#i love you empty eyed statue/mask things

[a-rogue-god]

They should make out.

And by make out I mean clank their faces together

[fandomwriterstuff]

Rewind

Rick Flag x you

Rated T

~6.5k words (I could not turn it into chapters, it didn't work out right)

Warnings: canon typical violence

I highly recommend listening to this song because it is very epic and I listened to it while I wrote the dramatic end scene.

You were a petty thief, a modern Robin Hood; you stole from the one percent to gave to the needy. And you know what? More often than not, the one percenters never even noticed. And every time you got caught you used your powers to get out of the situation. However, you knew a day was coming when you wouldn’t be able to get out of a nasty situation. A feeling of dread was filling up your nightmares and seeping into your waking life. You were filled with anxiety that your next job would be your last. Of course, it was never an issue with your powers. That is, until it became an issue.

You were doing a job in Gotham, a shitty city if you did say so yourself. Nothing like the country home you grew up in. You knew the ins and outs of the city bank. You knew the guard schedules, you knew the camera angles, you knew the passcodes, you knew which day your target would be inside. Bruce Wayne. Local billionaire who wasted his time and money hosting galas for the rich and famous. You loathed the idea of him. He wouldn’t notice a couple million getting lost in the shuffle. You knew everything that Gotham City Bank had to offer. But what you didn’t know would get you caught and sent to a metahuman prison. What you didn’t know was why you’d been feeling the dread of this job creep up on you for weeks. You had a bad feeling about it, more than the rest. So when you walked in, in disguise, you thought nothing of the exhaustion and weakness that filled your body.

You’d barely slept the night before, so it was normal. And this wasn’t a cash job, it was all wire transfers. But Wayne had to be there for the biometrics to work. Unfortunately, he knew all about your little job. He knew and he had you caught. You were confused, at first, when all you saw when you walked in was an empty bank. It was just the tellers looking at you nervously, but there was a swish behind you and you whipped around, military training coming back to you from your brief time in the army as you took a fighting stance to see… the Batman?

“The Masked Marauder,” he mocked you in his autotuned voice. You scoffed, two could play at that game. You were posing as a man today, trying to throw the trail off of yourself. You turned on your voice modulator and laughed haughtily at him.

“The Batman. Fancy seeing you here,” you were unsure as to how Batman was involved with Wayne Enterprises, but you had no doubt he was there for you.

“Feeling a little weak yet? I can see you straining,” you were on guard as he approached you, coming close enough that you could see the stubble on his chin. If you could turn him around so you were closer to the doors you could use your powers to get out of there and make a quick escape. It was easier to change your own position with your powers and not an entire scene, but you could do it if need be.

But he was onto something. You did feel weak. You were tired, your limbs heavy.

“What did you do to me?” You asked, shifting on your feet but trying to keep the charade up. You were masked and cloaked, but he had a nerve-wracking effect on you.

“It’s new technology. Power blockers at every entrance. You’re powerless inside this place,” at his words you backed up, falling weakly towards the ground as your powers were seeping out of you. You tried to use them to get out of this situation, breath shaking and palms sweaty as the seriousness of the situation dawned on you. You were well and truly screwed.

It was only moments before the GCPD came and fixed you with a power-blocking collar, chaining you up in an armored vehicle and sending you on a long trip to Louisiana. You had no next of kin to notify, no friends to take care of your apartment. You were alone.

Belle Reve was a hell of a place. You were brought in under the cover of nightfall and were only given a brief explanation of the situation. You were in a metahuman prison. You had less rights than normal humans. You were being tried for multiple robberies and the associated injuries that people had gained when fighting back against you. You’d never killed anyone, not since the army, but it didn’t matter. The crimes had stacked up. You were looking at forty years in this place.

When they threw you into the cell you were going to stay in, you were relieved to see there was only one bed and it wasn’t occupied. Solitude, at least, was your friend. You could think. You’d have thought it would be less time in prison since you hadn’t killed anybody, but it didn’t seem like it mattered. You shrugged to yourself. It’s not that you had issues killing people, you were in a special metahuman unit in the army before you became the Masked Marauder. You had a different codename then, but working with them had made you a little crazy. You had to see your close friends and colleagues treated with less respect than dirt because of their metahuman status, and you had to see most of them killed in action. You barely made it out, and you came out with a raging hard on for disrespecting authority figures.

You were only in Belle Reve for six days before you met Harley Quinn.

“Live fast, die hard, baby. You gotta do what you gotta do,” was something you heard a lot out of her smirking mouth. If you were in another life, you’d have been instantly attracted to the beautiful blonde, but you had enough crazy in you to not want any more on your plate. Despite the lack of romance between the two of you, you still got close. “As thick as thieves,” Harley would say with a wry twist to her mouth. She loved puns.

“Chronos?” You whipped your head around at the sound of your military nickname. “What the fuck are you doing here you little slut?” Your eyes widened as you recognized one of your previous teammates. Another bad egg, turned away from the army and towards a life of crime.

“Who’s Chronos?” Harley frowned next to you at the lunch table you were at, she hated not knowing things.

“That’s what they used to call me,” you whispered, standing and facing the other woman. You were small in stature, and the Amazon-like woman towered over you.

“Annie,” you knew she hated being called by her real name. She was one of the cocky ones, thinking metahumans were better than regular old humans.

“You’re wrong,” another voice called. “Chronos is a dude,” that came from Blackguard, a weirdo that you were avoiding. You avoided most people, really.

“Chronos is not a dude,” Annie growled, suddenly looking at the smaller man. “You calling me a liar?”

“I think it’s time for us to get out of here,” Harley dug her fingers into your bicep and pulled you towards the rec yard.

“What’s up with you? You normally love people watching the fights,” you wondered, concerned when Harley passed her favorite guard without saying hi. (It was Colonel Flag, the fucking hottest guard at Belle Reve who you’d definitely formed a crush on. You couldn’t help it, he was compassionate and he didn’t spit on you or throw you around or humiliate you like the other guards.)

“You didn’t tell me you had a super secret past with a cool nickname,” she whisper-shouted when you got to a bench and she could slap you on the arm.

“It didn’t come up,” you shrugged sheepishly.

“What does Chronos even mean?” She asked and you were going to explain, but Colonel Flag sat down at the bench across from you with a warm smile.

“Harley, Y/N, just the two people I wanted to talk to,” he then raised an eyebrow at the bruising grip Harley had on your arm. She let go and he frowned at the angry half moon marks her nails had left there.

“Not now, Ricky,” Harley pouted. “Y/N’s been holding out on me! She has a cool secret life and never told me about it!”

“I doubt you ever asked,” he followed up in a deadpan way and you stifled a chuckle. It was true. She could be forgetful and also unobservant. She didn’t exactly ask you about your life a lot. You thought it might be an act, she did have a PhD, after all.

“She even has a cool nickname. What does Chronos even mean?” She asked again, but side-eyed Colonel Flag when he narrowed his eyes at you.

“Chronos? I thought they called you the Masked Marauder. You’re in here for theft.”

“They must not tell you all the deets,” you raised your eyebrows at the man. “Before I was a criminal I was a part of an elite army group of metahumans. But that went to shit and I’m considered a war criminal in several countries. Never got the pardon for working as a part of the US military because they wanted to keep my unit under wraps,” you frowned. You couldn’t ever leave the country because of it.

“Well you’re not going to like the proposal I have for you, then,” he looked like he was regretting coming over to you and you threw a smile on your face.

“What do you need, Colonel?” You asked, tilting your head, but Harley was bouncing up and down in her seat.

“Oh! Task Force X? Is it a new mission?” She looked so excited you nearly didn’t listen to her words. But you did.

“Task Force X?” You asked him, narrowing his eyes. Maybe that’s why he was so nice to you all this time. He was buttering you up. “I don’t think so. I’m not dying today.”

“You get ten years off of your sentence for every mission you do-” You cut him off.

“You had me at ‘ten years off of your sentence.’ Say no more. I’m in,” you grinned, shark-like, at him. He had the wherewithal to not look confused at your sudden change of heart.

“It’s always fun, like weeding out the weak!” Harley exclaimed as you were ushered out of the briefing with Amanda Waller, a woman who terrified you and chilled you to your core. You felt okay though because Rick was going to be your commanding officer. It had been three weeks since your conversation with him outside in the rec area. Three weeks and your relationship had shifted just enough to make you feel safe in his capable hands. If it wasn’t the genuine human respect he gave you, or the dirty looks and reprimands he gave the guards who manhandled and mistreated you, it was the lingering fingers brushing against your back when he led you places and the warm smile he had just for you.

“Flag,” you smiled softly as you passed him on the plane.

“Chronos,” he smiled back. You knew it was commonplace to call each other by their names (Bloodsport, Blackguard, Chronos, etc), but you felt a twinge of fear. This was your first time using that codename on a real life mission since you left the army. But, when Rick came up with a fancy electronic screwdriver and unhooked your power-dampening collar, you felt such a high. You were ecstatic, your limbs felt light, you felt like you could go a million rounds against Mayweather, you wanted to fuck-

“Am I missing something? Isn’t Chronos a dude?” Blackguard asked, again, and you scowled.

“Chronos is a myth, man. This is clearly just someone with the same name, right?” Boomer nodded towards you and you gave him a tight grin. But before you could respond, Rick did.

“She’s definitely Chronos, and you better hope her powers aren’t mythical,” you grinned at that. He had your back. However, you weren’t sure if you’d be able to save them all if it all went to shit. For several reasons.

You hadn’t used your powers since arriving at Belle Reve, so you didn’t know if you were at 100%

You only had certain amount of power over large situations, so you’d likely only be able to save yourself and a few others

You didn’t care enough about these fuckers and they didn’t care about you. Your priority was to get out alive with Rick and Harley

That’s when Harley made her first appearance to the team. She was apparently good friends with Boomer and you mentally added him to your list to keep alive.

After you set off, things happened quickly for you. You made eye contact with Rick (yes, you were mentally calling him Rick now, because you wanted to fucking date the shit out of him), and made small talk with Harley as Blackguard freaked out about Weasel. But when you dropped and made your way to shore, you stuck close to Rick. He had your back and you had his.

As it turned out, Blackguard had set you all up, giving your location to the enemy and getting his face blown off for his efforts. You watched as your elite team of killers was picked off one by one. Harley had run off and you were panicking that you didn’t have an eye on her. You needed her to get out of this alive.

“Follow me!” Rick shouted, nodding his head towards his intended destination - the forest.

“But Harley and Boomer are-” you shut your mouth as Mongal’s actions finally took their toll on Boomer. But maybe you could fix it, if you could use your powers-

“No, we have to get out of here, or we’re next,” Rick grasped at your arm and dragged you into a full out sprint towards the forest, gunshots echoing behind you. You slapped his hand away once you were deep in the forest, though the sky was darkening you cut your eyes to his.

“Harley is all I have,” you spat.

“She’s my friend too, you know,” he frowned. You’d never used that tone on him before. “She can handle herself,” as much as you were loath to admit it, he was right. She was crazy but she could get out of nearly any situation. You sighed and bent over, hands on your knees as you calmed your breathing.

“I’m sorry for snapping,” you muttered, but you gasped when a sudden pain shot through your right bicep.

“That was a warning shot,” you heard a voice call out in accented English.

“A warning shot?” Rick shouted as he crossed over to you, pulling you close to him and inspecting the wound. It went straight through, but it was bleeding badly. “Warning shots are supposed to be in the ground, not at people,” he spat, considering running but you were in too much pain and losing too much blood. “Don’t use your powers in front of them,” his lips brushed against your ear and you nodded imperceptibly. You wouldn’t want to show your hand.

“Take the colonel,” a woman’s voice called and you glanced at him, wide eyed as they dragged him off of you.

“Hey, hey!” He shouted, reaching out as you fell to your knees, putting pressure on your wound. If you could stifle the bleeding until they left you alone you could use your powers to fix it.

“Leave the girl,” the voice passed by you and you stared at Rick, panicking but unable to stop them as three men held him back and dragged him away. You couldn’t help but think this was the worst case scenario. The enemy was taking your leader but you had lost too much blood to put up a fight.

As the rest of the enemies passed you, you sat back on your heels, but one of them roughly bumped into you, making you lose your grip on your arm. The blood flow was back at full force and the world turned black around the edges. You were alone. You put your left hand face up in front of you, and your right hand an inch above it face down. Your hands were parallel to each other and you tried to gather your strength to use your powers, but you couldn’t. You hadn’t used them in so long and you had lost a lot of blood. The last thought you had before you lost consciousness was of Rick’s panicking face.

You awoke to gentle hands cleaning your wound with what you assumed was water and opened your eyes when you felt a tight bandage wrapping around your arm. It was a young girl, younger than you.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” she smiled softly.

“She’s awake?” A gruff voice came from behind you and you craned your neck to see a team of people behind you.

“Let’s get going then” another man said. “You patched her up, she can go on her own from here.”

“Who are you?” You asked the girl.

“We’re the Suicide Squad,” the dark skinned man growled. “Here to collect our Colonel.”

“No,” you sat up, quietly thanking the girl for patching you up. “I’m a part of the Suicide Squad,” you squinted in the early morning darkness. Was that… DuBois?

“Bloodsport?” You asked cautiously. Were these all other prisoners from Belle Reve?

“Who are you?” The guy in red and white asked you… Was that Peacemaker?

“They call me Chronos, but you might know me as the Masked Marauder,” you spoke cautiously.

“The thief? Why would they have a thief on a mission like this?” Peacemaker asked and you shrugged.

“My powers are useful for other things.”

“Chronos is a myth though, right?” A smaller man walked over to you, in a suit you didn’t recognize.

You shook your head. But that wasn’t the point, you had picked up on something DuBois had said.

“You’re looking for the Colonel?” You stood and approached the group, which apparently included a shark man.

“Yup, Colonel Flag was taken by enemies and is alive at their camp. He is our first mission,” DuBois spoke and you nodded.

“I’m coming with you. Colonel Flag helped me get out of the bloodbath at the beach. The enemy camp people shot me and took him away,” you frowned at the thought and the girl - Ratcatcher 2, she had specified - gasped.

“Why didn’t they take you, too?” She asked.

“I think they knew I wasn’t important. They noticed immediately that Flag was a military officer and took him away.” Likely to be tortured, you thought to yourself but didn’t say aloud.

“Well, let’s get going then,” Peacemaker said brightly and the group of you made your way to the enemy camp. You were lost in your thoughts on the way there. You weren’t sure whether or not you would kill anybody. Maybe hurt them or knock them out. You hadn’t killed since your time with the military. But they’d taken Rick and left you for dead. So you had very little qualms hurting them.

Turns out, it didn’t matter. Bloodsport and Peacemaker made what was almost a competition out of who could kill the most people in the sneakiest ways, but it got bloodier and bloodier as the rest of you approached the glowing tent. You heard laughter and glanced in, borrowed gun pointed in as you parted the flaps of the tent. But you immediately put your gun down. Rick was shirtless and all patched up, laughing with a woman who you’d seen the dark of the night before. You couldn’t help the rising feeling of jealousy, you’d never have that with Rick. The easy jokes, the equal ground. You were a prisoner, and you would likely die as one. But you couldn’t help the breathy “Rick,” that came out of your mouth when you realized that he was okay, and he wasn’t being tortured by enemies. He snapped his head over to you and stood.

“You’re okay,” he made his way over to you in three long strides, as if he couldn’t wait to be near you, and your heart swelled at the thought.

“So are you,” you whispered, and took a moment to look him over and let your body sag a little. You’d been so worked up that you had barely felt the pain of your wound.

“I didn’t know you were important to each other, I wouldn’t have let them shoot you,” the woman sort of apologized with a half smile and stood. “Let me get you something for the pain.”

It was then that she noticed the very silent camp, commented on it, and that’s when you looked down at your feet. Whoops, you’d let Bloodsport and Peacemaker kill an entire camp of rebels. People who were technically on your side. Waller had given you bad information.

Rick brushed a hand down your good arm and gently held you, pressing his thumb into your elbow as if making sure you were okay, that your pulse was strong.

“I was so worried,” he muttered, and you were sure only you heard it.

“So was I,” you looked up into his eyes, and if there wasn’t an audience, you would have kissed him then and there. Alas, you had another mission. Well, two. The first was to get the Thinker. The second one was to get Harley, and that was a plan you were ready for. You were down to clown, as Harley might say. As long as you had Rick by your side, you could do anything you set your minds to.

The Thinker would be frequenting one of his favorite bars, and as you left the shark dude in the bus you felt yourself relaxing a little upon entry. You knew bars. You knew how to blend in. You glanced over your shoulder, you couldn’t say the same for your teammates. So, you slinked away and found your way to the bar. The leader of the rebel camp provided you with a pair of stretchy black skinny jeans and a MCR band t-shirt. You’d fought harder battles in more confined clothing, so this wasn’t too bad.

“Una cerveza, por favor,” you spoke fluently. You grew up in the country, but your family was affluent and taught you several languages so that you could travel safely and easily.

The bartender smiled and grabbed you a bottle, and you watched the team gather around a table. They stuck out horribly, and you shook your head. Maybe with a few drinks in them they would loosen up, you watched as Peacemaker ordered drinks and nursed your own. You used to like drinking with friends, but other than Rick (and the missing Harley) you didn’t consider these people your friends. You had a tentative relationship with the Ratcatcher 2, and you were beginning to begrudgingly like Bloodsport. But, Polka-Dot Man freaked you out, Nanaue had the English understanding of a kindergartener, and Peacemaker was a dick.

“You going to join the team?” You failed to notice Rick coming over to you, and rolled your eyes, taking a sip as you mulled over your answer.

“Only if they start looking more interesting. You look like a bunch of tourists. I’d like to gather intel,” you scrunched up your nose at Rick and sipped at your beer.

“Yeah, you really look like you’re gathering intel, darlin’,” it was Rick’s turn to roll his eyes. “Sitting here, sipping on a beer and staring at us.”

You scoffed. How dare he call you out. But it was true, you were busy judging the team to actually get any good information.

“Fine, I’ll join you,” you swigged the last of your beer and glanced at the bartender. “¡Uno más!” You exclaimed, and the man smiled at you before grabbing you another ice cold bottle.

“You speak Spanish?” Rick raised an eyebrow at you.

“I speak a lot of languages,” you shrugged and took a swig of the drink before making your way to the now empty table. It seemed like your compatriots decided to go dancing. That left you with Rick.

“Oh yeah, and how did you come to know so many?” He seemed genuinely interested, though you were hesitant to talk about your past.

“My parents were diplomats and wanted me to be able to travel with them, so they had me learn Spanish, French, German, and Russian by the best tutors money could offer,” you shrugged, sort of stilted, at his curious glance.

“And I thought you were a thief because you were poor,” he shook his head with a smile. “Waller has very little info on you so I wasn’t sure.”

“My parents were cruel, and utilized their money to help bad people get into power,” you looked down at your lap. “I resent the things they taught me. And I tried my best to right the wrongs that people like them did.”

Rick sobered up and placed a hand on your arm.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he frowned and brushed his thumb over your skin. “I knew a little bit about your thievery and who you robbed and why, but it makes sense now. You were trying to help. I get it,” he sighed and took a sip of his drink while you downed yours. You hated talking about your family. You wanted to move on to something else. Anything else.

“I don’t want to talk about me anymore,” you sighed, brushing your hair out of your face and looking up into those beautiful eyes.

“What would you like to talk about then?” he whispered, not willing to break the reverie you were in. You were close, closer than you should be.

“I want to talk about you, Colonel,” you smirked and placed a delicate hand on his thigh. He dragged his eyes from that hand slowly up to your face.

“What do you wanna know, beautiful?” He smirked and blinked those pretty eyes at you. You’d both had too much to drink. It was a little scary making the first move, but you found him incredibly attractive and you were 99% sure he returned your feelings.

“I want to know,” you leaned in close, your lips brushing against his ear. “What those lips would feel like against mine,” you wondered aloud, and his sharp inhale was all you had to go on before a gentle hand was turning your face to his. The kiss was gentle, tentative even, but that’s not what you wanted. You wanted everything that Rick Flag could give you and you tightened your grip on his thigh, hoping to convey your thoughts, when everything went to shit. Peacemaker jerked Rick away from you and Cleo pulled you towards a darkened corner of the room.

“They’re asking for IDs,” she hissed, pulling you towards where you saw Abner had the Thinker.

“But what about-” she shushed you as you glanced back, making strained eye contact with Rick. Maybe you could use your powers to get out of this. But… You looked at the Thinker. This was the mission. You looked back at Rick. Would you get your brains blown out to save him?

You made your way to the exit, finding your way to the van and getting out of there. You were only vaguely paying attention while you were in pursuit of the truck holding your … friends? You panicked for a moment when it crashed, and when you pulled to a stop you sprinted out of the van and over to the fiery wreckage, thoughts racing about what could have happened to Rick when he, Bloodsport, and Peacemaker burst through the doors like some sort of boy band.

You couldn’t care less though as you threw yourself into his surprised arms and pressed your lips to his.

“That was stressful and I didn’t like it,” you muttered against his lips, barely noticing Bloodsport rolling his eyes.

“I don’t know,” Rick smiled and pulled away to look down at you. “This is pretty nice.”

You scoffed and grabbed at his hand, not willing to let go just yet, and dragged him to your vehicle.

“Shut it,” you muttered as you all gathered. All he responded with was a light chuckle.

Your next mission was saving Harley, but as it turned out, she was no damsel. You were on your way into the place she was being held when she walked down the street towards you.

“Hey, guys! Whatcha doin?” She was smiling brightly and you rolled your eyes at the situation before hugging her.

“We’re here to save you, obviously,” you muttered and she looked from you over your shoulder to Rick.

“You came back for me?” She whispered and Rick came over to you, Bloodsport rolling his eyes in the background.

“Yeah, it was a really good plan, too,” Rick muttered, but still hugged back when Harley threw herself into his arms.

“Well I can go back in and let you save me,” she offered and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Not necessary, Harley. Now that we have you we can get back to the mission,” you patted her on the back and nodded to the rest of your team.

Now, you could say that you acted heroically and saved the day, but you and your ragtag team… You were amateur heroes. It was a shitshow. You were setting up explosives with Nanaue when you had that bad feeling again. The one you had when you were going into that bank in Gotham. Maybe it was your intuition, but you knew some shit was about to go down.

“Keep at it!” You shouted at the King Shark and raced your way down the stairs to where Peacemaker and Rick were headed. If you remembered their part of the plan correctly, they were with the Thinker, but something went wrong when you were about halfway down.

