. It's working exactly how Cor was hoping it would. When, after some time, the bomb loosens from around Prompto's waist and movement surges all around it catches Prompto entirely off-guard. But not Cor. Cor rushes forward the second he sees that the explosives are removed and Prompto is being shoved away from them for the bomb squad to finish their work, and when Prompto stumbles Cor catches him. Relief floods through Cor's body like a breath of fresh air, and he wastes no time before dragging Prompto a few secure steps back. He's holding his son, and it's okay now.

Prompto cries for another while, not at all surprising given the rush and tension from the day, but he's at least safe. In a move uncharacteristically tender for Cor when they're anywhere other than the privacy of their home, he runs his hand through his son's soft hair and places a gentle kiss on his forehead. "You're okay Prom, you're okay."

The two are awarded some peace and quiet before Nyx comes to check on the two of them and provide them with the news that the bomb has been properly taken care of. When he does Cor gives him a grateful nod. He knows it's time for him to take Prompto home, but before that there's one last thing he needs to do.

"Make sure the security footage from today is thoroughly checked." Says Cor, his voice every bit as serious as the situation calls for. And now it's Nyx's turn to nod, knowing without needing to be told what he's on the lookout for. "I want them found and identified."

[onetuffbunny]

[???] the Government Man

Bunny doesn’t answer the knock on the door because nothing good comes from answering doors in the middle of the night. You’re going to let a Dracula into your house that way or a ghost or a ghost Dracula or a thousand things without names that you don’t want. Bunny might be dumb as hell but he’s not about to let some ghoul into his house.

Also, he’s made of teeth and pain and a deep, deep bone ache right now, so that’s a very important factor in not throwing his door open to the world. The curtains are shut tight so that not a scrap of light can possibly enter and, more importantly, no prying eyes can peek in. This isn’t R.A. She’d call first or at least shoot him a text message. It’s not Prudence or Avery because they’re babies and they shouldn’t be walking through the woods at night, though Avery never would because he’s afraid of so many abstract concepts that definitely include the dark. It’s not Lucy. She’s far away and he’d have to buy her a plane ticket and he forgets a lot of things but he thinks he’d notice the financial loss of a couple hundred or however much tickets are going nowadays because he doesn’t know, Bunny tries not to fixate on the rising cost of everything in general, especially when his net profits aren’t netting a profit because the competitive world of selling lingerie on the internet and also you know is competitive.

Nah. Fuck that. He’s not answering any doors. Mr. Dracula can fuck right off and knock on someone else’s door but he isn’t sucking any Bunny blood today.

The Dracula knocks again. Again. Again. You don’t answer these things because you can’t let vampires into your life and you don’t answer these things because you can’t let the good vibes out of the house and you don’t answer these things because sometimes it’s a man here to tell you that your wife is ██████ and then all the good bits of you fade away until you’re left with fidgety rabbit instincts.

“Jack, I know you’re in there. Open up. I'm here to ask you a few things about your kids. I’m with the, uh, Department of Child & Parent Services,” says █████, not really annoyed but almost there and Bunny doesn’t like it when people are almost annoyed and he also doesn’t like it when he almost knows a name except his brain fizzles out right before it can think it and it dies on his tongue. It’s like walking through a door and forgetting why you even came to the next room in the first place.

No. Tricks and lies. He knows them when he sees them. Jack isn’t even his legal name and no one calls him that anymore. It’s Jackie. He likes Bunny better though because it’s cute and people look at his muscles and his spikes and his metal shirts and assume he’s tough shit but at the end of the day, he just wants to be something soft and cute. Like, jacked as hell but soft and cute. They’re not incompatible ideas. People think they are sometimes but they’re not.

"Your van is in the driveway. I know you’re home. You’re not fooling me. C’mon, man, this is hard enough for me, so do you really have to make this harder than it already is every single time?”

Near annoyance turns into a near plea but Bunny will not be moved out of his hiding spot when there are predators in the forest. It does not occur to him that he is predator now instead of prey, an affront to the natural order of things. Some nights are made for thinking about the nature of existence and scrabbling enough brainpower together to work on stickers to plaster around town because you have to find someone or something and you’re just not sure what. Other nights you’re a creature. That’s the way of the world. You can fight against it or you can just lean into it and turn your brain off.

"Jackie, just open up or I’ll open it.”

No, no, nope, no one will open the door, this is his house and this is his shelter and no one will ever-

The lock rattles with the turn of a key.

“Get the fuck out of my house, buddy,” he growls but if someone really wants to come in, then there’s not a lot he can do to actually prevent that because what, is he going to bite someone? Actually, yeah, maybe, he’d probably consider that if not for the fact that it’d kill someone now but he’s not going to think about that.

The door opens. The intruder walks inside, except Bunny knows he’s not an intruder and knows that he’s not with the Department of Whatever & Whatever services because he’s [????] and that’s fine and normal.

█████ is older than the last time Bunny saw him, except he’s not really sure when he saw him last or who he is because it’s just a big blank when he tries to remember his time in Florida. He can tell this man’s from Florida because he doesn’t remember him. Florida people exist as a big blank in his head with something lurking underneath, an echo of an echo of an echo fading into silence in his head. His hair’s still curly and it’s getting long. It wasn’t long in Florida. He doesn’t know how long it was in Florida but he knows. There’s knowing and knowing.

He looks tired. █████ looks like he doesn’t drink enough water. You have to hydrate to have a happy life. You can’t stay up late watching cartoons every night or else you get the brain munchies. You can’t be happy if you’re dry and sleepy and your brain is munched.

Then he looks like business.

“Hands where I can see them. No sudden movements. Identify yourself,” the man says, brisk and commanding and yet, underneath it all, scared. Scared’s bad. People do dumb shit when they’re scared. They get unpredictable. The man pulls something from his pocket and trains it on him and it’s just a funny little box but Bunny freezes anyway.

“You have five seconds,” the man barks and he’s gone straight from almost annoyed to pissed off. Freezing won’t do. Stopping whatever he’s doing and pretending the danger isn’t happening is his natural reaction to most things (although sometimes his natural reaction is embracing his inner rowdy dirtbag nature and throwing down with a guy) but it’s no good against a mystery box.

“Dude, what the fuck, this is my own house, man,” Bunny says, half a whine and half a plea, and sure, he’s not really answering the question but he’s hunkered down, he’s scared, he’s defenseless because he's not going to go and bite a guy to death, he’s doing his best.

The man’s eyes narrow. He lowers the mystery box but doesn’t put it away.

“Name. State it.”

I’m me, I’m me, I’m me, he wants to cry but he doesn’t.

“Bunny, like the rabbits. I’m just sitting here minding my own business and-”

"If you're Bunny, tell me your wrestling name,” █████ says and he’s got a funny look on his face, brows furrowed like he’s on the edge of realizing something.

“Butcher Jack? What the fuck does that have to do with why you’re in my fucking house? Maybe don’t be in my house?”

The dude makes no motion whatsoever to leave his house. This is most uncool of him. This whole situation’s what’s colloquially known as a dick move. The thought that this dude isn’t properly freaking out about a giant were[???] does not occur to our Bunny because in his heart of hearts, he knows this is a man that knows things that others do not and he also does not question why he knows that.

“What country singer would you marry if he asked?”

“What the fuck does Willie Nelson have to do with you being in my goddamn home?!“

“What’s your username on almost every website?“

The dude is still in his house, the opposite of where he needs to be.

“I’m failing to see how the donglord42069 alias is useful here, buddy. Dude, what the fuck.”

The stranger groans and practically collapses onto his rocking chair like he owns the place. Man’s still wearing his shoes. That’s really uncool of him. This is a shoe-free zone. He doesn’t want any outside crap tracked into his house that he payed too much money for because everything around Maroa is so stupidly expensive, even when you live outside of it in the middle of a forest because your income only covers so much even when you’ve got as many side hustles as you can hustle and bustle. He’s got bills, man, he can’t afford to rent a carpet cleaner. Not an Internet bill though and he doesn’t question that or why he gets suspiciously good Internet despite living in the middle of a forest. Ned or Ed or Ted with the pumpkins who lives a couple miles over set it up for him and told him not to worry about it, so he doesn’t worry about it.

"This was just supposed to be a standard welfare check, oh my god,” █████ says, face in hand. “Standard. You know what this is, Jackie? This is not standard. Why’d you have to go and make this nonstandard? This is going to be so much paperwork.”

Bunny makes no move to leave his blanket and cushion nest because his bones hurt down to the marrow right now but he does shrug off the blanket wrapped around his shoulders in hopes that not wearing a magical girl blanket makes him more intimidating.

“Well, I’m fine, I’m totes cool, so you can get out of my home, I don’t need a welfare check, who the fuck even are you, I don’t know you, fuck off, government man.”

"Listen, you’re a...Bruuuux? Brux. Bruxy enough. So actually, you do need a welfare check because despite everyone’s efforts to keep you away from aliens, you keep throwing yourself at aliens. But you know what? Maybe it’s a good thing someone finally turned you because you do not want to know what they’ve got written in your file about what to do with you if you had to get mindwiped again.”

Bunny’s eyes narrow. He knows there’s so much he doesn’t know about how this alien shit works but he knows enough to make some conclusions about this fellow’s job function.

“You a regulator? You here to take me to star jail?”

"No, I’m not and I don’t even know what that is. I actually work with the Federal Bureau of Investigation and we’re doing a study on the long-term effects of what Florida does to someone. We’re aware of aliens because, as I’m sure you know, Orlando exists,” the guy says with perfect confidence and Bunny just accepts it because okay, sure, that seems like a thing that the government would spend money on. “My name’s not important...you’re just going to forget it again.”

Bunny relaxes a little even though he’s in the presence of a government man with government hands. He has already forgotten talk of mind-wiping. This is fine and normal.

“Okay. Like...okay. I guess. But you’re still not supposed to enter houses without, like, a warrant.”

“Nope, actually, that’s just the cops but legally I can go wherever I want because I have clearance for that, so it’s fine,” █████ says. “So...vampire, huh? Yikes.”

“I’m a werewolf, actually,” he says even though he knows he’s prooooobably not that. He’s definitely not a vampire though. He eats fish and critters.

The guy’s eyes narrow.

“Whoever did this to you clearly isn’t in the picture. An attack? An ex? A one night stand? Did you have a preexisting relationship with the person involved?”

Oh, so the federal government’s making inquiries into his sex life now, huh? The government wants to know what he does in the bedroom? Fuck that, they gotta pay him money if they want to know what he does on the weekends.

“Look, buster, it’s bad enough you FBI creeps are tapping into everyone’s phones, y’all don’t need to know what I do with my dick,” Bunny says even though he’s pretty sure that if the government looks at everything you do on the computer, they’ve definitely got a real good idea of what he does with his dick.

“Hey, hey, hey, big guy, I’m not judging,” Mr. Government Hands says. “I’m just assessing the situation. Getting a feel for what happened. This is all part of field work, which, by the way, not my job but someone likes to personally torment me, so hey, here we are again. Don’t think I don’t like you. You’re great. You’re not who you used to be because you’re all shook up but listen: you’re top notch, the high quality stuff. It’s just like, ‘Hey, I’m almost forty, why am I still stuck doing this bullshit. Hey, I’ve been here forever, why are they still throwing old mistakes in my face every chance they get.’”

Bunny does not give a shit about this guy’s job.

“Anyhoo, the point isn’t my office drama. It’s you. Actually, it’s who did this to you,” the dude continues. “Was it someone you have any emotional attachment to whatsoever? Because if yes, then oooof, now that was a dick move on his part. It’s still a dick move either way but then it’s majorly a dick move.”

Cool, Bunny totally loves people poking at the various sore spots in his life.

“You know what, I don’t want to talk about this, actually. I’m going to call the cops on you,” Bunny says as he staggers up to his feet. It’s kind of awkward because even though he doesn’t actually hit the ceiling, he feels like he’s going to.

“Pffft, with that face? Don’t think so, budderino,” Asshole says. “Answer my questions and I’ll get out of your hair.”

Bunny limps forward, his legs all tingly and weird because his circulation’s shit ever since the Bad Thing happened, and tries to look threatening, but if this dude’s not freaking out about his appearance by now, he’s not going to.

“It was just a dude, okay? Like, a real hot dude, name of John or something, some bar in New York, they were having a party or something and I got inside on account of wearing no shirt, okay. I don’t know him, man. I didn’t even get to score. He was stupid hot too.”

The man writes something down in a little notebook he procures out of a pocket.

“Alright, I can do something with that information,” he says. “So, you know about regs. Did he give you a little primer on the basics before he fucked off or..no, nope, that wouldn’t make any sense, you wouldn’t give a guy the basics if you knew you were going to run off. You wouldn’t want him to see your face that long. Let me guess. you ran into one of the weirdos in the woods and they told you the situation? Gave you a little run down? Showed you the ropes? Okay, okay, I know I shouldn’t call them weirdos, that’s not professional on my part, but jeez, you read some of the files I have and you’d call them freaks too.”

Okay, that’s kind of rude, actually, but, like, whatever, whatever.

"Mayhaps. Or mayhaps you should be happening out of my house. I didn’t say I’d participate in any studies.”

The dude smiles and finally vacates his rocking chair, which is the only good thing he’s done so far.

“Okay, I’m taking that as a yes, so that makes my job easier. I can probably come back with some welcome packets or something. We have them. I just don’t have any because this stuff isn’t my job,“ he says. “In the meantime, stay out of sight of humans, obviously, and you know what, better avoid the weirdies too because I know you and you don’t need another kid. Tell you what, though, she’s weird too but why don’t you seek out Ned Castillo who lives a few miles down the way and-”

“What's the pumpkin witch got to do with anything?”

The dude frowns.

“Neht’s under strict orders not to reveal witchery, wizardry, or whatever the hell she likes to call her bullshit to normies.”

"Witches know witches on sight, dipshit. It’s, like, a seventh sense or something,” Bunny says because get a load of this guy, he doesn’t even know about seventh senses. “She doesn’t have to tell me shit. I know my witches.”

“Well, whatever, I don’t actually give a shit who tells anyone what as long as HQ doesn’t have to hear about it,”  █████ says. “Okay, that’s taken care of, now’s the question of...aw, shit. This is the part I hate.”

The dude consults his notebook again.

“Okay. You clearly haven’t met up with a reg yet because your file hasn’t been updated and you’ll need a glamour. That whole look? Can’t go down the street with it. Who all have you told about this?”

Bunny looms over the man and contemplates just dragging him out of the house. In normal situations, he could definitely pick this scrawny fuck up but he doesn’t have a lot of faith in his bodily strength. Would the government get mad at him if he roughed him up a little?

“I’m going to bite you if you don’t leave,” he says even though he won’t.

“If it’s just your wife, that’s fine, we’ll just have to get her up to speed on a few things. If it’s the two little ones too, that’s a little iffier but I think the odds are 95% in your favor since both parents have vam-”

“I’m giving you thirty seconds,” he warns.

“Ohhh, if you told Lucy though, that’s not going to fly, considering the whole situation with her mo...eh, you know what, I’ll do my best.”

Bunny bares his fangs.

“I’m going to do it. Right now. I’m going to do it. So you better get out.”

“Now, you just need someone to process your paperwork and it can’t be me. That’d end bad. I’d do it, I’d do that for you, but I can’t give the illusion of favoritism considering past situations led to your situation. I could point one of the softer, more tractable regs your way and...hey, what the fuck?”

Bunny does not bite the man. That’d kill him and also he’s afraid of losing control, eating a person, and learning that people are delicious. Instead, he grabs the plastic fruit sitting all nice and cute on a bowl on his table and starts pelting the annoying stranger.

“Time to go! You never saw me, buddy! Bye! Don’t come back! Goodbye forever! Byeeee!”

“Asshole,” the dude mutters. “Fine, I’m leaving. Don’t tell anyone you saw me, though I doubt you’ll even remember my face. You never do. Your brain does some real weird shit to preserve itself.”

‘Hah, fat chance of that happening,’ Bunny thinks.

The minute Mr. Government Man leaves, he immediately forgets █████‘s face again. This is fine and normal.

[ahelpfulpeach]

11. We could get arrested for this with Catradora? 👀

So this... took on a life of its own. Put most of it under a read more cuz it’s like. Almost 2k words.

It isn’t really. Very illegal. At all. But it DID use the prompt and it is what my brain produced. I don’t really know what it is or why it is but uh. Yes. It’s just very soft and fluffy and sweet. Rated T for cursing.

Modern AU. Headcanon for this is they met in college, like sophomore or junior year, as assigned roommates and just. Clicked. Became good friends and then the mutual pining kicked in and yes. And this is a year or two after graduation and they just kinda stuck together.

So yeah, if anyone else is interested, send me a prompt and some characters (romantic or not, just let me know if they aren’t) and I might write something. Maybe it will wind up being 2k+, maybe it will be a paragraph, I make zero promises :D

It was dark when they reached the park. Which was, you know, the point, but Adora couldn’t help the way her eyes lingered on the “Park Hours: Sunrise to Sunset” sign next to the closed gate. It was the sort meant to keep cars out, not people, but still.

