#that hole with so much emotional distress still between them

[razzle-zazzle]

homoerotic fight scene, you say? Added tension of being engaged AND a possible traitor, you say? Even more tension over that being the person that you thought you knew better than anyone else in the world hiding things from you, you say?

YES EXACTLY. JAY IS SO MAD COLE IS SO MAD AND STRESSED JAY IS STRESSED NEITHER OF THEM IS HAVING A GOOD TIME IN THAT ARENA. I DON'T EVEN KNOW IF THEY'LL BE ABLE TO PROPERLY RECONCILE. CHEN IS GIGGLING IN HIS SEAT THINKING HE'S GOT THIS WHOLE "if my son-in-law (to be) won't turn against the other ninja i'll just turn the other ninja against him" THING. MAYBE EVEN COLE WINNING MAYBE EVEN SKYLOR USING BORROWED EARTH POWER TO MAKE COLE WIN WHILE APPEARING UNINVOLVED. IT'S GONNA BE SO SO FUN FOR ME FR FR

[kyeomniscient]

seventeen ao3 fic recs (pt. 2)

creating a new post for the mid-length fics bc the original post was getting too long - enjoy!

pt. 1 (completed fics, >50k words)

pt. 3 (completed shorter fics, <10k words)

pt. 4 (incomplete fics)

in order of descending word count, last updated 13/12/2024

Cherry Tree Inn (jicheol, 45k, completed)

obsessed with the plot twist in this one! the damsel in distress!hoon x hero!cheol dynamic never fails

The Times We Fell (minwon, 46k, completed)

this one definitely did things to my heart :"") loved the visuals of hockeyplayer!mingyu x figureskater!wonwoo, the development of their enemies(?)-to-friends-to-lovers arc, how their relationship remained strong and steady throughout despite being met with various obstacles and external pressures along the way, how Mingyu rekindled Wonwoo's love for skating not once but twice, just them being a healthy and supportive couple - a beautiful read!

Access Granted (jicheol, 45k, completed)

the jicheol banter was golden in this one

divine pain, pain divine (gyucheol, 44k, completed)

the enemies-to-lovers-to-exes-to-lovers pipeline i never knew i needed

cut to the feeling (soonwoo, 44k, completed)

this was a character study on emotional self-torture and every chapter was an absolute sucker punch to the gut - loved the sadness and pining for the drama but i also felt like plot-wise the events didn't really justify the intensity of it all as much as the author's other piece :"/ writing was still amazing though!!

gold fever (seokgyu, 43k words, completed)

archer!seokmin x weightlifter!mingyu in a college au - really liked the vibes and writing in this fic :) seokgyu fics are rare and i feel like it's bc their dynamics on-camera mostly revolve around teasing/bickering it's hard to picture anything else, but the slow-burn element brought smth fresh and new to their dynamics and it was such an enjoyable read!

I'm not afraid to die, I just don't want to be there when it happens (jicheol, 40k words, completed)

after reading this i think it's safe to say we all need a cheol during an apocalypse

In The Eye of the Beholder (verkwan, 34k words, completed)

half-demon!vernon x blind!seungkwan - verkwan is the softest ship and no one can say otherwise

Get busy living, or get busy dying. (cheolhoon, 31k words, completed)

absolutely living for the dialogue and banter between these two during the counseling sessions - such a unique setting, a v good fic!

secondhand smoke (gyucheol, 30k words, completed)

this was the start of my spiral down the gyucheol rabbit hole: collegiate sport aus will always be superior

just let me know (i'll be on the floor) (verkwan, 30k words, completed)

soft and sweet friends-to-lovers fic that made my heart so warm!! really loved how their relationship unfolded over time, how they took care of each other as roommates, with seungkwan's obliviousness and denial and vernon being so patient with him throughout - 'twas a lovely slice-of-life read that brought comfort and joy :)

A (Revised Guide to Lab Safety) (soonwoo, 25k words, completed)

askjfsds this was an amazing mix of soonwoo peer dynamics in a college au + science!! their lab partners-to-friends-to-lovers arc was really too cute so i'd highly recommend this to soonwoo enthusiasts

tu me manques (minwon, 26k words, completed)

this really captured the feeling of watching 90s & early 2000s romcoms (think before sunrise, chasing liberty, serendipity etc) and was written so beautifully i might cry :"") really loved the travelling aspect of it, the scenic descriptions of each city made the fic so immersive, like i was there along w them sigh

also wonwoo has slight manic pixie dream boy vibes and mingyu is just there lolol

here kitty kitty (minwon, 26k words, completed)

the ultimate cosy fall read - this fic felt like a sip of warm tea by the fire on a chilly autumn evening :)

snowflake, i'll catch you tonight (minwon, 25k words, completed)

this was really cute!! just soft and fluffy vibes in general and characterisation was super on point bc wonwoo is literally winter personified lmao

i thought that space was mine (jeongcheol, 25k words, completed)

jealous jeonghan sad fics are everything

a mix of sun and clouds (soonwoo, 24k words, completed)

lovelovelove aus with interesting professions, and this time they're both working at a weather station! soonyoung being a weather nerd is such a delight to read, and wonwoo's emotional constipation + little acts of service never gets old hehe geguri is amazing

Paradise Lost (minwon, 24k, completed)

sad fics have a chokehold on me and this one definitely takes the cake... was left in tears and i would risk it all to experience it for the first time again

despite this being a post-apocalyptic au, the development of the romance arc was treated softly and gently, that the moments of tenderness between the mcs shone through the violence and ruin that surrounded them. it was a really refreshing take on domesticity, one that took me by surprise, and it's a pity that the author only has 2 works!! i need MORE

Bend (and Break) (seoksoon, 23k words, completed)

fwb-to-friends-to-lovers seoksoon?? another wholesome fic and i loved the build up in this fic, where the mcs are basically doing all but admitting their feelings for each other UGH so cute

175°C for 60 minutes (seokgyu, 23k words, completed)

vv cute baking rivals au!! love how little clues were sprinkled throughout the story and came together at the end to tie things up nicely hehe

Lie Again (gyuhan, 22k words, completed)

the best gyuhan fic (that i've read so far) !! aka the chronicles of one (1) emotionally-unavailable yoon jeonghan where he learns to embrace the notion of Having Feelings ™ ft some of my other fave ships seoksoo and soonwoo

Jack of all trades... (jicheol, 21k words, completed)

absolutely went down a jicheol rabbit hole after this... their dynamics are one of a kind and i love it so much

stillness and motion (seokhao, 21k words, completed)

give me a fic about emotionally-repressed characters that yearn and do everything but communicate and i'll eat it up!! the tension built up between (former) teammates in sport aus are a different breed and i'm absolutely here for it

For Want of Glory (woncheol, 21k words, completed)

secret agent au! loved woncheol's dynamics here, and it's really endearing to read from coups' pov because i love the way he just PINES

you make me feel good (i like it) (soonwoo, 18k words, completed)

no spoilers but this was an absolute beast of a fic that DESTROYED me the best way possible :"") each chapter was succinct yet packed a punch, loveloveloved how the element of time travel was weaved into the storyline!! op you are a genius for conceiving and writing this

Storm Warning (wonhui, 18k words, completed)

jun as a manic pixie dream type here is everything!! ww's feelings are so valid bc if jun was my neighbour, i too, would fall in love right away HAHA