“Fuck!” You shouted as you heard a great BOOM. They’d set off the explosives too early. Maybe you should have stayed… You looked up at the dust coming down from above. Your brain was telling you to get out before the building collapsed on you, but your gut was telling you to make it to Rick.

“Fuckfuckfuck,” you chanted as you raced down the stairwell, crumbling concrete raining down as you danced around to avoid it. Your stomach cramped in warning, and you crouched into a ball as the floor beneath you gave out and you fell several floors. When your falling came to a halt you took stock. There was rubble above you, but not crushing you. Your breathing was heavy and your heart raced as you clawed your way towards the fluorescent lighting. You grunted and groaned as your fingernails cracked and your fingers bloodied, but you were not about to die here.

You crawled out into the open and peered through the dark, dusty hallway. You didn’t see anybody, but you heard a scuffle and made your way towards the grunting and smashing sounds. The alarm bells started going off in your brain again, and you started running. Your feet pounded against the jagged edges of concrete on the ground but you didn’t stop. You whipped your pistol out when you came to the source of the sounds, but you froze.

Your eyes took in the scene very quickly, and you knew there was a decision to be made. You saw Cleo’s figure in the dark corner, eyes shining in the dusty haze. The others hadn’t seen her yet. At first glance, Rick was atop Peacemaker, and your initial thought was that he was winning this fight. But his eyes, wide and shocked, locked onto yours for merely a moment before he collapsed forward, a dead weight, and all of your breath left your body.

You also saw Peacemaker’s eyes shoot to a computer chip that had scattered across the floor right before you came in. Right before they shot over to you.

But you knew this: Peacemaker didn’t know who you were. He had no clue what you were capable of. He roughly pushed Rick’s body off of himself, but you were faster.

You put your hands in front of you, parallel to each other, and green mist started swirling around between them. You hadn’t had to use your powers to alter a scene this big or intense before, usually just using them on your own body, but you could do this. For Rick.

Suddenly everything slowed down, Peacemaker was still lying on the ground, Rick was face-first in the rubble, and Cleo was crouched in the dark, hand reaching out to the chip.

But you were alive as your powers raced through you. You had seen yourself in a mirror once as you used your powers, and you could imagine how you looked to them. Glowing green veins covered your skin as you altered the fabric of the universe itself. A wind picked up in the room, swirling in tandem with the green mist in your hands. You only needed a few moments. You didn’t need to go back and stop the fight, you just had to stop Peacemaker. You contorted your fingers and molded the green mist to your liking before throwing your arms wide, the green mist expanding to encapsulate yourself and the two men. You didn’t need to include Cleo, she wasn’t involved. The wind whipped around, the green mist blinding everyone but you, and things started to go into motion.

It would all happen very quickly for everyone involved. Just a rewind. But for you, you had to painstakingly watch as Rick’s body rose above Peacemaker, and you had to watch as the ceramic in his heart was drawn out. You had handcrafted this reality and you were forced to watch as your handiwork took place. But you had gotten to the moment you needed. They were near the end of the fight, Peacemaker had slammed Rick into a wall, and with a wave of your hand, the mist disappeared and everything was clear.

“Wait, what?” Peacemaker shot his eyes over to you, but he was too slow in his understanding. You had already whipped your pistol out of its holster and shot him twice in the throat. He grasped at his, trying to stifle the bleeding and crumpling to the ground, but your eyes were focused on Rick. A very shocked, but very alive Rick.

“What did you do?” He asked, and you weren’t sure if that was disgust or wonder in his voice, so you turned, walked slowly over to Cleo (who had witnessed the whole thing through a haze of green), and picked up the chip.

“I believe you were looking for this?” You asked, holding it out in front of yourself to him. He gulped, walking over to you, but your strength was draining from with a display of your powers. When he pulled the chip out of your hand and tucked it into your utility belt, you wavered, edges of your vision darkening as you slowly knelt to the ground.

“What are you doing, we need to get out of here?” Cleo shouted at you, but you waved her off.

“I just need to sit for a moment,” but your voice came out as a hoarse whisper.

“No you don’t,” Rick hauled you up by your armpits and lifted you into his arms, princess-style. “Let’s get out of here,” he muttered and followed Cleo out of the rubble and into the daylight. You squinted, the bright sun blinding you after being underground for so long.

“Shit,” you muttered, shoving your face into Rick’s neck to avoid the light.

“So,” he sounded very casual and you tensed up. “I really thought you weren’t going to use your rewind powers at all, what happened to make you use them?” You bit your lip, not sure what to say.

“Peacemaker killed you,” Cleo answered for you and Rick stopped walking. You winced and looked up at his face.

“I panicked,” you whispered, not sure how he was going to react. But when he turned his head to face you, it was as if he was looking at you for the first time.

“You saved my life?” He asked and it was your turn to gulp.

Okay, so maybe you had feelings for Rick. You knew that. He was a hot piece of ass, and he was kind, and he respected you. And you kissed at the bar and after the van chase. So he definitely knew you liked him. But did he know your feelings were deep enough to save his life and endanger your own in the process? Well… Now he did.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t want to lose you to that prick,” you tried to shrug it off, but Rick gently let your legs fall and your feet touch the ground. You weren’t sure what was happening until he reached out and pulled you into the warmest, most all-encompassing hug you had ever experienced.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he whispered into your hair, and you let yourself sigh and sink into the hug.

“Yeah well now you owe me one,” you muttered jokingly, trying to slightly ease the seriousness of the situation. He squeezed you tightly once more before pulling away and smirking.

“Anything you want, you can have,” he smiled that sunlight-bright smile at you and you blinked at him once before returning his smile.

“You can take me on a date once I’m out of prison, how does that sound?” You asked and his smile widened.

“I can do that.”

“That might be a lot sooner than you think,” Bloodsport had walked over to you and (you assumed) Cleo had explained everything to him. You blinked.

What did he mean by that?

Apparently he meant he was going to threaten Waller and keep the information hostage. It wasn’t exactly what Rick wanted, but he got out with his life, and you didn’t have to go back to prison. You were thinking about it as you settled into your new apartment, only two weeks after fighting Starro and killing Peacemaker, your first kill in years.

You were sitting on your comfy couch watching reruns of Adventure Time when Rick called you.

“Hey,” you answered warmly, and smiled at his voice when he responded.

“Hey, yourself. What’s up?” You drew a blanket over your lap and muted the TV.

“Just relaxing. What’s up with you?”

“I was thinking, how about I take you on that date tonight? I’ll pick you up at seven?” If your instincts were correct, and they usually were, he was nervous about it. He was unsure you would actually want him, considering how sheltered and uneven your relationship had been before. You were quick to dispel that.

“That sounds lovely, Rick,” you couldn’t help but bite your lip in anticipation when he hung up a few minutes later. You also couldn’t help the excited squeal you let out and the little dance you did. Things were finally falling into place.

[taexual]

i’d love you to stay but that’s simply insane // JJK (21)

   jungkook is an uncontrollable lead vocalist of the campus band, and you’re a goal-oriented top student that’s known his rich and complicated family since childhood. you don’t want anything to do with each other, until each other is exactly what you want to do.

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader

genre: college au

warnings: angst but it’s for a good cause

words: 7.7k

   chapter twenty-one

The next week was, as expected, full of frustrating epiphanies each time you checked your phone and realized you had no business waiting for anyone’s call or text. Not to mention, Inna’s hopeful eyes followed you whenever you were in the same room as her; she was eagerly awaiting the moment you and Jungkook would make up.

You hadn’t heard a word from him since the last party and his family hadn’t reached out to you, either. You couldn’t help but wonder how the dinner on Sunday had gone, and what excuse Jungkook used to explain your absence – he’d have to come up with a good one because you didn’t think the chances of you two talking again were very high.

In fact, you thought they were non-existent. He’d walked away from you for the second time in just one lifetime – you didn’t think it was supposed to be you who had to take the initiative and get to the bottom of things. And Jungkook would, most likely, have too much pride to offer an explanation.

So, no, you didn’t think you’d hear from him again soon. Not in the next seven years, at least.

However, life had a funny way of throwing your expectations out of the window – as you came to learn as soon as you left your final class the next Wednesday afternoon, five days after you’d last seen Jungkook, and spotted his mother looking at you expectantly from the end of the hall.

She waved at you as soon as you caught her eye and, walking over to her, you weren’t sure what to expect – her face was the perfect mask of polite indifference, so you couldn’t guess if she was here because something terrible had happened to Jungkook, or because she was getting remarried and wanted you to be her bridesmaid.

“You look lovely, dear,” was the first thing she told you when you approached her. That was enough for you to understand that she wasn’t going to be entirely honest today – she never was – because she was here in a designer two-piece, while you were wearing a—stained from an unsuccessful attempt at lunch—gray hoodie and your favorite sweatpants. “Do you have a moment to spare?”

“Sure,” you nodded after giving her a mandatory hug hello. “Would you like to get coffee? There’s a café across the quad.”

“Oh, of course,” she nodded, allowing you to exit the building first. “I’d love that.”

The two of you crossed the campus quadrangle towards the café next to the library and neither of you said a word. You’d hoped Jungkook’s mother would offer an explanation why she was here instead of making you ask her outright – that felt impolite – but that seemed less and less likely with each silent step that you took.

“You can choose a table, I’ll go place the order,” you said once you’d reached the café, “what would you like?”

“Just black coffee, no sugar, please,” she replied and then looked around the place, smiling pleasantly at every weary-eyed student that turned to look when they saw this lady with a very expensive aura come inside. “I think it’d be nice to sit by the window, hmm?”

You gave her a nod of approval and went over to order, choosing to wait by the coffee machine so you could brace yourself for what was coming when you’d join her at your table later.

Once you finally sat down opposite Jungkook’s mother, your caramel macchiato had turned from pale orange to plain white from how much your hands were shaking. His mother thanked you and, leaning forward to purposelessly stir her coffee with a spoon, she cleared her throat.

“Something happened,” she said simply. “Am I wrong?”

You didn’t want to misunderstand her. “What do you mean?”

“Between you and Jungkook,” she clarified. “He said you were busy when he was over for dinner but I could tell that wasn’t it. He looked different.”

You looked away from her to think. You were glad that Jungkook hadn’t missed the dinner even despite you not being there with him. That was a mature decision, you were almost proud of him for it.

“I… I don’t really know what to tell you, to be honest,” you said, watching your coffee and wondering why you even bought it. You didn’t feel like drinking anything. “We got into an argument after his concert last weekend, and we hadn’t talked since.”

She nodded knowingly, without the slightest change in her expression. As if this was a normal thing that she’d expected to happen sooner or later anyway. And, because she was prepared for it, she also knew just how to proceed.

“I’m not supposed to pick sides because, I suppose, I would be biased,” she started to say, giving you a warm smile as she clutched her cup in both hands, “but I have a feeling that you weren’t the one that started the argument. Am I right?”

Inhaling deeply as you shrugged your shoulders, you replied with, “actually, that’s hard to say,” and then you took a long gulp of your coffee, ignoring the burning of your throat as the hot – and unwanted – liquid struggled to make its way down.

Jungkook’s mother watched you drink in silence. She knew you were doing it only because you weren’t comfortable admitting to her that her son had never learned how to handle conflict – and who else was there to blame for that, if not his parents?

Sighing, she finally confessed, “I told myself I wouldn’t mention this to either of you because, well, it’s really none of my business, but I was backstage before Jungkook’s last concert.”

You turned to her. Noticing the confusion in your eyes, she explained, “his father and I came back to the venue early and I had to use the restroom. One of his bandmates showed me where to find the nearest one and, as I was on my way, I saw the two of you.”

Thinking what moment in particular she could have seen, you unconsciously squeezed the porcelain cup in your hands so tightly, the china almost started to crack under your fingertips. Even worse, as soon as you realized what she was getting at, you let go of the cup so quickly, it nearly tumbled off the table, splashing the contents around.

“Oh,” you said, more alarmed by the fact that his mother had seen you force him into a cold shower, than by the fact that your sweatpants were now stained with the caramel from your drink. “I was just—”

“You kicked some sense into him,” she finished for you, nonchalantly handing you a napkin, “in a way that I’d never seen anyone do before. And,” she chuckled in a good-natured way that did not conceal the admiration in her voice, “I’m his mother.”

“That’s…” you stopped yourself, choosing to wait until the warmth on your face receded and you felt less flustered. “You don’t give yourself enough credit,” you said, still not looking at her as you wiped the table, “kids aren’t easy to raise and Jungkook was a-a... a different sort of challenge. You did your best and he loves you for it.”

She was the one who was forced to look away from you this time.

“I thought I was doing my best,” she said. “I… I know it can be hard to understand, but I’d always had his best interest at heart. His and yours. You two were like two pieces of the same set when you were young.”

She smiled despite herself, but when you dared to lift your eyes to meet hers, there was a tear glistening on her face, slowly descending down her cheek. You didn’t know if it was caused by the memory or by something else that she hadn’t said yet.

“It’s…” she tried but couldn’t find the words, “I feel—ah. I don’t know how to tell you this without making you hate me. It’s my fault that you and Jungkook were apart from each other for so long.”

She struggled to keep talking and you struggled to find a way to tell her that you already knew that.

Admittedly, it wouldn’t have been hard to reach out a hand and touch her shoulder, tell her that Jungkook had already told you about this. But, by doing so, you’d have to admit that everything was fine. That you didn’t hold a grudge. That you’d moved on.

And part of it was true – you didn’t hold a grudge. But it wasn’t fine. And you hadn’t moved on.

So, you stayed quiet, letting her continue.

“I thought it was for the best,” she said, “you two, being apart, I mean. I thought it could save you both from the damage your close relationship could do to your futures. But,” shaking her head to herself, she scoffed, “that wasn’t what happened at all, was it?”

“Hmm,” you shook your head slightly, “no, it wasn’t. There was always this gap—t-this empty space in my life. It was kind of like losing a tooth. You can get it replaced, get an implant, but it’s not the same. Even if the hole isn’t there anymore, you’re still missing a tooth.”

Another tear cascaded down her face as she listened to you, only daring to nod her head when you glanced at her – which was once, right before you finished speaking.

She noticed how you didn’t question her or asked her to elaborate; you understood what she was saying.

And she understood that you had already known about this.

“You blossomed,” she said, smiling even though there were tears in her eyes, “but Jungkook never recovered. He needed you. Probably more than you needed him.”

“No. That can’t be,” you disagreed instantly. “I—I need him, too.”

Noticing the present tense, Jungkook’s mother smiled. “Then don’t be apart from each other anymore. You’re not meant to be.”

That was simple. So simple, that it got you to smile in this ironically sad way. But because this could have been one of the last times you’d ever see her – since your future with Jungkook, despite how much you said you needed him, was very unclear – you chose not to mention it.

Instead, you figured now was as good of a time as any to come clean about the real status of your relationship with her son.

“You know…” you started, “when we first came to your house, we weren’t—we weren’t really together. We were just—”

“I know,” she said and, just when you were about to continue, she finished, “that you think so.”

“I—sorry?”

“You think you came for dinner, pretending to be dating so it would leave a good impression on his father,” she explained.

It felt ridiculous to hear her say it when she wasn’t supposed to know about it. Apparently, both of you knew a lot more than you let on.

“T-that’s… yeah. That’s what we did.”

She shook her head. “No, it isn’t. Not really. You came for dinner together.”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Sweetheart, no,” she took your hand into hers. “You’d been together from the moment you first talked to each other after all those years. And, every day following that, you were more and more together.”

Feeling the warmth from her hands wash off to yours, you asked in a hushed tone, “why do you say that?”

“Because I’d watched you grow up,” she said, a smile on her otherwise clouded face. “I know you love each other in a different way than most people. You don’t have to go on dates and get to know each other before you get attached and form a connection. You don’t have to spend months with each other to fall in love. It’s already happened. Maybe it happened even before you were born. Maybe it was written in the stars, so to speak.”

She laughed as she said that last part and—because you’d been watching her with such intensity, you didn’t blink once—you felt yourself smile in response.

Then, you asked, “do you really believe that?”

“Ah,” she leaned back in her chair, exhaling. She did seem like the sort of person who believed in the happily-ever-after and she didn’t mind this image. But, because this was nor the place, nor the time for acting, she chose to be honest with you and admitted, “normally, no. But with you two? Yes. Absolutely.”

And that meant a lot more than anything else she’d ever told you when she was busy trying to maintain the look of an untroubled, completely satisfied member of a rich family.

She was human now. And she was rooting for you – she’d always been, even if she didn’t always choose the best ways to express that.

“Do you know what he did during our last dinner?” his mother asked after a moment.

Thinking she was about to tell you that Jungkook knocked his father out, you were afraid for her to continue.

“He renounced his position as the heir to the company,” she said and you saw her tears stop, a smile spreading on her lips instead – like she was proud of him. “I’ve never seen him so determined before. I don’t think his father has, either. I… I think he’s been expecting it, though. Jungkook never expressed much interest in the family business, not unless it meant pleasing his father.”

You were shocked she’d noticed Jungkook’s eagerness to be a good son to his father, but perhaps you shouldn’t have been – she was his mother. She knew him best.

Funnily enough, she thought the exact same thing about you.

“He wants to talk to you,” she said after a while, her hand still holding yours as steam ceased to rise from your cups, the drinks inside of them gradually growing colder.

“Did he tell you that?” you asked, surprised.

“No, but that’s obvious. He’s been antsy throughout our dinner on Sunday,” she spoke, “almost like that gap you’d mentioned before was especially prominent when he was supposed to be with his family, but one member just wasn’t there.”

You felt a quick spark of honor in your chest – they still considered you to be a part of their family – but you lowered your eyes, hoping to hide it.

“What bothers me the most,” you admitted slowly, “is that his method of solving arguments is so unconventional, I can never guess what he’s going to do.”

“What do you want him to do?”

“I want him to—I…” you couldn’t finish.

You didn’t want much, you just wanted to be able to admit to yourself that every time you’d been angry at him since last Friday night, was all pretend. All because you were supposed to be angry. But, the truth was, you weren’t; you were just hurt. And what you wanted most of all was to see him.

“I want to talk to him,” you said. “Because if he’s thinking of spending another seven years not talking to me, then he better give me a direct warning, so that I can tell him I won’t do this again. I won’t go through—if he doesn’t want to be with me, I’m not going to wait for almost a decade for him to change his mind.”

“That was never the case,” his mother said. “He always wanted to be with you even when he wasn’t supposed to.”

“See, but he keeps making these decisions,” you said, “these wrong decisions. He seems like he’s learned to tell right from wrong in all of these years, and yet he still—”

“He’s trying, though, isn’t he?” she interrupted you. “He fails a lot, but he always gets back up and tries again. I love him with all of my heart, but I hated to see some of the situations he’s gotten himself into over the years. He’d had to make a lot of choices for his future and he made a lot of wrong ones. I used to think that, maybe, the only right decision he’d made, was choosing to give you some space to grow seven years ago—”

“No,” you stated immediately, your voice firm and unwavering for the first time today. “The only right decision he made was talking to me again after seven years.”

His mother’s eyes watched the expression on your face change from hopeless defeat to assured confidence, and she finally let go of your hand, but not before you saw the hairs on her skin stand up as she shivered.  

“You’re right,” she spoke, her voice in awe over how quickly you defended Jungkook even though, at the end of the day, you and her both knew you needed that space. You needed some time away from him.

She had come here with the intention of getting you to give her son another chance – because, God knew, Jungkook was taking his sweet time asking for it himself – but she could see now that her visit was largely pointless.

She didn’t need to ask you to fight for your relationship with Jungkook – you’d been fighting for it from day one.

“Talk to him, okay?” she asked, even though she knew this wasn’t going to be the end of your story. It couldn’t be. “As his mother, I even give you the permission to kick his ass if he won’t reach out to you first.”

You snickered at this and then looked at her as you spoke, “I’ve really missed having conversations like these with you. Not about Jungkook—I meant, over coffee, when it’s just us two.”

“I’ve missed that, too,” she replied, responding to your warm words by allowing an uncharacteristically big smile to appear on her face, “but we’ll have plenty of those in the future,” she added, “because we just got you back and we’re not letting you go.”

The next day, you were almost afraid to run into Jungkook because a conversation with him seemed inevitable, and you didn’t think you were ready for it.

The universe – that is, your class schedule – cared little whether you were prepared or not, however.

As soon as you were done with your last class of the day, you cautiously turned your head to Jungkook’s usual spot—across the auditorium from you—and found him already watching you.

The two of you eyed each other in an almost formal way – the way you would look at your professor as you approached her to inquire about a paper that was due – and then you both got up, packed your things, and, exchanging a yet another meaningful look, you both headed for the exit of the building, every single movement of your bodies completely in sync even though you hadn’t spoken a word to each other.

There was a mute agreement between you and him: you haven’t seen each other since the party last week, but now that you have, you simply had to talk again. Those were the rules for people like you – people who’d spent nearly a decade avoiding all conversation with each other, and had promised they would never go through that again.

You figured the first thing you’d say to each other after last week would be “sorry” but, as it turned out, your first words were your coffee orders as the two of you had automatically left the building to head to the campus café.

“I know my mom came to see you,” Jungkook broke the uncomfortable silence when you found an empty table at the back of the café. “Sorry if… she made you uncomfortable. I didn’t ask her to come, I swear.”

He didn’t start to speak because he had a lot to say. He started because, even though you came here with him naturally, without a single word, he knew you hadn’t come here just for a cup of coffee. You’d come to hear his explanation, his excuse, and, eventually and most importantly, his apology.

“I know,” you said even though you didn’t. It made sense for Jungkook not to ask for anyone’s help, though. “It’s okay.”

“But I’m glad she came,” he revealed, “because now I have an excuse to tell you that I, uh… I fucked up.”

Resisting a relieved sigh – because you’d been worried that resolving this argument would require the sort of maturity that neither of you had, but Jungkook was surprisingly determined to solve it the same way you solved all of your fights: by turning half of it into a joke – you sat opposite him and shrugged.

“Not the first time,” you said.

Scoffing, Jungkook agreed, “yeah. Definitely not. But I, uh… you haven’t done anything wrong. I was pissed at—I was pissed off and I let my frustrations out on you. And that’s not fair.”

You nodded, agreeing with the way he’d interpreted your last conversation.

“Well,” you said then, “that’s probably not the first time, either.”

He raised an eyebrow at your comment, a flash of concern appearing in his eyes before he clicked his tongue and said under his breath, “alright, open and honest. That’s good. I deserve that.”