“Dude, you coming?”

Already past the gate, illuminated only by the moonlight, Catra was waiting for her. Her hair, already frizzy in the humidity, left her face in shadow, but Adora could imagine the look on her face. Impatient, annoyed, and the tiniest bit fond. Or at least amused. She hoped.

“Yeah, sorry,” Adora called, jogging to catch up. Closer now, she could see the grin on Catra’s face. She’d been so excited when she proposed the idea—well, more like grabbed her arm and dragged her out the door. But. Same sort of thing with Catra, really.

“You’re fine, come on,” Catra laughed, taking hold of her arm again. Hardly necessary these days, Adora found herself following her around like a lost puppy more often than not. And apparently, as Bow loved to point out, she’d been doing that pretty much since they met. She protested, but Glimmer backed him up and two against one never worked out in her favor. But, whatever. Necessary or not, she wasn’t going to begrudge the point of contact.

In fact, she was going to fixate on it, on the warmth, Catra’s soft skin and the callouses on her fingertips, on how badly she wanted to shift and twine their fingers. She almost did before they reached the wooded section of the path and were plunged into deeper darkness. Catra let her go in favor of fiddling with her flashlight, prompting her to do the same.

“We could get arrested for this,” Adora mumbled, nerves demanding she fill the silence somehow, “It’s, like, trespassing right? Since the sign-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Catra cut her off, “I did this all the time as a kid. No one enforces that shit.”

A part of her wasn’t so sure, but Catra seemed pretty confident, and she knew this place better than Adora did.

“If you say so.”

“I do, so quit overthinking things, I can practically hear it.”

“Aye aye, Captain,” Adora gave her best, entirely overzealous salute, drawing a laugh from her friend. God. Such a cute laugh, all squeaky and high and breathy.

...She really hoped Catra couldn’t actually hear her thoughts.

“You’re a fucking dork,” Catra grumbled as she got her voice under control, bumping Adora off balance with her shoulder.

Bumping her right back—and nearly sending her into the bushes off the path by accident—Adora laughed, “And yet you keep me around.”

“You’re useful for getting things off high shelves.”

“No shelves in the woods, Catra.”

“Says you.”

“Careful. Keep up weak excuses like that, and I might think you like me.”

A joke and a plea in one. Adora wasn’t quite sure how much longer her heart could handle this sort of weird pseudo-flirting. At first, it had been a joke. Playful teasing about scoring a negative time on dating to U-Hauling. Calling outings with Bow and Glimmer double dates. Suggesting they have Sea Hawk marry them on his little pontoon for tax benefits. A sort of performance for their friends, a running gag.

And then it started bleeding over into moments alone.

“Might? Damn, I need to try harder then.”

Like that. But the way she said it, Adora knew it was supposed to be a joke. Her heart didn’t, but she did. And that was totally fine, Catra didn’t have to feel that way about her, but damn, it kinda hurt pretending.

“Maybe this’ll do it for you,” Catra continued, leading them out of the trees.

Catra clicked off her flashlight, hearing Adora follow suit. In retrospect, it probably would have been a good idea to do that a little sooner. Let their eyes get adjusted and all that. But even with only the moonlight and stars to see her by, the look on Adora’s face was everything she’d hoped for.

Adora was beaming. The sort of unrestrained joy that lit her up, made her glow. Almost immediately she moved towards one of the boulders along the water’s edge, like Catra figured she might, and sat down. It made a pretty picture, Adora staring up at the stars reflected in the lake, cross-legged and teetering backwards, utterly awestruck.

This time, she really got it right.

Catra hopped up onto the rock beside her, resting her chin on her knees, mostly watching Adora. She’d seen this view before, and sure, it was gorgeous, but that was what Adora was here for, whether or not she knew it at the start of the hike. A tiny, hopeful spark settled in Catra’s chest. Adora didn’t know this view was waiting for her at the end of the hike. Just that she had grabbed her arm and said, “Come with me.” That was enough.

Suddenly, that brilliant smile was directed at her, and Catra had to fight to keep from falling off their perch.

“Catra, this is amazing.”

It wasn’t like Adora was a particularly insincere person, but damn, Catra had never heard her sound like that. Certainly never heard her say her name like that. (She really wanted to hear it again. Over and over and over-)

“Like I said, I came out here all the time as a kid,” Catra fought to keep her voice level, nonchalant. She wasn’t going to fuck this up, scare Adora off.

“And some news thing came up on my phone and said tonight would be good for stargazing. And you’re into that stuff, so. Thought you’d like it.”

A blatant lie. She’d been keeping an eye on forums for that shit for a couple weeks.

For a moment, Adora looked like she was going to say something, only to shut her mouth and just nod. She leaned back, stretching a little as she settled on her back to get a better look at the sky. Catra followed suit, nearly slamming her head against the stone in her haste to break her gaze from Adora’s… everything.

“You know any constellations?” Adora asked, apparently unaware of the distress the strip of skin between her shirt and pants was causing.

“Big Dipper. And the Little Dipper. And I know the astrology signs are up there but I don’t have a clue what they look like.”

If she could have sunk into the rock, Catra happily would have. She’d wanted to sound at least a little more informed. But panic set in and-

Panic quickly increased as Adora shuffled herself closer, until their sides were pressed together.

“Uh-”

“Here, I can show you,” Adora said, all cheerful and excited and kind of whispering? Why the fuck was she whispering?

“Right, uh. Go for it.” Why was she whispering now too?

For a few minutes, though, that seemed to be the end of it. Adora settled into drawing shapes between stars that looked nothing like what they were supposed to, and Catra relaxed a bit. Okay. Not so new. They’d practically cuddled on the couch at their place and at parties and shit. And despite the bizarre intimacy of the unnecessary whispering, her voice was soothing. Her heart rate was probably somewhere in the realm of normal again.

Then Adora moved her arm. The one between them. The one doing all the pointing. And she moved it behind Catra’s head. And she bent her arm to keep pointing things out, kinda pulling her head to her shoulder. And she tilted her head a little, resting her cheek against the top of Catra’s head, apparently trying to get as close to the same line of sight as she could while she pointed at an archer that looked nothing like an archer.

And Catra tried to listen, really she did. She knew this stuff was important to Adora, that was the whole reason she brought her out here in the first place. But also her head was resting on Adora’s shoulder and her whole side was pressed against her and her face was so close.

“You okay?” Adora asked, because that was a pretty normal thing to ask when someone basically stopped breathing and went stiff as a board.

“Mmhmm,” Catra answered, because yeah. This was like. Exactly how she had kind of hoped and imagined this would go? But also holy shit she’d underestimated her own nerves.

It was about then that Adora realized what she had done, and more accurately, the position she’d put them in.

“Oh. Shit. Sorry,” was about all that was able to escape from the absolute mess her mind was in. Forget losing a train of thought, the train of thought was on fire. The station was on fire. The whole damn railway system was on fire.

Suffice to say, Adora hadn’t meant to trap Catra in a stargazing cuddle pile and make her as uncomfortable as she clearly was. As soon as the disaster zone that was her brain allowed her, she slowly started extricating herself, not wanting to just, like, push Catra off her, but also not wanting to keep her there when she didn’t want to be. That had been, and still was, one of her biggest fears, and what she’d been trying to avoid since she first realized the “silly little roommate crush” was veering dangerously towards “falling in love with someone who has become your best friend.”

“Hold on,” Catra took a breath, and didn’t move the way Adora was kind of trying to get her to.  She actually kinda, relaxed? A bit? Which did not make sense.

“I didn’t mean to trap you like that-”

Catra’s hand whipped out, gripping the arm she was still trying to wiggle out from under her.

“Adora, just. Hold on. I’m freaking out ‘cause I’m gay, not because you fucked up. Just. Give me a sec.”

Absolutely all the time in the world was Catra’s at that moment, because Adora did not know what to do with that statement. At all. It suggested their joking had been a lot less one-sided than she’d originally thought. That someone—that Catra, who was an absolute genius and stunningly beautiful and so talented and could sing and play guitar and did amazingly thoughtful things like this…

Catra shifted then, flipping over so they could actually see each other, and god. They didn’t need words. Adora could feel herself melting, a soft smile settling on her face. One mirrored on Catra’s face, for a moment, before she started laughing.

“We’re idiots.”

Between giggles, Adora managed to squeak out a, “Yeah.”

They both sounded a little hysterical as they clung to each other, but years of tension released in a moment seemed unlikely to sound reasonable and controlled.

As their laughter subsided, Catra settled again, against Adora’s side, head back on her shoulder. Adora hoped she’d stay there, it felt… right.

“I love you,” Adora said quietly; it came easier than she had expected, not blurted or forced out in a rush. She was relaxed, smiling as she said it.

“I love you too.” Catra had been smiling too, she could tell. Not by sight, the angle was wrong, but because she couldn’t stop even as she drew their lips together.

[marie-dufresne]

Little Shooting Star

🧬 Main Verse Page 🧬

Little Shooting Star: It’s time for science, and healthy little interns make excellent test subjects.

Marie had found a rhythm down in the laboratory. Since she wasn’t actively involved in any research, she had taken it upon herself to ensure the professor was well taken care of, as he didn’t seem to have any interest in doing it himself.

At six, six-thirty, seven, seven-thirty, and eight, she presented him with a fresh cup of coffee. Between the hours of seven and eleven, she refilled his water every forty-five minutes. At noon, tea accompanied take-out lunch. Water until two. From two to five, she alternated water and coffee on the half-hour. At six, another take-out meal served with either cola or whiskey depending on the progression of his day. Then it was water every forty minutes until eight, where she put on a pot of coffee, placed his clean mug next to his diary, and left for the night.

On Mondays she re-stocked the cabinet with cigarettes. She couldn’t stand the stench of the things, but it was not her place to tell him to quit so instead, she made herself busy emptying out his ashtray as often as she could. This also allowed her to count how many he’d had, and be at the ready to switch out his empty pack for a fresh one without him ever having to move from his task or pat his coat and mumble, ‘the fuck are my smokes?’

It was a system that worked. She stayed out of everyone’s way while still being useful. Hojo would never admit to being impressed, but he found himself moving in sync with her, despite his days being largely unstructured to begin with. Perhaps having an intern wasn’t the worst thing that had been foisted upon him.

A few months into her tenure with him, he found himself on a stool in his office, a small side project having failed its first go. With his legs up on the highest rungs, he pursed his lips, staring at a severed arm on a tray, watching the liquid he’d dropped into the gash he’d cut…do absolutely nothing at all.

He gave a little grunt. How disappointing.

Marie appeared in the office then, right on time with a steaming coffee. He almost ignored her, but the underside her arm caught his eye.

“How much do you know about cell regeneration?”

She laughed, completely unfazed by the decaying arm before her. (It wasn’t the first time.)

“Nothing? Come on, professor,” she teased, taking his long hair in her hand, gently twisting the ponytail around her wrist before returning it to his back with a flourish, “you know that.”

Hojo spun on the stool, taking hold of that hand and feeling the silky flesh of her wrist. She was always touching him. Why?

“It’s time for a lesson,” he decided, his grip tightening as he pulled her over to the table and pressed her arm down, yanking her slightly while he brought up two leather straps to secure the appendage in place. His concoction hadn’t worked on the dead. Perhaps on the living.

Marie was easy to overpower, easy to stun, and found herself unable to resist being restrained and she stood, slightly hunched over the steel table, eyes wide. Why would he need to restrain her?

“All living things are able to regenerate to some degree,” he began, pushing the severed arm out of the way and presenting her with an amber bottle of swirling fluid, “let’s see if we can help the process along, hm?”

“…what?”

He ignored her soft concern and gestured to the bottle. “That there is liquid Cure. Or at least a prototype of it. You and I are going to work together to see if it works. Since you aren’t equipped to use materia, consider this compensation for your participation. If it is successful, of course.”

Her….participation?

“I don’t…I don’t understand. Materia is magic. How can you just put it in a bottle?!”

An annoyed brow piqued at her question and he swiped a recording device from his desk before thrusting his face barely an inch from hers.

“There is no such thing as magic, Fuzzy. Only incompetent idiots who can’t grasp the concept science will tell you otherwise.”

He didn’t give her a chance to question him further, pressing a button on the device and turning from her.

“Liquid Cure test number two. Subject is living. Human female in her late teens, generally healthy with no known defects…”

Marie pulled at her arm, trying to free it from the straps, and the leather cut into her skin, the friction of the raw edge unkind against the tender flesh.

“I—I’m not a test subject!” she protested, shoes slipping against the polished concrete, giving her no footing. How many times had she been told to wear rubber soles?

“Everyone is a test subject,” he replied, an offhanded remark as he pulled open a drawer, retrieving a fresh scalpel and lowering himself to his chair, rolling over to where he’d trapped her. “Life itself is an experiment, isn’t it?”

Eyes wide, Marie’s gaze darted from the blade to his face, back and forth, trying to decide whether he was playing a cruel prank on her or if he actually intended on cutting her open. He seemed serious, scooting his chair over before he stood, adjusting his glasses slightly as he peered over at her arm.

“A little bit of advice to you, since ladies are so fond of exsanguination. Should you ever feel the desire to make an attempt on your life, you’ll end it far quicker if you travel down the road—“ he trailed a fingertip down the length of her exposed arm, giving her a little smirk before he made a little pass across her wrist, “—than across.”

What? …was he giving her…suicide tips?

 Her throat got tight and she tried wiggling again, shaking her head so violently, she might as well have been vibrating.

“I don’t want to do this,” she told him, chin wobbling as the tears built up along her lashline, spilling over and leaving ugly tracks as they fell. “I don’t—no, no, this is not—this is not my job.”

Hojo let out a little breath of air through his nose, turning to look up at her, undeterred by her tears.

“Whether it’s your job or not doesn’t matter to me. I have an opportunity, so I’m taking it. Now hold still and don’t scream. I have a headache.”

His hand was on her arm then, ignoring the way she thrashed against the restraints and her pleas for him to stop. Every ‘sir’ or ‘no’ or ‘please’ fell on deaf ears, his eyes focused only on the limb beneath his blade. He wasn’t the reckless madman she was no doubt painting him as. He knew where to cut safely, how to cut safely and, if he hadn’t successfully liquified Cure, how to stitch her up so she wouldn’t bleed out. She was perfectly safe, even if the blood spilling up over her arm and pooling on the steel beneath her suggested otherwise.

Satisfied with the incision, he reached over for the bottle. “Stop moving,” he warned, “you’ll die faster if you keep panicking.”

Marie felt one of her fingernails crack right down the middle, so strong was her grip on the lip of the table she was confined to. She obeyed, perhaps more out of shock than anything else, eyes fixated on the sight of her own mutilation before her, desperately trying to make an excuse for it.

It was for science. For science. For science. If they were successful, if he was successful, they could help people with this discovery. It would be a good thing.

Clenching her fist, she squeezed her eyes shut when he reached for the bottle, and prepared for anything worse than the searing pain shooting up her arm. What she felt instead, was cold. It was a pleasant cold, like drinking iced water after chewing a minty stick of gum, or the soothing chill of menthol gel on a congested chest. It tingled slightly, like the way a limb comes back after being asleep and she opened her eyes, fist still clenched beneath the leather straps.

“Well look at that.”

Her arm was…fine. Bloodied, but in tact again. The professor ran his hand over the soft flesh, feeling for the wound, rubbing at it to find weakness, but even he quirked a brow and gave a satisfied hum.

Marie couldn’t find it in herself to speak. She was unable to move, to think, to comprehend what she was seeing. It seemed more to her than she’d imagined everything. It was far easier to believe that she’d hallucinated the incision than it was to believe her body had simply healed itself within seconds.

She didn’t register him unbuckling the straps and freeing her arm, or the wet cloth he tossed at her. Ten minutes passed by and not a single muscle in her body had moved. She wasn’t thinking. Her existence was floating somewhere else, somewhere out of tune with her surroundings, and it wasn’t until Hojo took hold of her chin, forcing her to look at him that she came back.

Her lips moved, but just barely, in a small whisper that tried to be ‘what?’, but died quickly on her tongue.

“I said, clean up.”

She turned back to the table, her neck moving in a mechanical, rusted manner, taking in the blood that coated her skin, drying and caking around an invisible wound but from there, was unable to do anything else.

Hojo pursed his lips, a short breath of annoyance huffing out his nose. Her stomach was strong. He appreciated that. Her mind, however, he found lacking. She was in shock, and there wasn’t much to be done about it now.

He kicked his chair over to her, pushing her down into it and shook his head, swiping up the cloth and returning to the sink. Fine. He’d do the cleaning then. It was just a little blood.

Honey, not vinegar.

He cleaned the table first. It was easy work and done quickly, sanitized, and like new. The beauty of metal. He nudged a second chair over with his foot, catching himself as he plopped onto it, then scooted over to his assistant, taking her arm in his hand as he began to tend to the steadily drying stickiness on her arm.

“You…you did well,” he told her, rubbing the burgundy from the little light hairs on her forearm, “and…you’re fine now. You’re going to be fine.”