Cold Hands, Warm Heart (jicheol, 17k words, completed)

apocalypse aus always hit so hard and this fic was no exception - i was expecting a much darker arc based on the blurb, but the author managed to transform such a dire situation into one full of love, warmth and hope :") definitely check this one out!! there's also a (slightly) heart-wrenching (tiny) minwon arc on the side

now i'm covered in you (soonwoo, 16k words, completed)

it's the art of dealing with grief and moving on in a sweet and tender fic - highly recommend!

say you want me (cause I need it, all of the time) (soonwoo, 15k words, completed)

this is wonwoo as everyone's dream high school boyfriend lol

choosing the right place to put it (woncheol, 15k words, completed)

15k words of pure domestic fluff :") wonwoo and cheol are so soft with each other in this fic and cheol being so oblivious throughout really takes the cake HAHA

burning the wick at both ends (jeongcheol, 14k words, completed)

getting back with an ex is never a good idea... unless it's jeongcheol

in the dream where I am an island (jeongcheol, 14k words, completed)

rare jeongcheol fic from cheol's pov

full ten (minwon, 14k words, completed)

super adorable strangers-to-roommates-to-lovers fic!! i really loved that they each had their own lives (preferences, habits, jobs and interests) before they met each other, and coming to live together only made their lives better - there's just something about the intimacy of co-existing in the same space with someone, bonding over simple weeknight dinners, developing a shared routine over time :"")

favorite (minwon, 14k, completed)

this was a v lovely friends-to-lovers fic - really loved the timelapse of small moments between them from both perspectives!

helios (minwon, 13k, completed)

a literal masterpiece - great execution of a cool concept, and wonwoo's persona as an artist was really well-crafted!!

runaway (verkwan, 13k, completed)

this fic highlights an inseparable quality about verkwan, that there'll always be invisible string tugging at both of them, keeping them by side by side - amazing!

day ones all i keep around me (minwon, 12k words, completed)

established (secret) relationship where minwon tries to soft-launch their marriage but their fans are too dense to realise LMAO this was really cute, and i loved the dynamics between streamer!wonwoo x soccerplayer!mingyu hehe

Flowers In My Path, My Love (seokwoo, 12k words, completed)

this was the cutest college meet-cute aka hotpoetryclassguy!wonwoo x cutepoetryclassguy!dk - it really captured the moments of fumbling, awkward shyness when interacting with crushes so well and bonus points for describing dk as sunshine bc he really is the brightest boy!!

put me on a feeling i never had (woncheol, 10k words, completed)

on the inherent romance in tending to the wounds of a lover

i want us both to eat well (gyucheol, 10k words, completed)

light the way home (and i'll follow) (minwon, 10k words, completed)

[cloudzoro]

Hi! Love your work, you are incredibly talented! I especially liked the Shuggy piece, I think I’ve read it like 5 times lol. If you’re still taking requests, I think Jinbe with 11 and/or 39 would be pretty cool. Thanks so much for the fun reads!

Hiii!!!! I'm so so so glad that you enjoy my work.vmy shuggy x reader is also a fave of mine so I'm happy to see others enjoy it ♡. Also thanks for the jinbe request! my man doesn't receive enough love! I'm a bit in my feelings so I went with prompt 39 🤧

39 - comfort sex

cw: fem!reader, mention of jinbe having 2 cocks, size kink, husband jinbe because jinbe is so husband core, unprotected sex,

Husband Duties | Jinbe ♡

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

you're feeling down after a fight so your husband helps you feel better

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Married life has always suited Jinbe. He thrives when he has someone to take care of. He's reading when you, his beloved wife, swing open the door and lay down on the bed next to him.

“I'm so tired”, you whine, pushing your face into the pillows. Jinbe puts his book down, turning to give you all his attention. You're exhausted from the most recent fight. You're mostly injury-free, but all your muscles are sore.

“Do you need anything, my love?” he asks, hand trailing over your back. You nod, tucking yourself against him. The fight was particularly rough; you fucked up severely, almost getting yourself killed and causing Jinbe to leave his post to save you. You're usually a solid fighter; your husband or one of your crew having to rescue you is a rare occurrence. Your pride is wounded, and you're wallowing in insecurity.

“My back hurts a little,” you say. Jinbe doesn't need you to elaborate. He helps you to undress and adjusts the way that he's sitting so that he can press his hands into your shoulders. He works hard to distress you. Your husband's strong hands drain your body of all the stress it's harbouring until there's nothing less but raw emotions. Tears fall silently down your cheeks as you release all the pent-up frustration. Despite your cries being silent, Jinbe notices immediately.

“What's wrong, my Dear?” he asks, turning you over. “What can I do to make it better?” Your heart clenches at your husband's concern for you, but there's a much more distracting ache in your body you'd rather deal with first. Despite your distress, massages were often used as foreplay for the two of you, and you can't help the way your mind has wandered.

“It's just all my stress depleting, which means you did a good job with your massage. There is something you can do for me though”

“And what's that?” he asks, already having an inkling about what you're going to say next.

“That massage got me all worked up. I want you to touch me.”

When you first started dating, your straightforwardness had flustered Jinbe, but now it just makes him hard. Your mouth is dirtier than his, and he's obsessed with it. He nods, returning to his massage. He moves his hands down to your thighs, rubbing at the skin there. He's so close to your pussy that it makes you squirm. He chuckles at your movement, causing you to groan. “please don't tease me; I'm so wet.”

Jinbe can't say no to his little wife. He moves his massage between your legs, rubbing at your clit. He pushes a finger into your soaked hole, and you moan out at the feeling. Your husband is huge. He has to work you up to his cock. It's been a few years since you married, yet you still struggle to take him. He adds another finger, curling and scissoring them inside you. You need him so badly. He eagerly fingers you open. He whispers praises as your pussy pulses around his thick fingers.

You cum on his fingers, legs clamping shut around his hand. He works you through it, keeping his fingers moving as his gaze remains locked on your face. You can feel the love in his gaze as your chest heaves in exhaustion. Your orgasm does little to quell your weary mind, and in desperate need of further distraction, you claw at his arms.

“Please, Jinbe, I need your cock”, You say. He nods, fully undressing himself to match you. You feel your mouth watering at the site of his cocks. Being a shark fishman, he has two. Though you've only been able to successfully take both twice in your relationship, one of those times being on your wedding night. He knows you wouldn't be able to take both right now, so he settles on flipping you onto your hands and knees and lining up one of his cocks with your hole. He slowly pushes in, working himself inside you with shallow thrusts. He gently covers your mouth with his hand to stop your moans from waking up the rest of the crew.

Jinbe finally bottoms out and pauses inside you, relishing in how you feel around him, also giving you time to adjust. He drapes himself over, and you whimper at the realisation of how big he really is. Your husband is so sweet to you that it's easy to forget he's a former warlord of the sea. It isn't until he's got you trapped beneath him that you remember how powerful he is. While scary to others, it makes you feel safe and secure to know you have him lingering around you at all times.

“ What happened earlier wasn't your fault, sweetheart. You don't have to be so worked up over it,” he says as he starts to move his hips. Of course, he saw through your white lie. Jinbe is both patient and observant; nothing gets past him. “You're so strong.” His voice is as sure as ever as he squashes your worries with each heavy thrust. He reaches around you to press against your lower stomach. “can you feel me in there?” he asks. The sensation of him pressing against his own cock through your tummy is weird, but it feels so good. You're all but screaming into Jinbe's hand when a well-angled thrust sends you head-first into your orgasm. It crashes over you in waves, making your whole body tremble. Jinbe can't keep himself together anymore and cums too, filling you up with his seed.