You didn’t reply this time. You didn’t encourage him to keep going, either, but he took your silence as a sign that he’d obviously not said enough to make up for his words that night.

“I was wrong,” Jungkook said and paused. He couldn’t believe he’d spent every night the past week, trying to think of a way to say this to you, when it was literally all so simple. “I asked you to leave because I genuinely believed you’d be better without me, but I—I’ve never felt more afraid than when I saw you turn around and walk away. I thought it’d be for the best, but the thought of never seeing you again was terrifying. That sounds selfish now that I’ve said it, but I’m not saying it because I’m scared to lose you, even though I am. I’m saying this because I’m sorry.”

You’d forgotten how to blink as you watched him, and you thought you’d misheard him when he apologized. That was something that was understandable – a person did something they regretted, and they apologized for it – but Jungkook was never one who behaved in conventional ways.

And yet, he continued, “I’ve been caged my whole life, always blamed for the things I did that did not fit the person that I was supposed to be.”

Contrary to the conversation with Jungkook’s mother that you’ve had in this exact same spot, now you couldn’t seem to tear your eyes off of him as he spoke. Jungkook, meanwhile, scratched his temple with a nervous finger and proceeded to count the wooden tiles on the floor.

“But you’re not like them,” he was saying, not specifying who ‘they’ were because he didn’t have to, “no one’s ever given me the sort of freedom that you did. You’re the only one that allowed me to think about what I wanted. You’re the one who told me to act on it. As long as I didn’t self-destruct along the way, of course.”

He tried to lighten the mood, smiling as he said that last part, but your face remained stoic and, for a moment, Jungkook worried you hadn’t heard him. Or, worse – you had heard him, but he wasn’t saying the right things.

In all truth, that was precisely the case – you thought he was giving you too much credit. He’d blamed you for taking control of his life that night at the bar, and now he was thanking you for it.

You didn’t think you deserved the blame or the gratitude: you never wanted him to do whatever you commanded him to do. You just wanted him to stop making decisions that would lead him to an early grave.

“You…” he continued, more tentative now, “you’ve put up with me for so long and I was overwhelmed by the fact that there’s no one like you in my life. So, I guess, for a moment, you didn’t feel real to me, either, because how could you be? A-and so, I ended up blaming you for the things that I should have never blamed you for.”

You nodded, acknowledging it all, even the sleepless nights that he hadn’t told you about – he didn’t have to; the dark circles under his eyes said more than enough. You’d recognized them with ease because you’d seen them in your own mirror every morning this week.

And then you spoke, returning to the one point of your last argument that he hadn’t brought up.

The one point that may have angered you more than anything else he’d said that night.

“I didn’t agree to help you with your parents because of the company,” you said.

“I know,” he said.

Jungkook seemed to remember almost every part of that night – although, blissfully, he’d forgotten what he’d done after you’d left; there were bruises on his knuckles and his face to show for it, though – and you couldn’t decide if that was better or worse.

If he didn’t remember what happened, that could have been a sign that he was wasted out of his mind and that was why he’d said what he’d said. But that was a very poor excuse, considering that a drunken tongue often voiced out sober thoughts.

At least now you didn’t have to remind him of his own words – that would have made this conversation far less calm. But, at the same time, the fact that he could remember arguing with you, meant that he was sober enough to get himself in control back there. But he hadn’t. Instead, he’d allowed his instincts to take the wheel: he’d won against the alcohol, but lost against his own impulses.

Taking a deep breath, you thought now was your only chance to explain your reasons for being with him because you weren’t sure how this coffee date was going to play out just yet. And if this was the last time you’d see him, he deserved to know the whole truth.

“I agreed to help you,” you said, “because you asked me to.”

Nodding before you properly finished, he said, “I know—”

“But also,” you cut him off, your voice growing louder and then falling into an almost hushed tone as you said, “because I couldn’t say no to you. Not when you were desperate to get me to say yes. I—I had been in love with you for a lot longer than—than either of us realized, probably. And, maybe, I’d also wanted to know what it’d be like to be with you.”

Admitting that you wanted to play a relationship with him felt childish, and you couldn’t lift your eyes to meet his. But, even so, it also felt relieving.

You’d said it.

You’d admitted it to yourself and to him. You’d chosen to strip down to your vulnerability, and that was difficult and bold, but it also freed you from being the only person in the world who knew this.

“And,” Jungkook exhaled shakily, “what was it like?”

You felt your lips curl into a hesitant half-smile. “Not too terrible, surprisingly.”

He laughed with his whole chest and you found yourself leaning back a little, so you could take in the sight in front of you.

A beat passed as Jungkook recovered, a small smile still on his face. Then, you dared to speak again.

“I’m sorry I always tried to take care of you,” you spoke, each word calculated. You had already thought about telling him this, so you knew you chose your words right; you just weren’t sure what sort of reception awaited you.

Jungkook gave you a long look, his eyes accepting your apology while, simultaneously, trying to tell you that it wasn’t necessary.

“I’m sorry I always asked you to,” he countered, “and then demanded that you don’t.”

You smiled. “I’m sorry I’m starting to think you need to see a therapist.”

“Yeah,” he snickered, nodding, “don’t be sorry about that one. I…” he lowered his eyes before saying, “I’m sorry I accused you of controlling me when I’m the one who never lets you make your own decisions.”

Your eyebrows did a little dance, rising in surprise at first – because he’d said something you weren’t expecting – and then lowering into a frown – after you’d digested his words and came to the conclusion that you didn’t like the way they tasted.

“No, that’s—I can stand up for myself if I have to,” you said, defending both, yourself, and him, too.

“You can,” he didn’t disagree, sighing, “really well, too. No matter how much I try to stand in your way,” he paused for a minute. Then, he said, “I can’t. Stand up for myself, I mean. I think I can, but unless I’m hitting someone in the face, I—but I’m trying. Only, I’m not doing a very good job at it, clearly.”

He stopped talking even though he’d inhaled as if he had something else left to say. You watched him, waiting and slowly realizing that he had either forgotten what he was about to say, or he thought there was no point to say it.

Neither was the case. He just needed some time to gather the words.

When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, “I need you. A lot. And I’m sorry about that, too. I’m sorry I rely on you so much.”

You looked away, shaking your head, “you don’t.”

“No, I do,” he disagreed. “I always go back to you. I need you in my life and then I push you away, I’m—”

“That’s what I mean,” you cut him off, your voice more frantic than before. “You don’t rely on me. You want to, but you’re holding yourself back. I’m here for you. I was always here for you.”

The sound of his rapid heartbeat deafened him for a moment and he wasn’t sure if he really spoke, or if he just thought about it, as he tried to ask, “even though I don’t deserve it?”

“You—well, sometimes, you really don’t,” you admitted, not sugarcoating it because the expression on his face needed you to be truthful. “But, at the same time, I couldn’t think of any other person who would need someone to rely on more than you do.”

Now the beating of his heart wasn’t just deafening – it was painful, too, each beat like a sharp stab that did not merely scratch the surface of every organ inside of him, but seemed to suck all oxygen out of his lungs, too.

“I don’t deserve you,” he said, “and I know it would be better for me to leave. But I—well, I can’t. I… I think that maybe—uh, maybe I picked that fight with you at the bar just so you’d walk away from me.”

His hypothetical reasoning hurt almost as much as actually walking away from him did.

“What makes you think I can walk away from you?” you asked, sounding brave but only because you hid your face behind your coffee cup as you took a sip.

“You know you can,” he replied.

Lowering the cup, you phrased yourself differently, “what makes you think I would want to?”

His blood pulsed with a desperate need to hear you say that again – a dozen more times, at least – but Jungkook tried, for once, to remain rational.

He’d gone too far that night at the bar, but it gave him the opportunity to get the closure you didn’t get when you talked to him that night in your bedroom, moving past the Seven Year Silence as if it didn’t matter anymore. As if you didn’t need to talk about that ever again, even though the lost years lingered behind you like a forgotten tail that you kept tripping over each time you took your relationship a step further.

“I’m bad,” Jungkook spoke. “I’m bad for you.”

He’d said it – and that was it. He’d stepped on the tail. Purposefully this time, with scissors in hand. Only he didn’t yet know what he’d end up cutting – the past that he couldn’t seem to move on from, or himself, out of your life.

“You’re—you’re annoying as shit. Impossible sometimes, even,” you said, remembering how irritated he’d made you feel at times. And how little it mattered, at the end of the day. “But you’re not bad for me. You’re not bad, period.”

Jungkook exhaled and opened his mouth as if he wanted to argue with you further, but didn’t know how.

In the end, he didn’t think he deserved you because he thought he was too far gone, but, as you watched him, you knew that that was exactly the reason why he did deserve you. Because he only saw his flaws – always only flaws – and he refused to consider how much more of him there was.

“I never meant to hurt you. Ever,” he said, “not even when I said those stupid things—it’s all because I’m—fuck, it all just sounds like an excuse, doesn’t it? An excuse to make me feel better about staying with you despite being bad for—”

“It might sound like an excuse,” you interrupted gently, “but it’s the one part that isn’t. You’re not bad if you didn’t mean to be. You’re not bad if you’re trying to be better.”

He thought it over for a minute and then, looking up from his abandoned cup of coffee, he gave you one final excuse, “I love you. Too much, probably.”

Inhaling sharply because the confession took you off-guard, you replied with a slight tremble in your voice, “I—I love you, too. You know I do. But I don’t want that to be something that… something that you take for granted.”

That had never been his intention – which was why his stomach clenched uncomfortably after you said this – but he knew he’d been doing exactly that: treating you like you were a constant in his life. As if he’d never lost you before. As if he couldn’t lose you again.

“I know,” he said, “I didn’t mean to. We’ve already been—”

Reading his mind, you cut in, “thank you for not waiting for seven years to apologize this time.”

Jungkook had to give you a good look before he allowed himself to react. When he saw the small grin on your lips right before you took another sip of your coffee, he laughed.

“No, I’ve learnt that lesson,” he said, “I promise.”

“Just that one, then?” you bit, not cruelly.

Jungkook lowered his eyes, taking the blow in silence.

Putting your cup of coffee down, you exhaled and kindly reminded him, “you know, you, uh—you’d promised me you would think before you acted.”

“I promised to try,” he corrected, careful. “And I’m trying, really. I’ve kept my other promises to you, haven’t I? I never lied to you.”

You nodded, “sure.”

“I’m getting myself together like my father wanted,” he stated and, looking out the window of the café, he added, “but I’m not doing it for the company.”

Surprised and, consequently, alarmed, you almost didn’t want to ask him what he meant. You were afraid there was a reason – a person – that he was trying to grow up for. You were afraid he might say he was doing this for you.

Because that would mean that his determination was temporary. He’d try to behave, try to mature, try to grow but only as long as he got a reward for it. Never because that was his own goal.

“No?” you questioned lamely, your voice almost a squeal.

“No,” Jungkook confirmed, “I’m doing it so I wouldn’t lose my teeth before I’m fifty.”

Startled at first when you recognized your own words, you felt your face break into a surprised smile. Jungkook was glad you remembered.

“I’m doing it for myself,” he said then, “so I could be with you.”

You did not say anything else – but not because you had nothing left to say. In fact, it was the opposite – you had too much to say and you couldn’t choose where to start.

“I want to…” Jungkook broke the momentary silence between you but he too struggled to find the right way to begin his next sentence. Clearing his throat and straightening his posture, he tried differently, “I want you with me through everything, but only if that’s what you want, too. If it’s not, then—”

Cutting him off with an aggressive clear of your throat – you didn’t mean to, but he was spitting out his words so quickly, you couldn’t find the right moment to interrupt him – you slid to the edge of your seat and shook your head.

“I want to be with you,” you said and then added in a matter-of-fact way, “I’ve always wanted that. But I need you to talk to me. I need you to tell me what you need—do you need me to be with you quietly, or do you need me to say something? Do you need me to stay or do you need me to leave you alone? Do you—”

“Stay,” he said without hesitation. “I always need you to stay.”

Leave, his voice echoed in your mind, the night at the bar still painfully fresh in your memory.

“I need you to tell me that,” you said, feeling a lump in your throat, “when you feel like you’re not thinking clearly. When you want to do something so you’d get rid of all that you’ve bottled up inside. I need you to talk to me.”

“I—”

“Don’t say you will if you don’t mean it,” you warned, noticing the determined look on his face. “I don’t want for us to keep going back and forth, because I don’t like it when you tell me to leave, only to say the exact opposite later.”

Wincing, Jungkook was forced to remember how the night ended yet again. Not wanting it to turn into another tail that you never addressed, even though it obviously strained your relationship, he cleared his throat before explaining.

“I… I just don’t want you to feel like you’re wasting your time on me,” he said, “I—I know I keep saying I’ll try to get myself together and learn how to—well, be an adult, but no one knows how long that’ll take me to learn, least of all me.”

Jungkook expected you to hesitate but your response was immediate.

“I never asked you to promise me something that you didn’t believe in. And I know that our future isn’t clear,” you said with a sympathetic nod because he didn’t give you an excuse right now. He gave you an explanation. “I’ve always known that. And I’ve stayed so far, haven’t I? So… how about you don’t worry about how long it’ll take for you to grow up? Worry about the end result instead. Worry about making sure that, at the end of the day, neither of us is wasting our time, pretending to be bigger and better than we actually are. Worry about us becoming as big and as good as we’re pretending to be. However long that takes.”

“I feel like the only way to really make sure we’re not wasting our time,” he confessed, “would be for me to leave.”

Groaning in defeat, you said, “you’re an idiot.”

“Yeah?” Jungkook needed a moment to understand why, but he got distracted by your exaggerated groan, so he just went with it, “yeah, I probably am.”

“You tell me that walking away is the right choice one more time,” you threatened, “I swear, I will punch you. And then you’ll really need stitches.”

He’d forgotten about his wounded eyebrow and the band-aid that he’d clumsily glued on it yesterday – after he accidentally ripped the wound open and didn’t want the blood to get in his eye.

Smiling now, he asked, “I thought violence wasn’t the answer?”

“You’re too thick to hear me otherwise.”

Jungkook laughed. You realized that, despite knowing him for twenty-three years now, you haven’t seen him laugh nearly enough times to get used to the sight.

“I need you, too. Okay?” you found yourself saying, hopeful that he’d really hear you this time. “A lot. And, believe me, I make it complicated for myself enough without your help—I overthink, I get scared, I hesitate, I waste my own time. But, see, I think it’s worth it. I think we’re worth it.”

He nodded, taking mental notes to ease his uncertainty about this. He had to know that being with you really wasn’t selfish on his part.

But even with your glittering eyes on him, he still needed more reassurance.

“What do you need me to do?” he asked. “I know you said I need to talk to you, I-I get that. Okay. But what do you need me to do so you wouldn’t look back at this, and think of every minute you’ve spent with me as a minute wasted?”

You didn’t have to think long about your answer.

“I need you to give yourself a break,” you told him. “You’re not something I have to “put up with”. You’re not bad for me. I need you to understand that I genuinely love you and it hurts me when you refuse to see it.”

Ready to apologize again, Jungkook suddenly stopped himself. An apology would have only been genuine if he knew what he was apologizing for – and he wasn’t sure that he did.

“I’ve never… no one’s loved me like that before,” he admitted, his eyes low.

You shook your head because that wasn’t true at all, and it was painful to know that he’d spent his whole life thinking so. He’d gotten so used to believing that he was only loved as much as he was useful, he couldn’t even see how some love was completely unconditional.

“Yes, they have,” you said, speaking slowly because you waited for him to look at you again, “your mom—she loves you much more than you see. Let her. Let me. Learn how to stop thinking of yourself as someone not worthy of love.”

“It’s—but I wasn’t always this way,” he said, not just stepping on the tail, but gripping it tightly, too. “Seven years ago. I’d been putting myself first every day before that. But that day—that last day—t-that was probably the day when I’d made the only smart decision in my life – I did the right thing by not putting myself first. I thought of you, and I walked away.”

You and him kept going in circles -- with Jungkook beating himself up for not being good enough, and then finally giving himself a moment to breathe only to return, yet again, to the loudest voice in his head: he thought he was selfish for being with you. He thought it’d be better to leave.

His mother had thought so, too, and she’d said the exact same thing to you. You’d disagreed then and you disagreed now.

“And how’d that “smart decision” work out in the end?”

“Well—”

“It obviously didn’t,” you answered for him, “or we wouldn’t be having this conversation. But, you know what, you’re right about one thing – maybe the moment you overheard your mom say that she was worried about your influence on me, was exactly the moment you convinced yourself that you weren’t worth it. That you didn’t deserve to be loved unless you became exactly what you thought people wanted you to be,” you finished and Jungkook looked frozen, not daring—and not being able—to move a muscle. You felt the need to add, “so, you’re, uh—you’re right. You weren’t always this way. But this change—that wasn’t a good change. You hadn’t made a good decision. It was stupid. Walking away was stupid.”

It took him a minute to regain control of himself and when he did, he wasn’t sure what to say because, mentally, he was across the table, standing right behind you and holding you so tightly, neither of you was able to breathe.

“I was—” he said and almost choked, his mouth dry. Swallowing, he tried again, “I-I was trying to look out for you.”

“I understand your reasons,” you said, not needing him to explain it again. “Let’s say you were. But I’m not in the ninth grade anymore. You said so yourself, I can walk away. I know my limits.”

Jungkook nodded, keeping his respectful silence as he listened.

“You push them every day,” you added.

Blinking, he scrambled for a way to reply, “I—”

“And,” you weren’t done yet, “I let you know when you do. I tell you. And if you told me about what you were thinking, too, then we could work on it,” you paused, wondering if you’d said everything. Then, deciding that you hadn’t, you added, just to strengthen your point, “walking away is not the best solution. Not when it hurts more than staying.”

Jungkook feared what you would answer, but he still had to ask, “does staying with me hurt?”

Your skin prickled at the sound of his small voice.

“No,” you admitted.

“Does leaving?”

“Yes,” you said. “Always.”

Inhaling sharply, he longed to reach over the table and touch your hand, but he felt himself freeze again – as if this whole afternoon had been one dream, and he was now paralyzed: his mind awake, but his body still asleep.

“Come to my show this Friday night,” he finally asked, his breathing shallow while his words poured out of his mouth in an uncontrollable stream, “fight me and punch me if I’m wrong. Argue with me and completely shatter whatever was left of my ego after I fell in love with you. Leave me by myself if you’ve had too much. Walk away if you need some time to breathe while I learn how to be better. But always come back to me,” pausing because he needed one more moment to brace himself before saying this again, he asked, “stay with me, please.”

keep reading | masterlist

[xbunnybunz]

Weak Hero University (2/?) [Reader x Weak Hero]

Summary: I know you assholes are crying now that the first season of Weak Hero is over. But you’ve got other things to focus on, like where the fuck you’re going to live after getting kicked out of your old dorm. Luckily, you’ve found one last open room on the other side of Weak Hero University. What could possibly go wrong?

Genre: Romance, Humor, Slice of Life

Date: 6/1/2021

A brief introduction of everyone later, you haul a suitcase into the room while Ben noisily and clumsily pulls on his shorts, after much persuading from his friends.

“You’re living… Here? In the boys dorms?” Eugene asks, tagging beside carrying your schoolbag. “Isn’t that against the campus policy?”

You park the suitcase beside by your room and sigh, popping your back briefly.

“I’m just as confused as you guys are, but the keys here seem to be for this room here.” You allow a single gold-hued key to dangle from your fingers on a cheap polyester lanyard, Eugene’s eyes follow the menacing stare of the school mascot printed on the side until you pull it out of his sight.

“Let’s see just how fucked up this school is when it comes to money extortion.” You put the key in the door and hear a tell-tale metallic ‘click.’

“Wow.” A voice says from the couches. “Pretty fucked up.”

You sigh, shoulder slumping forward. “Whatever. Let’s just get this over with.”

Most of the items go into your room without much hassle at all. A suitcase full of cute PJs you and your nonexistent best gal roommates could rave over, a plastic box full of face masks you’d probably never be able to use without being made fun of, and a waterlogged ziplock baggie half-full with notes (and corn chips) from last semester.

What? A folder? What the fuck is a folder?

A boy with silver hair passes by and begins to say something to you, but seems to debate better options when he sees the plastic baggie on the floor.

Feeling slighted somehow, you ask Eugene who he is once he’s out of earshot.

Eugene laughs and begins to speak but an arm looping around his neck cuts him off.

A pair of shimmering emerald eyes meet your own, but it’s clouded with a shadow of mischief. “You haven’t heard? That’s the white mamba of E-quad. He’s fearlessly beaten bastards so bloody with belts that we have metal detectors installed at the dining hall entrances now!”

“Stop exaggerating, Alex.” Eugene chokes out, sounding mildly discontented while desperately trying to pry the arm from around his neck.

“Wait, that was because of him?”

Eugene and Alex both freeze, brows furrowed. “Wait, you weren’t kidding?” Eugene asked.

“I was.” Alex says.

They both fix their gazes on you, and you’re suddenly struck with the memories of needing to surrender your lockpicking kit in front of several dozen freshmen behind you, and the hot desire to bury that memory consumes you.

“Haha, me too.”

They don’t seem convinced.

Before the conversation about buckle-assisted homicide can continue, a large shadow descends upon your form and a great arm reaches out from the heavens above. “Here, I grabbed this from the kitchen in case you needed a snack.”

You look up and see Gerard, the tallest and blindest of the group. You accept his gift of a single (1) lunchables capri-sun with much adoration in your heart.

“Thanks Gerard.”

He gives you a smile to remind the audience that he is, simply put, cool as fuck.

“No problem.”

Well, one problem. You eye the last bit of your luggage sitting at the doorway like a heaping pile of hot flaming garbage. It’s an amalgamation of the extraneous bits of your personality you’ve collected over the course of the past semester at Weak Hero University and maybe a forgotten bagel. Despite your previous roommate’s pleads for you to throw some of it out, you’d be damned if you weren’t a treacherous little hoarder. Simply put, it was a huge box of insignificant trinkets that made for a very significant problem. You had gotten lucky to cross paths with a cute but gullible junior earlier, who you immediately marked as prey and flirted with before unceremoniously dumping your crap on him to carry across campus. But now you’d have to pick up the box of crap yourself, which would prove to be a challenge with how little you actually wanted to be responsible for your own items.

The three boys see you eying the box and you perk up immediately, eyes glimmering with the possibility of wooing the fine gentlemen into helping a oh-so-meek lass like yourself.