Or at least he thought she could be. Who knew what side effects she could suffer from. Not many, he predicted.

She relaxed a bit, blinking and watching him tend to her, before she heaved a sigh. Good, she was coming around.

“I probably would have said yes.”

Hojo looked up, taking in the murky splotches of makeup beneath her eyes and on her cheeks, realizing he’d never seen her any less than put together until now.

“If you had just asked,” she clarified, “If you had asked to try it out on me…it would have been easier.”

He let out a small chuckle, wheeling back to the sink and wetting a new cloth. So lost in his enthusiasm, he hadn’t even considered asking. Easier to beg forgiveness and all. Not that he had any intention of begging her forgiveness, but if she had denied his request, having forced her into the experiment regardless would likely have bit him in the ass afterwards.

“Well I’ll remember that next time,” he mused, rolling back to her and lifting the damp cloth up to her cheek, wiping away the smudges.

“I don’t want to think about a next time right now,” she admitted, one little corner of her mouth turning up just a hair, “I’m all scienced out.”

He nodded, understanding. He supposed he had acted a bit rashly. He’d grown accustomed to the way she made things work for him. He’d grown spoiled; he wouldn’t jeopardize it just yet.

“Go ahead and go home for the day,” he suggested, pressing the bottle into her hand and curling her fingers around it, “rest up and call if anything unusual happens.”

She was staring again and he dipped his head, conceding, “…whenever you’re ready.”

He placed a cup of water down on the table, then resumed his work. She left shortly after, bidding him good afternoon and stopping to be sure there was a fresh pot of coffee on for him to retrieve in her absence.

There was silence for the better part of the rest of his day, the hours spent arranging data, calculating, and projecting. It wasn’t until somewhere after nine that the phone rang and he answered without much of a thought.

“…professor? It’s Marie.”

The assistant? He perked up a bit. He hadn’t expected a phone call from her, truth be told. Cure was a pretty reliable materia and liquifying it hadn’t exactly been rocket science. Something no one else had yet managed to accomplish, but still a simple enough process.

“Ah…good evening, Fuzzy. Is everything alright?”

There was silence on the other line for a moment, and a little bit of rustling. He heard the jingle of keys.

“I’m coming back,” she told him, “there’s….there’s something you need to see.”

“Oh?”

“Sir I’m…glowing.”

She arrived within twenty minutes, and he found amusement in the way she barely scanned her badge in before she came bursting through the doors—the exact opposite of how she’d left. There was a smile on her face now, wonder in her eyes, and when she reached him, she took him by the hand, pulling him into his office and shutting the door behind them.

“Look,” she breathed, holding out her arm to him and grinning as she flicked off the light, exposing a hundred or so little aquamarine dots twinkling beneath her skin, dancing along the length of where the incision had been.

This was a surprise. It had…separated during the moments of curing, leaving behind traces of pure mako trapped beneath. It wasn’t much, probably not enough exposure to cause her too much long term harm, but he’d monitor her regardless. It would be interesting to see—the long term effects of constant minimal exposure.

“You really are a wonderful specimen,” he marveled, taking her arm and examining it in the darkness, how vividly the mako shone through, “my little shooting star.”

He couldn’t see it, but she smiled.

She didn’t realize, but he felt the way her heart quickened at the affectionate words.

[imagines-oneshots-blog]

Hello my Lovely Readers, it’s time for Work in Progress Wednesday!! This round is for my fic, Blood and Gold and Bedroom Eyes featuring John Wick x Reader!! As many of you have probably seen (and quite possibly be annoyed by), I’ve fallen into a major dumpster for John Wick/Keanu Reeves as of late, and the inspiration has kicked in to pick up this fic again!! So for today’s WIP Wednesday I’ll be sharing a clip from Chapter 4 of BGBE with you all! I have to be honest friends, I got a little carried away with this one…I have 5,000 words and I’m not even through HALF of the plots points I wanted to fit into this chapter! 😲 So needless to say this next update will be a honkin’ one lol. It’s still very much in the editing stage and therefore is subject to change, but please do enjoy, I can’t wait for you all to read this one!! ❤️❤️❤️ Tags: @raspberrymama - I know you’ll love this one, girl!  Anyone else that wants to be tagged in future updates, just shoot me a message and let me know!

Chapter 4: Death and the Maiden

I. Of Monsters, Men, and Torrid Truths

 The hum of the Mustang’s engine rumbled beneath John’s seat like the grumble of a disgruntled beast, one with skin made of metal and a bleeding molten heart hewn of iron and pistons and gasoline. Well, that makes two bleeding hearts in this car, John mused wryly. But at least his was forged from flesh and blood and costly promises. If someone had him cornered, a gun held to his head and his hands tied behind his back, demanding to know what in all of heaven and earth had spurred him to offer his home to you as a temporary hideout from that sleazy gangster Ritchie and his hitmen, John would have had to send a prayer to whatever god of death would listen to the devil and prepare to meet them soon, because he had no good answer to that particular question. It wasn’t that John couldn’t be honest with himself, in fact he made it a nearly infallible habit to embrace the truth, no matter how damning, but the simple fact was that he just didn’t know. He didn’t have a name for the molten sensations that bloomed in his chest each time he stole a glance at you curled up in the passenger’s seat, your bare dainty feet tucked beneath you, your head resting on the pillow of your entwined arms propped up against the door, a stray curl kissing the silken curve of your cheek as you dozed. He couldn’t identify the source of the fierce protective need he felt twitching the tendons of his trigger finger, tensing the wearied line of his shoulders, every time he remembered the crude comments of that lumbering, tattooed thug he’d dispatched in the hallways of the club. He had no classification for the tenderness that ached in his chest at the trust lilting in your touch as you’d slipped your hand in his, your fingers steady despite the damning crimson spilled across his palm, no justification for why the innocence banked in your glinting gaze when you smiled up at him could briefly stop his heart. Or maybe he did, and he just didn’t want to admit it to himself quite yet. Besides, John reasoned as an igneous slip of heat settled with wicked intent between his hip bones, though you were many things, you weren’t really all that innocent, were you? Before each one of your pre-scheduled back room meetings John would sit in that velvet lined chair and wage a brutal, silent war with himself, stalwartly battling the impulse to imagine what lace hewn, daydream inducing creation would grace your gorgeous body today. He wasn’t too proud to admit that he’d lost every time. He’d particularly enjoyed the strappy red gossamer and brocade number you had worn to your penultimate encounter; blooming thickets of embroidered crimson flowers and sheer mesh hiding the more tantalizing bits of your billowing body from him even as it had bared everything else for his greedy gaze. John found it shockingly enticing to see that deadly color splashed against exposed flesh in a markedly more alluring form, a stark juxtaposition to the typical rending of flesh and the slashing of throats that he was accustomed to. John would be lying if he said that in those charged midnight hours spent tossing in his lonely bed, his battered mind left to wander freely, he hadn’t imagined stripping one or two of those wicked outfits off of you with both seeking fingers and nipping teeth, unwrapping your lithe, stunning body like a present. Hungry for thoughts that weren’t tinged with sorrow or bloodshed, he’d close his eyes and wonder how your soft, luminous skin would heat beneath his calloused palms, if you’d part your legs eagerly for him, grant him access to the hallowed cradle of your thighs. Would you lick those tempting ruby lips and sigh against his mouth, desire coiling thickly in that lilting sirens voice of yours as you beg him to touch the billowing wealth of curves waiting beneath his fallow fingers?

And then he’d rail at himself, chastising his baser impulses with stark reminders that you were so young; a decade younger than him at least, maybe more. And then a fresh round of castigations would begin because that fact really shouldn’t send a searing frisson of heat skittering down his spine, curling devilishly low in his belly, but Jesus fucking Christ, did it ever. No matter how much John tried to evade it, the simple fact was that even with smudged eyeliner, a tired smile, and dark circles splayed above your cheekbones, you were still the most stunning thing within miles of this shitty metropolis. Huffing in a slow, deep breath, John forced his mind to fixate on safer things than the tempting curve of your cupid’s bow, on the plan. Now that the hard part of extracting you from danger was done you would hide out at his house for a while, laying low long enough for Winston to dig up the locations of Ritchie’s safe houses, and then for John to hunt down each and every member of Ritchie’s entourage before he finally took care of the gun-toting mobster himself. John had known many gangsters in his life, thugs whose malice ranged from relatively harmless to utterly savage, had done each one of their bidding for the price of a glinting, garish, golden coin, but something about Ritchie made John’s stomach turn. A quiet voice in the back of his head supplied that it was probably because Ritchie had known you, had touched you and tasted you and still ordered your death, and that lack of loyalty colored his resentment with a particular bitterness that was tinged with what could almost be perceived as jealousy, but John stalwartly reasoned that mostly it was the company Ritchie kept, or perhaps even the man himself. Regardless, John was glad to finally have someone truly deserving in his sightlines.

Despite the fact that bloodshed was still a part of his dossier, at least the right people were in his crosshairs now. In fact, it felt good, cleansing almost, to have a new purpose, a hard-won sense of freedom, the power to act on his own will instead of the corrupted appetites of gang bosses and greedy assassins.

John’s mind remained occupied with the finer details of his mission as he drove into the night, his thoughts turning to the tracking of mob members and the infiltration of safehouses as the bright neon lights of the city faded steadily into industrial parks and highways and manicured green lawns. He had just settled on the order in which he’d dispatch the various branches of Ritchie’s crime syndicate when the Mustang’s tires crunched onto the familiar gravel of his driveway.

You were still asleep when John put the car in park, letting the engine idle as he cast an appraising eye over your slumbering form. He hesitated for a moment, his fingers frozen on the steering wheel. It was strange, bringing another woman into the sanctum of his house - into he and Helen’s house - as heavily laden with memories as it was. For the length of a heartbeat John wondered if this was a mistake, if his desire for redemption, for justice, had led him straight into a severe lapse of judgement, but then you sighed in sleep and shifted towards him a measure, the palm you had resting in your lap tilting upwards as if begging him to slip his fingers into the spaces between your own, and John finally had to remind himself of his wife’s last request and admit to himself that much of the former magic of his home had faded. Too many ghosts lived there now.

And besides, there was nowhere else safer for you than right here by his side, with him to protect you, to safeguard you.

In the devil’s own domain, John thought with a humorless chuckle.

Though he’d never say it out loud and risk losing the hard-won status he’d painstakingly built over his long bloody life, John looked upon his monstrous reputation with a healthy measure of disdain so fierce, it could resemble hatred in the right light. Even though he was The Boogeyman, the assassin that every killer feared, a murderer with more red in his ledger than could ever be wiped clean, John desperately wanted to be someone who was thought of with more than terror-tinged reverence, careful apprehension, and forced civility. He wanted to be regarded the way Helen used to look at him; with soft smiles and smooth brows and glinting, gentle eyes that held nothing but a simmering measure of fondness so sincere, it made his throat suddenly tight and his heart a size too large for his battered chest.

The way you had looked at him tonight.

And with this one last job, one final flurry of guns and carnage and glinting golden coins, he just might be able to secure a measure of that once more, redeem the sliver of his soul that wasn’t damned to writhe in the fiery pits of hell for all the death he had dealt.

So, after a steeling breath and a silent plea sent desperately to whatever blood-soaked deity would still heed him, John reached out a steady hand and gently shook you awake.

[izaswritings]

all that’s left in the world | chapter nine

Title: all that’s left in the world—

Synopsis: —is me.

Neku’s been shot and Shibuya is threatening to go the same way as Shinjuku, but just because the first Game is over doesn’t mean they’ve forgotten how to play.

Or: Neku deals with a nightmare city and his most annoying (and mathematical) partner yet; Shiki and Joshua commit an escalating number of illegal moves, Beat and Eri hunt down a stray Reaper, and Rhyme watches and waits for the counter-attack. Shibuya refuses to go down easy.

Fandom: The World Ends With You | TWEWY

Warnings: cursing, murder and erasure mentions, and referenced character death via the Reaper’s Game. If there’s anything in the chapter you feel I missed, let me know and I’ll add it on here!

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AO3 Link is here!

Previous chapters are here!

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part nine: neku

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.

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It’s all gone. It’s all gone away. She took it all away.

I told her to stop, I asked her to stop—she won’t stop. Stop her. Please, someone stop her.

She’s going to take everything.

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.

.

Neku is starting to lose patience.

It’s day two in this new nightmare game, and their progress has been… null, basically. Surprise surprise. The night was long and restless and Neku barely slept at all, too wound up and waiting and convinced, deep down, that any second now he’d blink and the day would change, time taken away, Day 2 start. But the blackout had never come, and now it is morning, and he feels like he’s been here years instead of only 24 hours, the timer on his hand ticked down to six days and counting.

He wakes up before Minamimoto, and watches the seconds fall away for a long time before he thinks to move. Six days. Six full days. Neku curls his hand into a fist. He knows he’s not going to kill Joshua. But then, what is Neku going to do?

He’s already lost a day. And yeah, sure he has six days left to make it count, but— but still. He feels ill. He watches the sky lighten outside of his window—the blood red shine in the clouds is lovely, fucking perfect, leave it to Coco to fuck up literally everything—and exhales very softly. Okay. Okay.

Day 2, here they go.

“Now might be a good time for another future vision,” he says to the girl whose voice has been haunting his head, only half joking. He’d heard echoes of her throughout the night—whispered mutterings and pleas, and flashes of a ruined road through a suburb. But once again, there’s no reply, though there’s a static buzz in his ears that feels kind of itchy. Neku sighs.

Minamimoto wakes up not long after, and they hit the roads before the city has fully lit up. The border is a no-go; all that’s left is to scour the town. The problem is—and yeah, it kind of horrifies Neku to realize it—but the problem is there’s nothing to do. They don’t know where they are. They don’t know where they’re going. There’s no missions or wall requests or shops or anything, and yeah, okay, it’s getting to him.

I can say this for Joshua’s Game, Neku thinks, bitterly, picking his way after Minamimoto—who has, once again, taken off without even checking if Neku was awake. The asshole. At least it was never boring.

He’s sort of annoyed he has to even admit that, honestly— even more annoyed to find he misses it. The daily missions had been terrifying, the shopping exasperating, the Support Reapers their own brand of trouble… but at least there had been something to do. A goal to fixate on, distractions to find, people to Reaper Creeper or whatever.

There’s none of that here. There’s nothing here. Just monsters, and empty buildings, and fucking Pi-Face, who has, somehow, in less than a day, stolen the title of “worst partner ever” right out of Joshua’s hands. Neku hadn’t thought it possible, but hey! Here they are!

He’s in a life-or-death deathtrap of a game, and he’s bored. Neku is aware of the irony.

He shoves his hands in his pockets, irritated with himself, and kicks hard at a rock in the road. They’re in some ruin of the main city shopping district—the numerous alleyways and big destroyed pavilion give it away, honestly—and while they’ve fought a few Noise, and run into another one of the possessed people again, all in all its almost mid-day and Neku is starting to get restless.

He tries not to think about what Minamimoto had said last night—or implied, anyway, but isn’t that basically the same thing? It’s not like… Neku doesn’t feel at home in the Game. He doesn’t. He doesn’t even miss it. Maybe it was the place where Neku found himself—maybe it was the place that really made him see the city, and the people around him—but Neku is glad the Game is over. He really is.

But that doesn’t change the fact that Minamimoto wasn’t entirely wrong. Because—and its sick, kind of, because Neku feels settled, here, for the first time in a while. The lightning in his hands, the power in his grasp—it soothes some restless drive Neku hadn’t even realized was there. It’s easier to stop jumping at shadows, because the danger is back and it is real, and it is terrible, it is the worst thing ever, because some part of Neku, beneath the terror and the anger and the frustration at doing all this again—some part of him is whispering, finally.

And no, that’s it, he’s got to stop thinking about this, full stop. Neku clenches his hands in and out of fists and sighs.

“This isn’t working,” Neku says, loudly, stopping on one street corner. Minamimoto… keeps walking. “Hey, Grim Heaper! This isn’t working. We have to figure something else out.”

Because god knows they aren’t getting anywhere with aimless wandering. They’ve already found the border of the city, their one achievement from yesterday— but they’re caged in here, so that’s a useless avenue too. Neku really doesn’t get it. Kill the Composer of Shibuya, but they can’t even get into Shibuya. He can’t tell if this is on purpose or if Coco just, like… forgot or something.

It’s probably on purpose. There’s probably something else going on. God forbid Neku ever gets shot by someone normal, who makes mistakes, like a reasonable person. No, no. He gets all the megalomaniacs, instead. And Joshua, whatever Joshua counts as.

And… Minamimoto is still walking. Holy shit.

“Hey!”

“Eight, nine, ten seconds wasted,” Minamimoto snaps back. “Useless radian. Who gives a digit what you think? It’s all figured out. Don’t become an unknown variable.”

Neku hates that he even knows what that means. It feels like some kind of insult, maybe? Neku was good at math in school. Numbers made sense, sort of. Leave it to damn Pi-Face to make it irritating, though. Ugh. “Figured out,” Neku repeats. “Figured out by who!? Look, asshole, we’re basically walking in circles. There’s nothing here!”