“Thank you”, you whine as he rolls off of you and grabs tissues from the bedside table to clean you up.

“Do you feel better now?” he asks, laying down beside you and pulling you on top of him to rest. You nod, too exhausted to give him a response. All fucked out and cuddled up in your husband's arms, you fall asleep in minutes. Jinbe smiles, knowing he'll be there to chase away all the nasty thoughts clouding your beautiful mind.

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tag list: @bloodfixnd @sexysapphicshopowner @beachaddict48 @lem-hhn

thank you so much for reading! comments and reblogs are appreciated ♡♡♡♡

[farfromstrange]

Do No Harm

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Broken Heart Syndrome

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: After Matt stood you up at dinner, you are tossed down a rabbit hole of agonizing thoughts. As so often, you turn to the bottle to take the edge off, though this time, you make the decision to confront at least one of the objects of your anger. To your drunken mind, at least, even the worst decisions make sense.

Warnings for this chapter: ANGST, Heavy on the angst (18+), graphic descriptions of domestic violence (involving a belt, too), allusions to sexual assault, mentions of homicidal ideations, self-hatred, alcohol abuse (and everything that comes with it), argument between friends, Reader says some mean things, suicidal ideations/depression

Word Count: 4.9k

A/n: I'm sorry you had to wait so long for another chapter, but it took me a very long time to finish editing. There are parts in this chapter that hit very close to home, and I can't just post it without saying a thing or two. If you or anyone you know struggles with domestic violence, there are organizations that can help (check domesticshelters.org, for example). The same goes for mental illnesses; don't be afraid to seek out help if you start noticing symptoms. Check with your doctor or healthcare provider. There is absolutely no shame in asking for help. You've made it this far, and I am so incredibly proud of you. It was important to me to share that with you. Read at your own risk, please!

Read Chapter 14: Broken Heart Syndrome here on AO3!

In medical school, they teach you that a broken heart can quite literally kill you. Acute emotional distress can overstimulate the heart, causing the left ventricle to collapse. Takotsubo cardiomyopathy looks like Japanese takotsubo, an octopus trap. Still, those without medical expertise know it as Broken Heart Syndrome—because three words are all you need to understand what emotional hurt can do to the body. 

A lot of the time though, the human psyche compels a person to find other ways to deal with the pain that eats away at them. Bad coping mechanisms can be just as deadly as a physical disorder. Self-harm doesn’t fix the actual problem, it only distracts your mind momentarily from what is truly hurting you. 

Like with any other disease, a broken heart will get worse if it’s not treated. Either, the organ literally stops pumping blood as it should, or it drives you to a point that would easily get you a free 72-hour stay in the psych ward. Emotions are unpredictable like that.

As a doctor, you know everything in the human body is connected. If the body is sick, it will affect the mind; if the mind is sick, the body will suffer, too. Mental illness can be just as deadly as any terminal condition. If pain and trauma are not properly dealt with, chances are high that ignoring it won’t make you any better. And alcohol or drugs are never the solution to a problem, they only cause one problem to branch into a million more—and then you’re fucked. 

You are aware that self-harm is the first thing a desperate person with a history of trauma will turn to, but it’s so much easier. In practice, life is fucking vile; it’s a miserable existence that is slowly killing all of us, and you would much rather burn the skin off your bones while you’re still alive than face the very demons you’re trying so hard to run from. You know that’s a sick mindset to have, and if it were anyone else confiding these thoughts in you, you would refer them to the Department of Psychiatry to get the help they need. But you… you cannot be helped. Not anymore. Because you don’t want to be helped. It’s all useless anyway. 

The door to your apartment slams shut with a deafening crack of the hinges. As soon as the world is locked behind a deadbolt, and the city has disappeared, your back hits the wall.

A minute ago, he texted you. You prayed for an explanation to a God you don’t even believe in. You prayed that it would all make sense and your brain is spinning in nauseating circles for no reason. You just have to sober up and everything will be okay, you thought. But then you unlocked your phone with shaky and stupidly needy fingers, relying on a hope that stemmed from this childish need to be loved after the one parent you’d had left failed so miserably, and his words drilled into your brain like a sharp knife. 

“You deserve better,” he texted. “I’m sorry.”

What a weak excuse. It’s supposed to be your choice, deciding what or what not you deserve. With one text, he took that from you.   

It was stupid, you think, to get your hopes up. You were just starting to believe that you could finally move on. The weight on your chest felt less heavy with him there. Matt was never supposed to appear in your life, but then he did, and for the first time in a very long time, you felt like your life mattered again. He put a smile on your face. You don’t remember what it is like to be happy because you never really felt happy before. Since you can remember, you have been running for the sake of survival. Anything you have done up until now was a mere act of self-perseverance. 

With Matt, it felt different. He understood you because he, too, seemed to be only existing, trapped in a cage of his trauma’s making. 

You were dating again, albeit reluctantly and fighting back like a cat on steroids—but you were dating again. If you wanted your effort to mean something, you had to get over what happened. It’s not that easy, of course, but you believed her when she talked you down from the ledge. 

You should have listened to your gut. Everyone in your life will eventually end up leaving or hurting you, or both. You’ve been rotting away for so long, there is nothing left of you to give. He touched your heart once, and now you’re falling apart. 

Because there’s not enough of you there to love. 

Because no one wants you. 

You slide down the wood of your door. If only the floor could open up and swallow you, the pain that traps the oxygen just before your lungs could end. And if you could only cut out your amygdala or sever the connections in your prefrontal cortex to stop being this miserable about a man you barely knew, you would. 

The tears running down your cheeks are silent. Dry. They taste like poison on your tongue, but your skin feels almost numb to the burn. You can’t scream or sob because there is no air for you to breathe. You’re drowning on dry land, and the rapid drumming of your heart echoing in your ears is the only sound that exists. It isn’t steady like a clock; it is a ticking time bomb in your chest threatening to explode—threatening to turn into an octopus trap and kill you. 

There was never anything left to endure for. You have been torturing yourself every passing day like a fucking masochist, watching yourself on the big screen like a puppet without the intention to stop. 

Icarus flew too close to the sun, but boy, you flew right into it. You would have made Matt the sun if he had stayed around for long enough, made yourself dependent on him all over again, and you would have drowned regardless. Maybe it was all for a reason; maybe Claire was right, after all, to push you to see the truth for yourself—how foolish you’d been—but why does that reason hurt so damn much? You barely knew him enough to care, and yet you did. It makes no sense. 

You deserve better. If he truly believed that, he would have said it to your face. 

The phone slips from your stiff hand before you can reply. Every muscle in your body strains, stretching over bone and lighting every cell and every nerve on fire. You can’t move. You’re sure you are going to die like this, a mess on your living room floor. 

He broke your heart; Matt Murdock took it right out of your chest and smashed it up because you dared to want more. He wrapped his hands around your neck and suffocated you. He gave you hope, and then he took it away, and that is something you’re sure you will never be able to forgive. What kind of man doesn’t have the decency to tell the truth before it’s too late? 

You tear at your dress, hoping to inflate your lungs somehow. The walls around you threaten to cave in. Everything seems larger than life, suddenly. Even with your hands stretched out before you, you can’t stop the avalanche. 

This isn’t about Matt. It has never been about him. Cracks in the broken foundation of an already shattered heart don’t hurt as much as the first crash, they only add to the agony. How messed up do you have to be, you think, for your brain to not even notice the difference between getting stood up and having the ground ripped out from under your feet? You were never good at math, but perhaps you are the sum of your actions, after all.  