You twirl a piece of hair between your fingers and bat your eyelashes at nothing at all, pouting your lips and hoping they weren’t too crusty. “Oh, I’m so tired. How am I ever going to move that big and heavy box?”

You stare dismally into an off-corner and attempt to look forlorn, grimacing when you see a weird  construction of a human-sized dorito-chip statue made of empty dorito bags beside the television. This was the moment your main love interest would swoop in and offer his servitude to you, dewey roses blossoming on convenient parts of the screen. Here it was, your very own shoujo moment!

But there’s no offer. In fact, you stare so long at the doritos statue that you begin to get spots in your vision.

When you turn back, the boys are by the box in question, though they are not attempting to move it at all. Instead, they lament over the problem with you as opposed to offering a solution.

“Ah, that thing looks so heavy. Sucks to be you.” Alex laughs.

Euguene shakes his head. “Right? I wouldn’t even be able to get a corner off the ground.”

Gerard places a thoughtful hand on the back of his neck. “You should probably save the capri-sun for after moving everything.”

Ugh.

Just when all hope seemed lost, Ben meanders out of his room. This time, all his articles of clothing are intact.

“Hey, what are you guys staring at?”

Yes! This was your movie-moment after all!

“Oh Ben! Thank god you’re here.” You resume your maiden in distress pose. “I was just so tired from the trip, my feeble heart and body can’t bear to-“

Alex pokes his head up when he hears Ben approaching, waving him over. “Look at all this shit she has. She’s like those people on My Strange Addiction!”

Irritated that he’s cut you off, you try to continue. “I won’t ever be able to lift all that on my own-!”

“Aren’t you talking about Hoarding, Buried Alive?” Gerard asks, clearly already losing interest in the luggage.

“Actually, I think that would be Hoarders, the reality television show that aired a little before My Strange Addiction took flight! It’s actually really interesting how that all started out, if you want to hear about it.”

You scowl at the back of Eugene’s head and stop quickly when Ben shoots a grin at you.

He puffs out his chest in a stupid himbo way and thrusts his thumb into his chest. “I can move this for you! No sweat! Just tell me where you want it!”

Sweet! You were about to resort to desperate begging, but those plans are cancelled!

You clasp your hands together and sigh, envisioning a world where men with muticolored hair fall in love with you.

“Oh, anywhere in here is fine, thank you so much Ben!”

As he goes in to lift it, you can see his muscles straining against the well-fitting fabric of his shirt.

Oh yes, this is definitely worth the dorming fee.

“Ben, you’re so sweet for helping me with this!” He ambles past you while struggling to hold the lid of the box closed. A strained voice comes from beyond the green rim of the bin. “Yep, no problem at all.”

You follow him into your room, tailing him while rambling about how grateful you were.

“You know, there was a junior who I met by the campus square on my way here. He helped me move everything to this building, but he struggled with that box a lot longer than you! I’m actually not sure how you’re even getting it off the ground without a wedge and trolley, but boy am I glad!”

Ben stops at the foot of your bed, barely able to peek over the edge of the bin. “Erm. Is here okay?”

“Hey I mean, as strong as that guy was, you’re definitely cuter than him. I was almost sad to see him go, but that’s the life of a busy woman!”

“Pleasemyarmsareshaking-”

“As great as all this is, I’m actually really excited to make friends with everyone! Given these strange circumstances that usually only happen to indulge borderline psychotic fans, we should take advantage and-”

Ben drops the box on the floor and you screech, a pain shooting up your leg and pumping adrenaline into your veins.

“-FUCK! Shit!”

Ben freezes and realizes the absolutely fuckery he has just caused, but before he can react, you grab the corner of the box and throw it off your foot in a show of brute gorilla strength, crumpling to the floor in agony.

The boys have their heads poked into the doorway, curious after hearing two cuss words successively. They blanche when they realize the situation.

“Oh fuck. My bad?” Ben wants to comfort you but is frankly quite scared to after seeing your display of power.

“Did she just throw that thing with one hand?” Gerard asks.

Alex stares at the scene before him. “What the hell happened to her foot?”

Eugene titters about nervously, playing with his fingers “Do we have first aid?”

From the kitchen, a deadpan voice is heard. “Where’s my capri sun?”

[writtenonreceipts]

5. “You haven’t even touched your food. What’s going on?” For rowaelin, Aelin finding out she’s pregnant. It can be an au, or in their actual world. Thanks so much!

/AN: Thanks so much for the prompt, anon!  This got away from me! I’m sorry?  But not really, I had fun with it, even though I don’t feel like it’s my best. I’d never really thought I would write canon/post canon but here we are...enjoy my dears

#

It hadn’t even occurred to Aelin that anything could go wrong with the day.  It was after all ten years since the war had ended.  Ten years since there was even the smallest promise of peace in her home.  Ten years.

It was supposed to be glorious.

Kneeling over the toilet Aelin emptied the contents of her stomach, again, and did her best to even out her breathing.  If there was anything less glorious to be doing--this certainly was it.

Her Fae enhanced ears caught the sound of footsteps coming toward her.  Lorcan.  Quick and efficient.  Grabbing a hand towel, Aelin wiped her mouth and stood.  She made sure her dress was fit properly and left the bathroom.  The last person she wanted seeing her so weak and vulnerable was Lord Lorcan Lochan.

Granted she could just use his full title on him and call it even.

“Aelin?” Lorcan called from the front door of her chambers.

“Come in,” she replied.  She used her magic to take away the cent of vomit, but she didn’t know if it actually did anything because Lorcan’s nose twitched as he entered. “What?’

“Darrow said that it’s time,” Lorcan said.  He eyed her with a frown.  His dark eyes were intent and unyielding.  Even after all this time she still wasn’t quite used to his silent calculations, the information he seemed to glean from a room with ease and efficiency.  Aelin was suddenly grateful he had become so smitten with Elide that he’d changed his life completely.  Even if he was an ass.

“As if we haven’t rehearsed this enough,” Aelin muttered.  Her stomach rolled again.  Damn nerves.  She was a queen and had been doing quite well at it thank-you very much.  There was no reason for her to feel so ill and anxious at the thought of the festivities tomorrow. 

“Are you all right?” Lorcan asked.  His frown deepened as he looked her over. “You don’t look well.  Have you eaten today?”

“You sound like Rowan,” Aelin grumbled.  She went to her armoire and found the ring Rowan had given her one year after their secret nuptials.  The familiar weight on her finger, settled her somewhat.  “I’m not hungry either, let's get this over with.”

She didn’t add the fact that just the thought of eating made her want to crawl back into bed.  And she would be able to do just that in forty-eight hours.

#

The elaborate ceremony was slated to take place tomorrow evening, the exact day when the war finally ended.  Apparently Aelin needed to practice walking down a straight line to the balcony that overlooked the castle courtyard.  After she addressed her people she would then unveil a sculpture.  She’d asked Rowan to commission the sculpture so she had no idea what it would be of, but she had to trust the buzzard to take well to the task.

When Darrow finally relented that they’d done enough preparation for the following day, Aelin excused herself to her private quarters.  Lorcan following after.

“Don’t you have a wife and baby to go and se?” Aelin called over her shoulder.

“Yes, but their not as high-maintenance as you, so I think it’s alright if I’m a little late,” Lorcan replied.

When Aelin shot a glare over her shoulder at him she caught a brief smile on his lips.

She had a response perched on her lips but something else snared her attention.  It was a familiar scent of pine and snow and home.  Her mate.

Before explaining anything to Lorcan she sprinted the rest of the way to her rooms, flinging the doors open.

Standing in the center of her room was the one person she had been desperate to lay eyes on these past few weeks.  Her husband had been travelling, preparing the outlying villages for the celebration, and bringing the commissioned statue back to Terrasan.

“Fireheart,” he said, a broad grin spreading across his face.

Aelin didn’t wait before throwing herself at him, burrowing her face in his shoulder.

Chuckling Rowan wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer to him.

“I missed you,” she whispered.  She looked up at him and giggled when he started peppering her face with kisses.

“And I you, my heart,” he said before finally pressing a long kiss to her lips.  He pulled away so he could rest his forehead against her, his beautiful eyes staring right into her soul.

Aelin could have stood their for hours, days, millennia.  Just this brief exchange could make up for her nausea from this morning and her anxiety about the coming day.

“I asked for our meal to be delivered here,” Rowan told her, “Elide and Lorcan will take care of the festivities for tonight.”

Aelin raised an eyebrow. “Lord Lorcan Lochan agreed to that.”

“It took bribery,” Rowan admitted.

Aelin threw her head back and laughed before leaning up on her toes to kiss her mate.  She slanted her mouth eagerly over his, grateful to have him back with her.  Despite the promises they’d made to each other years ago about never being apart, things had come up in their kingdom, in their world.  

Rowan ran his hands down Aelin’s sides, nipping at her bottom lip.

By the time their food had arrived from the kitchen, they were free of several layers of clothing and warm with lust.

Sun was barely setting behind the mountains, casting pink and gold rays across the sky.  It was this time of day that Aelin loved most.  The simple beauty of the sky was enough to remind her how far they’d come.

Rowan sat across from her telling a story about the mess he and Fenrys had gotten into while trekking across the mountains just days before.  Even in their other forms, they’d somehow managed to not only start an avalanche of late spring snow, but get holed up in a snow cave.

Aelin smiled as she pushed food across her plate.  Her appetite hadn’t come back all day and she was swimming with nausea again, not matter how much of her own magic she tried to apply to herself.  She needed to send a message to Yrene for a remedy.  

“Fireheart?” Rowan asked. “You haven’t even touched your food, what’s going on?”

She looked up and shrugged. “You’re far too entertaining for your own good King.”

Rowan’s eyes narrowed.  “You’re hiding something from me.”

Scoffing, Aelin cut a piece of venison just to appease him.  She brought it to her lips and gave him a pointed stare, but before she could take a bite the scent of the cooked meat and spices ausulted her nose and she was up and running to the restroom before she knew what had happened.

She emptied the scant amount of food in her belly and sank back onto her knees only to find herself leaning against Rowan’s chest.  One of his hand was curled in her hair to keep it pulled back while the other rested on her stomach, keeping her close to him.

His warm breath brushed against her ear. “Are you alright?”

Aelin nodded and let herself melt into her mate.  “I haven’t been feeling well all day,” she admitted.

Rowan raised a hand to her forehead, her cheeks, feeling for a fever.  He grunted.

“I’m fine,” Aelin insisted.  She made to pull away from him but he kept her close.

“You’ve been flaring your magic lately,” he said.

“Because I’m exhausted.  Planning this celebration has take too much out of me,” she said.  She hated to sound the way she did, but between the vomiting and the fears about tomorrow she really didn’t feel too guilty about it. “Besides it’s probably just my--”

Aelin froze.  

Her cycle.

How long had it been?  Since settling into her Fae form the bleedings hadn’t come as often but they were brutal.  She couldn’t remember exactly how long it had been.  Three months?  She couldn’t be pregnant.  After all this time of trying and hoping.  After losing the last pregnancy.

Aelin twisted in Rowan’s arms.  He looked utterly confused as to what was going on.  Couldn’t he see?  Couldn’t he tell?  Of course...she had been using her magic so often to keep her going throughout the day that perhaps it was masking the scent.

Tentatively, Aelin dropped the shield she’d been putting up over herself.  As soon as she did, Rowan’s gaze sharpened.

“Aelin,” he whispered.

Her gaze dropped to her stomach, nothing looked different.  But the more she thought about it, the more her mind flooded with emotion and she settled one hand over her belly.

Rowan dipped his nose in the crook of her neck, breathing deeply, his teeth nipping her skin gently.  Aelin shivered at the contact and forced herself to look at her mate once more.  She twisted enough so she could draw his chin up and look into his eyes as they knelt together.

Emotion laced Rowan’s eyes and told her all that she needed to know.

She let out a weak laugh as tears slipped down her cheeks.  Rowan was quick to catch them with his lips before pressing a soft, tender kiss to each corner of her mouth.

“I’m pregnant,” Aelin said, needing to hear the words out loud.

“You’re pregnant,” Rowan confirmed.

Throwing her arms around her mate, Aelin didn’t hold back her sobs.  This was beyond anything she could have ever imagined for herself.  After the hell her life had been, right up until she’d met Rowan.  Her grip tightened around him.  He had been her saving grace.  Always and forever.

She pulled back enough to look into his eyes and wipe away his own tears.

“To whatever end,” she said.

“To whatever end.”

#

The statue that was unveiled the next day was simple.  And yet it was no less glorious.  Commissioned from a woman in a small country Aelin had visited many times now.  The statue was of two women, their faces blank so as to allow the viewer to see themselves there.  One of the women was carved to be wearing a fine dress that flowed behind her.  The other held two swords.

Two princesses, two queens, one war won.

The country of Eyllwe, Aelin decided, had a way of bringing her home.

#

As always thanks for reading!

tags:  @tottenhamboys20 @morganofthewildfire  @aelinchocolatelover @more-espresso-less-depresso-xx

[buglife]

Frogs + king Quirrel /king ghost. (Sorry for the lack of direction I like you  weird frog things)

Info about Hallownest Frogs -> Here

There was something on their face.

Ghost roused from the land of dreams, having just pruned some more nightmares from the collective minds of the kingdom. They had first noticed the pressure a short while ago. It quickly escalated into the feeling of cold wetness as something alive wriggled on the front of their built-in mask. It had got annoying very quickly, and they had decided to hasten their return to the waking world. The sight that greeted them wasn’t another prank by Tiso, a leak in the roof, or anything else.

It was a goddamned frog.

The fat little creature looked them dead in the eyes with their wall eyed stare and blinked slowly.

“Keroo.” It croaked softly. “Keroo.”

At least now, they were actually bigger than the frog. The first one they ever encountered was back when they were small, and the frog was nearly as big as they were. They had remembered poking it with their nail a few times, watching it inflate bigger and bigger in annoyance. Finally, it had one too many pokes and opened its fanged mouth to scream, which sent them running. Absolutely Terrifying. The sound they make when pissed is even enough to make a god shiver.

They were surprised to learn later that frogs were actually the pet of choice for many residents of Hallownest before the fall. They tended to be mild mannered and docile, until poked too many times. They had started seeing more of them after taking the throne, but those ones were on leashes and in the front cases of pet stores. They personally didn’t interact with them much.

The frog croaked again, and it was answered by many more, and it sounds like they were on the bed as well. Moving carefully, Ghost moved their arms out from under the covers to grasp the frog and lift it from their mask. It puffed up in annoyance, but thankfully didn’t start screaming. They turned their head to look at their spouse, and sighed.

Quirrel was still asleep, and also covered in frogs. They looked down to see many more, just resting in the covers and attempting to snuggle in near their legs and body. Ghost guessed that they were looking for warmth, and cuddles, as clearly these ones were friendly. They did not appreciate how the one in their hands started to wiggle, wanting to be put down. They did just that, and the frog crawled over to lay on their chest.

They reached over to shake their spouse, annoying more frogs as they climbed off Quirrel to snuggle next to him. Quirrel took a moment to awaken, as it was a little earlier than usual.

“Mmm….what’s the matter, dear?” He yawned widely, and was startled awake by a loud croak.

He sat up quickly, beholding the frogs that swarmed the bed. He looked at them, and then back to Ghost. “Love...why are there frogs in our bed?”

Being around them for so long has dulled their beloved pillbug’s sense of shock. He rolled right with the punches, and as far as they knew, waking up with a bed full of frogs was on the bottom of the list of distressing discoveries.

Ghost hummed and looked over the amphibians crowding around them. Now that both were awake, they were attempting to shove their way under any hand that was available, demanding attention. They looked clean and plump, so they weren’t strays that broke into the palace. Looking closer, they saw little bands on their arms, each in different colors. They sighed as the realization hit them.

“Hollow.”

------

Hollow was the happiest they have ever been. After years of therapy and love, they have decided what they wanted to do with their lives. Having the support of their siblings has been wonderful and being allowed to choose what they wanted to do was a very welcome feeling. They had wanted to be kind. All they have ever wanted to do, was to help. Even when the Pale King had convinced them that they were hollow, that feeling of wanting to help and protect were still strong.

They were now a proper knight, Hollow the Kind. No longer were they a tool, an ornamental piece designed to just stand there like a living statue. They were free to wander the kingdom and help, but today, they were in their room in the palace. They were often away, but they were happy to have their own room to decorate as they pleased. It ended up turning into a sanctuary with potted plants that lumaflies liked to gather on. They kept their window open, letting them in and out as they pleased. It tickled them so much that they would choose to visit, and they would sit and watch them flit about for hours.

It was a few days ago when they found a box of abandoned frogs and their young, pollywogs, left in the city of tears. The box was shut, so most likely someone got tired of the strays and decided to do something about it. They had taken the box, sneaking it past everyone, to take it to their room. They have been caring for them ever since, giving them attention and making them healthy again. Soon, they’ll be ready to be given away to new families and get their second chance in life.

Hollow knew all about second chances.

They had fed all the frogs and put them to bed on a nest on the floor, and then fell asleep. At least, they think that is what happened. They jolted awake in their armchair when they heard the voice of their twin in through the void.

“Sibling, are you awake?”

Hollow was awake now. They were family, but they were still their knight as well. Is there trouble? Anxiety shot through them and they shivered slightly.

“I am.” Hollow replied in turn, void rumbling within themselves as they grabbed their nail. “Are you in danger?”

“No. May I come in?”

Hollow chuffed. “Yes.”

They were not prepared when Ghost opened their door. Hollow was prepared to see them in any other way except covered in frogs. They needed all four arms to hold them, and the ones that did not fit were perched on their head and shoulders. Hollow looked at the frogs and then towards the nest where they were supposed to be. It was empty. They looked back and forth a few times and didn’t move when Ghost entered. Hollow watched them deposit all the frogs gently back into the nest, picking the ones off their head.

“They were in our bed.” Ghost continued. They didn’t sound angry, just amused.

Hollow shrank in on themselves. “I’m sorry, they must have gotten out, I fell asleep-”

“You are fine, my sibling.” Ghost had to reach up to put their hands on their shoulders. “I am not angry.  I am happy that you are enjoying what you do, and that you are using your strength to help those who are weak.”

“However,” They continued, sweeping their eyes across the room. “Your heart has outgrown the space for you here.”

Hollow didn’t know what to think about that comment. Were they going to have to leave? Luckily their fears were quickly put to rest when Ghost continued.

“I believe we have extra funds in the royal treasury. How about we make plans together for an animal shelter? Surely you’ll have more room there and will have proper tools to use to rehabilitate them.” Hollow could hear the humor in their siblings voice as they gestured at the frogs now swarming in attempts to get on their bed. “Of course, if you don’t mind one more duty on top of the ones you have, I can only think of one person suitable to head it.”

Hollow wheezed happily and gripped their smaller sibling in a hug that would have smooshed a lesser bug. “Thankyouthankyouthankyou!” Their void speech ran together as their joy didn’t allow for pause. Ghost chirped and hugged back, now happy that from now on, they are less likely to wake up with a creature on their face.

And that, is how the Gentle Giant Animal Shelter came to be.

[gambitimagines]

J’tadore Vous Part 3

Sorry this isn’t as soon as I/you would’ve liked. Insomnia weeks again! Also, I figure everyone understands I’m human and need breaks to recharge, have other responsibilities and can’t write fics all day, as fun as that would be. Thanks!

The legend is my own imagining based off Remy’s less-than-flattering nickname for the purpose of the story.

Warnings: Jack the Ripper references, but nothing graphic. Mentions of women being accosted and other stuff, but nothing too horrid. If men locking car doors triggers you, skip where the asterisks are.

-------

You we’re up late researching Remy, but not so late you couldn’t get up the next morning. You headed to the museum to look into a lead. The legend of Le Diablo Blanc-the white devil. (Not to be confused with Daredevil.) 

Legend had it that a mysterious figure showed up around New Orleans around the 1900s, the same time as a man was doing some horrific “Jack-the-Ripper” inspired killings, but a bit less dark. Young women were accosted, preyed upon and several were killed, or wounded if they managed to somehow get away. Then, one day, mentions of a savior started spreading like wildfire through the town. He would pull away damsels in distress, but they never saw his face. He wore a black mask to cover his features, but all you could see were glowing red eyes and white skin, so the papers branded him Le Diablo Blanc. Stories went around of him throwing playing cards that exploded at the murderer, but he didn’t catch him for about a year. Until 1915. The killer was dropped off at the local police station tied up with some rope, looking worse for wear, and the queen of hearts card stuffed into a large gash in his arm.

After that, there were a few stories in surrounding southern states about the hero rescuing people, but they completely stopped in 1918. The hero had hung up his mask for a quieter life. 

You weren’t positive that he and Remy were one in the same, but it was worth looking into. Then there was the picture. You planned to take it to your friend at Kensworth’s Copies to be blown up for a better look. 

At the museum, you looked through the historical books and files for anything on Le Diablo Blanc or Remy LeBeau. Despite being a museum of _Natural_ History, the place had many books, files, CD’s, and other media on general history about the nation and the world. You also planned on going to the library, because they might have something there. Newspaper articles or something. You didn’t know how much fame Remy had garnered over the years, if any, but billionaires never seemed to stay out of the limelight. 

“You’re here? On a weekend?” Jenny entered the office looking exhausted. Her hair was a mess and she looked frazzled. What the actual frigging heck?

“Personal project,” You murmured, barely looking up from the many open books in front of you, “If I’m in the way, I can step out for a bit, but this is important.”

“No, no.” Jenny waved her hands, “I’m just a corporate slave. There’s a meeting with the higher ups at freaking nine-am and I was instructed to come, take some notes and be amicable to that snake, Misses Winters.” 

Mrs. Winters was a 70-something year old woman who was the head of the museum. You crossed her, you were fired. She was known as cold-hearted and ruthless. Not a warm person.

“How did yesterday go with the mutie?”

“I told you not to use that word around me. It went fine.” You looked up a moment. Jenny really did look like garbage today. “Why do you look so...out of sorts?”

“Didn’t sleep good. Sister and her five-month old twins needed a place to stay at two this morning. She got into another argument with her husband.” Jenny drank her coffee, “I’m gonna go freshen up. Have fun on your _day off_. See you _Monday_.” She was venomous, but you couldn’t blame her. Everyone needed their sleep.

In moments, you forgot her. Somewhere between ancient Mesopotamia and the California gold rush, you found more stories of a dashing red-eyed savior sprinkled throughout history. You went back further in history, jumping around books. 