Walking in circles. Wait. Does that count as a math pun?

Neku is briefly distracted from rage by the urge to strangle himself. Never again. He will not be swayed. Joshua would never let him live it down.

(If he ever shows up again. If he even—)

“My calculations are flawless,” Minamimoto is saying, providing a wonderful distraction from the direction Neku’s thoughts were taking. Thank god. “Constants should just stay in line and act as they’re supposed to.”

“Great, wonderful, except I’m not a constant.” Neku resists the urge to throw up his hands. “Why are you even— we already established we’re not getting into Shibuya. What are you looking for?”

Minamimoto snorts. Neku narrows his eyes, and talks fast, before he can get insulted again. “And don’t tell me I don’t need to know. Are you a Reaper or not? Don’t you know how the Game works? We’re in a pact, asshole. Work with me here. Where are we going.”

Minamimoto makes a face, but he finally stops walking, and turns back around to consider Neku again. “What else? There’s only one possible solution.”

“Kill the Composer, yeah, but—”

“Think! The numbers add up. If we can’t get into Shibuya, you useless hectopascal, then we don’t need to. Easy math.”

Neku stalls, at that. Sure, he’d thought as much. But… it doesn’t make sense. Why would Joshua leave Shibuya? Why would he even need to? Unless he’s here for Neku, but… hah. Wishful thinking, right? Neku may be alive and well (or, he was), and that says a lot, but… it’s been a month since the Game. Two, three weeks since he spoke to Joshua, and invited him to the statue. And invited him again. And again.

Joshua never answered.

So, yeah. No. Maybe the math is making sense to Minamimoto, but it’s definitely not adding up for him.

But again: saying any of this to freaking Pi-Face is just, hah. Not happening. Neku shoves his hands in his pockets and looks away, ducking his chin to better hide his expression in his collar. “Why does it even matter?” he says, grudgingly curious. “Do you want to be Composer that bad?”

Minamimoto scoffs. “That’s a zetta stupid question. Why not?”

And that’s. Well. “Are you serious?” Neku snaps, suddenly irritated with the whole mess. Everything this guy did. The Taboo Noise, the explosions, everything. And his goddamn reasoning is “why not?” People had died. Reapers and Players alike— Sota, Nao, the support Reaper. It makes something curl tight and ugly in his chest, makes something else echo in his ears.

There are things from the Game that haunt him always, and this is one of them: Sota’s face, smiling pained but true. Even Joshua seemingly struck silent. The way Sota just seemed to… fade away. Gone in a matter of seconds, nothing left behind, as if he’d never been there at all.

You two survive. Get your old partner back. I hope all three of you… get back safe.

“Whatever.” Minamimoto turns away. “We’ve wasted enough time. If you’re done, I want to at least check out Shinjuku Park before—”

“No, I’m not done!” Neku yanks at his shoulder, spinning him around; the older teen is taller than him, sure, but Neku curls his fingers in that stupid collar and holds tight, something cold and angry singing through his veins. “For someone who likes math so much, you aren’t that fucking good at it!”

Where every other insult slips off, this is the one thing that seems to knock Minamimoto sideways. He gapes, for one instant, and then his mouth snaps shut, an angry flush darkening his cheeks. His eyes are bright with rage. “You—”

“Shut up,” Neku snaps, furious. “What is with you!? Do you get the Game or not? I’m not some part of your stupid equation! I’m not going to just agree and follow you because you say so!” He snarls, a little. “What is your plan? Do you even have one? Because if its ‘kill the Composer,’ again—”

Minamimoto grips at Neku’s wrist, almost in warning, nails digging into the skin of his hand. “My calculations are flawless! This opportunity—”

“Because you did so well at killing Josh the last three times you tried,” Neku says, flat. He lets go of Minamimoto’s collar, stepping back and away in disgust. “For flawless calculations, they sure didn’t work out right, did they?”

Minamimoto’s lips curl back from his teeth, the first open expression of rage Neku’s seen from him yet. “You—”

“Useless radian? Factoring hectopascal?” Neku crosses his arms, unimpressed. “Brain-dead binomial? Right. Okay. You haven’t done anything.”

Minamimoto looks wild around the eyes. “I did everything!” He opens his arms. “Reborn! I can never die! I—”

“You didn’t accomplish shit!” Neku retorts. “You know, except for killing a bunch of people. Congratulations. You’re a grade-A murderer with nothing to show for it.” He throws up his hands. “Shades may have brainwashed the whole damn city, but at least he had a reason! But, what, you just did all that for kicks? Because you could?” Neku lowers his hands, scoffing. “Get a new hobby, if you’re so bored.”

There’s a beat of silence. Minamimoto is grit-toothed and furious, but then something flashes over his face, and he almost seems to falter. His eyes narrow. His fingers curl, and his smile returns, almost a bare of teeth. “Josh, huh?” he says, coolly. “I guess you figured out your little partner’s identity after all.”

Neku lifts his chin, leaning back on his heels. “So what if I did?”

“Then you’re in the same boat as me.” His smile flashes to a grin, wide and fierce. “The Composer’s identity is jealously guarded. Past failures don’t matter. We eliminate him, or he eliminates us.”

Neku stares at him. “That’s… what? But I’ve known for—”

He cuts himself off. It’s too late. Minamimoto is staring at him. “What?” he says. The anger returns. This time he steps forward. “What did you say?”

Neku scowls back at him. If the Grim Heaper thinks he can play at being intimidating, he’s got another thing coming. Neku has vivid memories of this guy getting crushed under a car. The more time he talks with Minamimoto, the more said memory becomes a cheerful recollection. “I found out about Josh at the end of my third week,” he says, stiffly. Hell, he’d told Shiki and Beat and Rhyme, too. No one had stopped him. He hadn’t even known he wasn’t allowed, and nothing happened afterwards, either. Yet another thing to add on the exhausting list of shit Joshua’s done that Neku doesn’t know how to feel about, apparently. “It’s been, what, a month since then?”

“So you hid it—”

“Uh, no, he outed himself pretty obviously. He knows I know.” Neku places a hand on his hip, unimpressed. “Don’t ask me why, either. I don’t know why Joshua does anything, but at least he makes more sense than you.”

Some sense, anyway. The things Joshua says and the things he does, always at odds. But on some level, Neku understands Joshua better than he’s understood anyone, and even now, it still applies. Minamimoto, though. No. And it burns, really, because Neku is trying, he’s partnered with this guy and there must be a reason, there must be some way they can work together, but the more he interacts with him the angrier he is. Sota, Nao. Even Joshua, still, somewhere deep inside Neku’s head, the part that forgets Joshua was never dead at all, the part that’s stuck, always, on that moment—the hand shoving him away, and Joshua’s knowing smile.

Neku, I thought you couldn’t afford to lose.

“Tell me what you want,” Neku says. “Or you’re doing this on your own.”

Minamimoto scoffs. “I don’t need you.”

“Yeah, you do. Partners, remember? If I don’t fight, asshole, then neither can you.”

Silence. Minamimoto narrows his eyes. “…You’d be wide open for attack.”

“Sure.” Neku tilts his head. “But I got really good at running for my life, those three weeks in the Game. But what about you? Reapers, right?” He meets Minamimoto’s gaze and holds it. “Do you still remember what it’s like to live on the run?”

Minamimoto’s fingers curl and uncurl by his sides, restless fists. His expression is thunderous. Neku waits. “Talk,” he prompts, cold. “Otherwise, I’m out.”

His lip curls in a sneer, but in the end, Minamimoto looks away. There’s a pause. He hisses under his breath and then says, grudgingly, “You ever hear the Music?”

Neku blinks, a little thrown. It worked? Holy shit. “What music?”

“The Music,” Minamimoto says, with scornful emphasis. “The city. Shibuya’s eternal code.”

Neku presses his lips. “…Yeah,” he admits. “Only after leaving the Game, though.” His mouth twists, and he looks away, missing it suddenly and fiercely. He wishes he were home. “It’s… it’s really something.”

Minamimoto snorts. “Is it?” Neku snaps his head up, glaring, but Minamimoto isn’t looking at him, eyes distant, staring hard down into the ruined alleyways. “A month, huh? Maybe it’s changed, then.” He smiles, cold and hard. “It was wrong.”

Neku considers him, silently. Slowly, his arms uncross. His stance loosens. He waits, and he listens.

“It used to make sense,” Minamimoto mutters, sounding bitter. “Perfect equations, clear solutions… clean, precise, perfect. Like prime numbers. It stood on its own.” He shakes his head. “But whoever was crunching in the equation—ugh! It was infuriating! Those off-hand notations! Those useless digits! It messed up the whole operation!” His hands clench to fists by his sides.

“So, you decided to take over,” Neku says, neutrally. Despite himself, he understands. The Music—Shibuya’s song—he can’t imagine listening, and hearing it get distorted. The clamoring notes, the harmony, the unceasing melody… he’s not sure he’d, like, jump to murder, but… he’d want to fix it too, if he heard. If the melody started to break.

“One misplaced variable and the whole thing breaks down,” Minamimoto agrees. “QED. An equation that isn’t working has to be redone.”

“…Fine. Okay. I can get that.” Hell, it even fits. Hadn’t Shades—and even Joshua—said the same? The whole point of that nightmare three-week Game was to see if Shibuya could be saved. Shades had thought brainwashing was the solution; Joshua hadn’t seemed to think there would be a solution at all, though he must have changed his mind. And now Minamimoto— the final piece in the puzzle. New management, new rules, and new song.

And yet. “But Shibuya isn’t like that anymore. I mean, I don’t think so, anyway. And even if it was…” That melody. The sing-song harmony. “Everyone’s got their own world. Off-key notes are bound to happen. That’s just… that’s part of the song, too. It can’t always work out. People aren’t like that.” He smiles, a little. “Shibuya isn’t like that.”

“Hah!” Minamimoto says, looking amused and something like scornful. He reaches up again, as if to mess with his hat, and after a momentary pause rolls his eyes and settles his fingers in his hair instead, pushing back the stray strands. “Is that what you think? That’s no solution at all!”

Neku frowns, annoyed again. He leans back on his heels, shoving his hands back in his pockets. “Oh yeah? Then what’s your idea of Shibuya?”

“Haven’t you been paying attention?” Minamimoto opens his arms, cackling. “A new equation! A working component! Factor out the unneeded variables and reach the ultimate value, the true balance between the numbers!”

Neku narrows his eyes at that, thinking it over. “That’s…” Minamimoto is grinning. “No.”

Minamimoto blinks. His fingers curl, smile turning hard with challenge. “Oh?”

Neku crosses his arms, feeling tired all over again. “That’s not— that’s not how people work. You’re the same as Shades.”

“Megs didn’t have even half the vision—”

“Same concept, though, isn’t it?” Neku shakes his head. “People don’t—people don’t make sense, okay? Look, I get it. I used to think… walking those streets… it was all noise. It was all—messy and unplanned and chaotic and everyone had their world and I had mine and the moment those lines got crossed, it was just… so I get it.” He sighs. “But you’re wrong. I was wrong. Shibuya, other people… we can’t pretend to stay separate. We’re all a part of the same whole. We change ourselves and each other without meaning to. We knock into one another and make a mess, and find ourselves in the chaos.” Like CAT’s artwork murals. The symbols piled together, the noise condensed into a beautiful whole, a tapestry of art and music and math and fashion and dreams and—everything. Anything.

“Other people aren’t worthless,” Neku says. “Use whatever math term you want to insult me, but your attitude is just pissing me off. You aren’t the only one in the world, you know. Sorry, but it’s my home too.” He shrugs. “So, no. I don’t think it would have worked. Shibuya isn’t always going to make sense—to follow an equation or a plan.”

Minamimoto looks bored. “The typical nonsense of a radian.”

He should feel insulted, maybe? But all Neku can feel is tired. He turns away. “Whatever. I tried.” It figures, that for all the lessons Neku has learned, he’s not too good at teaching them. But that’s fine, too. Minamimoto’s worldview isn’t his problem— but Neku wonders, honestly, how long he’ll be able to keep that arrogant attitude, when the world as Neku knows it tends to run roughshod over the people who think they know everything.

He wonders, if the answer comes, if Minamimoto would even recognize it.

“You were right about Shibuya needing to change,” Neku says, finally, looking up at that churning gray sky. He can admit this much. But at the same time… Neku saw Shibuya change, little by little, those three weeks. Ai and Mina, making up; Sota and Nao, willing to lend a kind hand and kind ear for someone else’s sake; Ken Doi sticking to his principles; Makoto’s boss leaving Reaper Creeper and the honest advice he gave when he did. People didn’t change because someone new came in charge and told them what to do. Shibuya changed because its people talked to each other. Because they tried. And because someone else listened.

“But you wouldn’t have been able to change it.”

This time, Minamimoto doesn’t say anything.

Neku sighs. His headache has returned with a vengeance; it pounds behind his eyes like a heartbeat, like static crackling in his ears, the echo of another voice. He rubs at his temple, and turns to start walking. “…Never mind. Let’s just go.”

He gets five steps away before he realizes Minamimoto isn’t following. He turns back around. “Look—” Minamimoto has turned away, head tilted back, frowning as if in concentration. His fingers are tapping restless on his knee. “…What is it?”

Minamimoto waves a dismissive hand at him, looking distracted. “Zetta shut up for a sec. I need to…” He doesn’t finish the thought. His eyebrows knit. “Ugh, this place is messing with the parameters.”

Neku scowls at him, a little annoyed. That whole conversation, and what, he’s already dismissed it? Go figure. “What are you talking about?”

But Minamimoto doesn’t seem to hear him. He has one hand up, eyes sharp, like he’s listening to something in the air. He turns his back to Neku and walks three paces, and then his head snaps to the side, eyes widening. For a moment, he seems almost stunned.

Then his expression lightens. His eyes gleam. The smile returns, stretching wide and wild across Minamimoto’s face, and Neku feels a shiver crawl down his spine, the static in his head suddenly reaching crescendo. Whispers and echoes and a warning, breaking through his mind like glass.

Behind you.

The city is cold and white and empty around them. And it is silent. But far away, if he strains his ears, Neku almost thinks he can hear a second set of footsteps.

Minamimoto fixes his eyes into the distance, and laughs low and soft. “What are the odds?” he says, and the tattoo markings of the Taboo crawl up his arm. “Right on time. This mission is already over.”

Neku catches his breath. His head is pounding. “Who—”

“Who do you think, radian?” Minamimoto turns and smiles. “It’s the Composer.”

[stealing-jasons-job]

S1 canon-compliant (mostly) one-shot that recreates the moments right before Clarke had to shut the dropship door with Bellamy on the other side.

Inspired by The Other Side by Ruelle, which is such a Bellarke song it fucking hurts. I highly suggest listening to it while you read! This is the first fic in a series of one-shots all inspired by some of my favorite songs that give me Bellarke feels. <3 

Buckle up ladies and gents, this is going to be a rough one.

Find it on AO3 (or keep reading)

We are buried in broken dreams,

We are knee-deep without a plea

---

“Clarke! They’re taking down the gate,” Miller stumbles into the dropship, where Clarke is leaned over an unconscious Raven. Chaos is raining down around them, with the grounders closing in, Raven close to dying and Bellamy and Finn both outside fighting for their lives.

“Good, because I did it...I think,” Jasper pops up from the hatch that leads down below. If he was right, that meant the dropship was ready for blast off.

At Jasper’s words, Miller nods. “I’m closing that door.”

“Wait!” Clarke jumps up, rushing toward the door with Finn close behind. “We’ve still got people out there. Bellamy’s not back, yet.”

There were only a couple dozen in the dropship, and there was no sign of Bellamy. God, he should have fallen back by now. They had to get as many of the 100 as possible inside before closing the doors.

Gunfire and smoke fill the air. The grenades Raven made as a last resort are thrown as the first grounders breach the gate.

“Alright, everybody get inside now!” Clarke yells as loud as she possibly can, hoping she’s heard above the clashing of metal, war cries, and shots fired.

“Get down!” Finn nearly tackles her as arrows fly by so close she can feel the air whoosh by her hair. They duck behind a makeshift blockade while Miller holds off as many as he can from the doorway.

More grenades are thrown, but it’s impossible to stop the onslaught of grounders. As more of the 100 run out of bullets, they continue to fall back into the relative safety of the dropship. They wouldn’t be able to hold them off for much longer.

Where is he, where is he, where is he? Clarke asks herself, squinting through the darkness and the smoke for that familiar head full of curls.

“There he is!” Finn points to the treeline as Bellamy emerges from the tunnels. They lock eyes, and for a fraction of a second, Clarke thinks everything might be okay. But there’s a grounder-filled battlefield in between him and the dropship doors.

“He’s never going to make it,” she mumbles, more to herself than Finn. “Bellamy run!” she screams, more desperate than she’s willing to admit to herself. Adrenaline is pumping through her body, but her heart is beating wildly for an entirely different reason.

He picks up a gun as Tristan stalks toward him, sword in hand. Bellamy pulls the trigger, only to find it empty. Clarke is stuck watching from afar as Tristan swings at him.