A car honks outside. The bright headlights flash through the gaps in the blinds on the windows. You remember how they hit him one night, reflecting off the pure white of his dress shirt. His chest was heaving then. 

“What the fuck were you thinking, huh?” he had bellowed, drowning out your repeated sorry’s like a tsunami wave. “You embarrassed me in front of… of everyone. My boss, the whole hospital—and you think ‘sorry’ is going to fix it?”

You can’t quite recall whether the lights were white that night, or if they were red and blue, and the only thing louder than his screams were the sirens of cop cars rushing by. 

“You’re never gonna learn,” he’d said, crouching down before you, and he looked like what you would imagine the devil to look like if he were human. “You’re always going to screw up because you, my love, are absolutely and utterly fucking incompetent.”

On second thought, maybe there were sirens outside. They sounded different from your quiet sobs. He forced you to keep your eyes open, to watch as he undid his belt, and against every bone in your body, instead of running, you stayed rooted in place. You stayed there until he grabbed you and threw you into the coffee table. 

The vase stayed intact, thankfully, as it tumbled and fell, but you could see your reflection clearly in the porcelain. You watched him come up behind you, and all you remember is how hollow you were; you were so fucking hollow your heart could have screamed and it only would have echoed before it would have died. You were bound—bound to him. 

“Get up.”

You could have grabbed the vase and smashed him over the head with it. 

“I said,” he repeated, “Get up.”

Your hand slipped from the porcelain, and you got up. It was like he knew you wouldn’t have the guts to kill him. Lord knows you wanted to; some days, you were so close to stealing a knife from the kitchen and slashing his throat while he was asleep. You’d watch him choke on his blood with a smile on your face, you thought, but as soon as the handle was in your hand, you realized that you couldn’t. Not even when you thought about the belt, the feeling of him on top of you as he took whatever the fuck he wanted from you over and over again until he drew blood. 

It should have been enough to make you snap, all the abuse, but you physically couldn’t touch him. At first, you thought you loved him too much to hurt him. Your feelings were complicated and you were hardly aware of how dire your situation truly was, but eventually, you came to the realization that the inability to jab a knife into his jugular had a different reason entirely. 

You had no money, no power, no life outside of him. He seized all of your income. You didn’t own a valid passport, a bank account, or a car. If you had killed him, you would have been a fugitive and a thief. If you had left him, you would have found yourself jobless and disgraced with nowhere to go. No friends, no family, no love. And so every time you wished him dead, the knife wandered back into the drawer. He owned you. 

Toward the end of your relationship, you used to imagine the sirens were coming for you. If you had filed at least one report, maybe someone would have heard. Maybe they would have paid more attention to the cries for help from the neighboring apartment. Maybe then it would have never come this far.

The past can change your future, but you can’t go back in time and change the past. If we could, life would be so much easier. 

You manage to crawl from the door to the couch where there’s a half-empty bottle of tequila hiding in a paper bag. You need to forget to remember how to breathe. 

The burn of liquor blazes through your taste buds, taking them apart and putting them back together all the same. You choke on it when you try to swallow. Nothing has ever tasted quite this bad, but you can’t stop. The dull ache fills your chest, even if it’s just for a second, and you need more. You can’t stop because if you stop drinking and open your eyes, you will see his face again. It’s worse than dying; at least in death, there is peace.

You drink until the already half-empty bottle is empty, wiping the tequila from the corners of your mouth. You sniffle, you gasp for air, and you sob into the dead quiet of your apartment. Matt should not have the power to hurt you this badly. 

The drunker you get, the more his face starts to blur. All faces start to blur. 

“Stupid fucking idiot!” you curse under your breath as you storm into the kitchen, tearing through the liquor cabinet that used to be full but now resembles more of a black hole with stray bottles of vodka all around. 

Drinking pure vodka is like pouring disinfectant directly onto an open, gushing wound. The only difference is that alcohol only works to kill off unwanted bacteria on the outside; it doesn’t exorcize the demons in your head. 

Time keeps running, and the liquor keeps flowing, and you don’t remember which way is up anymore, you only know that it won’t stop fucking hurting. Fuck Claire, fuck Matt, and especially, fuck him. Fuck everyone and God and the whole fucking universe. You just can’t do it anymore.

The cold air hits your face when you stumble out of your apartment complex. Your brain is jumbled, and the world is turning a little too fast. All you know is that the walls were caving in on you, and your veins were swelling with the heat of fury—like you were drowning in your blood. Vodka makes you dumber, yes, but it also singles out one singular emotion for you to obsess over, and you won’t be able to rest until you get it all off your chest. 

A cab pulls up to the curb. You only have a handful of cash, but it should be enough to get you where you want to be. No, where you have to be. 

You catch your reflection in the rearview mirror, makeup smudged and reeking of alcohol and despair. What the driver must think of you—a lonely woman in the back of his cab with her hand clenched tightly around the bottle of maze in her bag, thinking she’s so subtle about how terrified she truly is underneath the mask of anger that drives her. You can never be too careful, never too mistrusting when there are men involved.

The car comes to a halt only ten minutes later. “Are you sure you should still be drinking?” the driver asks, nodding toward the liquor store across from you. 

You scramble with the cash in your hands. “I’m not here to drink,” you manage to say. “I’m visiting a friend.” And you point upward to the dark windows above.  

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” You hand him the money. “Keep the, uh, change.”

He is about to protest, wanting to tell you that you overpaid and you might need to pay for a ride back, but you slam the door on him before he can get a word out. You don’t need a stranger to tell you what to do. 

The curb feels unsteady under your feet, almost like the ground might open up and swallow you whole. When you eventually manage to find the door, you almost break the door as you force your way inside. The lock has been broken for quite some time, so a key isn’t required for entry, but there is something about the wood tonight that proves trickier to open. 

Every step up the stairs knocks the air out of your tired lungs. It’s late, and rationally, you know you shouldn’t be here in your current state, but you’re angry and you’re drunk, and you want answers. At least for one of the many shitty things wrong with your life lately, you need to find a reason or you will continue sucking on the bottle of vodka until the lethal limit doesn’t exist anymore. 

On the fourth floor then, you slump against the doorframe, utterly exhausted. Your head is spinning. Your stomach is churning. How many drinks you’ve had before you got here, you can’t even remember, but you are starting to feel the deadly concoction wanting to purchase a ticket for a ride through your esophagus. 

You hammer your fist against the wood. Once, twice, even a third time. No answer. You try again, less gentle this time. Once, twice, a third, a fourth, and a fifth time, and then you lose count. You knock and knock and knock until your knuckles feel like splitting open, but you don’t stop—you use your palm, waiting for the creaking of the floorboards to tell you that someone, anyone, is home. If you could scream, you would have already, but your throat is burnt dry. You abuse the poor door until finally, you hit the air. 

“What–” Claire stops halfway, her eyes falling upon your slouched frame. A meow sounds from inside the apartment. “Liv?” she asks. “What the hell are you doing here? It’s 2 am!”

You didn’t realize how late it has gotten, or how long you must have been crying and drinking and crying some more. 

“What happened to you?” 

She was asleep. You’ve been trying to call her for days, but here she is, perfectly healthy, wrapped in a robe that isn’t hers, and she has been asleep while you were losing your mind. You were hoping something happened to her, that she didn’t ghost you for no discernible reason, but from the looks of it, she did just that. Yes, she looks miserable with dark circles under her eyes and the room behind her a downright mess, but your mind refuses to be anything but irrational right now. The burning hot anger is back, coursing through your veins at a speed almost too much to handle. 