1842-Colombu’s travels include a snippet about a red-eyed man saving one of his ships from thieves before leaving port by somehow blowing up several barrels.

1924-Remy’s picture is clearly snapped in a crowd at the opening of one of the first Ford Automotive companies.

1912-The Queen of England is saved by a man only known as LeBeau. No other description is given.

1202 A.D- The Mayans have a symbol carved into a wall of a hand seemingly on fire. One of their villages had a rockslide the week before, but the casualties hadn’t been that bad.   

1995-Remy Picard gets his picture in the New York Chronicle for making 500 billion and donating some of his money to a new children’s hospital. 

You sit back in your chair a moment. Taking it all in. Was it a trick? Coincidence? You needed to know more. You got your bag and headed to the library.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 

You went through the history section at the New York City library, getting out book after book again. It took over two hours, but you’d made out a hypothesis.

Remy was possibly born around the time Egypt reigned, if not earlier. He had to survive because of his mutantcy, you knew that much. He’d obviously amassed billions, keeping his profile low key over the recent years, for the most part. Hide in plain sight and you wouldn’t get caught. As far as the public knew, he was a rich mutant, nothing more. He’d hung up his hero status for reasons unknown, but he wasn’t as “young” as the history book claimed.

The figment, the savior, the man with the seductive, beautiful red eyes wasn’t a myth shrouded in stories and half-truths. He was real. And he wasn’t hundreds of years old. He was _thousands_ of years old!

The book you were looking at in the library shut loudly, making you jump. Remy was beside you.

“So, you found out my secret, after all, Cherie. You come with me. We need to talk.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Remy drove the two of you to an empty parking lot away from the city. You were suddenly terrified. What did he do to people that found out his secret? Kill them?

******************************************************************************

Your anxiety wasn’t helped when you heard the doors lock with a click.

“Wh-wh-what are you planning on?” you stuttered.

“Easy, (Y/N). I just want to talk and don’t want you storming out on me. We’re gonna have a talk and I’m going to explain everything.”

“Okay,” You couldn’t stop shaking. You wished you’d bought pepper spray, but your fears were calmed a little as he placed his large hands over yours.

******************************************************************************

“I’m not going to hurt you. I’d never think of hurting you, please don’t be so scared of me,” Remy insisted, his eyes soulful and pleading. He really seemed to mean it.

You just nodded.

“I was born in the time of  Pharoh when Egypt was the ruling power.  A scholar took me under his wing and raised me, but was killed in battle. I was trained to fight, but because of my eyes and powers, the Pharoh Rama-Tut tried to have me assassinated, thinking I’d take over. I didn’t have any desire for prestige or kingship, I just wanted to live my life out and die as normal, but we don’t always get what we want. That’s the secondary part of my mutation; I live a long time. Maybe forever, I don’t know. I do know that I’ve forced myself into isolation and it’s getting boring. I gave you that picture on purpose, hoping you’d be curious enough to find out my secret. You’re cute and sweet. I meant it when I said I wanted to get to know you, and I want you to know me as well. No secrets. But there’s something else, and I don’t want you to get angry,”

“Oh, what? My manager is in the trunk because you’re out to stop bigotry?” You scoffed. You’d gradually stopped shaking, feeling better. Safer with him.

“I tried to save people, but I couldn’t save everyone. Women and children have died in my arms. Men hunted me down for what I was, even when I was trying to do the right thing. The best thing. To help and save others. I’ve made mistakes and people got hurt, people died. I just don’t want that to make you see me differently,” Remy said, “Someone else did once. Renay LeFluer. She never forgave me.”

“I’m not her, Remy.” You tentatively touched his shoulder, “I get it. You can’t save everyone. No one can, not even superheroes. You can trust me too.”

Silence.

“Thank you, (Y/N). I’m glad we understand each other but are we on the same page? Would you like to go out with me?” Remy asked.

“I’d love that, Remy. Now?”

“Tomorrow night,” Remy said, “You’ve had a long morning and it’s only Saturday. The place I have in mind is upscale, so you have to look your best.-Not that you aren’t cute now.” He brushed some hair out of your face.

“I’ll look forward to it,” You smiled.

Remy took you back to your car. You had many questions but didn’t want to bombard him all at once. That could wait until you saw him again.

TO BE CONTINUED

[vecnawrites]

Hey, May, I know a secret~ I know that under your shirt, under a whole bunch of wrappings, you have giant hentai titties with inverted nipples~ I also know you made an anonymous bet that anyone who completes NNN gets to play with them however they want. So, who's the lucky girl?

May flushed darkly and moaned as two heads of hair attacked her breasts, sucking and licking away at her sensitive nipples, the yellow and crimson of their hair mixing to make a fiery sunset along her chest.

How had this happened? Her arrogance, she assumed. She assumed that none of them would be intelligent about things. She would admit though that she hadn’t expected both Joan Arc and Pyrrha Nikos to come up to her and say that they had survived!

Now, here she was, topless and having her breasts sucked, the sensitive nubs sending pleasure through her in such a way her panties were already soaked, a dark spot forming on her shorts as the pair of girlfriends tag teamed her breasts, working their tongues into the tiny slits of her inverted nipples and sucking them out.

She shivered with a broken moan, cheeks burning with shame as she came hard from that particular bit of stimulation.

Both Joan and Pyrrha stopped, pulling back and allowing her now extracted nipples to pop out of their mouths, the wet hills standing proudly on top of her chest. As May gasped in air to try and recover, Pyrrha grabbed Joan’s pants and tugged them down, panties and all, then yanked her own off, revealing how they had both been able to succeed No Nut November so easily.

Both were wearing chastity belts.

With muted clicks, the cages loosened and fell to the ground, their long and hard cocks swinging out proudly. “Well, we both have a month’s worth of cum to get out…” Pyrrha said, licking her lips. “And hopefully we can make this a more...permanent...relationship? After all, I’ve seen how you look at my girlfriend…” the redhead kissed the blonde on the cheek, reaching down and palming her girlfriend’s hard cock. “And while we love each other, well, we are missing what makes a girl a girl in our relationship...think about it while we’re coating these lewd breasts of yours with our cum.”

May gulped as Pyrrha gently pushed the stacked blonde (seriously, her tits were as big as her own!) to straddle her chest, large cock pressed between her breasts, before she sat behind her, reaching around and pressing May’s breasts together, squashing them against Joan’s cock. “Now sweetie, lets give our sniper every drop we’ve saved up!”

May could only watch, wide eyed and red cheeked, as Joan began to rock back and forth, whimpering all the while from how sensitive and backed up she was. All the while, the redhead was whispering in her ear.

“Think about it, Joan...think about how soft those tits feel, how full your balls are...how good it would feel to just...let go?” the blonde was already shaking, trembling and whining, feeling the skin between her breasts getting slick from all the precum that the blonde was no doubt releasing. The redhead licked the blonde’s earlobe. “Let it out, baby...cover our little Sniper in your cum!”

May squeaked and shut her eyes as the blonde moaned, almost a low wail, bucking hard and cumming, hot thick streams of cum spraying all along her face, covering her skin in a thick, gooey mask.

Pyrrha kept her beautiful girlfriend moving throughout her orgasm, awed by the output that she had. “Wow...how much more do you think you have in you, Joan?” she hummed, her own cock throbbing against her blonde girlfriend’s ass cheeks. She smirked. “Ah, its okay, we’ll definitely find out! I still have to cum as well...and we have until we’re empty…” she hummed, tilting her head. Maybe, if they performed well enough, May would want an encore?

Pyrrha Nikos, Joan Arc

Status: SURVIVED

Time Survived: All 30 Days

Reward For Completion: May Zeydong’s Breasts

[nem0-kn0ws-n0t]

Hello! Just a little fic i wrote for an April Fools event a while back! HCBBS and Cleo themed <3 Also on ao3 if yall prefer that way! I'd love to hear y'alls opinions!~

“ZombieCleo~.”

Dark eyes looked up from her small notebook of ideas as the figure landed next to her. She quirked an eyebrow, a small smile teasingly on her lips.

“Keralis~” She shot back with the same tone, standing up from her hooded bench to stand next to the wide-eyed brunet. They held each other’s stare for a bit, expressions frozen in a silent eye contest. Of course, it ended when a gust of wind ruffled the palm tree above their head, letting a single leaf float down and land on Keralis’s nose. His eyes widened even bigger (somehow) before he let out a powerful sneeze, sending the leaf flying into the air and the two of them into a fit of giggles.

Soon enough, Keralis is pulling her around his-her base. Her's now; she reminded him, they swapped them. Keralis pretended to sob at the comments, only pulling out more cackles from her.

Yes, she muses while watching her friend sulk in her new diamond office; this will be great.

~~

The transition was delicate, all things considered. Cleo loved her new base, from the skyscrapers that disappeared in the clouds to the bank tellers to the palm trees. The city was a magnificent piece of modern architecture, and Keralis had done a fantastic job building it from scratch.

It was, however, empty.

Not a single soul in the streets, milling around. No children on the benches or clerks in the stores or anything, really. But that’s alright. Bringing life to a place is Cleo’s bread and butter, after all. A simple spin of parts and spells read off a book, and suddenly life-like beings were created.

It made the otherwise deserted place feel more lively, more homely even. And so she threw herself into her work, creating human-like mirages in every spot she could. It worked, to a degree. The city was much more lively than before, the sound of humanity milling around comforting.

(She does wonder, sometimes, while laying in bed at night, unable to sleep, why it didn’t feel quite at home. Staring at the cyberpunk lights flicker in batches of three, she wonders why, exactly, the uncomfortable feeling she got when she first arrived is still there.

As sleep washes over her finally, she wonders mildly why all the lights in this place flash at the same time, in the same continuous pattern.)

~~

She got her answer eventually.

Many things were off-putting, to say the least, and so for a while before. If she’s honest with herself, she might have dismissed too many hints. But now, there’s no way to deny it.

Strange things were happening in Keralis’s City.

Every light in the city pulsing in beats of three were off-putting, to say the least, but Cleo squared her back and ignored them, dismissing it as lousy Redstone work.

The noise from her office ceiling that she could never quite identify or fix? She was just tired from planning out statues all day.

The constant feeling of eyes on her back was simply her imagination, just nerves to being in such a prominent unfamiliar place.

This, however? No dismissing it.

Cleo took great care in making realistic statues. She spent hours, sometimes days, making perfectly realistic mirages. She programmed every part of them to be fluid and human-like, scripting hand-picked lines and emotions. Her work was high quality because she poured a bit of what’s left of her heart into every scene.

This was not how she left them last time.

The mirage in front of her, a small lost child, was not confused nor scared nor any of the emotions Cleo had programmed into his behaviour. No, the child was staring at her with beady eyes, the brightest grin on his lips.

There was something off-putting in the smile, almost like his teeth weren’t supposed to be there. Too long for a child this age, too sharp, too white. The eyes were following her as she moved around, boring into her skull.

It would have been one thing if only one of the mirages was like this, maybe a prank or something.

No, every single statue had the same blank look on its face. From the bus drivers to the people loitering in the streets, they all had the same empty smile and teary eyes, following her as she walked down the streets. Well, more like ran, like a bat out of hell, trying to forget the stares on her back.

She finally took refuge in the Four Seasons Total Landscaping Hotel, ducking into a random floor, slumping against the walls.

What was that? What was that?

Reprogramming all those statues would have taken so long; she can’t fathom a single hermit having done that overnight.

Her breathing is hard, and she’s almost worried her lungs will detach themselves again, and so she shoves her head between her knees and starts counting slowly.

One, two, three, breath in, breath out.

It’s fine, it’s alright, it’s a nasty prank, that’s all.

Three, two, one, breath in, Breath out.

She can fix it; she’ll spend the next day reprogramming the mirages; it’s alright, she’ll find who did this, and she’ll give them the fear of a lifetime. It’s going to be okay.

With that final thought, she shakily got up, pulling her legs under her and using the wall as support.

She can fix this; she doesn’t have to deal with those expressions anymore. It’ll be fine.

When she finally manages to convince herself to go back outside into the populated streets, she almost falls over again.

The mirages were back to normal. The small child that started this whole mess was back to crying in a corner. The pedestrians were amicably chatting as they walked down the road. Even the store clerks were back to haggling with the shoppers.

Everything was exactly how it was before, no traces of soulless eyes and too sharp smiles.

But Cleo knows she saw them. She did not make that up; the foreboding sense of dread creeping up her spine reassured her of that. She stands, taken aback at the scene she made.

What’s going on?

(She thinks distinctively, maybe she doesn’t want to know, really.)

~~

It all snowballed from there.

Almost as if encouraged by her reaction, the changes were more significant and more daring.

She woke up one morning from a restless sleep to the sight of her home flipped around. It took her a while to realize, smacking into doors that weren’t usually there. Everything was exactly how it was, from the paintings to the flower pots, but simply mirrored on its axis. She could barely believe it, making a note to sleep somewhere else from now.

Another time, she was peacefully strolling around the city, planning out where to add more mirages to make her new home even more to her image, only to be stopped dead in her tracks by a pungent smell. A smell she knows intimately, and it didn’t take long for her to identify where the rot came from.

The bright wheat fields which Keralis had spent hours tediously working on and growing, was nothing but rotten stems left. Not a single trace of life left on those lands, not in the plants, nor the weeds, nor in the rats Cleo knows like to nibble on stalks. Faced with such destruction, she did the only thing she knew how to do and started plucking out the plants.

Cleo’s not one to scare easily, no. She simply rolls up her sleeves and fixes every problem she faces, from fields to buildings to armour stands.

What else is there to do?

~~

The final straw came faster than she expected. Cleo’s seen many things in her post-life after all, and there’s not much that spooks her anymore.

This, however, this, however, was too much.

She’s working in her office when it starts. There are some masks in front of her, half-formed and half painted. The simple repetitive movement is almost comforting in the face of everything that’s going on. A meditative moment, if you wish.

At least, it’d be peaceful if not for the shrill sound reaching her ears.

She pauses, paintbrush freezing mid-stroke, focusing on the sound. The silence that follows is palatable, and if she’d had a heart left, it’d be thundering in her ears.

And then it sounds again.

Is, is that a baby screaming?

It’s akin to an animal’s yowling, but the sound bounces of the diamond ceiling in a demonic way. It’s too long to be of an animal with lengthy, and it’s echoing in a way it shouldn’t be able to in the open-plan office, and it’s freaking Cleo out.

She takes a deep breath, slowly resting the paintbrush and the mask on the table before getting out of her chair, breath shallow. Infinitely slowly, she creeps out of the office, turning around to where the little grass roof rests. It sounds like it came from it from there; maybe she could-

It screeched again. This time, not from the bushes, no from her office, where she just was. Actually, it sounds like it came from behind her desktop chair. Where she just was.

Her back hits the white concrete in fear, a single hand clutching where her heart would be in leftover habits from a life gone by.

“It’s nothing; it’s your imagination,” she mutters to herself, too scared to try and pretend she doesn’t talk to herself. “It’s impossible, whatever it is, it can’t move that fa-”

It screeches again. This time, from right behind her, right on the other side of the wall, and right there and then, Cleo decides enough is enough.

Fear fuels her movement as she slips her elytra over her shoulders, grabs some rockets and flies away from this hellish city. Base Exchange be damned, she’s done with this place, and she wants to go home.

(And as she flies away, she overlooks the shadowy forms flickering in the skyline.

And as the zombie leaves, the city falls back into quiet, save for the light cackling of its true owners.

And as the cat leaves with her tail between her legs, the mice come back out to play.)

[bugsandchatons]

when you weren’t mine to lose (4)

Summary: Change is a scary thing, especially when it feels like nothing has stayed the same.

It’s been a year since Marinette became the Guardian of the Miracle Box - a year of struggling beneath a burden she never asked for, a weight that has her leaning on her partner more and more as the hours fly by, of letting him come to her, too, when he needs a soft place to land. A year of falling for the boy who takes on the world by her side with a smile made of sunlight, and fighting the growing urge to tell him what he means to her.

After all, they’ll have time enough for that when Paris is safe.

But when the unthinkable happens, Marinette learns the tragedy of loving someone quietly, and the lines she’ll cross to save him.

  [[AO3]] {from the beginning}

*****

[four: when I’ve got nothing but my aching soul]

The world around her keeps going, but Ladybug’s universe narrows to three things: Chat Noir’s frozen form, the shattered mirror at his feet, and her own hand, reaching in vain across the space between them. At some point, darkness must fall around her in earnest, as the sun dies behind the horizon. At some point, the akumatized victim must gather his strength and crawl away, finding his own way down the fire escape and leaving Ladybug to her vigil.

She doesn’t spare him a glance.

The beeping in her ears blares one last warning and the static fades, bringing the return of sound and with it, faint gasps that come in a rhythm.

It’s coming from her, Ladybug realizes. She can’t seem to find enough air.

There’s a flash of pink and she shuts her eyes against it. When she opens them again, Chat’s blank stare meets her. Her stomach turns, threatening to empty. “I can’t breathe,” she tells him, choking on the words. 

Still, he doesn’t move. 

Another sound finds her, be it mere moments or hours later. It takes too long to realize it’s her name.

“Marinette?” Tikki, exhausted and wide-eyed, is patting her cheek. “Marinette, what happened?”

“Chat, he -” she whispers, lifting a trembling finger. She can’t find any more words, but it’s enough. 

Tikki spins around and makes a strangled sort of sound before zipping over to him. “Chat Noir?” she asks, her voice clear as a bell. Marinette blinks, then sits up straighter and stares. If she can’t fix it, then Tikki will.

“Plagg?” Tikki tries, her voice jumping an octave. “Plagg,” she calls again, before her expression twists. In the blink of an eye, Tikki phases into the Chat statue, before reappearing with something that’s enormous in her hands but tiny when she brings it over and lays it in front of Marinette. 

It’s Chat Noir’s ring, the Black Cat Miraculous in a state she’s never seen it in before. It’s still black, but burned black. The signet face is blank, and the absence of the usual flashing green paw print is as glaring as a missing heartbeat.

When Marinette opens her mouth to speak, nothing makes it past the lump in her throat. She swallows, then tries again, her voice hoarse. “Where’s Plagg?”

Tikki makes a small sound, similar to that of an animal in pain. Everything about her droops. “I don’t know, Marinette. The Miraculous is broken.”

Marinette shakes her head, the movement slow and mechanical. She reaches out for the shattered hand mirror and stares at her own fragmented reflection as it looks back with broken accusation in her eyes. She whispers, “Why didn’t it work, Tikki?”

Tikki closes her eyes. “Lucky Charm has failed before when the Akuma's ability was able to impact it. This is…” she trails off, touching down onto the roof in front of Marinette, her eyes glassy with her own grief when she looks back up. “I’m so, so sorry.” 

It takes a moment for her meaning to land, the only sound Marinette’s harsh, hiccuping breaths. She looks from the black ring to the black statue of a boy whose name she never knew but wanted to learn. Her partner, her kitty, his eyes empty when they were always so bright, his mouth a gaping wound when it used to offer sunbeam smiles.

Marinette had lost him time and time again, but he’d always come back. She’d saved him, over and over. It was never supposed to be permanent.

She looks down at the mirror that failed her, failed him, screws her eyes shut, and smashes it into the rooftop. Glass shards fly free and nick her arms, her cheeks. Marinette does it again, then again. 

“Marinette,” Tikki cries, “you’re hurting yourself, please!” 

Was she? She couldn’t feel it. She gives in anyway, dropping the destroyed mirror and picking up the Miraculous ring instead. She shuffles closer to Chat, stopping just short of touching him. Her hand shakes as she closes her fingers around his ring.

She’s held it before, but she’s always been able to give it back. 

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” her name comes from a low, smooth voice behind her, belonging to someone who wasn’t there before. “In hindsight, I ought to have known it would be you hiding behind Ladybug’s mask.”

She feels Tikki nestle into her hair. Marinette fists her fingers and rises to her knees. She turns slowly, lifting her eyes to meet Hawkmoth’s as he stares down at her. Something inside her catches fire and starts to burn.

“Nothing to say on your behalf?” he asks. “No desperate denials?”

Marinette glares back. If he’s disappointed in her refusal to engage, he says nothing of it. He tips his head down in the smallest of nods. “I’m afraid I require your Miraculous, Mademoiselle.”

She lets out one harsh sound, too sharp and brittle to be a laugh. “Now you ask nicely?” 

Hawkmoth is silent for a beat, then another. He clears his throat. “It would be in your best interest, as well.” She stares him down as he inclines his head in Chat’s direction, but seems unable to fully look his way as he continues, “I can fix what has transpired here tonight.”

“You can fix him,” Marinette turns the words over in her mouth. They taste like ashes. “Why?”

Another silence. Hawkmoth seems to measure what he’d like to say carefully before admitting, “I have reason to believe he’s my son.”

“Your son,” Marinette echoes. The flames inside the cavern of her chest lick higher and higher, a blaze building to an inferno.

“I believe so, yes.” Finally, he turns his gaze to Chat, though any expression Hawkmoth might offer in the face of what he’s wrought hides behind his mask. Marinette’s fingers itch with the desire to claw his eyes out. “This evening, my son did not come home. No one has seen him for hours now, which is an anomaly on its own. He is typically obedient and does not leave our house without accompaniment, so his continued absence is highly unusual.” He pauses, his brow furrowing. “I...have wondered before about the possibility of him being Chat Noir. Now, between the timing of his disappearance and the demise of your partner, the coincidence seems too great to disregard. With your earrings and his ring, I can likely restore him.”

Marinette clenches her fist around the broken ring until it bites into her skin. It wouldn’t be granting any wishes, now. “Restore him,” she says slowly, venom slipping into the cracks in her voice. She rises; one foot underneath her, then the other. “You? You ruined him. You killed him.” 

Hawkmoth watches her, his face infuriatingly blank. Marinette takes a shaky step, putting herself firmly between him and Chat as her emptiness gives way to something vicious and blistering. “You put him in danger every day, and for what? Now he’s gone. You can’t save him,” she spits. “You took him away from me.” 

Her words echo, splintering the quiet of the night. Hawkmoth’s jaw ticks, the only outward sign of his displeasure. “If you’re quite finished with the dramatics,” he begins, “I am offering the chance to change it.” 

“No, you’re trying to get what you want. To take the Miraculous and use them for something selfish. If I were to do that, I wouldn’t need you, now would I?”

Hawkmoth’s lip curls. “You know nothing of me or my purposes. You run around playing hero, but you have no idea of the true power of the forces you interfere with. You are nothing but a child.” 