Bellamy dodges the first swing, but can’t avoid the fist to his face that immediately follows. Clarke watches almost in slow motion as Bellamy is beaten down by the larger grounder. A knee to the abdomen, a punch to the jaw, a slash to the shoulder. She feels each hit as if she were being kicked in the gut, tears forming in her eyes.

“They’re killing him,” she whispers, terrified for the man she’d quickly come to depend on since they landed on the ground.

It’s a stark realization to have in the middle of a battle. I don’t want to do this without him.

He may have started off as a thorn in her side, an arrogant prick hell-bent on making her life on the ground even harder than it already was. But they’d quickly realized there was more to each other than meets the eye.

They’d bonded over their will to survive, their need to protect their people at any cost, the burden of leading a group of delinquent teenagers. He’d shared hidden parts of himself with her, and she’d done the same. He is undeniably her partner now, her co-leader… maybe even something more.

But it doesn’t seem like she’ll ever get to figure out what that something more might be — his body sags a bit more with each hit.

“Give me that,” Finn’s order breaks her stare, and she watches as she grabs a gun as some kid runs into the dropship. He fires at Tristian, hitting his shoulder. But he doesn’t stop there, running out to help.

“Stop! Finn, no!” Without hesitation, she jumps to follow, but Miller’s hand around her elbow keeps her in place behind the barricade.

Finn rams into Tristian, pushing them both to the ground, and Bellamy wrestles himself on top of the grounder with a blow to the face.

“Clarke, you can’t save everybody!” Miller yells in her ear, but she barely hears him. She’s fixated on where Finn and Bellamy are teaming up to fight Tristan, frozen in horror as she watches the two young men she needed most grow more bloodied with each passing second.

“Let’s go!” Miller tries again, pulling on her arm. She fights to stay put, but he’s persistent.

The last of the grenades fire off, and Clarke looks around at the scene in front of her. Their makeshift home was filled with bodies, both grounder and her own people. She watches as a young girl is stabbed by a grounder, killed instantly. Clarke thinks her name was Penelope, only 14 or 15 years old.

They’re running out of time. If she keeps that door open much longer, she’d be sacrificing the rest of the 100. She’d be condemning more kids to die on the hope that Bellamy and Finn might survive.

She turns again to where Bellamy and Finn are fighting. Finn hits the ground hard, gun coming up just in time to prevent Tristan’s sword from splitting his face in two. Bellamy takes the opportunity to land a harsh blow to the man’s temple, and he falls to the ground unceremoniously.

“Get inside! Bellamy, Finn! Run!” she screams so loud her voice gives out at the end. Let them make it , she prays to a God she doesn’t really believe is listening. She’ll give them another 15 seconds, she owes them both that much.

They both turn to run, and hope surges within her.

But it is ripped away from her as fast as it had arrived. Another grounder tackles Finn to the ground. And as soon as Bellamy realizes Finn is no longer right behind him, he turns back to help him. At that moment, Clarke simultaneously loves him and hates him.

“Now or never, Clarke!” Miller urges. He hasn’t left his place beside her, occasionally firing off bullets. Bellamy was right to advise her to keep him close. She knows what she has to do, but she’s glued to the ground.

She can’t leave them out here to die. She can’t.

Bellamy crashes to the ground from another punch, blood spraying from his mouth. His eyes catch hers and they stay locked on each other’s gaze.

Even from more than 50 feet away, she can see the look on his face. The look telling her to leave him, telling her to go inside and close that door.

She shakes her head, probably too small of a gesture for him to see in the dark. But he reads her, in that annoying way he’s been able to do from day one. He gives her a nod of his own, eyes communicating everything he can’t say out loud.

Do it, they say.

I can’t leave you, her own respond. I don’t want to know the other side of a world without you.

If you need forgiveness, I’ll give that to you. But you have to do it, Princess.  

Tears are streaming down her face, and the entire world is minimized to this moment. Miller is all but dragging her back toward the dropship doors, as she struggles in his arms.

She knows logically that this is the only way to save her people. She knows she has to sacrifice Bellamy and Finn and anyone else remaining outside if she wants to save the kids inside. But everything inside of her is screaming at her to keep that door open, to wait for Bellamy.

“No!” she fights against Miller, but his hold doesn’t falter.

Bellamy gives her one last smirk, mouthing something at her. In the moment, she doesn’t process what he’s saying. But she knows the look in his eyes, the set to his jaw. He might give it readily for closing the door on him, but he would never forgive her for not saving the rest of those kids.

More grounders breach the gate, and she gathers the strength to do what must be done. She tries to find Bellamy or even Finn one last time, but they are both lost in the haze of smoke and fire surrounding the dropship.

She closes her eyes, trying to imprint his face on the back of her eyelids. She can do this, she can do this. For him and for Octavia who was still out there somewhere with Lincoln and for everyone else her mother sent down to die with her, she can do this.

May we meet again.

She runs to the dropship, where Miller is waiting. Once inside, she lifts the lever to shut the doors.

Anya manages to get inside as Jasper tries to get the wiring to cooperate to start the rockets. It’s a mob, everyone trying to get a piece of Anya the second she’s down. Clarke tries to stop them, her anguish momentarily pushed aside.

The Trikru leader is curled in a ball, almost unconscious.

“She deserves to die,” Miller’s voice cuts through, his dagger swinging through the air. But Clarke catches his arm before it can come down.

“No! We are not grounders.” She gets everyone’s attention with that, and the rioting stills.

“Clarke, waiting for your signal,” Jasper says from the ground. All eyes are on her and Jasper, who has two wires ready to jumpstart the rockets. They can all hear the grounders pounding on the outside walls. She closes her eyes, not willing to let any more tears fall. Not when the rest of her people are watching, not when they need her to be strong.

The door has been shut, the decision to leave the rest — to leave Bellamy — outside to die has already been made. But for some reason, the nod she gives Jasper is just as hard as pulling that lever had been.

Her eyes remain closed as the rockets fire, as she feels the momentary lift into the air and hears the corresponding screams outside. She tries unsuccessfully not to think about Bellamy and Finn’s voices being among them.

Silence soon envelopes the dropship. They all look around at one another, unsure what to do or how to feel.

“We did it!” the first cheer erupts, and soon more follow it. The rest of the delinquents whoop and holler, thanking the universe and any gods they believe in for keeping them alive.

But the sounds of their triumphant chants is the breaking point for Clarke. She feels the last of her resolve drain, and she drops the radio she’d been clutching all night.

Her legs fail her, and she stumbles back toward the wall of the dropship before crumpling to the floor. Miller crouches down next to her immediately.

“Clarke, Clarke. Are you okay? Are you hurt?” he starts feeling for wounds, and she shakes her head. A sob escapes her, the first of many. She curls up in a ball, her head in her lap and her hands covering her ears.

She can’t listen to them cheering. Not when the cost was hundreds of lives, both grounders and her friends. Not when Finn risked his life to save Bellamy. Not when neither of them made it back in time.

She can’t hear the excited yells and the relieved laughs, not when her mind keeps playing the sounds of those screams on repeat. Not when Bellamy and Finn’s were among them.

Miller slides down beside her, wrapping a hesitant arm around her shoulders. No soothing words, no calming movements. He just sits there — solid presence next to her, silent permission to fall apart.

And that's exactly what she does.

It's not until her eyes are dry, her body is numb, and she's standing outside the dropship doors in the morning sunlight that her mind processes what Bellamy had mouthed to her as Miller dragged her back to the dropship door. She closes her eyes and looks up, silently hoping that there is some universe out there where he still exists, where they might have had a shot at more than war and destruction and death.

I love you, too, Bellamy Blake. I love you, too.

---

I don’t wanna know what it’s like to live without you,  

Don’t wanna know the other side of a world without you

[holylulusworld]

Right time, right place

Summary: It’s just wrong…but at the same time so good. But all the wrong things have their consequences.

Paring: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers x Reader, Steven Strange, Helen Cho, Bruce Banner

Warnings: angst, pregnant reader, fluff, language, arguments, medical treatments, tension, comforting

Words: 2274

Wrong-Right Masterlist

 “I’m fine, Steve.” You groan as he won’t stop pacing around the room.

“No, no - you are not fine! You are pregnant and you almost got kidnapped. Sharon tried to kill you and you saw your best friend getting shot. You are not okay.” Bucky mutters.

“Great. You should help me calm Captain Nervous down not rile him up even more.”

“It’s true, we almost lost you to Hydra.” Steve finally says while you wait for the doctor to make the ultrasound.

“Months ago, you didn’t care about me at all. Not even if I’m still alive so don’t act like you are deeply in love with me. I won’t buy it.” You mutter.

“Y/N…” Bucky gasps.

“What James? It’s not like you ever felt the same. I was just a toy you liked to play with. You got bored but as soon as someone else wanted to play with it you came around to grab it once again, only to toss it away all over again after you were done playing.”

His blue eyes fixated on your sad face James takes your hand in his. Bringing it to his lips he plants soft kisses to the skin.

“’m sorry. So sorry.” He mumbles and you scoff.

“Heard that before, more than once, Barnes. Nothing new you come crawling back to me. The only difference is - this time I will not take you back.”

“Please…I know you don’t believe me, but I always loved you. You know I was damaged goods after Steve helped me escape out of Hydra’s grip. You were the only good thing in my life, and I felt like I do not deserve you but at the same time, I couldn’t stay away. I almost went insane the times I was away from you.” James whispers kissing your hand once again.

“Cap, can you tell him to stop slobbering all over my hand?”

“Can’t do so. I know you have all right to hate us, to not believe us but we want to be with you. Want to give you what you need.”

“I need some space to breathe.” You groan and Bucky chuckles.

“Damn that sounded sexy. Do you want me to help you with your problem?” He asks and you gulp.

“No…”

“Admit it, doll. I can help you. We could help you.”

“Buck, stop flirting,” Steve warns and you glare at him.

“Help me with this love-sick freak.” You whine as Bucky sits closer to you to sniff at your hair.

“Damn, Bucky. Let her breathe or she will get even madder at us.” Steve mutters beyond jealous.

“You can do the same. Just sit over there. She has another hand and her hair smells so good. Damn is that apple?” Bucky asks sniffing along your neck and you start to shiver.

“Fine, let me smell it too,” Steve mutters sitting down on the other side to lean closer. His hand grabs yours to hold it in his large ones while he buries his nose into your hair.

“Guys! Are you two dogs now or what? I’m not a dog in heat.” You groan.

“No, too late for that. You are already filled with our babies.” Bucky moans against your skin. His lips get braver, so he nips at your neck and you need all your strength to not let out a moan.

Seeing Bucky touching you like that Steve mirrors his actions and you start panting. You have to admit there were times in which this was your dirtiest fantasy but you can’t give in….can you?

“I’m sorry to interrupt whatever you are doing to the poor girl, but we should check her vital functions and the babies,” Steven says entering the room with Bruce and Dr. Cho.

“Why do I need all three of you? Bruce knows how to do an ultrasound.” You say chewing your lip nervously.

“We need to check the effects of the serum on your babies and if the enhanced physical strength will harm you,” Bruce says softly and your hands start shaking.

“You said everything is alright! That she can have the babies.” Bucky grunts.

“James, calm down. We only want to be sure. Helen and Steven are more experienced in medical things. I’m only good at you know…”

“Turning someone into a Hulk?” You chuckle.

“Not what I meant, Y/N. I can tell you if the kids are affected by the serum. If they are going to be like Steve and Bucky but I’m not an expert for pregnant women. So, Helen and Dr. Strange will help me out to make sure we do not overlook anything important to ensure your safety.”

“Thank you, Bruce. Can you tell these two to let go of my hands or they are going to break my bones.” You sigh.

“Sorry. But can we stay? Please let us stay…” Steve pleas and you nod.

“Only if you sit over there and remain silent while three doctors are checking on me. Man, I feel so important right now.”

“You are important, always were. We just didn’t show it enough. We are sorry.” Bucky whispers kissing your hand once again.

“Can we begin? I need to be back soon.” Steven says and you nod.

“Sorry, but these two are annoying me too.” You chuckle.

“Let’s begin,” Helen says smiling at you.

----

After almost three hours you feel like an experiment. Three doctors are exchanging information. Talking about you and the babies and slowly you lose your patience.

Beyond nervous and scared you look at Bruce but he’s too engrossed to talk to Helen to see your fear.

“Bruce! Stop babbling and tell her what’s going on. Can’t you see her fear?” Steve mutters standing by your side again. His hand finds yours while Bucky takes Steve’s place in pacing around the room.

Giving the doctors and you side-glances he clenches fists. Your eyes drift toward Steven and he nods at you.

“According to the data and results, we gathered you are in perfect health. Your babies are healthy too. Bruce can tell you that as far as he knows your children will be physically enhanced too but the serum doesn’t have any negative influences on the development of the children.” Steven explains and you start shaking.

“We need to check on you on a regular base but so far everything looks good. You might want to get out of here now. I suggest relaxing for the rest of the day and to eat something.” Bruce says.

“She needs to eat – why? I something wrong? Are you hiding something?” Bucky stammers.

“No, but her stomach is rumbling since half an hour, Barnes.” Bruce chuckles and you give him a wink.

“I’m starving…I need something unhealthy right now.” You mutter.

Not waiting for you to get up Steve scoops you into his arms to carry you toward the penthouse. Too exhausted and happy your babies are alright you don’t fight back this time. Resting your head against his broad shoulder you close your eyes for a moment.

“They are alright…” You whisper.

“I know, Y/N.” Steve mumbles.

“Uh…did they tell you the gender?” Bucky asks nervously.

“Hmm…I won’t tell you.”

“Please…please tell me.”

“God, you are such a pussy.” You chuckle and he glares at you with steel blue eyes.

“I want to know too.” Steve says.

“Are you two conspire now?”

“We did the whole time…” Steve shrugs and you roll your eyes.

“Fine. If you two get me the most delicious pizza in whole New York within…let’s say twenty minutes I’ll tell you the gender.” You challenge and Steve nods at Bucky.

“Twenty minutes…I’ve got this.” Running through the hallway you can hear James screaming for Tony and you wonder.

“He can’t use any technology.”

“You didn’t tell us so, now it’s too late, Baby.”

“Damn, I hate that you are Avengers.”

“No…you love us…”

Mouth agape you want to talk back but then your stomach rumbles and you get distracted by Steve’s eyes staring down at you in his arms.

----

“The best pizza in New York. I bought three.” Bucky says and you narrow your eyes.

“Where did you buy it?”

“John's of Bleecker Street. I know it‘s your favorite.” He states proudly.

“I knew that too,” Steve mutters.

“Guys, can we stop fighting over pizza and actually eat some? I’m starving, your babies are starving, and you start a fight over dominance once again.” You yell and both men start to set the table.

Placing a plate with three slices in front of you Steve smirks at Bucky who is busy handling you a glass of your favorite juice.

“I bought a dessert too. You’re favorite pie.”

“Pie…”

“And cupcakes…ice-cream…and I bought this.” Bucky says showing you a pink and a blue romper suit.”

“You bought clothes for your baby?” You ask.

“No…for both. I mean Steve’s daughter can’t run around naked…right.”

“How do you know…you cheated!” You mutter.

“I asked Bruce and he told me on my way to get your pizza. I only had to sacrifice a slice of my pizza later.” Bucky shrugs grinning at you.

“You!!!”

“What? You wanted to tell us either way. I had to be sure you do not trick us.”

“I’m going to have a daughter?” Steve asks looking at Bucky.

“And I’ll have a son…damn…I’m good. You only managed to make a girl.”

“What that suppose to mean? Do you think a girl is less good?” You mutter.

“Sorry, …it’s just…a son!”

“I don’t care about gender. It’s my baby inside of the woman I love.” Steve says gently placing one hand onto your belly.

“Guys can we not fight for at least half an hour? It’s tiring…”

“Y/N, I’m sorry. I was just joking, okay. I would be happy about having a daughter too.”

----

You eat in silence. Both men are afraid to say something wrong, so they keep themselves busy with eating their pizza. When Bucky starts glancing at the last slice of your pizza you glare at him.

“Don’t you dare to try to get my slice!”

“Why not? You’re not eating it.”

“Maybe I want it too,” Steve mutters and you close the carton.

“You two won’t get my pizza!”

“Please…I’m still hungry. I’m a damn tall guy.”

“I’m taller, Buck.” Steve retorts.

“Are we fighting over pizza now?” You groan resting your head onto your arms on the table.

You hear rustling and then Steve and Bucky share your last slice of pizza.

“Unbelievable.” You mumble.

“What? We can share the pizza. This should show you we could share you too.” Bucky chuckles almost stripping your clothes off with his eyes.

“No way, Barnes.” Pointing a finger toward his cock you shake your head.

“Baby…please…months. I need to at least taste you.”

“No way, Buck! I will not let one of you touch me ever again.”

“I know you want to. Can see and almost smell it. God, all the things I want to do to you right now.”

“Buck!” Steve warns seeing a dangerous glimmer in your eyes.

“Sorry, but soon I’m going to have blisters at my hand.”