“What happened to me?” you snap. “I’ve been trying to reach you for two fucking days, and you’re asking me what happened?” 

“Shh!” Claire pulls you inside. The door slams shut behind her, much louder than your voice could ever be. “Jesus,” she says. “Quiet down.” 

A pause. Under her gaze, you almost feel small. Scrutinized, even. “You smell like a fucking distillery,” she adds after a moment of just staring at you—staring as if she had any right to.

“That all you have to say?” Your mouth falls open in a snarl. “Well, fuck you, Claire! Fuck you!”

She flinches, your harsh tone leaving a sharp sting behind. “Okay, maybe we can just sit down and have a conversation like normal people.”

“Unbelievable,” you say. “Un-fucking-believable.”

Normal people. You don’t know what that word even means anymore. You don’t know what anything she says means. You look at her and all you see is alarms blaring in your head, warning you, screaming for you to run, but you are tethered to the ground in the very position you put yourself in.

She utters your name and your entire body recoils.

“Don’t call me that!” It is toe-curling how foreign the word sounds. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, too, like acid raining from the sky. It burns; everything fucking burns. “You know, All I needed was my friend. I needed my friend and you weren’t there,” your voice cracks. “You told me I had to get back out there, and I did. ‘Cause you said it was the right thing to do. I believed you, Claire. I put on this stupid dress and these stupid heels and…” You sob, the memory rubbing salt in the open wound, “Matt fucking stood me up!”

Claire stops dead in her tracks. “What?” she asks.

You laugh through the tears, a sound of complete and utter desperation as you find yourself at a never-ending crossroads. You never learn, do you? 

“He stood me up, okay?” you say. “I went to dinner, he didn’t show up, and then he texted me that we’re not gonna work out, so…” You throw your arms up. “I hope you’re happy. Whatever you were trying to achieve, it obviously worked. I trusted you, and I trusted him, and it kicked me in the ass. Fucking congratulations!” 

It isn’t fair to blame her for his actions, by any means, but you’re just so angry. Your blood is boiling, turning into liquid as thick as tar, and it poisons you from the inside out. You want to scream at him; you want to scream at Matt and ask him why, fucking why did he do that? But you can’t bring yourself to text him, too drunk to make any rational decisions. The voice of reason in your head is a fuzzy, blurry mess. All you want is for this endless cycle of bullshit to end.

Cliare lowers her head. “I’m… I’m so sorry,” she says. “I– I never… I never wanted this to happen.” 

Is that guilt you’re hearing?

“I swear I wasn’t ignoring you on purpose. I mean, if I’d known…”

“Save it,” you cut her off, every word from your mouth becoming increasingly slurred. “We both know you wouldn’t have come running ‘cause you clearly had more important things to do. I don’t even know who you are anymore. A few weeks ago, you wouldn’t have gone to bed without making sure I wasn’t dead in a ditch somewhere, and now you’re moving into some nurse’s apartment with a cat you’re allergic to, calling in sick and ghosting me. Me! I’m your best friend, for fuck’s sake, and you weren’t there!”

“I told you, I’m sorry. I had some shit going on, and I just couldn’t–”

You scoff. “You’re lying to me, again!”

“Please, Liv, you have to believe me,” she says. “I didn’t know this was gonna happen.” 

“I don’t know what to believe anymore. I don’t…” Shaking your head, you tangle your fingers in your hair. You want to pull every last strand out one by one and feed them to the dogs, maybe that will give you your sanity back.

You hate not understanding. You hate not being able to read the person you thought you could trust. She swore she would never lie to you. What can you believe in if even her word is now hanging in the balance? You don’t know, and that’s something you hate, too—not knowing. The helplessness that comes with a dead end makes you want to cower in a corner, smaller than anyone has ever made you feel, and die.

Claire’s silence sounds like nails on a chalkboard. You swear you can hear your heartbeat, or maybe that’s your own. The blood is rushing in your ear. You’re standing on hollow ground, and it’s shaking—a ship lost at sea. You have to pinch yourself to stay alert. To stay awake. But the vodka in your system has already made you sick. 

“Woah!” She catches you before you can stumble over your own feet. 

Gravity is tilting your body toward the ground, but your body wants to rush toward the door. You have to run, you think. Why, you’re not sure, but you have to run.

“Hey,” Claire says. “Maybe you should sit down.”

You shrug her off. “Fuck you!”

She lifts her arms above her head, but it is not a motion of surrender. Far from it. She’s giving up and giving in to the anger that is creasing her brows.

“Well, fuck you, too!” She steps away from you. “You come here in the middle of the night, drunk off your ass, and you expect me to just take it? I’m sorry, but I’m not gonna indulge you. Not when you’re acting like a child.”

Your palm hovers above your churning stomach. “How dare you?” you snarl. “I’m not the one acting like a fucking toddler.”

“Have you ever considered that there are things I just can’t tell you? That sometimes, you just have to trust me? I never wanted you to get hurt,” she says. “After the other night, I figured you didn’t need me anymore. If that’s what you’re so mad about, sue me!”

“I did need you.”

It’s her turn to shake her head at you. “No, you didn’t. You decided to go on that date. You didn’t need me for that. But I didn’t…” She takes a deep breath, and her eyes remain guilty as sin. “I never wanted you to get humiliated like that.” 

You are too drunk to process the implications of her cryptic statements. To you, they’re just a series of words on a very fuzzy billboard in your mind; you loathe what you’re hearing. Because you believe her, even though your better judgment is telling you to abandon ship. To jump into the ocean and let it take you away.

“Yeah, well,” you say, “I still did.”

Some scars never heal. Fresh ones tend to tear the ones that haven’t closed yet open, and then it hurts so much more. 

Claire lowers her voice to a more mellow tone then. “I met a guy, okay? Like you, I met a guy, but he screwed things up for me and now I’m stuck here until shit has blown over. That’s why I’m hiding.” She sounds almost like the same woman she was a week ago. Before the world stopped turning. 

“I wish I could tell you everything, but I’m trying to keep you safe,” she says. “I’ve always just wanted to keep you safe.”

“And how’s that turning out for us?”

She scoffs. “Not good, apparently.”

Your knees begin to buckle, unable to hold your weight any longer. Claire reaches out. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Fuck off!” you try to shrug her off again.

“How much?”

“Just… Tequila. Vodka. Half a bottle, quarter, I don’t know.”

“Jesus, Liv,” she says. “You’re insane.”

You roll your eyes. “Fuck you,” though the words hold a lot less power now.

“Would you stop? I get it. You’re mad. You don’t have to keep insulting me.” She gently guides you over to the couch. “You know, all I wanted was to do right by you, but I can’t be there all the time. Some things, I have to deal with by myself, and yes, I’m sorry for not being there, but I would’ve been if you really needed me.” 

Claire reaches for your coat and pulls it off, much to your dismay. She ignores your scoff, anyway. “I would’ve dropped everything if you’d just called me tonight. You didn’t have to drink yourself into a coma to make your point.”

“I’m fine,” you protest. 

You thought she was done helping you, but her good heart betrays her every time. It’s infuriating. You don’t want to be coddled. You don’t want to be treated like a patient—you’re not. You did this to yourself. The world is spinning. Your stomach feels like a pool of toxic waste, but you did this to yourself, and you’d rather lie in your misery than have her fix it. 