“Maybe,” Marinette admits, “but I’ve still managed to best you a thousand times over.”

“So you will not cooperate, then.” 

Marinette lifts her eyes to his. He could take the Miraculous from her, she knows, and easily. Tikki hasn’t eaten, and she can’t transform. Marinette doesn’t care. She dares him to take a step. She’ll burn him down and the world along with it. “No,” she says, “I will not.” 

His eyes narrow to slits. “We shall see, Miss Dupain-Cheng.”

She stares back, undaunted. His threats can’t touch her. There’s nothing more he can do that would be worse than what he’s already done.

He half-turns, waving his cane towards Chat. “And what are you going to do for him on your own? Give it time. You might find that you and I are not so different when it comes to losing those we love.”

Her breath catches in her lungs. The ring feels like a brand in her palm. Hawkmoth would trade a life to bring back whoever it was he’d lost. If she could, would she make the same choice?

“Go, Hawkmoth,” Tikki speaks up, her little voice colder than Marinette has ever heard it. “The Guardian will deal with you in due time.”

Silence greets her. It stretches on until Marinette hears his footsteps retreat, then fade. 

When he’s gone, she steps closer to Chat, shaking like a leaf in the wind. “Oh, minou, mon rêve,” she whispers. “Can’t you come back to me? I was going to tell you my name,” she lifts a timid hand and lays it against his cool cheek. “I was going to tell you I love you.” 

Ashes fall from his cheek like teardrops, staining her fingers. As though a mere touch was all that was needed, Chat crumbles, ashes falling at her feet and scattering on the wind. When dust is all that remains, something inside Marinette twists and breaks.

She drops to the rooftop when her legs give up, unwilling to hold her any longer. She screams, for Chat, for anyone, until her voice is ragged and nearly spent. She draws freezing air into burning lungs and screams some more, begging Bunnyx to come and take her back, back to when the worst thing she had to face was telling her partner the truth.

Tikki rides out the storm on her shoulder, her little hands pressed to Marinette’s cheek. “Bunnyx will only come if all else has failed, Marinette,” she murmurs. “At the end of everything.”

“Chat is gone,” Marinette whimpers, “Hawkmoth knows who I am. This feels like the end of everything to me.” 

Tikki presses her face to Marinette’s, her little body shaking. “There must be something, then. Something we’ve missed, another chance-”

Another chance. Marinette goes very still. “A second chance,” she gasps. She finds her feet, slowly. She swipes a soot-stained hand over her cheek and turns in the direction of home. “I need to get to my bedroom, Tikki. Without anyone seeing.” She fumbles for her purse and produces half a macaroon. “Please eat, if you can.” 

Like mismatching puzzle pieces, she forces together a plan. A convoluted one, a risky one, but a plan, none-the-less. As she strings it together, she finally feels like she can breathe.

“What are you thinking?” Tikki asks before taking a bite.

Marinette tells her.

 ****

The race to her terrace is a blur. Ladybug stumbles over her potted plants until she reaches the hatch and falls into her bed, then slides down the ladder. She drags herself on weary feet to the locked chest in the corner. Inside, buried beneath several layers of fabric scraps, is the Miracle Box.

Ladybug presses her thumbs to the buttons and watches as it springs open at her touch.

“Are you sure about this, Marinette?” Tikki had asked, blue eyes wide and uncertain.

No. She wasn’t at all sure that this was the right choice, but she was sure that this was her best chance.

Ladybug selects the Miraculous she needs and slides it onto her left wrist. She tucks the box back away safe, stands, and grabs a hair ribbon from her desk. With it, she ties Chat’s ring to her other wrist, pressing the blank signet to her lips before something else catches her eye.

Her phone blinks insistently from the desk. There are a dozen missed messages - her mother, her father, Alya. One in particular grabs her attention, a short text from an unknown number.

This is Nathalie Sancoeur. Miss Dupain-Cheng, is Adrien with you?

She blinks. There are others - another from Alya, from Nino, even Chloe, all asking the same thing.

Is Adrien with you? 

Ladybug’s phone slips from shaking fingers. 

Between the timing of his disappearance and the demise of your partner, the coincidence seems too great to disregard.

Ladybug swallows. She breathes in through her nose and lets it back out. She’d fix it.

“One more time, Tikki,” she’d begged on the rooftop. “If this works, it...it might be awhile.”

Tikki had pressed a kiss to her forehead, determination clear in her eyes. “If it gives us a chance to save Plagg and Chat Noir, then it will be more than worth it. Good luck, Marinette.”

She digs an old, treasured charm bracelet out of her purse and dons it, too. She’d never had to ask for luck before, but now, she would take every bit she could get her hands on. 

Ladybug leaves her home as quietly as she snuck in. She swings down from the roof and slips into the park across the street, letting her feet carry her until she finds herself in front of the statue dedicated to herself and Chat Noir. The violent hole in her chest gapes open, even wider than before.

At least here, she can see his smile.

This time, when her eyes burn and her throat swells and her heart breaks, Ladybug lets it consume her. She lets tears burst through the dam she’d built and drowns in them. She lets the grief pour out of her until she’s choking on it.

Through it all, she waits.

She feels it, when it comes - in the shift in the air, in the chill down her spine. She lets out a ragged breath. “Tikki,” she whispers. “Sass. Unify.”

Then Ladybug reaches out and allows damnation and salvation both to land in the palm of her hand. “There you are, little butterfly. I’ve been waiting for you.” 

[ladynyctophilia]

Avoiding Red

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 

Mature Themes

Pairings: Vivienne Tang x MC (Rozario)

(Vivienne’s point of view.)

Tick, tick, tick…

Hours had passed, but Vivienne was stuck in time. Her long, slender hands gripped the sides of the vanity. It was the only thing that kept her tethered to the real world. She didn't know how long she'd been standing like that. Hours? Minutes? She was in a statue like trance—a statue on the break of collapsing. 

Rozario. 

Rozario was gone. 

My Rozario.

Vivienne blinked, wide-eyed and trembling, like an animal caught in a cage, struggling to control the storm of emotion that churned inside. She glanced at the mirror but hissed as the invisible noose yanked her gaze away. She choked.

I'm a monster. 

But her gaze hardened.

No. Look at yourself. 

Begrudgingly, Vivienne lifted her head, heavy with demons, and locked eyes with the enemy in the mirror. Herself.

I promised her. 

Vivienne declared to herself, unblinking, her heart pounded as threatening as a war drum. The Poppy escaped, but at what cost? Their newest member paid the price. It made Vivienne want to wrap herself up in a black hole and cease to exist. Without Rozario to color her life, she felt empty, numb to everything. A woman in red, walking alone in a world of black and white. No diamonds could satisfy this river of misery. How long could she swim before she drowned? 

If I held on tighter...

A crack of emotion rippled across Vivienne's features as an anguished cry ripped out from her throat. She never cried, but here she was crying, screaming with the voice of a thousand sirens, shoving off all the contents on her vanity. Glass shattered, and the sound of chaos became her music: dance sad girl, dance. 

Glass soared in every direction, obliterated on the floor. The perfume began to pool out and around the shattered bottles, like blood escaping the veins. Some shards of glass even managed to puncture Vivienne's skin, but she didn't notice, or maybe she didn't care. Besides her jagged breaths, the room was quiet again. The smells, however, were quite loud, tangling for dominance. 

I can't do this. 

Vivienne thought to herself as her hair ghosted over the glass-covered surface of the vanity. With shame, the tears were beginning to burn, so she stroked her ring in search for comfort, but it brought her none. No. With quick realization, Vivienne gasped, yanking the ring off as if it might burn her. The last person she used it on was Rozario. Her heart did a few somersaults—the bad kind. 

I stabbed Rozario. 

Her breath hitched.

I poisoned her. 

Making a choice was one thing, but accepting it? Her body collapsed on the vanity, tears mapping down her already wet cheeks. This crippling burden made it to overwhelming to stand. Like a racehorse pushing past its limit, she wasn't physically unable to continue. Besides her rapid breaths, she didn't make a sound and completely disregarded the state of her makeup.

There was no other choice. 

A voice from a past Vivienne chimed in. A last-minute attempt to justify what she had done.

Without that poison to slow down her heart, she would have bled out.

"She could already be dead," Vivienne winced. She could feel what was left of her heart sliding into the pit of her stomach. Vivienne groaned into a cough, clearing her throat. "Ugh," Vivienne silently cursed in french, rubbing her temples to soothe a growing headache. 

Okay. That's enough. 

She needed to get up. She needed a plan. 

After that, much-needed outburst, Vivienne had once more regained control and recovered her mask, but she felt terrifyingly empty. Like everything human had been stolen with Rozario, but finally, Vivienne found her feet, dragging her gloved hands down her rapidly aging face. 

Fuck.

Vivienne thought as she glanced at the mirror and took in her appearance. Emotions were never good for the skin. 

Regret hung in the air, and a small part of her knew she should have just left in Venice like she originally planned. Then this day would have never happened. Rozario would have never been shot, and Vivienne wouldn't have known this avalanche of agony. She had tolerated heartbreak before, but never to this extent. It was like the entire world had swallowed her, with nowhere else to run, and when there was no escape, Vivienne would make her own escape. 

Rozario was gone. 

She repeated in her head. The one-hundredth declaration was not as grueling, but none of The Poppy knew where their prized artist was….or IF she was. Seeing Rozario fall off the helicopter was like something from a bad dream, but it wasn’t a dream. She winced at the memory. The gamble with the poison might have saved Rozario from bleeding out, but it didn't save Vivienne from the betrayal that masked Rozario's face.  Vivienne didn't have time to explain, and now she might never get to explain, and maybe that was the best thing for Rozario. A reminder to the young artist that life with The Poppy wasn't a vacation, yes they lived a life of freedom, but at the end of the day they were criminals with a lot of money on their heads. 

Very suddenly, Vivienne became acutely aware of the objects in her room that were stained with Rozario's presence. Her eyes twitched, and her mind went from everything to radio silence. Rozario's half-finished sketchbook rested on the table with a dull pencil nested nearby, and near the door were her sandals, worn from their lighthearted adventures in the major cities they've visited, and Vivienne didn't even want to begin thinking about her lover's clothes that waited to be worn in HER closet. 

Oh no. Don't look. 

She looked. She looked at the bed, their bed. It's where Rozario should be right now. Nowhere else. With possessiveness, the fire was relit and bulldozed over any control that Vivienne had JUST regained, and without skipping a beat, Vivienne went on a rampage. The thief was no longer in control of her own body as she ripped down the curtains, pushed over the couch, flipped over the table, and shattered every mirror insight. Red. Red. Red. RED!!! With her leather gloves torn, blood now dripped from Vivienne's clenched fists, a matching addition to her cape, but Vivienne remained unfazed as she turned her gaze towards her next victim. 

The bed.

Bundling up the expensive sheets in her arms, Vivienne marched over to the open window and flung the sheets out, watching as they were stolen by the wind and never seen again.

Huffing and puffing, Vivienne was breathing like she had just finished a marathon and lost. Even the air was begging for mercy, but a spark of morning temporarily blinded her.

How DARE you.

Vivienne's gaze pierced out the window as shades of purples and pinks bled into the Paris skies. The world had no knowledge of Vivienne's grief. It merely just carried on without being swayed. It was a reminder of how insignificant their lives really were. That was a nature Vivienne desired to possess, but when it came to her precious Rozario, she couldn't. Shame. It was going to be a beautiful sunrise, if not day. She blinked out tears, a cool down from her rage as she admired the delicate colors that swam in the skies. It reminded her of Rozario.

A heavy fisted knock jerked Vivienne out of her head. Leon. 

"Vivienne?" Leon called out in a gentle voice as if she might come out and bite. 

Oh, Leon. 

She could hear his big feet shuffling around nervously.  

"Yes, darling?" She answered, but made no move to open the door,  purposefully restraining any emotion in her voice that would give her away. Now, she had time to examine the full state of her room. It was a mess to say the least, and with the sun on the rise, many pieces of shattered glass glittered like a thousand tiny suns smiling at Vivienne specifically. She glared at them in return. Besides the glass, the bed was no more, if it wasn't broken, it was turned over, and the few plants that Vivienne kept were smashed on the ground. Leon couldn't see this or the state she was in. NONE of The Poppy could see this. She could feel the warmth of their concern from miles away, and she knew that Rozario held a special place in each of their hearts too...but with Rozario gone, Vivienne remained more distant than. 

"Zoe tracked the people who took Rozario. She's alive, and they have her in a hospital, eight hours away from Paris." Leon did well to hide the urgency in his voice, but the low rumbles of concern gave him away. "We don't know how long we have."

There was a pause as Vivienne closed her eyes, allowing the new information to seep into her being, finding strength from it. Rosario was alive. That should have been enough to lift her injured spirit, but knowing that the government had her amor in their clutches was enough to make Vivienne see RED. 

"Red…." she breathed, knowing the wave of temporary contentment the safe word would bring. "C-can you get us there in five?" Vivienne spoke up, a little shakier than she wanted.

"Easily," Leon declared without an ounce of hesitation. He was always the hero. Vivienne could have smiled at that, but she didn't. 

Now shaking, Vivienne let out a tired sigh, "wonderful," she almost laughed, "I will be out in five." Leon didn't respond, and Vivienne could hear the jingle of keys as his heavy steps faded away. They had an understanding. No words were necessary.  Rozario was in a hospital, and they were going to get her out. It wouldn't be the first time Vivienne had broken someone out of jail. Leon and Nadia were proof. How could a hospital be different, if not easier?

After Leon left to start the car, Vivienne excused herself to the bathroom. There wasn't any time to reapply a full face of makeup, but she recovered what she could, and exactly five minutes later, Vivienne marched out of her room with her red cape in tow and red lipstick threatening. Vivienne Tang was a woman in love, and the universe feared for whoever dared to stand in Vivienne Tang's way. They were going to get Rozario back because she was a Poppy and The Poppy were masters of doing the impossible.

To be continued....

[angelliev]

Lover Boy - JJ Maybank x OC - Part Five - Heaven is with You

Word Count: 3.4K

Summary: It’s the masquerade ball. Secrets are spilled. Aria will share a passionate moment with JJ and a heartbreaking one with someone else. Some people will put on a mask to hide their lies, while others with take theirs off to show their true self. 

Warnings: Smut, angst, cursing, alcohol/drugs, mention of abuse and pregnancy. 

A/N: Sorry I didn’t post yesterday guys! I was visiting family for the weekend. I hope you enjoy reading this one. I was definitely having difficulty writing because not only was it hard to decide what I wanted to do with the story, but I was also trying not to cry while writing this one. I hope you enjoy! (Not my GIF. credits to the owner. I don’t own the show or any of the characters.)

Lover Boy Series Masterlist

The hot sun beams down on me as I stay afloat in the pool. I am forever grateful for air conditioning. I don’t know how people do it. I’d melt away in the heat. I’m sitting by the edge soaking in the coolness of the water. I attempt to relax while soaking in the sun, trying to tan a little bit.

My grandmother Lorraine, comes outside. “Aria, what are you still doing in the pool? Come dry off and get ready.” She hands me a towel. “Where are we going?” I asked. “We’re going out for brunch, then to the spa and the tailor to pick up your dress. Now get out.” She demands. Lorraine Prescott is a lot like my father. Demanding and manipulative. Always getting what she wants.

“Thank you, but I think I’ll have to pass, I’m not going this year.” I decline. “No, you’re going. It’s the masquerade ball, you’ve gone every year and now you’re going this year, end of story.” She protests. “They do it every year and it’s not going to make a difference if I’m not there.” “Yes, it will. Your father is a very important guest, making you a very important guest, and it would be insulting for you not to go.” She argued. “I’m not going.” I still protest.

“Aria, get out the god damn pool you’re going! You’re such a fucking brat! Is it too much to ask for you to be a good daughter for once?” My father finally snaps and throws a plate on the ground, in result shattering it everywhere. I huff and pull myself out of the water. I couldn’t even look him in the eye without any trace of hatred in my own. He can just be so horrible sometimes. “Was that really necessary Claude?” My mom comes out very annoyed and angry which is very rare. I could see the guilt on my father’s face when he realized what he had said and done. “Aria, I’m sorry I didn’t mean any of that. I overreacted.” He apologized, but I didn’t care. “Your apology means nothing to me.” I spat and stomped away.

The whole day out was a drag. Lorraine was the phone the whole time and Jennifer was talking nonstop about her conceited self. She was mostly bragging about her perfect boyfriend Rafe Cameron. Lorraine is very fond of the Camerons, so it pleased her to know that her lovely granddaughter was dating someone of high class. When I get home and shower, I fling myself on the bed not ready for the night. My laptop starts to ring, alerting me that someone wants to FaceTime. I was more than happy to see my beloved’s face when I answered. JJ didn’t bother to wear a shirt as per usual, so I had to face the camera away from the door to make sure his face wouldn’t be seen if someone decided to barge in.

We talked about the usual stuff for a while. “God, I miss you so much babygirl.” His eyes turn dark as he eyed the silk robe hugging my body. The things I’d do to have him over he right now. “Me too lover boy. It’s a shame. I had a special surprise for you. I guess I’ll have to wait till next time.” I tease. “Oh yeah? What’s next time?” He asked. “My parents are flying to Las Vegas for a convention. My sister and her friends are taking a girls trip to Boston. So,” I begin to undo my robe, exposing my naked skin to him, making him smile and bite his lip. “We’ll have the place to ourselves. We can be as loud as we want.” “Mm, babygirl you’ve got me hard just thinking about the things I’m gonna do to you.” “I just can’t wait.” I can practically see the wheels turning in his head.

“Touch yourself for me babygirl.” He said with such lustful eyes. I couldn’t help but smile as I lay down and begin to rub figure eights on my clit. I then insert two fingers, letting them curl and thrust within me, chasing a high only JJ could give me. When I glance at the screen, his hand is running up and down his thick shaft. “Baby, I want you inside me so bad.” I cry. “Soon babygirl. Just imagine it’s my fingers curling inside you right now.” I let my mind race to the thought of him fingering me. God, I loved how his lengthy finger were always able to reach that sweet spot inside me. I just want to be engulfed in him. I just want him to kiss me with his undying passion and love for me. I just want to make love with him till I die. I just want him. Just as I’m about to bring myself to orgasm, a knock erupts on my locked door, the handle begins to jiggle.

“Why is this door locked? You know the rules!” Yelled my father. I let out an annoyed sigh before screaming into the pillow, sexually frustrated. “I’m getting dressed! Just give me a second!” I yell. “I got to go baby. I’ll call you as soon as I can.” I quickly shut the laptop and wrap my naked self in the silky robe. When I open the door, my father seems annoyed. “Why the hell aren’t you dressed?”

“I just got out of the shower and did my hair and makeup.” I say. Before my father could scold me anymore, my mother comes to my rescue. “Honey, I got this.” She says shooing him away and closing the door. “I can’t wait to see you all dressed up!” She’s referring to my spaghetti strap rose gold dress and matching color mask. I was a little astonished with the whole outfit. Normally, I don’t enjoy getting all dressed for events like these, but I sort of fell in love with this dress. I guess it sort of reminded me of the sundress I wore the night I lost my virginity to JJ.

“You look so beautiful sweetheart!” My mother gushed as she gazed at my appearance, kissing the top of my head. She has always been so sweet and kind to me. She’s always played with me as a child. Always encouraged me to pursue my dreams. Always accepted me for who I am. She has always had a warm heart and a kind soul. I wish my father was a lot more like my mom. “Thank you, mom. I love you.” I hold her hand. “I love you too, sweetheart. Now let’s go. You look like an absolute princess.” She compliments as she guides me out of the room.

Before I head downstairs, I head into one of the guest bathrooms, looking for a hand lotion. Without any luck, I open up the cabinet under the sink, and am still not having any luck as I’m rummaging around. Just as I’m about to ditch the idea, I found something much more interesting. My hand grips the Ziplock bag. I was taken by surprise as I scanned its contents. One positive pregnancy test and an ultrasound picture. I didn’t hesitate to take it out to examine. The fetus is tiny, so it couldn’t be that old. When I looked up at the patient’s name, my eyes nearly popped out of my sockets. Jennifer Prescott. I had to blink a few times to make sure it was real, thinking that the name would change, but it obviously didn’t.

“Aria come on!” Yells Lorraine. “Coming!” I frantically shove the evidence to the back of the cabinet before running downstairs, nearly face planting. “You okay? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.” Lorraine said. I just simply stared at Jennifer’s belly with wide eyes, still in shock. She just gives me the weirdest look as my eyes continued to stay glued to her stomach. “I’m fine. Just kind of spaced out.” I lied, finally getting a hold of myself. I sat uncomfortably in the car the whole way there. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. My picture-perfect sister pregnant? With Rafe Cameron’s baby? Are you shitting me? I didn’t have time to be bored at the masquerade. I just stood there like a fucking statue, earning a few bizarre looks from guests.

“Can you at least look like you’re having fun?” Asked Lorraine. “What?” I asked cluelessly, still gazing at Jennifer and Rafe. Does he know? Does anyone know? She just lets out a frustrated sigh. My father and a stranger approaches us. “Hello, I’d let to introduce you ladies to Francis Kline. Francis, this is my mother, Lorraine Prescott.” They two exchange handshakes as I sip awkwardly on my sparkling cider lost in my own thoughts. “And this is my youngest daughter, Aria Prescott.” I didn’t even hear my name or notice the hand extending in front of me, until my dear grandmother stomps on my foot. “Oh, hi. Nice to meet you.” I say quickly before sipping again. “Likewise. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Instead of shaking my hand, he lifts it up to his lips before planting a kiss. This caught my attention making me choke on my drink, and earning a glare from both my father and grandmother. I quickly snatch my hand away from him.

“Are you alright miss? Is something wrong with the drink? I’ll have it taken care of right away.” He tries to take the glass from my grasp. “No! I mean no thank you.” The three are staring me down, making me nervous. “I have to pee. Like really bad. Like peegasm bad. Excuse me.” I say very quickly and high with a charming attitude before walking away with speed. On my way to the bathroom, I grab a bottle of champagne. After ten minutes of searching the empty halls, I still can’t find one fucking bathroom.