“You could use the metal hand.” You tease.

“Doesn’t feel like your hand…can’t do so,” Bucky admits and you flush red.

“Can we stop talking about sex while I try to eat my pie?”

“Sure…”

----

Snuggling into your favorite pillow you let both men lie down next to you. It became a ritual since you almost got kidnapped by Brock.

“What happened to Brock?” You ask and both men dare not to answer. “Guys?”

“Fury happened. He and Coulson are ‘talking’ to him. They lost some good men due to his activities too.” Steve whispers.

“I haven’t seen Nat since we came back and I visited her. Why is she avoiding me?”

“Baby, she’s not avoiding you…she’s … ahem…talking to the therapist.” Bucky stammers.

“Oh, …she wants more information. I see. Natasha was always great in getting information.”

“She doesn’t want you to know. Please don’t tell her I told you as she will get mad and damn that woman is scary when she’s mad.”

“Are you afraid of Nat, James?” You chuckle.

“No…I mean…after you left and all she gave it to us good. Shot my ass…” Bucky stammers and you start laughing.

“She shot your ass, Barnes…Priceless. She didn’t tell me so…God…that’s…” Giggling you look at Bucky and he gives you a grin.

“Natasha was mad, at both of us. Didn’t work and talk with one of us for a while. She really is a good friend, Y/N.” Steve explains.

“I know, she would’ve helped me kicking your asses. I told her to not do so…you’re team…”

“We are a team too…team baby.” Bucky states and you start giggling again.

“Team Baby?” You snort punching his shoulder playfully.

“That’s not funny. We will protect you from now on. You won’t leave the building without one of us by your side ever again. Not even walk around the building without us or Nat.” Steve states and you salute.

“Yes, Captain, Sir.” You chuckle and his eyes darken. “Say that again…” Steve groans and you fall silent.

His lips only inches from yours he hesitates but Bucky is pressing his chest to your back, pushing you against Steve’s lips.

“Damn…you two look hot together. I need to see more.” Bucky groans and you start whimpering as his hand snakes between your legs.

“Do you want to see and feel more? I mean we are at the right place…it could be the right time.” Steve asks and you need a moment to response…

All works Tags

@meganywinchester​, @shikshinkwon​, @idioticsky, @miraclesoflove ​ , @officialmarvelwhore

Marvel Tags

@stuckys-whore, @notyourtypicalrose, @voltage-my2dlove, @thedoctorscamanion

Wrong-Right Tags ​

@allonszassbutt, @joe-mazzello-is-my-dad, @gracethegeek9902, @geekysimmerthings, @mood-pancakes​

[manggojooz]

Take My Hands Now (Part 8)

pairing: Jungkook x reader

word count: 2,440 thereabouts

genre: drama, angst

summary: You were born with a condition that allowed you to feel the pain someone else was going through when you touched them. Jungkook, on the other hand, looked like he could not be any less bothered with other people’s feelings and was a well known playboy of the school. One night, at a party, while he attempted to turn you into his toy for the night, he grabbed your hand and pain crashed through you, making you wonder whether behind the facade of this pleasure seeker, he could also be hiding something.

warnings: mentions of abortion

comments: I had to stop writing like twice during the last part... now i’m just tired and gonna crash T.T 

Previous Parts: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

“I feel your pain”, “I feel your loss”, “I know how much it hurts” – people say such things too easily. But whenever you said it, you could actually feel it.  

You hated it now more than ever. Looking into Jungkook’s eyes made you think the situation was genuinely so unfair. Why did you have to be the one to feel his pain?

Meanwhile, Jungkook was still grappling with what you just did. Then, the chance to say anything was lost.  

“Y/N”, Namjoon came up to you and he warily looked at the bruised-up guy standing before you. “You guys talking about something?”  

“No, we are done”, you replied as Jungkook’s eyes were still fixated on you.

“OK... let’s go then, Mirae is late again. She told us to save her a seat.”

“Yeah let’s go”, you forced a smile at Namjoon. You were so glad that the lecture today was not the one you shared with Jungkook.  

As you strode past him, he kept thinking about how much he wanted to just hold on to you so that you wouldn’t leave him there again. How many times he contemplated grabbing onto your wrist to turn you around, to ask you to listen to him, to just have you standing before him again.  

---

The next day wasn’t so fortunate for you, you were having that damned lecture with him again.  

“Were you the one who beat Jungkook up?”, Namjoon jokingly nudged you.  

“What? No! Of course not, what the hell Namjoon”, you whispered sharply back at him as the lecture was ongoing.  

“Chill, I’m just checking, because he keeps staring at you and I can’t tell if it’s out of vengeance or what?”  

You knew he was looking at you, your peripheral senses were on edge. However, never once did you even acknowledge his presence. You endured it all the way until the lecture was finally done and then the ever-so-unhelpful Namjoon had to insist that he must converse with the professor about an unnecessarily academic question. So, here you were, waiting for him outside the lecture hall.  

“Y/N”, you heard that same voice that still makes you shudder.  

You looked up at him with a frustrated frown and took one step to your right, ready to bypass him. He quickly moved to block you again without getting too close to you.  

“I know you must really hate me now, and you have every right to but will you please hear me out once? It will only take a while”, if you weren’t already fooled before, you would have considered the plea.  

“Hate you? I don’t hate you. But the last thing I want to do now is listen to another word from someone like you.”  

“I know you must think that I am an asshole, just like all the other party boys but I...”,  

You felt the need to shut him off right there, “Stop saying ‘I know’. Stop pretending like you know anything about me.”  

“I don’t! I know so little about you. But in the same way, you don’t know about me”, Jungkook was almost raising his voice at you.  

You heightened your volume right back at him, “I have absolutely no freaking interest in knowing anything about you! And for the record, you are worse than all the other guys.”  

The breath he held hitched in his throat but he tried to continue, “Y/N... ever since that night you asked whether I was ok, everything stopped being ok and...”

You couldn’t let him continue, for fear that your mind will be overridden by his schemes, “Maybe your insistence on all of this is because you think you failed this challenge”, you hissed as you gestured yourself.  

“Let me make this clear then, Jeon Jungkook. I am not an accomplishment for you to unlock. I am not a stage in a game for you to clear. I am not a special trophy for your stand. All I know was that you were in a lot of pain, and I could feel it. I might have wanted to help you in some way because you didn’t seem so bad. But I was wrong and regret hurts enough, are you happy now?” 

He wasn’t happy, he wasn’t happy a single bit to hear that you felt hurt because of him. But it wasn’t just unhappiness he was feeling, there were feelings he never had before too.  

---

You were diligently at work in the bookstore, but you were constantly startled whenever someone walked into the store. Seeing that it wasn’t Jungkook made you heave a sigh, not sure whether out of relief.

The lady that just walked in felt familiar, she quickly walked up to you, pushing a pram along with her.  

“Hi, this is kind of embarrassing but do you remember me? I am the one who had a bit of a situation here the other day?”, she asked you very sheepishly. That’s right! It’s her. The lady who almost gave birth here and you instinctively shrunk away from her recalling what had happened to you that day.  

“Oh! You are the girl who was helping me and then fainted, right? Are you doing ok? I was wondering whether something happened to you.”

“I’m fine. Thanks. Can I help you with something?”, you tried to maintain a professional stance.  

“Haha no no I don’t need any help today, hopefully”, she laughed. “Actually, I am here to say ‘thank you’. My baby’s all healthy and good now and I really wanted to invite the people who helped me on that day to dinner at my place. Will you be willing to come? And is your store manager in today?”  

“Ma’am, we appreciate it but it’s ok, we only did what anyone would do in that situation…”, you were almost about to reject the offer when your manager appeared and usurped the conversation. He started making funny faces at the baby in the pram and the mother extended the invitation to him.  

“Ma’am,  it’s really not necessary...”, you tried a second time to politely reject the offer.  

“Call me Yunsu”, she said with a warm smile. “And it’s necessary for me, I’m doing this partly for myself too.”  Your store manager and you looked at her inquisitively.  

She naturally took the cue to start explaining, “I had my baby Ri-ah after one of those nights, you know... after I partied too much. When I found out that I was pregnant, I was devastated. Oppa didn’t want her either. All he wanted was to have fun with me and he even said that this was all my fault.  

    I resented her so much… I was determined to get rid of her. So, I went to the clinic by myself one day, feeling all unfair that this happened to me. There was this other woman who sat beside me in the waiting room, and she was carrying a toddler in her arms. The toddler kept tugging at my sleeves and I got annoyed so I turned and pointed my fingers at him to tell him to stop. That was when he grabbed my finger in his tiny hands and smiled at me. I’m not sure if it was just instincts or something else, but I suddenly thought about the tiny life within me.”

You could see the tip of her nose and the rim of her eyes turning a tinge of red from the recounting.  

“Ri-ah was a mistake, but she was my mistake, and she was also a reflection of my life. I felt despicable for wanting to erase all traces of her because I couldn’t face up to my own problems, I felt ashamed that I was making her pay for my wrong choices. I knew then that I should start taking responsibility, even if not for her, I needed to do it for myself.  

    But having decided to keep her, the one thing I feared the most was facing the pain of child birth all alone, with nobody next to me to even hold my hand. You were the first people to rush to me that day, and I was not facing it alone thanks to you. Oh and that young man too, who helped me after you fainted. I remember he even ordered the mall staff to clear all the cars at the nearest pick up point so that the ambulance could stop there, seems like a really thoughtful guy”, she finally lightened up a little.

“You thought well, Yunsu, it was the right decision”, your manager uttered while you still stood there not knowing how to respond.  

She exhaled shallowly and continued saying, “I was told by people, often the wrong kind of people, that I should never regret anything I do, because regret is for the weak, for losers. But I regretted for wanting to get rid of her. It took me a lot to do that, and I began to realise that I regretted living my live that way, I was just too weak to recognise it.  

    So, I need to thank all of you, for helping me bring her into this world safely. To be honest, I don’t really have anyone else to celebrate with. And it hurts my heart to think that nobody is happy for my baby”, she finally ended her daunting narrative.  

“Yunsu, thank you for your invitation, we will be most happy to celebrate with you, but we will only agree to go if you would let us help you with something. It’s not easy raising a baby by yourself, and we won’t be able to celebrate with you in peace if all we can think about is how much we will be imposing on you”, your store manager replied. You never really knew he was such a considerate man, and you started looking at him with a new-found awe.  

Yunsu was so grateful to have her offer finally be accepted and she beamed at the both of you.

“Y/N, you have the task of bringing along your friend who helped out the other day too”, your store manager commanded. You opened your mouth to defy that but shut it again because you didn’t yet have a good enough reason to say no.  

---

Later that day, you were organising the books at the far end of the bookstore, standing on the ladder that allowed you to reach the highest parts of the shelf. The things that Yunsu had just said to you were weighing you down to no end and you decided to lean against the wall for a break. That was until you accidentally knocked one of the books to the floor.  

Bothered and annoyed, you ploughed your way down the ladder, sighing while picking it up. You had to squeeze in between the ladder and the bookshelf to get to it, since you were too lazy to move the ladder away. And that was your mistake.  

When you turned around to manoeuvre out of the tiny space, your only escape path was obstructed by the guy you have been painstakingly escaping from. Half of your mind was hating the fact that Jungkook appeared at your work place again, half of your heart was asking you weren’t you kind of, a little, maybe, waiting for him all this time?  

“I thought about it very hard and these are the things I can come up with for now.” Jungkook started speaking very quickly as he ambushed you in that small compartment. He wanted to make sure you couldn’t cut him off prematurely again this time.  

“Calling me trash or comparing me to other jerks out there is nothing to me. Trying to toy with my feelings doesn’t do that much either. Talking bad about my mother doesn’t mean anything to me, but saying that I am like her would probably hurt me a bit. Telling me my father doesn’t care would likely make me feel worse. When someone I care about ignores me, I get upset too... I think. If someone I care about can't forgive me for something, I think it’ll hurt pretty bad.” 

“Why are you...?”  

He bulldozed over your words, “There was once in high school I got into really bad trouble and the media picked it up, my Dad was so angry he didn’t talk to me for days and I felt like shit...

    ... And most of all, if someone l care about is in pain, it will hurt a lot. But there’s only that many people I can think of that really matters to me... and you...”

“Why are you telling me all these?!”, you were forced to yell over his words in order to stop his rambling.  

He did stop, his eyes looked at you with conviction, “If you want to get back at me, then do it properly.”  

“What... Is this what you have been wanting to tell me?”, you asked in bewilderment.  

It wasn’t, but those words, he knows those words he’s been dying to say would mean nothing to you now anyway. He did already try to say them three times. And you walked away from him three times. He wasn’t sure he had the strength to try again. 

So instead, just like how you allowed him to hurt you, he would do the same for you. If that would make you feel better, if that is the only thing he can do for you now.  

“Just... please don’t hurt yourself. You can use all the other things against me. If I think of anything else I will let you know”, he made it sound like this was one of the most normal conversations two people would have.  

After a short moment of pondering, you rebuked softly, eyes unmovingly watching his, voice laced with an undertone of menace, “You act just like your mother. Does your father even know you are like this, or he just doesn’t care? I am already trying my best to ignore you, so if you are really sorry then leave me alone. And... I am not intending to forgive you.”  

He blinked exactly three times, then he flashed a consoling smile, which disappeared quickly. Nodding acceptingly, he finally lowered his gaze away from you, not wanting you to see whatever that was showing on his face.  

“Don’t forgive me.”

Your heart throbbed in pain, even breathing started to hurt and your eyes begun to turn blurry again.  

As he turned to leave, your voice coming from behind him made his steps halt abruptly.  

“But doing this hurts me a hell lot, so hurt a hell lot like me.”

---

In the end, maybe, the two of you changed because of regret. A regret that you allowed yourself to be hurt; a regret that he didn’t know some things earlier.  

[darley1101]

Uncommon Part 2: Unplanned Doesn’t Mean Unwanted

Prompt Request: 'I'm pregnant' and 'You'd be a great dad' for Drake x Olivia (The Royal Romance)

Requested by: @bobasheebaby

Rating: Tentatively teen, as it does contain hints of adult themes

Trigger Warning: Brief mention of abortion and teenage girl nastiness.

A/N This is part 2 of my Drake x Olivia mini series. It fulfills a request made by my friend @bobasheebaby and propels this story forward. I hope you guys enjoy! If you are new to the story catch up HERE

Perma-tag: @debramcg1106 @josieschoices @boneandfur    @speedyoperarascalparty @christopher-powell @tmarie82 @blackcatkita    @mfackenthal @hamulau @endlessly-searching-for-you @umccall71 @damienazariostan @drakelover78 @penguininapinktuxedo @eileendannie @kingliamthirst @stopforamoment @writtenbycandy @lizeboredom @alicars @choiceslife @leelee10898 @choicesfannatalie @liamxs-world @umccall71 @lizeboredom @eileendannie @katurrade @hellospunkiebrewster

Story tag: @lodberg @purplegreyshrimp @tornbetween2loves 

Uncommon Part 2/4

Unplanned Doesn't Mean Unwanted

The steady ticking of the antique gold clock on the fireplace mantel, mixed with Penelope's hyena-like giggling and Kiara's annoying French prattle, was enough to drive Olivia Nevrakis mad. On a good day, she wore a frosty smile and made passive aggressive quips at their expense. Today was not a good day. For the umpteenth time she had woken up to a room that wouldn't stop spinning and a rebellious stomach. The first time it had happened, she blamed it on too much chocolate and not enough sleep after Riley and Hana guilt tripped her into hot cocoa and all night wedding planning. The second and third times it happened, she'd made a quick trip to and from Lythikos, so she had assumed it was travel exhaustion and not eating properly. That morning she had run out of excuses. She'd gone to bed on time, eaten properly, hadn't traveled any further than the palace gardens, and her queasy stomach prevented her from drinking anything stronger than fruit infused water. There were only two plausible explanations. Either she had some sort of weird life sucking disease or she was pregnant. So, she did what any self respecting lady in her situation would do: she bribed a servant into buying a pregnancy test. The little purple and white plastic stick instantly killed all hopes of a life sucking disease. Before she could process anything, Riley had shown up, with Hana in tow, so the trio could walk down to afternoon tea with the Queen Mother.

“I don't understand why she's giggling, nobody said anything remotely humorous,” she heard Hana whispering to Riley. It was on the tip of Olivia's tongue to say that some women thought acting like a brainless twit who giggled all the time was the way to attract a man but she couldn't work up the energy. Her focus was on the plastic stick hidden in her make up bag. An old, familiar tightening in her chest set in. It was like she was sixteen all over again. At sixteen, she had been so desperate for love she'd believed every pretty lie a visiting diplomat's son had thrown her way. Her aunt had called her a fool, and rightly so. Once the boy had his fun, he lost interest. Olivia had been so heart broken she'd actually turned to her aunt for guidance. Her aunt's idea of 'help' had been a trip to a spa in Switzerland. The rumors that circulated while they were gone were the stuff of every teenage girls nightmare. The vast majority of them had started with Drake's sister. Savannah had been the one to start the pregnancy rumors, as well as the one where Olivia's trip to Switzerland had been for an abortion. Olivia still hadn't forgiven her for that.  