When you try to rise to your feet though, all thoughts fade to black. Your ears start ringing. You blink, trying to get rid of the ocean that is flooding the world around you, but night quickly settles in. You can’t see. 

“You’re not fine.” Claire pushes you back down. “You’re gonna sit down and you’re gonna let me help you.”

You open your mouth to make a snarky remark, but you’re starting to panic. The room is too dark. Your heart beats to the rhythm of mere milliseconds, and you swear you can taste it on your tongue. 

“Do you want to turn into your father?”

The audacity, you think. The words sting worse than a thousand needles in your body. They sting worse than a headache. They sting worse than a knife to the fucking back.

You don’t want to turn into your father. You have never wanted anything less. You want to scream at her. You want to leave. You don’t want to be anywhere near here. But you’re paralyzed on Claire’s couch with her towering over you like the caring nurse she is, and you have nowhere to go. Your body has nowhere to go. 

You did this to yourself.

She tests the pulse on your wrist, then again on your neck. Her voice is starting to fade into the background. The last thing you hear is her berating you for being “so fucking stupid” with the concern of a thousand armies before your thoughts entirely, finally, dissipate. 

The world turns quiet as your body slacks, falling victim to the alcohol in your bloodstream, and it’s the most peaceful you have been in years. 

Thinking nothing. 

Being nothing. 

You wish you could stay like that for the rest of your life. You don’t want to die, not really; you want to think nothing, be nothing, and just float for the rest of your life in a space where no one can ever touch you again. Where he doesn’t exist. Where you have no memory of your father, of the things he did to you. A space where not even Claire exists, and where you can pretend that Matt never stumbled into your godforsaken life, either.

You want to cease to exist. You want the world to end. You want to drown in alcohol until you can’t feel a thing anymore.

In the end, though, life is an endless, vicious cycle; no matter what you do, you won’t escape it until you’re dead—actually dead. And no amount of alcohol could ever change that. 

Tag List: @shiorimakibawrites @allllium @siampie @auroraslibrary @roseallisonparker @abucketofweird @thatonegamefish @capylore @kniselle @sumo-b98 @peachstarliight @danzer8705 @kakamixo @littlehappyperson @atemydadforbreakfast @stevenknightmarc @zheezs14 @shouldbestudying41 @kiwwia-wiwwia @writtenbyred @echo-ethe @kezibear @peterbarnes @littleagxs @silas-aeiou

[spotaus]

Important plot point for the New Age AU post-story dustedafterdeath plot- (realizing now slight tw for abusive relationship???)

Geno is a manipulative bastard who exerts his skill and prowess over others. With Reaper their relationship was balanced and became healthy thanks to Reaper actually being stronger than Geno. So all of Geno's manipulation was more like an angry chihuahua barking at Reaper. They got over that stage fast.

With Dust?? He doesn't realize he can't show his interest the same way. Doesn't occur to him that Dust is "lesser" than him in every situation. Royal Mage against a Knight, the Mage has more political power. Geno has direct ties to Reaper, who they need to keep happy for Night's treaty. Geno has more technical skill w/ his magic and Dust is sure the technique and control would be enough to best his own barely controlled magic. He's physically weaker, especially after his shoulder injury. So when Geno realizes he's caught feelings he feels guilty, but doesn't stop manipulating him?? Because Reaper was fine with it, so clearly that's how romance works right?

And it is (shocker) NOT how romance works.

While Dust is being low key pampered and spoiled by Reaper (Reaper recognizes the power dynamics very vividly and I'd sure to make sure Dust knows he can say No or Stop at any moment to anything, even hand-holding or escorting, and Reaper respects it) as Reaper compliments him and gives him gifts and asks how he's been. Geno is out here hyperfixated on Dust's latent magic and is getting his way to learn more no matter the cost (which, in this case, is faking romantic interest). And Reaper doesn't realize how intense Geno is bring because he *thought* Geno would know better. And with the fragile situation, Dust doesn't speak up.

So, ofc, it all comes to a head when Geno finally realizes he's gone too far, Dust completely shuts him out. And Geno is too proud to face his consequences and come clean to Dust about his intentions. Dust, usually quiet anyways, just moves on, though he's deeply distrustful of every pampering Reaper does for him now.

It isn't until 2 days later that Error is talking with Geno (y'know, brother gossip) and Error asks how it's going with Dust.

When Geno responds that his plan fell through, Error asks for elaboration, and Geno tell him the jist. Leas Dust on, then let him down gently. But he caught feels and Dust didn't seem to like the advances so he gave up. And Error knows his brother and knows that's not the full story. So they change subjects, and Error convinces Geno to go visit the woods on the edge of town to test a new weapon of his.

But once they're out there and alone Error reads his brother the riot act because he's so furious and disappointed!!! Dust of all people?? Manipulating him??? And when Geno tries to defend himself (digging a deeper hole and processing just how awful he was himself as he says it out loud) Error just straight up pulls him into combat. (And Geno, not wanting to accidentally hurt his brother but also furious + caught up in emotion, fights back.)

They beat eachother into the trees and the rocks and just tear into eachother, but by the time the Knights arrive to see what the problem is (the cats got word to Ccino, and Ccino sent Dust and Cross to figure it out) Geno is pretty much on low hp and Error is wounded but still standing.

Error spots the Knights and basically uses his strings to slam Geno to the ground at Dust's feet. And there's this moment of frustration and sorrow that seems to pass between the three of them, before Cross (<- unaware) asks what Error was thinking!

Error just says he'll explain it later and that they can go back now. Cross should carry Geno. Error would explain to Reaper (Geno flinched at that).

They return, and Error pulls Reaper aside to mutter some things to him. Reaper seems distressed and takes Geno from Cross, but doesn't even seem bothered at seeing his lover as roughed up as he was. He excuses them away, and Dust disappears into his room.

Error hunts down Dust and chills with him a bit. Error apologizes on his brother's behalf, and Dust seems just. Out of it. He won't say it's okay, because it's not, but he won't put pressure on Error because it's definitely not the kid's fault. So he settles on a tired laugh and thanking Error for beating up his big brother for him. (Error and Geno are on level playing field. As siblings, as Royal Mages, as partners to their kings. They are evenly matched in almost every way, so Error had the power to stand up for Dust, and Dust appreciates that.)

Amd after that little interaction, Dust actually realizes he's alright. He has people who will look out for him. Who will make sure everything goes smoothly. AND after joking with Error some more? He realizes Geno just. Has weird priorities. Weird ways of showing his affection. Dust decides he won't give Geno a second shot unless he bends and gives up his weird manipulation with Dust.

It takes a few days before Geno is done wallowing and processing, but he comes to find Dust (Reaper right behind him, supposedly to keep him in line) looking like a prideful lil wet cat. He says he's sorry, and that he realizes it was shitty of him, and that he will respect it if Dust wants him and Reaper to stop bothering him.

Dust clarifies and asks if Reaper was being genuine. (He was.) And he asks of Geno would be willing to give being genuine a shot (a hesitant yes). Dust does not push them away, but he does say he is going to inform Night. He also asks them to swear that no matter where the relationship ends, they will not take it out on Nightmare. (They agree.)

Like. Reaper, the romantic who is actually kind and wants to make lasting relationships *before* acting on his desires. Vs. Geno, the guy driven by desires who seems to stumble across romance by mistake every time. Both after Dust, most emotionally bottled skeleton they've ever met? Wild.