Before I can turn the corner, a hand clasps over my mouth and pulls me into a dark space. I let out a voiceless scream and start flailing. “Babe it’s me! JJ!” I recognize the voice and stop flailing. The light turns on giving my eyes no time to adjust. “You scared the shit out of me!” I slap his shoulder and take off my mask. He laughs. “I can see that. What’s with the champagne?” “Oh, I was about to get wasted. Want to join?” I ask popping it open and making a mess. “You had me at wasted.” The two of chuckle. “So, what brings you here Mr. Maybank?” I asked with a horrible British accent. “I couldn’t help but notice my lovely girlfriend walking alone. Thought I keep her company. Plus, I missed her so much.” He mocks my funny accent. “Well, why don’t you give this lovely girlfriend a kiss?” He just chuckles before pulling me close and laying one on me.

“By the way, who’s room is this?” I asked after pulling away. “Rafe Cameron’s. Which reminds me,” He answers with a devilish smirk and leads me to the balcony. I am introduced to a beautiful scene I thought you’d only see in movies. Candles are lit, the sofa is covered in rose petals soft jazz plays in the background, and there’s a beautiful view of the ocean.

“Are you trying to seduce me Mr. Maybank?” I ask, still in trance. “Perhaps, is it working Ms. Prescott?” He lays kisses on my neck which I expand, giving him more access. “Yes.” I sigh and finally find his lips in a passionate and loving kiss. His tongue lips my bottom lip, and I gladly let it slip into my mouth. God, I could kiss him forever.

He pulls away to rip off his clothes. I do the same, kicking off my pesky heels and long dress. My body shivers when a brisk breeze attacks my skin leaving goosebumps, but I don’t care, because I know things about to warm up soon.

A moan escapes my mouth when his bare skin touches mine as we lay on the large outdoor sofa. “I still can’t believe your mine.” He says. “Always have been. Baby, I was made for you.” I declare. This makes him smirk as he removes my panties leaving me completely naked. Instead of immediately plunging in, his mouth attaches to my breast, his tongue swirling around my bud. His hand finds my wet core. “You’re so wet babygirl. Were you as hot and bothered as I was?” He asked looking up at me. “Yes. Baby I want you so bad.” I begin to ramble. “What do you want babygirl?” “I want you inside me! I want you to fuck me till I can’t walk! Please, I want you so bad it hurts!” God, I sound so desperate, but I don’t care. He’s the only person in this world I’d get down on my knees and beg for.

“Don’t worry babygirl. Daddy’s going to make you feel all better.” That name was always a turn on for me, always making me more excited if that was even possible. He teases my drenched pussy with his tip as he watching me writhe under him. “Daddy please. Please fuck me.” I plead once more. He smirks. “That’s a good girl.” A blissful sigh escapes from both of us as he enters me, the two of us finally connected, not an inch of him is left exposed. He stays still for a few seconds, enjoying the silky warmth of my walls that hugs his thick dick so tight. “God, you’re going to be the death of me babygirl.” He says before pulling out, only to shove himself back in.

We don’t even bother to hold back our moans. I just lay back and let the pleasure engulf my every thought. Time is irrelevant as he continues to slam into me, not holding me back, missing the comforting feeling of me being around him. My eyes were glued to the starry night sky above. I can’t help but think how erotic all of this is, as my boyfriend fucks me under the stars. I completely let go as the two of us drown ourselves in this euphoric warmth, until we both fall into pure bliss. I could have sworn I could saw stars in his ocean eyes when I gazed into them. It was then when I realized that I wasn’t lost in the starry sky, I was lost in his blue eyes.

We lay there together listening the wave as JJ smokes his weed. The two of us remain silent as we simply watch the sky. “Do you ever wonder what’s up there?” JJ asked out of the blue. “Where?” His words made no sense to me. “Heaven. What do you think is up there?” I give it some thought before answering. “You.” I answer. His brows furrow in confusion. “What do you mean.” “I mean that if I were to go to heaven, I’d see you. There’s no such thing as heaven if you aren’t there with me.” When I glance over at him, I could’ve sworn I seen tears welling up in his eyes. “Do you mean that?” He questions. “Every word.” He places a soft kiss on my lips. “Aria, I” He’s interrupted by the sound of a door slamming shut. I turn to see who the intruder was.

There stands Jennifer with a face painted in shock. My heart stops for a moment before dropping to my stomach. I quickly cover my naked self with the blanket and quickly grab my dress. “I should’ve known you were hooking up with him, after all you’d open up those legs to anyone, you fucking pogue slut.” She spat and turned to walk away. “Wait!” I ran in front her, the straps on my dress falling, as I blocked the exit. “What are you doing?” I ask desperate for an answer. “To tell mom and dad. I’m curious as to what he would say when I tell him that his youngest daughter is fucking some pogue. JJ Maybank of all people.” Fear started to kick in. What I said next was unplanned. “And I wonder how he’s going to react when he finds out about your pregnancy.” JJ, Jennifer and I all freeze when the threat slipped from my mouth

I can practically see the panic wash over her body as it shakes. “And don’t try to lie to me. I found the test and ultrasound photo. I know all about it, and I won’t hesitate to tell dad.” “Just wait!” She shouts, desperation laced in her voice. “Don’t tell dad or Rafe. At least not now. Please, I’m begging you. They’d kill me.” So Rafe doesn’t know. “You haven’t told Rafe?” I asked astonished, but then again, I wouldn’t either. “No. It’s complicated.” Her lip begins to tremble. I have never seen her so scared or lose her cool. She’s always so calm and collected. “Well uncomplicate it for me.” I demand. A moment of silence takes over the room. JJ looks down at his blunt with a questioning gaze.

“Rafe’s not the father.” She says. “What?!” Both JJ and I exclaim collectively. “Wait, I’m confused. So, who’s the father?” I asked, feeding my curiosity. “Andrew Coleman.” She sighs. “Who the fuck is that?” The name has never crossed paths with me before. “He’s a lawyer. He lives in Boston. I’ve been seeing him for almost three years now.” The news came pouring out of her mouth. Words can’t describe the astonishment that courses through the room. “That’s why you keep going to Boston. To see him.” She doesn’t even respond as I finally connect the pieces. “But what about Rafe?” The question made her snap all of the sudden.

“Who cares?! I hate him! He could go to hell for all I care! I can’t stand him! He deserves to die! After everything he has done to me! He’s a violent and abusive asshole! He beats me, cheats on me with my best friend, and expects me to fuck him! And you know what the worst part is? Everyone thinks he’s some kind of perfect golden boy, but they’re all wrong. He’s the fucking devil and I wish I put a bullet through is head when I had the chance!” Every word that escaped her mouth had rung through my ears.  She slides down to the ground as she sobs, her walls finally fall.

“Why didn’t you tell me this Jennifer? Why didn’t you ask for my help sooner?” I ask tears welling in my eyes too. “Because when I told dad that Rafe was abusing me, he called me a lying slut and said he’d kill me if I messed up my relationship with Rafe. He cares more about him than his own daughter, and I’m no better than him. I took out all my anger on you, because I was jealous.” Her confession felt like a punch to my stomach. “Why?” She just looks up at me.

“Because you got to live a life of happiness. With real friends and apparently a boyfriend who doesn’t hit you, while the man I love lives all the way in Boston. I should’ve been a better sister to you, but instead I lashed out at you all the time making your hate me, and for that I’m sorry.” Her words were genuine as she cried. I began to cry too.

“You’re my sister. I could never hate you. You might get on my nerves sometimes, but I could never forget the times you were there for me. Like when you carried me home after I broke my ankle after falling of my bike, or the time you stood up for me when that bully was throwing rocks at me. That’s the real sister I know. I just wish you told me all of this, so I could help you.” She hugs me tight and suddenly. It took me by surprise at first. I can’t remember the last time I shared a hug with my sister.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t deserve to have a sister like you. I treated you so horribly. I just want to make things right. Please forgive me. I can’t live with you never forgiving me.” She sobbed louder. “I forgive you, but I need you to let me do something. Both her and JJ looked at me waiting for what I said. “Let me help you leave the Outer Banks.”

[secret-engima]

Last one! - the future’s blurry (but the past is a trap)

Time-Travel fic!!!!! Hmmmm- what fandom what fandom so many lovely choices....

FFXV. Because that’s my mood right now (as ever).

COR.

Cor Time-Travel fic. Cor who lives to see the end of the Long Night, Cor who HOPES and dreams of helping Noctis rebuild the kingdom after he restores the dawn, Cor who is Noctis’s godfather, Cor who PROMISED Regis the first time he held the tiny sleeping infant that is now a brave and wise king that he would PROTECT Regis’s son-.

Cor who stumbles into the throne room to see three brothers sobbing over the lifeless body of their fourth and king.

And Cor ... Cor breaks. He hides in some random, rundown apartment in the empty city and drinks and drinks-

“So this is how you’re going to accept fate? By drowning yourself in a bottle?” Scorns a voice he’s only heard one time in his life but still sends him scrambling for his sword. He whirls, heart in his mouth, blade in hand and sees not a towering suit of armor with glittering eyes, but a ghostly version of a fire-eyed twenty-something adult. A towering man of nearly seven feet, board shouldered and scarred on one side of his face, dark brown hair and piercing amber eyes that mark the Amicitia line, “I had hoped for better.”

“Gilgamesh,” Cor rasps and wonders if he’s lost his mind in his grief, “What are you doing here?”

“Well,” says the man with a sneer, “I should be moving on to the afterlife. I have been freed from my prison after all. The Prophecy is fulfilled.”

“Then why haven’t you?”

A pause, and the sneer, the confidence, fades away and leaves behind someone very tired and wrung out, “Because I have regrets, and you are the only one still alive for me to speak of them to. The Last Shield will not listen, he is lost in his grief and surrounded by the living. You are alone and you are open to my voice.”

Cor doesn’t like the sound of that at all, “You are not allowed to possess me.”

Gilgamesh laughs, short and sharp but oddly genuine, more animated than he ever was as a murderous suit of armor, “No. I have no desire for that.” Burning gold eyes lock with his, “I wanted to know if you still meant what you said that day.”

It takes Cor a minute to remember. Even if he knows what “that day” Gilgamesh means, it was years ago and he was an idiot at the time. Then Cor remembers, and his already broken mood sours, “I did. For whatever good it did. I’ve failed. They’re dead. Both of them.” Cor laughs and the sound is poison even to his own ears, “You were right. I am no Shield.”

“No. You are a Sword,” Gilgamesh corrects, “and you should have been treated as such. Instead you were sheltered and lied to, and those lies dulled your edge until you were useless to stop the death of those you cherished.”

Cor throws the bottle at the ghost’s head, listens to the shatter of glass as the ghost lets it phase right through him without a blink, “What do you want?” He roars at the ghost, fragments of his wild temper from his youth coming back to his bones.

“What my brother’s dear Shield is trying to say,” purrs another ghost that Cor hates even more, who also doesn’t blink when Cor draws his blade and tries to behead him, “is that we both feel terribly guilty. More than that, the rest of those who once were in the Ring feel guilty, and angry. We’ve also got a very spiteful and a very remorseful Astral respectively on our side in the matter, now all we need is a living human member of the conspiracy.” Ardyn Lucis Caelum, blue eyed and purified and just as dangerously mischievous as ever, grins at Cor as the human forms of Shiva and Ifrit manifest in his apartment, alongside far too many royal ghosts for Cor’s comfort (he firmly does not look at the ghost of Regis, sagging tiredly in a corner, the only one he recognizes other than Mors now that they are all human looking rather than giant statues with face masks).

“So,” The ghost of Ardyn purrs with a rueful smile, “what do you say to saving the world and your precious kings in one fell swoop and maybe spiting the Draconian along the way?”

And it’s a stupid idea. Cor probably isn’t even seeing any of this. He’s probably lying in the apartment, dying of alcohol poisoning and grief right now, hallucinating all of this as he goes. But if he isn’t.

If he isn’t...

“What do you need me to do?”

Their plan is simple on their end, and painful on Cor’s. They grab him and throw him back through time, drag him with them as one by one they use up the last of their magic and finally vanish, because for all Cor calls them ghosts, they are not. Living souls do not linger after they die, but memories can. Memories given shape and form by magic, and when that magic was used up and given away, the memories are shattered, turned back into the formless nothing they really were.

They carve open Cor’s being and pour their magic into it, Gilgamesh at the fore, leading the way through the howling abyss while each king and queen carves Cor open a little more and pours in the magic keeping him alive and sane as he plummets through time. Regis’s touch lingers longer than the others, a breath of apology on his brow before that memory too, shatters and falls away.

Mors’ fingers wrap around his wrist and Cor struggles for the first time as his blood burns under the king’s touch in a way the others had not, “Hold still,” snarls the man coolly, “I do this as a favor for my son and grandson alone. Hold still and let me work or you will die the moment you reach our destination.” Cor stills and his blood burns until Mors too shatters.

Then it is only Gilgamesh, Cor ... and Ardyn.

“Free me,” he whispers as he presses something into Cor’s hands (or maybe into Cor’s soul, it’s hard to tell where reality ended and magic began in this place), “Find my past self and free me, then give me this.” A chuckle, “Let’s see the Empire grow so strong without it’s Accursed to feed from.”

“What about Prompto?” Cor asks desperately, because he is here to save those he cares about, not condemn the man who was like a son to him to nonexistence.

“Have a little faith,” laughs the former Chancellor, “a King needs his Heart, and Noctis will have his. Now,” hands on his shoulders, a final yank from Gilgamesh, “Go.”

Cor wakes up.

He promptly rolls over and vomits onto the stone.

Gilgamesh, a towering suit of armor once more, watches him gasp and wheeze and shake under the too-sharp sensation of magic living in his veins and reality existing again after so much time falling through time and void without comment. When Cor is done and has staggered upright, Gilgamesh hands him a sword.

Cor leaves the Tempering Grounds unbothered by the things that lurk there and makes straight for the Rock of Ravatogh. He gains the waiting Infernian’s Blessing, then collapses in a caravan for the night after several days and nights spent walking without pause and sleeping on cold Havens without so much as a blanket.

After waking up and showering, he spends a good twenty minutes the next day cursing at a mirror.

He’s fifteen again. He’s fifteen years old when in the original timeline he would have been six (is six, somewhere out there the original Cor Leonis still lives and grows, unaware of an altered future counterpart).

He’s also not Cor anymore. His eyes are the same, icy blue and angry, his face shape is very similar-. His hair is not. His hair is black and thick and wavy, and under his skin, magic coils, deep and effortless and his, not a gift from another.

Those blasted ghosts turned him into a Lucis Caelum.

He thinks of Mors’ cold fingers on his wrist and burning in his blood, Mors’ angry demand he stay still if he wanted to “survive the destination” and swears louder.

Then he picks up his sword and disappears into the wilderness again. Let Shiva come find him. She had a talent for finding Lucis Caelums anyway.

She finds him in the Quay, as Cor steals a boat to make for Angelgard, she Blesses him and disappears, and in her wake is a winter mist that shields Cor’s journey to the isle from prying eyes.

He cracks open the prison with the magic he now has in excess, falters at the sight before him.

Ardyn looks a lot less like evil incarnate and more like a shivering, frightened, half-starved cat this way.

Also who hung up their prisoners on MEATHOOKS like some kind of slasher from a horror film?

Overdramatic Lucis Caelums, that’s who.

Cor hauls Ardyn down from his chains and carries the weak, disorientated Accursed outside. He can hear Ramuh stirring in the clouds as he takes the nameless Thing that Ardyn of the future gave him (magic, pure magic, an orb of it as bright as gold and the dawn) and crushes it against this Ardyn’s chest like he would a potion.

He sidesteps the black bile Ardyn heaves up like a drowning man ejecting water from his lungs, writhing and whimpering on the stone as Scourge smoke recoils off his body like it’s trying to escape, only to be burned clear by golden magic. Well. That was convenient. Pity he doesn’t have enough of those to cure the whole planet.

Ardyn stays silent, dazed and wide-eyed as Cor hauls him back to the mainland, steals some proper clothes and then bundles him in a caravan for the night. The man out of time flinches at every modern amenity, stares at the soup Cor roughly puts in front of him with confused eyes. Finally, tentatively, as if afraid of being struck (and that shouldn’t make Cor angry, it shouldn’t, this man killed both Cor’s kings and threw the world into darkness. He deserved whatever fear he felt, yet looking at him now Cor can feel nothing but pity and anger on the man’s behalf) he speaks, “Who ... who are you? You ... you healed me. I ... do not understand.”

And Cor pauses, because he ... isn’t Cor now is he? There is already a young Cor Leonis out there somewhere, and no one can know that Cor is one and the same person as that youth.

In the end he shrugs, “I don’t have a name.”

“...What?”

“I don’t have a name. I gave it up. It was the price for healing you.”

“Then why,” Ardyn asks incredulously, “did you heal me? I am a stranger to you, a monster.”

Cor scoffed. The Chancellor of his time was a monster. This man? This man was about as monstrous as a starving kitten, “Not anymore you’re not, so stop that.” At the sight of Ardyn’s frown, Cor rolls his eyes and says gruffly, “If it bothers you so much, give me a new one.”

Ardyn gapes, “You ... want me to name you. Just like that.”

“Is that a problem?”

The redhead stays speechless for a while and Cor busies himself polishing his sword and ignoring the fact that he’s now distantly RELATED to this man (and also, if he doesn’t miss his timeline, OLDER than Regis by several years. Thanks a lot Kings of Yore).

“Glaucus.” Cor twitched and looked up sharply, Ardyn shrank in his seat a little, “You don’t like it?”

It sounds too much like Glauca. But he couldn’t say that, and it was better than lots of other names Ardyn could have come up with. Even if he had no idea where Ardyn had come up with that name. Cor forced his shoulders to relax and went back to caring for his blade, “Do as you please.”

“Glaucus,” repeated Ardyn softly and Cor- Glaucus, resigned himself to having a name very similar to that of a traitor and imperial experiment.

Kind of fitting, considering the company he was keeping.

Glaucus set his sword aside and gestured toward the bed, “If you’re done eating, go get some proper sleep. We’ll be leaving once you wake up.”

“Where will we be going?”

Glaucus smirked and knew it was not a nice expression, “A place called the Tempering Grounds. There’s someone who owes you an apology.”

(anyway hi yes I have a new AU to keep. In it “Glaucus” is now an LC, specifically and according to blood test MORS’ kid and he’s about 4 years older than Regis. I shall expand on this new AU another time. Tagging @sparklecryptid @hamelin-born @a-world-in-grey @ean-sovukau @ertrunkenerwassergeist behold my newest insanity).

[professoruber]

Epithet Erased Role Swap AU FanFic: A swapped place in Sweet Jazz City Prologue

Hi, This is just a quick Fanfiction I've written up based on the amazing Role Swap AU made by @spliinkles. I actually did have a somewhat similar idea before (which was what if some epithet related event caused characters to switch ages) but I really love the ideas of this AU and wanted to write about it.

Sorry first of all if there are any errors. I wrote this up kind of quickly and if I do find errors I will be willing to fix them if  I get around to it.

Am posting this fanfiction here because the Epithet Erased fandom seems biggest on Tumblr and also that's where this AU is from.

Prologue: You're reading it

Chapter 1: https://professoruber.tumblr.com/post/189841325568/a-swapped-place-in-sweet-jazz-city-chapter-1

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Giovanni Potage was what some might call a variety of unflattering yet undeniably accurate descriptors. Such things included ‘problem child’ and ‘wannabe delinquent’, both titles he wore with pride.

With the exception of the ‘wannabe’ part of course, if you were to ask him, he would insist he was the most feared delinquent in his school’s history and most definitely not an adorable little soup child.

His reign of delinquency was joined by his friends, his ‘boys’ as he called them. Two of these aforementioned boys were now accompanying him on the most boring field trip ever.

“-and that’s when I smash that ball right into the principle’s office, and everyone cheered” Giovanni finishes accounting his latest most definitely truthful anecdote about his misadventures as a dangerous criminal delinquent.  His squeaky twelve-year-old vocal cords pushed to their deepest potential level in order to attempt to put on a wave of coolness on top of what he considers his amazing storytelling ability.

 “WOW GIOVANNI. YOU’RE SO AMAZING! I LOVE YOU SO MUCH” Screams one of his friends, known most often as Crusher for rather self-explanatory reasons. The high volume of his sudden outburst eliciting a glare from one of the museum guides who were currently giving a tour to their class.

The young guide turns away from the crowd of youths briefly to pop another pain pill before taking a deep breath and snapping back towards the kids with a forced smile.

“As I was saying before I was… interrupted…” she began, briefly pausing to once again glare at Crusher, who blessed with embarrassment and hid behind the protection of Giovanni as she continues “Epithets are rare and amazing powers gifted to just a one in five of the population. Wow, so cool. Anyway, moving on…” she begins to keep walking before being lightly nudged by her older bearded co-guide.

“Come now my apprentice Mera. It is important to show enthusiasm for this thing. It’s important to always do your best in every situation” the man says the last sentence with such sheer power that he flexes for emphasis, prompting a array of awed stares bystanders at his muscular build.

Mera even admires it for a moment before turning back to the children and sighing “You’re right Indus… I’ll try to spice up the tour a bit” she gives a somewhat more genuine smile this time, as Indus pats her on the back.

“Now that’s the spirit! Why don’t we tell them about the Arsene Amulet, that will certainly spice things up” Indus suggests with large genuine smile aimed at his young apprentice.

Mera goes wide eyed at the mention of the amulet before whispering to Indus “Uh… Indus I’m not sure if telling these kids about the amulet is a good idea”

Indus looks thoughtful but nevertheless was still in proud teacher mode “Do not worry apprentice Mera. No harm should come from granting these children some of the wonder of this museum”

Mera eventually relents and soon launches into a somewhat less half-hearted explanation of the amulet as well as other cool and interesting exhibits, Indus sometimes dropping in to suggest topics, such as the Dinosaur exhibition which he insists is amazing.

However, these were quickly drowned out Giovanni’s criminal mind as it’s focus settled firmly on the fact a mysterious cool amulet was hidden within these halls. An awesomely evil formed from the dark confines of his self-proclaimed delinquent mind.

“Car Crash, Crusher, come with me” he whispers in his best covert voice before snatching his pair of friends away from the tour. The former blushed at the close contact to his crush while the latter looked annoyed.

“Hey, my name’s Fred. All I did was crash Ben’s go-kart five times and now everyone just won’t let it go!” He complains and throws up his hands in annoyance.

“Shush, will you? Whatever. I have an awesome plan to show the whole entire world my awesome criminal skills so no one will deny that Giovanni Potage is the most awesome supervillain of all time!” He exclaims quietly with clenched fist.

Crusher loved every moment of It and even ‘Fred’ was captivated by the intensity if nothing else.  