“It's Penelope, what do you expect,” Riley murmured back, the smile never leaving her pink glossed lips. It was a trick Olivia herself had taught her. A lady could get away with saying anything they pleased so long as they did it with a smile on their face. Wanted to mock someones atrocious outfit? Tell them how hideous they looked with a smile and every laughed at your 'teasing.' Sleeping with your best friend while leading on a King and his best friend? Keep a smile while saying love got the best of you and all was forgiven. “She laughs at everything.”

“You're right,” Hana sighed before, in sync with the other ladies, she took a sip from the delicate, gold rimmed cup in her right hand. “Sometimes though,” she leaned closer to Olivia and Riley, “I want to tell her that she's the only one who thinks her poodle stories are cute. Is that mean? It's mean isn't it?”

“If you ever work up the nerve to tell her that poodles suck make sure you do it with a smile,” Olivia suggested, forcing herself to take another sip.

“A smile and a smack across her smug little face,” Riley muttered, her blue eyes narrowing. Ah yes, there was no love lost between Riley and the poodle loving airhead from Portavira. Olivia was almost impressed by Penelope's little role in Riley's scandal. The water works and pleas for forgiveness had ruined any chance for that. The temptation to tell Penelope that if she was going to be a shark, she needed to be a shark, not turn into a guppy at the last minute. Whatever. It made no never mind to Olivia. She could care less what Penelope did or didn't do. Seeing the disdain on Riley's face whenever the other woman came around was another matter. It was only a matter of time before Cordonia's newest Duchess lost her cool and went for Penelope's jugular.

“Oh no! I could never tell her that,” Hana gasped, her almond shaped eyes widening. She hadn't said she wouldn't slap the chit, Olivia noted with amusement. For the next two hours, Olivia sipped lukewarm orange pekoe tea and nibbled cucumber sandwiches while pretending to be interested in the mundane conversations going on around her, most of which were about whatever charities were the most popular. The only interesting bits were when Hana or Riley would whisper some passive aggressive remark about one of the other ladies; usually Penelope or Kiara, with the occasional jab at Madeleine's expense. Normally, Olivia would interject herself into the conversation again but at the moment she didn't trust herself to speak again. The more she spoke, the greater the risk she would crack and unburden herself, and that just wouldn't do. Oh Riley would be understanding and Hana would be supportive, but Olivia wasn't ready for that. She still had to face Drake. And Drake deserved to know before anyone else.

Finally, she thought when the Queen Mother announced that she would be retiring to her rooms and the ladies were free to go or mingle at their leisure. Ignoring Riley and Hana's protests, Olivia chose the former. She needed to think, to sort out what she was going to do. First step, remembering that she wasn't some scared teenager or without means to support a child on her own. Second step, accepting that Drake might not be very pleased with the outcome of their one night stand. On more than one occasion she'd wanted to tell him where he could stick his looks of disgust. Nobody had forced him to have sex with her and, other than one attempt to talk to him about their lack of protection that had resulted in him walking off before she could speak, Olivia had kept her word on it being a one time occurrence with no strings attached. She pinched the bridge of her nose, grimacing at the thought of telling him about the predicament she was in. This isn't just your problem, she reminded herself as she walked back to her room. It's his problem too. And, damn it, he can help deal with the consequences.

Her fingers shook as she removed the pregnancy test from her make up bag. The two lines were still there. If anything, they had become more pronounced. There was no denying it. She was pregnant. Letting out a string of curses she chunked her make up bag at her bedroom door. Cosmetics scattered across the rug, her favorite tube of lipstick rolling under the wardrobe. Her vision blurred for a moment as tears threatened to well. In true Nevrakis fashion, she concentrated on warding them off before reaching for her phone. You can do this, Olivia, she told herself as she pulled up Drake's contact information. Before she lost her nerve, she sent him a text asking him to meet her by the fountain in the maze. She waited several minutes, her heart pounding, and then tossed her phone aside when no response came. Screw him, she thought, dropping to her hands and knees on the rug, determined to retrieve her favorite lipstick. She could do this on her own. It would cause a bit of a scandal at first but eventually someone would do something more shocking than having a baby out of wedlock with the King's best friend.. Her fingers barely brushed the tube when there was sharp knock on her door. “Be right there,” she called. It was probably Riley and Hana. The pair just wouldn't leave her alone. She scowled when her door opened, ready to give them a piece of her mind. “Do you mind?”

“This isn't the maze,” Drake's voice filled her room and sent a ripple of apprehension through her. He couldn't respond to a text, but he could show up uninvited to her room. Unbelievable.

Wrapping her fingers around the tube of lipstick, Olivia pulled her arm out from under the wardrobe and tried to rise to her feet with as much dignity as possible. “I don't keep appointments with people who aren't courteous enough to confirm,” she retorted coolly. Her gaze darted to the bed, where the positive test still lay out in plain sight. Shit! Maybe, if she was quick enough, she could reach it before he seen it. Or maybe not, she grimaced, watching the blood drain from his face, his eyes visibly fixated on the test.

“Something you want to tell me?” Drake asked, his voice hoarse.

Olivia let out a resigned sigh, her fingers nervously plucking at the lemon colored fabric of her skirt. “I'm pregnant.” Saying the words out loud felt a bit like the first drop on a roller coaster. Her stomach flipped. Her heart raced. And she anxiously waited for what was, inevitably, about to come next. Minutes ticked by, neither of them speaking. She let out another sigh. “You're not going to ask if I'm certain or...” she hesitated, “if you're the father?” She wouldn't blame him if he did. While she knew that she didn't sleep around, Drake didn't.

A thunderous look crossed Drake's handsome features. “I'm not that big of an asshole Olivia and we weren't exactly careful.”

“It could be wrong.” Walking over to the bed, she picked up the test, her eyes fixed on those two damning lines. “They're not always right.”  Even as the words left her mouth, Olivia knew the test wasn't wrong. She had all the symptoms. Missed period. Morning sickness. Tender breasts. Exhausted all the time. The test just put it all into perspective.

“Most of the time they are.” Drake scrubbed a hand down his face. “Fuck,” he muttered, his gaze dropping to the floor before darting back up to her face. “So...now what? Are we keeping it?”

“I'm keeping the baby, yes,” she said coolly, raising her chin a notch. “Whether or not you choose to be in their life is entirely up to you.” If he walked away, it would be his loss, Olivia told herself. She couldn't see Drake doing that though. He wasn't the sort to walk away from an obligation. Did she want her child viewed as an obligation though? Her aunt had always viewed her that way, an obligation she had to bear, and she'd had no qualms about reminding Olivia of that every single chance she got. Would Drake be that way? And what happened when he met someone and fell in love? Would his future wife accept a child that wasn't her own?

“Of course I'm going to be in their life,” Drake snapped, prowling to and fro in front of her wardrobe. He reached up, ran his fingers through his hair, and let out a curse. “It won't be easy for you, you know that right?” He shot her a hard look. “The ladies are going to make your life miserable. Not just because you're having a baby before marriage but because its my kid. You sure you want that, Olivia?”

“Do you think I give two fucks what those stuck up bitches think?” Olivia curled her lips in disdain. The only 'ladies' she had any use for were Riley and Hana, which was probably why Riley kept insisting they were friends. As for the rest of them, well, they could all take a flying leap off a cliff as far as Olivia was concerned. The whole lot of them were useless, simpering fools that sat around waiting for some man to decide they would make a worthwhile wife. Olivia waited for no one. She could, would, and had saved herself. She would raise her son or daughter to have that same mentality. They would be a Nevrakis, the next Duke or Duchess of Lythikos, after all.

“No,” Drake chuckled, “not really.” He let out another sigh and dropped into the winged back chair near the fireplace, a serious look stiffening his features. “So...how are we going to do this?”

Olivia bit her lower lip, uncertain how to answer. She furrowed her brow, paced a bit, and then sat on the edge of her bed, facing Drake. “By 'this' you mean co-parenting, correct?” Drake gave her a curt nod. “Right. Well, I'm not sure.” There were so many things to consider. His life was in the Capitol, while hers was in Lythikos. And, as the next Nevrakis heir, there was the matter of their last name. Olivia knew Drake well enough to know he was going to blow a gasket when he heard that they child would have to bear the Nevrakis last name, not Walker. They could hyphenate it the way her parents  had, but she wasn't certain even that would appease Drake.

“You're not sure,” Drake repeatedly slowly, his eyes narrowing. “If you think you're going to cut me from this baby's life-”

“If I had planned on cutting you from this child's life, I wouldn't have told you I was pregnant to begin with,” Olivia interrupted, her voice laced with the annoyance that was starting to course through her veins. She could feel the vein in her left temple starting to tick. She'd known Drake was a stubborn ass but this was ridiculous.“Is this how things are going to be for the next eighteen years?”

A dark glare filled Drake's eyes, his jaw clenched. “If by 'things' you mean me standing up for my rights as a father, then yeah, this is how things are going to be.”

Closing her eyes, Olivia forced herself to take several deep, cleansing breathes. Out with the toxic, murderous thoughts starting to form in her mind. In with peace, calm, and understanding for the frustrating man that had fathered her child. Her hazel eyes snapped open. Who the hell was she trying to kid? Peace, calm, and understanding were not natural to her. Nor was the surly look on Drake's face inspiring those auras. “I'm getting really tired of the defensive attitude Drake. I don't deserve it nor do I appreciate it. I understand that this situation isn't ideal but taking your frustrations out on me isn't going to solve anything.” She paused, letting out another huff of air. “If all you're to do is twist my words and make accusations based on your fear instead of fact, then I'm going to have to ask you to leave. I don't need, nor do I want, the stress of arguing with you over moot points.”

Drake let out a long, weary sigh, one of his large hands reaching  up to push a chunk of dark hair off his face. “You're right,” he admitted. “Just try to see things from my point of view. We're not in a relationship and as a noble, you hold all the cards. There's also the fact that we can barely stand each other.”

“There you go making assumptions again,” Olivia shook her head. This was not going to work. She'd been a fool to think she could have a logical discussion with Drake. He could never look past her title, could never let go of the grudge he had against nobility. “You're the one whose always made it perfectly clear that I wasn't worthy of your time.” And there was also the issue of the rumors his sister had started when they were teenagers.

“You sure about that,” Drake challenged. “I seem to recall several occasions where Savannah and I were intentionally excluded from parties hosted at your estate.”

“Do you really want to go there Drake?” Ice dripped from Olivia's voice. “You know exactly why your sister was no longer welcome.” Even now she heard the occasional whisper about the Duchess of Lythikos and the child she'd supposedly aborted at the age of sixteen. Every time she heard it, it was all Olivia could do to keep quiet. With every fiber of her being she wanted to scream that throwing her virginity away on some asshole and then taking a small vacation with her aunt because she was heartbroken didn't mean she'd been pregnant or had an abortion. None of that had any place in the discussion she was trying to have with Drake though. Her focus needed to remain on the very real pregnancy she was dealing with. That they were dealing with.. “Look, I don't want to fight about this. As I said before, I understand this isn't ideal and that you might not be happy with the situation. I just want us to do what's best for this child.”

“That's all I want as well.” Drake rose from the chair, a lock of his dark hair flopping over one eye. The urge to reach out and brush it back was equal parts annoying and confusing. “I guess there's only one thing to do.”

“Is this the part where you try to act all noble and ask me to marry you?” The words left Olivia's mouth before she could stop them. Heat rose in her cheeks, staining the ivory skin a brilliant strawberry. What had she been thinking? Of course Drake wasn't going to propose. By his own admission he could barely stand to be around her. Well, at least when he was sober and clothed. There was also the little issue of him still not believing that his sister had spread those rumors about her years ago.

“No,” chuckled Drake, an amused look shining in his dark eyes. “This is the part where I ask you to dinner.”

“Dinner?” Some of the tightness in her chest started to ease. He hadn't taken offense to her slip of tongue and he looked more at ease.

“Yes. Dinner. You know, that meal you eat in the evening.” This was a side of Drake that Olivia was semi-familiar with; she'd seen him banter with Hana and Riley plenty but never experienced it herself. Unless she counted hostile exchanges where one of them stormed off.  

“I know what dinner is, Drake. I'm just surprised you're asking.” Surprised. Shocked. Uncertain how to respond. It would help to know what sort of dinner invitation he was issuing. Was it a sit down to discuss their child's future? Was him being hungry and just not wanting to eat alone? Or...her pulse skipped a beat...was he asking her to dinner?

“People need to see us together,” he explained. “I don't want them knowing this baby was the result of a one night stand. Life's going to be hard enough for this kid...a commoner for a dad...a duchess for a mom...the least we can do is pretend we have something going on.”

The disappoint that filled Olivia wasn't something she wanted to explore. Drake had the right of it. Life for this child would not be easy. And as much as she didn't care what people said about her, she didn't want rumors tainting her child. The fact that Drake had thought of that and figured out a solution made her realize that he was already invested in their child. “You're going to be a great dad,” she said softly.

Surprise flickered across Drake's face. “Really?” Olivia nodded. A wide grin broke out across Drake's face. “It means a lot that you think that. I...I think you're going to be a great mom.”

“Of course I am,” Olivia quipped. Silently, she prayed that her uncertainty wasn't present in her voice. For all her bravado, the idea of motherhood scared the hell out of her. She had no memories of her own mother and her aunt hadn't been very maternal. What if she screwed up? What if the child hated her and loved Drake more? So many fears. So many things that could go wrong. Thank God she had eight months to plan. In the meantime, she needed to focus on these pretend dinner dates Drake was proposing.

[theprojectatedensgate]

Oh this could be good! 14 with john and 20 with jacob.

“You were in a crash, can you tell me your name?”

John fluttered his eyes open at the voice, the shriek of tinnitus ringing in his ears. His vision spun rapidly and his head was swimming in pain. What happened? Why was he in so much pain? Where was he? He tried to focus one thing, a blurred figure leaning over him, he could feel the weight of their palms pressed on to his shoulders, firm but not too much. Nausea flooded through him and he attempted to sit himself up so he could concentrate but the hands held him down. His vision started shifting back to normal and he trailed his eyes up the arms of the figure, fixating on their face. He hasn’t seen them before, he doesn’t recognise them at all, but as the figure fully came into view, he recognised the uniform “Hope County Junior Deputy” sewn on to their chest and shoulders. They must be new, he knew all of the police in Hope County. When John came to his senses, his perplexity was replace by irritation, scowling up the Deputy leaning over him.

“What happened? What are you doing? 

The words came out as a hiss and the Deputy actually recoiled at the tone, letting go of him and allowing him to sit up. He glared at them as they looked him, eyes scanning his body.

“You were in a crash. I was just asking if you can tell me your name?” 

They waited on John for answer and he almost laughed at them in disbelief, A crash? How? And of course he remembered his name! It’s… 

His mind turned up blank, the frame of his skull aching as tried to remember, nothing came to him. A cold fear chewed at his insides as he thought, he didn’t know how he got there, he didn’t know who he was or where he was. It was all so overwhelming and pathetic. How could he not remember his own name? 

“I…” It came out as a stammer, his lips trembling “I don’t know.” 

The syllables were clumsy, tumbling out one after the other. He chastised himself internally for his bad wording. Apart from the fear of losing his name his more annoyed than anything. He was sat in the dirt with some random Deputy ogling him, he felt like a zoo animal. The Deputy raised their brows in shock and moved back closer to him, sitting on their calves in front of him, the dirt staining their black pants.

“You don’t know?” They cursed under their breath, scanning along the tree line. John looked too, getting the first view of surroundings, they were in a clearing at the edge of a woodland, the moon hung proudly in the sky, surrounded by stars, illuminating the trees around them. It was silent, save for the sing songs of crickets in the late night, the occasional rustling from wildlife in the bushes. It was cool, the breeze sending a chill down John’s nape. He turned back to meet the Deputy, his eyes now unwavering as he demanded an explanation.

“Okay. You were in a crash, I saw it from my quad, I watched you parachute out and I headed towards your location. I’m guessing the the parachute in the canopy up there you took quite a tumble.”

John looked straight up, the black chute was caught in the branches above him, blanketing the top of the tree. Vague images of being in the sky and soaring flashed through his mind, hurting as they passed. He reached a hand up to hold his head, a feeble attempt to quell the pain. 

“I was flying?”

“You sure were, I was watching your stunts for like five minutes, I’m not sure what happened but you pulled into a loop and didn’t lift back up from it, it’s like the plane just died.”

“The plane? Where is it?”

“I think it crashed south of here, I’m not sure if its salvageable, I came straight here.”

John placed his head in his hands, exhaling sharply,his blue eyes searched the Deputy’s, bewilderment radiating from his expression.

“Do you know who I am?” 

Rook froze, a grimace greeting their features, they shifted their weight awkwardly, glancing at the ground before meeting his gaze. Anticipation pooled in John’s stomach as he examined their body language, waiting for the answer.

“You’re John Seed.”