Geno is super toxic about his relationships and doesn't even notice in my aus ig. Goofy ahh. He eventually gets his conscience back. But it's. A struggle.

In the other au I have Dust guilt-trip him into being less of an idiot. In this one I make his brother throw him around like a ragdoll. (To Error, violence is often the answer <3)

[voids-colourful-creations]

Break it Apart, Tear it Down! - A Pearl Houzuki Fic

[Read on Ao3!]

Rated: T Relationships: N/A Splatoon 2, Pre Canon, Pre OTH Content Warnings: Emotional Distress, Self Destructive Behaviour, Mild Coarse Language, Breakdown, No Happy Ending Words: 1.7k

Summary: Pearl’s band kicked her to the curb after yet another venue was destroyed. At the end of the night, the only thing left to return to is the same empty house.

--

It’s well past “late at night” when Pearl storms into the house, verging more on early morning. Stage attire still plastered against her skin, thick dark makeup smeared far down her face; Pearl slams the door shut and stomps in, heavy boots and all.

Too tired and mad to really think straight, Pearl heads inside. She paces inwards with no particular intent. The day’s been long, effort otherwise exhausting, but she’s too wired to sit still. There’s a buzz in her chest, the residual high from the crowd mixed with the vibrating sting of anger.

Who did they think they were?! Kicking her out of her own band? Please! They were nothing without her. Setting off without her? She’d like to see them try! No one else would ever come anything close to her voice, her sound, her power.

(That was part of the problem, they’d said, another club destroyed and Pearl could only shrug it off. Tired expressions met Pearl’s eyes, shaded by the dim emergency lights, the only lights left in the venue. What was she supposed to say? They’d known she was like this when they’d started.)

Pearl wouldn’t fare much better on her own, either, and she knew it. The acknowledgement only stokes the flames in her chest, in her hair, lighting up with energy. An acapella career was out of the question. She needed a band, and they needed her! Or had, anyway. She was a damn good vocalist and a pretty stellar lyricist, but that was where her talents stopped, despite her best efforts.

Pearl gave the grand piano a pointed glare as she stalked past it.

Useless thing, at least in her hands, no matter how many lessons her parents had her take growing up. She just couldn’t hack it, and the more time she’d spent fruitlessly practising the same scales and bland tunes, the more she grew to hate it. 

As she passes, Pearl kicks her leg out, catching her ankle on the piano bench and flinging it across the wide open room. The bench clatters to the ground, a nice slam of a sound as it hits the hardwood.

For a moment, Pearl feels a bit better, if only slightly.

She catches a glance of herself. In the reflection of the house’s giant windows, her pale frame stands out vividly against the darkness. All clouds tonight, no stars, no moon.

It’s really just her face sticking out, her tentacles and fingertips. Her hair crackles like a flame, begging for release. Black clothes blend into the night, only the vague impression of trees somewhere in the yard where Pearl’s body should be. The dark makeup blends too, ringing holes in Pearl’s face instead of eyes.

Pearl glares at nothing, and turns away towards the kitchen. No windows in there.

The distance between rooms feels long and oppressive. Pearl’s never been a fan of just how white the house is, how much glass lined its walls, but certainly not now. There was an ever present feeling of being exposed, no matter how remote this place was. Always being stared at, peered in on, yet all that was inside was sterile, white. Nothing to be seen.

Pearl reaches the kitchen, but it isn’t much of an improvement. If anything, it’s worse.

All of it, the fridge, the cabinets, everything is unbearably ivory, and so shiny she could see her own reflection in it. Nothing but a black and pink stain, all features erased. 

She tracks dirt on the tiles— white of course— as she walks between the two kitchen islands and towards the fridge. Pearl throws open the door.

Inside are a few energy drinks, a jar of mayonnaise, and a mostly eaten pizza slice. That’s all. But why would there be anything else? She never eats here, there’s never anyone here to cook for. The band had only ever practised at studios out in the city, a trek all the way out here never worth the effort. Like everything else in this house, the kitchen was mainly just for show.

Pearl slams the fridge door shut, grinding her teeth.

She reaches up to the cabinet doors, the lower sets only barely within her reach. As her fingers curl around the silver handles, Pearl yanks them open as if she’ll find something new inside.

It’s the same as always. Dozens upon dozens of plates, dishes and glassware. All of it entirely unused, as new as the day her mother had given them to her.

Housewarming gifts, she said, like the house itself hadn’t been a “gift”. For the guests, she said.

Guests, she’d said, with that pinched little smile of hers. The same way she smiled when she’d shown off that fucking piano, the house, even. 

When Pearl made it clear she was heading out on her own to pursue her music, her mother had given her this house. Something befitting of the family. Massive windows taking up more space than walls. Shades of white on everything, blindingly pristine. A grand piano, sitting in the centre, and Pearl wonders if maybe her mother was trying to tell her something. Never outright, no, but in the ways that lingered, syllables resting idly behind platitudes. 

If she’s saying something, then Pearl’s electing to ignore it. 

She braces her arms against the counter top, digging her boot into the handle of a lower drawer. With one fluid motion, Pearl heaves herself up onto the counter, knee scraping uncomfortably against the edge of the marble.

Better vantage point of the upper cupboards this way, much too tall for her to reach on her own. She yanks one open, revealing light to a series of glass serving bowls that’d seen only darkness since the day she moved in.

On auto pilot Pearl pulls the largest one out from its shelf. The lip of it ripples like waves, pristine embellishments in the shapes of tiny squids swimming through the edges. She holds it tightly for a moment, feeling the weight of the object in her hand. It sits heavily, large enough to serve a full dozen people, if not more. 

Then, with no fanfare, Pearl lets her palms go slack, and watches as the bowl tumbles helplessly out of her grasp. It makes contact with the floor in an instant, spraying shards of glass in every direction across the formerly pristine tile.

And Pearl feels satisfied, for a moment. She always hated that bowl anyway.

Everything hits like a rush, and suddenly she’s reaching for the next bowl. Smaller now, some sort of floral pattern etched into it. She’d never taken the time to really admire it before. When would she have had the chance?

Pearl takes a breath and then screams. Loud and violent, she can feel her throat burning as the sound waves reverberate. 

Now there’s nothing but a pile of shards in her hand.

Again, she’s thinking, and now she’s grabbing with intent.

Cuz’ none of this junk matters!

It’s all useless. It doesn’t matter what she tries to drag in of herself, it’s all drowned out by monochrome. It doesn’t matter how many windows she shatters, inevitably everything is reinforced to hell and back. Nothing breaks anymore, not unless Pearl breaks it herself.

And breaks it again. She’ll break the pieces into pieces and the shards into dust. Because it doesn’t matter. This might be her house but no one lives here. No one will miss any of this.

Pearl feels good, snapping the delicate base off a trifle bowl. Now she’s controlling it, she’s not some child who doesn’t know her own strength. She knows it well, intimately by now. How every molecule of her vibrates just wrong, abrasively loud and violent and destructive no matter what she did.

She’s on a roll, the cabinet of fancy bowls is thoroughly destroyed. Onto the next then! The next club, the next band, the next act until something changes.

Pearl smashes every plate she owns. One by one, throwing them to the ground, or against the wall, or snapping them, or just screaming loud and rough and hard, until they crumble in her hand. She screams the most.

Like it’s her fault she looks best in the spotlight.

(A porcelain gravy boat embraces the floor quickly and violently.)

Like she wanted to blow out another club’s speakers. 

(Champagne flutes shatter against each other, stems turned to jagged spikes.)