“I will sneak inside the museum; spray paint my name on the exhibits. And then for the finale I will steal that amulet thingy and leave a pool of boiling lava and… uh… acid! In its place. These history nerds will never no one hit them” he gives a smug smile, proud of himself for having come up with such a villainous plan.

Crusher fell to the floor as he clenches his heart, overwhelmed by the sheer continued amazingness of Giovanni. Fred meanwhile was somewhat confused on What Giovanni’s plan was.

“So, you want to get an amulet which steals Epithets?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.

Giovanni looks confused for a moment before putting two and two together “oh is that what that thing does? Nah that’s totally lame. What I want is the street cred. If I pull this off then all the greatest criminal gangs will be begging to have me join them. Maybe I might be able to join the Bushido Blasters… or even the Banzai Blasters!” He exclaims with enthusiasm.

As Crusher continued to be amazed, Fred scratched the back of his head “I don’t know man, this seems kind of dangerous even compared to what we usually get up to. And me and ‘Crusher’ can’t be out after dark, so you’ll be alone for this”

Crusher cries manly boy tears at the thought of having to abandon Giovanni. But Giovanni simply dramatically holds his hand to his chest and begins to reassure them.

“Don’t worry my boys! I have the greatest- hey what’s that over there!” He suddenly shouts pointing to the left, and grinning as Crusher and Fred look to in that direction. While his friends are distracting, Giovanni quickly dashes behind them and yells “Teleports behind!”, startling both boys.

“As you can see my stealth skills and unmatched. And after tonight no one will able to deny the supervillainy of Giovanni Potage!”

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Across the city in the backroom of a family owned toy store sat a young barely adult woman wearing a dark green dress and a yellow apron and boots, her dark brown hair tied up to prevent it getting in her face.

The woman was working stoically on toys which would be sold in the Blyndeff Toy Emporium, her family’s store.

“Police are still baffled at the recent theft of expensive several statues from a local art gallery, all of which were replaced by teddy bears. Despite the absurdity of this case police have still found no leads on the criminals responsible, although reports suggest Banzai Blasters may have been involved- “ the noise drowns out in the woman’s mind as her lips slip into an evil grin as she recalls the recent caper which led to her promotion from Blaster to Captain in the Banzai ranks.

In the monotonous world of manufacturing and retail she was glad to have an outlet to cut loose when she could, keeping up appearances in front of customers and not hitting the many who deserved it was tiring, and she’s been doing this for around a decade at this point.

Taking a deep breath, she got back to work, turning off the news livestream playing on her phone just had it had begun talking about how a Detective Ashling had been assigned to the case. She had bigger things to concern herself with right now.

Namely that of her first heist as a Banzai Captain. Her crew of minions were ready and a location had been mapped out. Now all she needed to do was complete the final workings of her special criminal helper toys, as well as the toys which need to be sold.

“Molly! Mum wants to know if the new toys are ready yet!” The bratty voice of the woman’s little sister comes through the door of the workshop as the young girl in question walks into take a look herself.

Molly feels like grimacing but instead effortlessly donned a smile as hollow as her soul.

“Almost done Lorelai. Tell mum I’ll have these out on the shelves soon” she said with a mask of cheerfulness, to which Lorelai simply rolled her eyes at and gave a quick “Whatever” before leaving back to the rest of the building, shutting the door behind her.

Molly got back to work, only stopping at one point to take out a small picture of the Sweet Jazz Museum, causing her to gain a much more genuine, and evil smile “tonight” she simply says, as she returns to work.

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

Later in the dead of night, Giovanni’s head raises up above from a bin. He leaps out and whisper shouts “Teleports inside!” to himself as he looks around.

He proceeds to run carelessly around the now empty halls of the museum, slipping and knocking some stuff over a few times before arriving in the entrance.

“Uh hu! This shall be a great place to begin the reign of terror of Giovanni Potage” the twelve year out super-criminal announces as he walks up to the desk.

“I should call my boys, to let them know I got it, not that they would be surprised of course” He picks up the phone and dials Car Crash’s number, only for it to fail to go through. Confused, Giovanni looks at the phone only to find an explanation of its true nature.

“Internal and emergency calls only? Pfft, lame” he comments as he slams down the receiver. He then proceeds to duck down under the desk and take out some items from his bag. First a whoopy cushion which he fashions to the chair and then a canister of spray paint.

He begins spray painting a message about how lame their phone system is. Meanwhile as the young delinquent writes, a hole in the roof is silently made and a group of Banzai Blaster begin slowly coming in from above, going unheard from anyone who might be within earshot thanks to their leader’s Epithet.

The last to go down is their new Captain, Bear Trap, who under the silence of her Epithet begins handing out instructions to her minions.

“There all done” Giovanni says proudly as he finishes his villainous vandalism, popping back up from behind the desk her suddenly comes eye to eye with Bear Trap.

All parties present simply fall back, startled due to not expecting to encounter anyone else. For a few moments silence reigns even without the assistance of Bear Trap’s Epithet.

The silence isn’t broken until the shock face of Giovanni suddenly shifts into one of wonder and excitement.

“Wow criminals! Awesome!”

[sea-side-scribbles]

Fanfiction: Sympathy For A Downer

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22737214/chapters/79768111

Chapter 68

Nick walked back through the hallway in a comforting trance that persisted until he stood outside again. It was night now and he shouldn't be outside. He could approach his own statue without his stomach turning. Looking at it for a while, he felt closer to his manager and friend now than he had felt at this place before. Virgil had left so many good memories, he was sure he'd never forget him. “I wish I knew what happened...”, he sighed. “Now I have to get along without you and I don't know...” Nick gulped. “I don't know if I'll find a reason to go on...” He wondered if that was a good thing to say to Virgil and what his manager would've wanted. “If I died in my own bathtub that day...would you've grieved for me or would you've closed the chapter, marked me as a failure and moved on with Birdie as your new star...? You know, whenever I met you and you were so caring to me again, I couldn't believe you were about to leave me...But now I wonder...” He sighed again. “What kind of person am I to ask you that now? I still love you, you know?” Impetuously, Nick wiped his dry eyes. “Good night, Virgil”, he whispered. Down the stairway, he went as slowly as he had ascended. It was like a meditation exercise. He needed a new manager but he couldn't imagine having anyone else but Virgil. At the bottom of the stairs, he took a deep breath. Time to look after his friends.

With the first Bobby he saw, he begged and pleaded, playing drunk and lost, until the tall man took heart and gave him a fireman's lift. The certainty that he would be home soon calmed Nick down. He was half asleep when he heard Constable Hunt's voice. “Mr. Lightbearer! Is he alright?” “Yeah, yeah, only pickled...”, the other Bobby said. Nick felt how he was handed over. Hunt's arms held him soon after. “What are you doing?”, Hunt whispered to him. “What are you doing?” Nick stirred, stretched himself and yawned. His improvised taxi waited until he got his share, then he contentedly walked away. Hunt brought the seemingly sloshed rockstar inside and placed him on the couch. “Are you hurt?”, he asked, not sure if the answer would be useful. “Nu-uh”, Nick slurred. Hunt sighed. The rockstar would've told him if he had an owie, for sure. He'd normally keep on and on about it. Hunt also found no blood on him, so he gave him a pat on the shoulder and went outside again.

Nick waited until the Bobby had closed the front door behind him, before he got up. First, he took a look around in the living room, then the kitchen, wondering where his band was. Did they leave him? Worried, he walked up the stairs. “Hey! Guys, where are you?”, he shouted. He didn't get an answer. They could be asleep, of course. Nick went to their guestrooms and opened the doors, only to see them being empty. When he looked into the last of them and found it empty too, his mood plummeted. And he became anxious. Was this whole project dead? Still, there was the third floor. It's quietness wasn't inviting, but Nick ascended the stairs nonetheless. He had to be sure. It hurt to see the white piano that carved out it's miserable existence in a corner. He had gotten it on a whim. He could play it tolerably, he found, but in the past days he had looked forward for his lover to play it once. His hands fondled the keys. The poor thing. And poor Morrie, he would've liked it.

He went into the party room, where he had his stage. There, he was gobsmacked to come upon his friends, lying on the floor, asleep. The sight brought him to the edge of tears again. Still here, despite everything. Their positions didn't look too comfortable, they must've more or less passed out. The amount of empty bottles on the bar told him a story of probably drowning sorrows in alcohol. Well, who was he to judge them? Solaced, he walked out, down the stairs again and into his bedroom. He noticed how tired he was himself, but he had a little bit of energy left. Opening the drawers in his dresser, he found a blanket and pulled it out. It would have to do. Sneaking back up the stairs, he went to his sleeping friends and lay the blanket over them. With that and the carped underneath them, they should be fine, Nick concluded. Smiling faintly, he went back to his bedroom and crawled onto his bed. He didn't have to wait for long until his fatigue won out over him.

He awoke in bright daylight. Absently, he enjoyed it for a time, thinking it could be a wonderful day. If only he didn't have to live his life right now. More sadly, he eyed the empty space next to him. Then he ran a hand over the sheets where a lovely Downer once had lain. Closing his eyes, he recalled how his body had felt, the smell of his soft hair, his loving smile he'll never see again...The memory brought about more tears. Nick felt very alone. But he still had to save his band and that made him push himself forward. Even though that meant coming to terms with them again. Nick was afraid to talk to Matt again. He was afraid he could've told Brad and Chris everything and had turned them against him too. Chris had seen blood on him. And Brad probably believed Matt anyway since the two were close. And still, he had to go through this. Once again. Nick gulped. When would the begging be finally over? When would they start to believe he really meant it?

He got up and went into the bathroom to take a glance at himself in the mirror. Not too good, he thought. Even if he ignored his red eyes, the mask was dirty, he would have to take his spare one. His wig was blowsed, the shiny strands standing on end. He took his comb, but then hesitated. Didn't they like him more without it? He grabbed the wig and pulled it down, freeing his own uncombed hair. Great. It looked even worse. And now it would hurt. Well, beauty knows no pain, Nick pushed himself further and went through the painful procedure of putting his stubborn hair in order. Even combed, it looked weird with the mask, so it felt easier to take it off. He quickly washed his face and shaved, letting the little bit of fluff stay where his desired moustache was. The mask just didn't stick to the face properly if he kept too much facial hair, so this had to do. Well, it wasn't like he still had reporters in his house... Ready but not really, he left the bathroom. He heard some muffled noise from downstairs that made him assume the others were awake. Nick felt like it was a show he wasn't prepared for. I don't feel alright, Virgil. Can't you cancel this gig?

Going down the stairs, the muffled noise went louder. Instead of multiple voices speaking it was rather just one, the one everybody knew. The telly was most likely on. Jack hopefully had happy news. He hesitated to go into the living room. He felt like he needed caffeine first, but what would he look like, giving a speech about his innocence while holding a coffee mug? Ridiculous, yes. At the doorframe he stopped, looking into Uncle Jack's happy face on screen. There went nothing. “Hey, guys”, he said. “Sssh, I want to hear this...!”, Matt hissed. Nick fell quiet. Brad looked over the armrest to see their meek guitarist. “Norbert”, he said in surprise. “I haven't seen you in years!” “That's Nick, dummy”, Chris corrected him without looking. “Yeah?” He looked closer. Nick tried a smile. “Uh yeah, it's me, Nick...” “Whoa”, Brad commented. “Why can't you guys shut up?”, Matt complained, but he turned around to greet the intruder. “Hey, Nick, come here, you missed half the show.” Nick came closer and the fact that he could sit down next to Matt without receiving a punch staggered him. He noticed they had taken the blanket with them and spread it out over them. Matt suddenly eyed Nick and Nick returned the gaze as innocently as he could. Would Matt remember? His pupils were pint-sized. The result of their staring contest was Matt tossing the edge of the blanket over him and then looking back at the screen. Hardly believing his luck, Nick accepted the warming cover and remained quiet, eyeing his friends that were so amazed by Uncle Jack that they didn't take further notice of their defiant guitarist.  

On the coffee table, biscuits and sandwiches were scattered. They made Nick wonder how much was still left in his fridge. Someone had to take care of that, too. But not now, he decided and helped himself. When he started to move, Chris darted a glance at him. Nick froze in his tracks and looked at his friend. He was surprised to see the other man smile shortly and then turn back to the telly. They laughed out loud about one of Jack's jokes and Nick just watched them, baffled. Eventually, Jack had to say goodbye, but not without announcing the coming up program. Still, when the test card appeared on screen, they complained. “Already?”, Matt moaned. “Aw man, I wish his shows were longer. A couple of hours would be cool.” “Yeah, a day-long special, I'd watch it”, Brad agreed. “I guess poor Jack needs a rest now and then”, Nick tossed in. “Maybe...I just can't stop watching this guy...Hey, you missed half the show”, Matt said. “Any news?”, Nick asked. “News...You missed the Downer jokes.” “Oh...” “What's the difference between a Downer and a bolt?” “Uh...” “You don't hammer a bolt.”  

Nick tried to laugh as good as he could. He had used to laugh at these jokes, too. “That's great, yeah...”, he pretended. “Are you okay?” Matt lifted an eyebrow. “Sure, snug as a bug.” Nick forced a grin. “You took your mask off”, Brad noticed. “That's why I didn't recognize you.” “Well, I...I thought you like me more like that... Matt leaned closer. “Show me your eyes.” Nick turned his head away and reflexively moved to get up, but second later, he had Brad's fingers clutching his arm and pinning him down. “Sssh, Norbert.” Chris got up and walked towards him. Nick gave his friends pleading looks. He did take his Joy, but he didn't know what Blackberry Joy did to his eyes. If it did anything at all. “Looks good to me”, Matt said. “Yeah”, Chris approved. “Except for his not-smiling.” “What's wrong with you, Nicky? Got a bad badge?” “No, I...I feel splendid”, Nick assured them. “Just take another...”, Chris held out his hand to him. A pink pill lay in it. Nick looked at Brad, but the drummer didn't let go. “You'll be fine, just take your Joy.” Nick reluctantly obeyed, taking the pill between two fingers. Three pairs of eyes watched him putting the drug in his mouth and gulping. “There you go...” Matt patted his shoulder, and Brad let go. Nick felt unwell, hiding the pill under his tongue.  

“Have you heard anything from Virgil?”, he asked meekly. “Oh, right, that was in the news you missed”, Matt took it up. “Not even you knew your manager would fuck us over?” “Uhm...” “He went on holiday”, Chris said. “Now.” He shook his head. “Did we stress him out that much?” “I...I guess so...”, Nick stuttered. Brad patted his back. “Now, now, don't lose your head over this. It also means we have more free time.” “Right, we're on holiday now too!,” Chris said as if he looked forward to it. “Uh...what if he's not on holiday?”, Nick brought up. Matt gave him a questioning look. “What do you mean, not on holiday?” “Don't you remember what happened yesterday?” “No, why should we?” “Looked like a good time though”, Chris remarked, probably thinking about the bar they had emptied. “Did we drink him under the table?”, Matt asked. “Is he in a coma now?” They stared at him again.  

“Come on, Norbert, say something. What's up with Virgil?”, Brad urged him. Nick's head span. He waved them off. “Ah...it's nothing...I...I just thought out loud...I'm sorry, I'm a bit out of it this morning.” He wrapped the blanket tighter around himself and fell quiet. Brad shrugged. “Alright.” “Need another?” Matt offered him more Strawberry Joy. Nick hesitated, then he fetched the pill from his friend's hand. He wouldn't pop this either. “Guys, I have an appointment I can't miss, can I trust you to behave while I'm gone?”, he said standing up. They laughed. “We're all respectable Wellies, you know?”, Chris said. “You're the one we have to watch, Nicky.” “Be a good boy, you hear me?”, Matt added. “And put your mask back on”, Brad reminded him. Nick promised everything and went into his bedroom to prepare, spitting out the pink pill. He was eager to leave.  

        Some time later, he dashed into James' arms. The other man held him close, running a hand over Nick's head. It didn't take long until the tears came back. Nick had to cling to their closeness for a long time before he felt good enough to let go. Searching for words, he then eyed the floor. “What is it, Nick?”, his friend asked in a soft tone. “James, I'm at the end of the line! I lost all at once! Arthur left me, Virgil is dead and my band is overdosing on Joy...”, the words poured out. “I can't go on without a manager! I'm a walking chaos already, and now my friends...I need someone to get my life organized, to pay all my bills...this is the end of me! He wrapped his arms around himself. “I'm sorry you spent so much time on me, all for nothing...” James put an arm around him and pressed him gently against his chest. “Now, now, it's not over yet, my golden boy. I know how much Virgil meant to you and I can't easily fix the hole Arthur left in your heart, but believe me, good old James has some more aces up his sleeve.” Nick gave him a wide-eyed look. “You can help me?” James' hand drew little circles on Nick's upper arm. “I think so.” Nick lowered his head again and let it rest on his friend's chest. “Am I dreaming?” “No”, James soft voice assured him. “You're wide awake, and you're with me...” Nick lay his arms around the other man again. “I'm so glad I can trust you...” James smiled. “I'm glad you trust me.” Nick returned the smile and enjoyed to be in his soulmate's arms for some more time.  

“Do you want to stay?”, James went on. Nick thought about it. “I shouldn't leave my friends alone...I'm so afraid something might happen to them too...I have to protect them, even if they'd hate me if they remembered what happened...” “Why would they hate you?” “Because of what I did to Morrie, because of Arthur and because every time someone I love gets killed, I end up in a strange coincidence that makes me look suspicious...It's like the killer is playing with me.” “And your good friends now think you're a murderer?” Nick shook his head. “They're not thinking anything right now! Yesterday, they knew he was dead, but this morning they heard Uncle Jack say Virgil is on holiday and they bought it!” Nick hung his head. “I wonder if I'm the reason why they overdosed. Honestly, I don't know what I would think if I were them...I just wish they'd be back in their senses and on my side...I had been shit to them in the past, but I was never evil.” “I can well believe it,” James affirmed. Nick lit up a bit but it didn't last long. “I wonder if I was evil to Arthur...” James lifted his eyebrows. “Did he lose his trust in you so suddenly?” Nick eyed the floor again. “He found out about Morrie...He figured I wasn't worth it...” His eyes watered again. “It's like you said, I lost them both...Now I wish I told them the truth.” “Do you think they'd have acted differently?” Nick sighed deeply. “I guess Arthur...Arthur would've left me anyway...He...He actually had no time for me in any case...” James gave him a questioning look.  

“All he wanted was to find his lost brother...He said he's in...Germany...The train...” A shadow flashed over he other man's face. For a second, he looked harassed, but it was gone before Nick could really notice it. “I've never seen the train myself”, Nick went on. “I was too old to go, and I didn't want to watch it, so I ran away and hid in a shack to smoke.” Guilt crept into his voice. “You were still very young. You didn't have to watch it. No child...should've experienced this...” James' eyes glazed over, as if he was looking at an image in his mind. “Arthur must've suffered...without Joy...”, Nick whispered. “You couldn't know”, James comforted him. “Your fates simply went into different ways.” Nick pressed his head into the other man's suit, wetting it with tears. “It still hurts...I feel guilty for not telling him the truth, but also, I had no clue who he was...I mean if I knew...If I knew he'd leave me anyway...I wouldn't have...I wouldn't have betrayed Morrie...”, he sobbed. James held him again, stroking him. “See, you're not the only one making mistakes...” “You mean I should forgive Arthur? Well, I do! God, I wish he came back!”, Nick cried. “He'll be happier now”, James said quietly. “And possibly even you too...” Nick was shaken by a crying fit, so James silently walked him into the living room and sat down with him, letting him wet his shoulder and patting his back in return.  

[the-gory-gardner]

The Admirer

Honey Reynolds x Asa Emory

Honey sat frozen in shock staring at the masked figure who was standing before her. She releashed a small squeak as the man turned around and took a step towards her. The movement caused her to come to and attempt to scramble away.

The man despite his large statue however was quick. Honey was wide eyed as she found herself pinned on her back beneath the man. Asa brought a hand up to her face softly stroking it in hopes of calming her down.

He was pleased that she hadn't screamed which would certainly alert her neighbors "Shhhh". Honey flinched at the sound curling in on herself best she could in her position. "Pl-please I don't have anything worth stealing". Honey quietly said hoping that's why the man was there and for nothing else.

She watched as Asa tilted his head almost animal-like. "I won't hurt you Little Bee". He remarked in a practiced voice that would make him harder to identify. Asa watched as the gears turned in her head at his words before watching her eyes widened in shock.

Honey opened and closed her mouth several times unsure of what to say before saying the first thing that popped in her head. "Wh-Who are you"? Not the most important question with the current situation but one she had wanted to know since the first gift had arrived.

Asa's crooked smile sent a chill down her spine. "You don't need to know just yet My Little Bee". Honey shivered as she felt his breath hit her face and the warmth of his body pressed against her's. She vaguely recalled that she was wearing a sweater and shorts leaving her quite...exposed to the man.

"Wh-why me"? She asked this time hoping for a better answer. Asa's reponse was to stroke Honey's hair moving it away from her pretty face. He then leaned down putting his face next to her ear. "Because you're mine".

Honey found any further questions stuck in her throat as the man stood up and taking her with him. She stumbled on her feet slightly in a daze as she fell into his chest. For a moment she wondered if this was just a dream but it felt too real. The man's next move however was the one that truly shocked and confused her. He held her.

Asa wrapped one arm around her waist while his other hand was placed on the back of her head. The older man watched pleased as Honey leaned into his touches without thinking. His little bee so starved for love and attention.

He found her wide brown eye absolutely breath taking as he gripped her chin gently so she would look at him. With one arm still wrapped around her waist Asa gave her the best reassuring smile he could muster. "Such a sweet, quiet little worker bee, they don't deserve you".

Honey didn't know who 'they' were and she couldn't even try to think of it. Her mind was in too much of a fog caused by the warmth of the man's body against her. Any other time such touches would startle her and make her jumpy but these touches felt so...nice.

"I'm confused". She whispered softly. She was so quiet Asa would have missed it had he not been so close. "That's okay Honey Bee, everythings gonna be okay". He soothed her. Honey found herself closing her eyes as she leaned into the man's chest. She couldnt remember the last time she had felt such comfort.

In the morning when Honey stirred in her empty bed she sat confused for a moment wondering if the night's events had been a dream conjured by her loneliness. Then she had caught sight of her new teddy bear besides her. On it's arm was a new note.

'SwSee You Soon My Little Bee' - Your Admirer

Honey plopped back down on to her bed knowing her life had just got ten times more complicated.