The words rang no bells, no part of his mind jumped at remembrance of the name. It was new to him, it felt like the first time he ever heard it.  He stared at them blankly, they seemed to flinch when they mentioned his name, like it was a swear or a curse, he hadn’t made any threat to them, why did they act like that?

“I don’t remember. I vaguely remember drifting through the sky, and remember that this is Hope County, I know that for certain.” smirking at their uniform.

The Deputy fought the urge to roll their eyes, typical, he lost part of his memory and forgot who he is but he still acts the same. They took off the rucksack they were carrying, slugging it to the ground.

“Right. Well you’re John Seed, Confessor and Baptist of Eden’s Gate, Herald of the Holland Valley. And I need to check you over for injuries.”

John grinned at the revelation, he remembered the Holland Valley that was one of the regions of Hope County and the labels the Deputy just gave him? Intriguing. 

“Those sound like good titles. But what do they mean?”

“It’s not important right now, just keep still.”

He straightened up as the Deputy came closer, they pulled a small torch out of their bag, their hand reaching the lift John’s chin, the turned the torch on with a click, shining it into his eyes. John flinched at the brightness, but held still in the Deputy’s hand. After checking out both eyes the lowered the torch to shine it over the rest of his body, His jacket covered in dirt and scrapes.

“ You’re reacting fine to light. Are you feeling any pain? If so can you tell me where and how bad on a scale of one to ten, ten being the worst one being the least.”

“My head hurts, my whole body aches.”

“I need numbers, John.”

“Fine. My head is a seven and the rest of me is a five.”

“Okay well considering you have amnesia as well as head pain, you must of hit your head quite hard. You need medical attention.”

“Are we going to a hospital?”

Rook had to stifle a giggle at the thought of showing up at a hospital with John Seed. What would people say? It would surely be one for the history books.

“No, no hospital. At least not with me anyway.”

John’s smile dropped, he looked at them suspiciously, sadly even. His eyes narrowing.

“What? Why not?” he whined like a small child being denied a treat.

Rook sighed, they didn’t want to be the one to explain it all to him and that would take far too long anyway. He needed to see a doctor.

“Because I can’t John.”

“But you’re a Junior Deputy, isn’t it your job?”

“Yes but it’s not like that. It’s complicated, too much for me to explain to you right now. You need looking at by a Doctor, I’m only trained in first aid.”

The Deputy reached down pulling a radio from their back pocket. They flicked through the frequencies until they found the right one and held it to their lips.

“Yeah, this is the Deputy, I found John Seed. Ya’ know you guys should protect him a bit better, I found him before you did and I’m the sinner apparently.”

John watched them intensely, did they really just call themselves a sinner? Why? Who was supposed to be protecting him?

The radio crackled with static as a man came through the frequency.

“You touch him sinner, we’ll string you up!” The radio quietened as the man on the end turned his attention to someone else that was with him. “John’s been found by the Deputy, track their radio and move!”

Rook looked back at John with a smile for the duration of the call. His eyes widened, those people just threatened them and all they were doing was smiling. The man sounded furious, he wondered what the Deputy had done wrong by finding him. The placed the radio on the ground, keeping that same reassuring smile. 

“Do you have your radio on you, John?”

“Why would I have a radio? And who were those people? They didn’t sound happy you found me.”

Rook sighed again, they moved their hands to pat him down his pockets, he stilled at the contact. They were gentle, careful not to put any pressure on him. It felt comforting. When they found there was no radio, they slid theirs towards him. John looked at it like it was alien. 

“Those are your people John. They’ll come get you and patch you up, you might get your memory back by tomorrow once you’ve had some rest. Take my radio and keep it on you, they’ll track you through that.”

They pushed the radio in John’s hand and he took it reluctantly. Concern crossing his expression. Rook had never seen him look so worried, they had never seen him use any other emotion apart from anger. The softness on his face a stark contrast to his usual smug demeanour.

“What about you? You need your radio you’re a Deputy!”

They didn’t want to admit it but the this new caring side of John warmed their heart. It was so unusual and yet so natural at the same time.

“It’s fine, there’s more radios where I’m going. Don’t worry about me.”

There was the sound of engines in the distance, getting louder by the second, Rook tensed and looked over their Shoulder quickly, before facing John again.

“I need to go, they’ll be here soon. It make them a while to find you because of how far into the wilderness we are, but they will find you.”

Rook scrambled to their feet, leaving the torch on the ground, illuminating John’s pained face. They grabbed their rucksack shrugging it on clumsily. John was terrified. He didn’t want to be left alone and he certainly didn’t want to meet the people who sounded so hostile.

“Don’t go! Don’t leave me here! Please stay with me! I don’t understand!”

Rook was taken a back by such a desperate plea, their heart ached at tone, guilt weighing heavy on their shoulders. If was a civilian they would stay but this was John Seed. He was a dangerous unstable psychopath with an army of devoted followers who had a tendency for violence. They couldn’t stick around and they couldn’t explain why.

“I’m sorry, John. I have to go. I’m sorry.”

They started speed walking away from, determined to leave the area. John’s stared tingled at their nape as they walked, resisting the urge to look back.

“Will I see you again?”

They lost the battle of restraint, stopping in their tracks. They didn’t doubt they would, he would definitely hunt them down after tonight, mocking them and demanding an explanation for being saved. They didn’t have one for him, they don’t know why they did it. Moral compass? Maybe. The oath they took as a police officer? Perhaps. Caring for John Seed’s welfare? Well that was the problem. Were they just doing their job or was it something more than that? John hasn’t been kind to the Deputy, taking every chance to harm or insult them at every corner, they weren’t obligated to help him and the Resistance would definitely question why they saved the man who they were supposed to kill. But they did it, and they felt no regret.

“I’m sure you will.”

John watched after them until they disappeared into the trees. Who were they? Yes they were a Hope County Deputy but who were they really? The stranger who saved his life. Perhaps an angel sent from God. His mind ran through possibilities and exhaustion getting the better of him he collapsed into the ground. Lethargy forced his eyes closed, catching sight of headlights through the bushes before everything went black.

It wasn’t until a week later, The Deputy curled up in bed with a good book, ice tea on their night stand, their windows open to let out the Montana heat into the cool night air. The old lamp being the only light source in the room, cosiness snug on their mind. Much to their chagrin, John was constantly on their mind since the crash, all the potential what if’s plaguing their thoughts, sleepless nights while they awaited his word. Why were they still thinking about it? He wouldn’t bat an eye if Rook had crashed, he didn’t when they crashed in Josephs compound. They prepared for the string of insults and chastisements heading their way if he regained his memory, their stomach curled at the thought if he didn’t. So when the new radio buzzed to life next to them and the same old sing song voice greeted them with 

“Deputy~”

they couldn’t help but smile and press the button to answer.

Thanks for requesting! Enjoy!

I’ll make sure to do the Jacob prompt to!

[mattyrambles]

14:34

It’s a Saturday, afternoon, and cloudy to the point where hazy rain is starting to fall. George and Matty are standing in the middle of a park, vastly emptying as people begin to leave and dash for cover, sharing equally dubious looks. Knowing Matty since they were kids - George knows the look all to well, as a silent plea for help. Not something that happened often, Matty was always able to handle himself, to talk himself out of whatever situation he had gotten into. George had always thought it was a gift really, even if half of what he said most of the time was pure and utter bullshit. 

In the last four years, the ‘fucking god help me please’ look, had become a lot more common, and sometimes George found he could be of use and try to help. But, today - he can only shrug, in form of ‘you’re on your own, mate’. 

The source of Matty’s disaffection lets out a shriek, followed by loud and excited giggles. Juniper. George had never thought it was possible for a kid make the exact same sounds as their parent, but Juniper’s sheeplike giggling sounds were a near replica of Matty’s. 

Matty and George were standing in front of the bench the four year old was currently sitting on, being entertained by a tailless black cat. Of which George thinks looks quite mangy and is most definitely a stray. Matty had been trying and failing to gently coax her away for the best of the last half hour. Clearly failing - no amount of bribes seemed to work, she was fixated and a bit in love. Minutes ago she had looked up at Matty, all bright blue eyes and rain matted curls, asking if she could keep him. The mangy, tailless and most probably homeless cat bundled in her arms that she had proudly emerged from the playground with less than an hour ago. It had only really taken a proper liking to Juniper, cuddling up to her and purring in content, when Matty had reached out, purrs turned to hisses. 

“She’s going to kill us.”

George doesn’t need to ask who Matty means by ‘she’ - Penelope. But he does do a double take at the ‘us’. Oh no, he was not being dragged into this. Matty liked to dump his bad decisions when it came to Juniper, onto George. Because apparently Penelope ‘went easier on him’.  

“Don’t fucking bring me into this, nothing to do with me.”

Is what he hisses back, and Matty gives him a pleading look. The rain was starting to get heavier, and Juniper was looking up at both of them with a hopeful expression. A look that he knows that Matty can’t refuse, and he has his suspicions that Juniper knows that too. Even though when he had mentioned it to Penelope before she had scoffed, ‘she’s four, George’. He said that she was underestimating her, rookie mistake. She had them both exactly where she wanted them, and they were both too blind to see it. Penelope had looked at him like he was a bit insane. 

Matty sighed heavily, shaking his head. Going in for a third time. “Darlin’, we already have Al-”

“But it’s raining and he has no where to go!” She wails, cutting him off immediately. Matty is growing impatient. George can tell from the mumbles of curses under his breath, how his hands rub over his face. 

“Juniper - we are not bringing the cat home, put it down and lets go, before you get sick from sitting in the rain. Now.”

She doesn’t say anything to that, staring up at him - pouted lips in defiance, and her jaw starts to tremble. A warning sign, tears were coming. The cat seems to sense that she’s winning - burrowing it’s way under her raincoat, Matty winces. George bites his nails. A few seconds pass before; 

“He has no where to go.” Matty repeats, defeatingly looking up at George.

“Oh my God.” 

Juniper had perked up majorly - turning off the tears as quick as they had come, once Matty gave in and said she can bring the cat home for tonight, only tonight. Tomorrow they’d bring him to the vet and then a shelter. George highly doubts that, the cat was practically already part of the family as far as Juniper was concerned. 

“Thanks for the fucking back up, you’re useless.” Matty scowls - once his daughter is out of ear shot, skipping around puddles further up the path, and blabbering on to the cat still bundled under her jacket. 

George can’t help but laugh, he still thinks it’s mildly entertaining to watch his best friend get bullied by a child. “I’m useless? Mate, I’m not the one who can’t say no to her. You’d buy her the bloody Taj Mahal if she asked.” 

“Shut up, George - it was your idea to bring her to the park, you should have said no to the fucking demon cat.” 

“Bad word and he’s not a demon cat.” Juniper pipes up, they had caught up with her. George suppresses chuckles at her vexed expression, sending glares up at Matty, he covers her ears as if it will make her unhear what he just said. “Sorry, love.” 

The rain had started to ease off - sun struggling through clouds, and George knows he shouldn’t wind up a kid but the temptation is too strong, so he ruffles Juniper’s curls and says in an offhand tone, “hey, Juni - look the sun is coming back out, looks like you won’t have to take the cat home anymore, yeah?”

Juniper gives him an almost vicious look that George can only describe as her way of saying ‘fight me’, clutching the bulge under her coat tighter, and running ahead of them until she’s a fair few feet away, glancing back at George every few seconds while whispering into her jacket. Leaving George to laugh loudly at the dramatics of it all while pulling out a cigarette, there was no questioning that she was Matty’s child. 

“You are mean, George.” But his lips twitch, not able to hold back a smile. 

“Did you see the daggers she was giving me, should’ve called her Damien. Suits better.” George continues to laugh at his Omen joke, and Matty scowls, digging an elbow into him. 

“Shut up, my kid is not the spawn of Satan, fucking hell.”

“That’s debatable, and you’ve gone and given her a minion now - only going to make her worse.” Muffled - cigarette hanging from his lips, searching pockets for a lighter, when he can’t find one, turning to Matty, who refuses to give him his. 

“No - and I’m not fucking inviting you to our park trips anymore.”

“You just said it was my idea to go to the park, but fine if you want to be like that. M’not inviting you to come over for barbecues with Allen anymore, you can stay at home with Damien and the demon cat.”

“George if you don’t-” Cutting off when nearly he trips over, Juniper. Neither of them had been watching where they were going, George busy trying to get hands into Matty’s coat pockets, in search of a lighter. Steadying himself with an array of mumbled curses, and gripping onto her so to not knock her over, the cat pokes its head fully out of her coat, eyeing Matty with distaste, and a loud disgruntled meow to go with it.

The reason why she had come to a sudden standstill was apparent, when they both follow her gaze. Two girls were standing ahead, a few feet away, an obvious stance of excitement, but waiting for them both to reach them rather than outwardly rushing to them, something George can appreciate. One of them approaches now, Matty’s name sounding among a jumbled greeting, and Matty glances back down at Juniper with a small smile and quiet reassurances while George does his bit of talking and pictures before leaving Matty to it. 

Gauging - Juniper, watching her watching her dad speaking to and taking pictures with strangers, a lot of frowning. And he doesn’t think the ordeal makes her uncomfortable or annoyed, he thinks it just confuses her a bit. The clouds starting to darken again.

“Alright, love?” Ruffling curls, she looks up at him - brow still furrowed, not dissimilar to Penelope’s perplexed expression. He chuckles, a shrug and a quiet - “I know, I don’t get it either, Juni.”  Raising one arm up to him, the other still holding onto to cat, he lifts her up despite not being happy about the cat being that close to his face. 

Small fingers - plucking the cigarette from behind his ear, where he had put it after Matty refused to give him a light. “Oi, bad for you.” He says, taking it back. 

“Daddy has them too.” She says, matter of factly, like they couldn’t possibly be bad if Matty had them too. George can’t help but smile at the innocence, knowing Penelope had been trying to get him to quit for ages now, and in fairness Matty had tried. Easier said then done, George supposes. 

“Well, he shouldn’t - just as bad for him.” 

The cat emerges from her jacket, but still content in her arms, not struggling at all to be set free. He thinks it might be a bit stupid. “Better keep them away from this one too, that’s your job now.” 

George nods towards the cat and she giggles at the notion of the cat smoking, shaking her head. “Cat’s don’t smoke!”

“No?” He teases, pretending to be shocked - bringing the hand he still had the cigarette in up to the cat’s face, and to his surprise he seems rather interested, sniffing along it, pawing at his had. “See, told you - look he’s mad for them!”

This sends Juniper into a spiral of giggles, pushing George’s hand away while pulling the cat back to her chest. Her head snapping back to Matty, when she hears her name mentioned in the middle of a somewhat dramatized story about the cat. She only smiles at this, holding out the cat proudly, towards the fans with a loud statement of, ‘my cat’. 

“No, not your cat.” Matty corrects, jaded. 

They coo and aw, whether at the cat or Juniper, George isn’t sure, and Matty tells them not to encourage her.

She's maneuvered herself up onto his shoulders by the time goodbyes are said, the three of them continuing the short walk home - George repeatedly begging her not to put the cat on his head, and she keeps insisting that he likes him.

"I don't get it!" She sighs suddenly, exasperated. She had been quiet for the last few minutes, unusual for her - obviously thinking something over. She was the offspring of two people who never fucking shut up, afterall. Matty - looking up, questioning. 

“Why do people take pictures with you - you’re just a person too.” 

A perplexed tone, George laughs quietly, and Matty shrugs,“I agree with you, darlin’ - dunno, I suppose I’m just sort of their favourite person.”

She’s content with that answer, letting it settle for a minute, George feel’s the cat’s paws resting on his head again, before he can say anything - she bursts out with;

“Who’s your favourite person, G-tree?” 

“Me, obviously.” 

Matty - without missing a beat, and George scoffs. “You wish.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Your soul is bound to me and you bloody well know it, George.” 

Rolling his eyes - “And who’s your mum’s favourite person?” 

He directs up at Juniper, more to get Matty to shut up than anything. Honestly, he was expecting her to say Matty, or herself - but when she bursts out with ‘Robert Smith’ after a hesitating for a few seconds, probably taking inspiration from Matty’s faded Cure t-shirt, jacket open now that the sun was back out, sunlight dappling. George cackles, because she was probably right, accurate. Matty laughs along with him, telling her she was dead right. 

Thanks to Penelope, Juniper already had a vast knowledge of 80′s records, and Matty still insists that she knew how to say Robert Smith and Joe Strummer before she could say ‘dad’. Something Penelope, naturally denied, and argued that, in fact, the first thing coherent thing to ever leave her lips was something that vaugely resembled Matty’s name and ‘dada’.

“Robert Smith, I’m calling my cat that. Mummy will like it.” 

Juniper says matter of factly when George sets her back on the ground outside Matty and Penelope’s house, clearly thrilled with herself, petting over the cat’s fur, perpetually puffed out. George and Matty share another look, and George shrugs. “Well, you can kind of see the resemblance.” 

“Allen’s going to disown me.” Matty sighs after opening the front door, Juniper skipping ahead of him, holding Robert Smith up Lion King style while calling out for Penelope, gleefully. 

“I think Pen might too.”