Didn’t they get it? Weren’t they supposed to be the few people who understood?

(The antique teapot is unrecognizable, once painted with ancient jellyfish, now only pieces without a purpose.)

Even with all those people staring at her, hearing her scream and sing.

(There’s so much glass and porcelain on the floor it’s nearly a beach, sand made of shards.)

There’s not one of them who’s really looking at her. Not one.

Pearl hops down off the counter, crushing what little fragments survived with the weight of her boots.

Her band sings behind her— sang, now— but she might as well have always been alone. And no matter what, she swears, Pearl doesn’t care. It’s all the same anyway. A bunch of posers who just wanted to coast off her voice but couldn’t handle the real kick.

They didn’t deserve her to begin with!

...It’s hard for Pearl to believe that, no matter how much she wants to, when she’s practically ankle deep in the shards she’s made. 

There is not one piece of unbroken dishware left in the house. The cabinets are entirely empty. Pearl feels worse than ever. Looking down at the shattered remains of plates and bowls, she nudges the broken handle of a teacup with the tip of her boot. Faintly, it clatters against the other pieces. Pearl surveys the carnage, a fortune’s worth of wealth and years lying in wait to be used properly, and she had destroyed all of it in less than an hour.

Finally, with all the weight of her chest, Pearl wails.

Long and hard. Messy and painful and unbearably loud. The windows rattle, and the fridge shakes, and the pieces of glass and porcelain vibrate against each other. But that’s all, no one hears, nothing else breaks. There’s nothing left to break. As her voice gives out, the crackle of her hair dims, and the spark is gone. That’s it.

Just Pearl, the mess she’s made, and a painfully colourless house.

Pearl sighs, scrubbing the smudged make up off her face with the back of her sleeve. 

Time to find a broom.

[Ending]

[idabbleincrazy]

Not Whole Without (2/2)

Fandom: Smallville/Dark Knight Trilogy

Rating: E

Pairing: Clark Kent/Lex Luthor/Bruce Wayne

Word Count: 6590

Warnings: pwp, shameless smut, mini-orgy, oral fingering, double oral penetration, double blowjobs, multiple orgasms, multiple positions, deep throating, come swallowing, come eating, come sharing, rimming, anal fingering, anal, spit-roasting, slutty Clark, subby Bruce, top Clark, top Lex, bottom Bruce, bottom Lex, cum-drunk Bruce,

Summary: Trust Lex to know just what they all need.

A/N: wow, I can't believe my first Clex+Bruce fic so very smutty. 😅 Also, I failed to mention it last time, but I picture this Bruce as Christian Bale's Batman from The Dark Knight trilogy. I probably will most times that I write for him.

Squares Filled: "Are we gonna do this, or has this all been a complete waste of time?", Oral fingering or Object Insertion, Sex with a couple/sex with friends/sex with strangers/sex with an ex, Strip tease or DP in one hole, "I've gotten rusty in my abstinence.", Accidental Confession or First Kiss ( @julybreakbingo ) Unsure Kiss, Forming a Triad, Spit-roasting, Non-binary/Polyamorus/Pansexual ( @fandom-free-bingo Pride Edition)

Clark let Lex lead him into their bedroom, the sound of Bruce's heartbeat slowly following behind. 

"Lex, are you sure about this?"

Stopping the both of them beside the bed, Lex turned around to face Clark full-on. There was no mistaking how turned on the older man was, his eyes dark and stormy, slacks tented painfully. But, there was still tenderness radiating from his gaze, a gentle understanding at the way Clark was reeling from this turn of events. 

"Clark, if you, at any time, don't want this, all you have to do is say so." Lex's gaze flicked over his shoulder, and Clark could hear Bruce's heartbeat looming a few feet behind him, the door closing with an almost silent snick. "He'll leave the moment you ask him to. Or the moment I do."

Clark wanted Bruce to take that last step between them, to reach out and touch him; his arm, the back of his neck. But he knew he wouldn't. Bruce always put too much stock in boundary lines. So, Clark turned instead, Lex's hand still in his, his ballast in this uncharted water. Bruce stood there, barely a foot away, his face hardly different from when he gazed out over his city from beneath his cowl. Except for his eyes. 

Those ocean-blue irises and blown pupils spoke of the emotion the man fought to hide; hunger, a need so deep, Clark didn't know how the human didn't buckle under its power. He wanted him, them?, too. More than just the aching desire that bulged between his legs. He wanted to be with them. 

"Bruce?" 

"I'm sorry, Clark." Bruce's voice, while not quite the rumbling timbre of Batman, was still husky as he finally spoke. "I never should have let myself become so attached to you. It was a bad idea from the start, offering myself as your mentor. But I had to know; needed to see what it was about you that had Lex so enraptured, needed to know why you succeeded where so many have failed. And once I did, how could I not fall?"

Clark felt himself blush; belatedly. Letting Bruce watch Lex go down on him, nothing. Hearing Bruce speak so tenderly, like a freaking beacon. This was the Bruce he rarely got to see, the Bruce that had his heart wrenching in distress as it fought to reconcile his love for Lex with his growing affection for his partner in crime-fighting. Clark stepped closer to Bruce, lifting his free hand to his cheek. Softer than he expected, with a hint of stubble scratching lightly against his palm. He watched Bruce's eyes, looking for any sign of rejection, finding none. 

Lex heaved a sigh, his patience worn thin.

"Are we gonna do this, or has this all been a complete waste of time?" He let go of Clark's hand and stepped around him, slipping his tie from around his collar as he maneuvered himself between them, his chest pressing against both of their sides. "Clark, really, you're making this so much more of a production than it needs to be. After six months of learning everything there is to know about Clark Kent, Bruce has inevitably found himself very nearly as much in love with you as I am. And, inadvertently, fell in love with me all over again. You, a man of impeccable taste in men, if not attire, couldn't help but find yourself growing enamored with the enigmatic, brilliant, devilishly handsome man who showed you the ropes of do-gooding and gave you all the helpful advice you could ever seek, even as you tore yourself up about having such feelings for anyone other than me. Even though those feelings never lessened in the company of these new ones. And me, well, you know me, Clark. I don't let just anyone in, and when I do, they're in my heart forever. He wants us, Clark. Both of us. Just let yourself have this. We can work out the details along the way, like we always do."

Clark, his hand still cupping Bruce's cheek, looked over at Lex, gauging his sincerity. It helped that Lex admitted to having feelings for Bruce, too. And there didn't seem to be any trace of a lie in his eyes, eyes that were more open and unguarded than they ever were when he was just trying to get his way. This was more than Lex being horny and looking for a threesome. 

Turning back to Bruce, Clark leaned in slowly, encouraged as he saw Bruce's eyes flick down to his encroaching mouth. Hesitantly, he closed the small gap between them, pressing their lips together. And everything just clicked, the rightness of it all. The press of Lex's body along his side, his hand resting against the small of his back, Bruce's mouth beneath his, warm and unexpectedly pliant, his hand coming up to cup the back of his head. As Bruce's lips parted for his inquisitive tongue, Clark thought maybe, just maybe, this could actually work. And that was the last thought on the subject he was going to allow himself for the night as the taste of Bruce, of whiskey and cool night air, burst on his tastebuds. 

All too soon, Lex tugged at his jaw, and wasn't it a testament to how lost in the kiss he was that Lex hadn't hurt himself with the action, pulled him to his own mouth, lips crushing to his in a bruising, fleeting kiss. A swipe of his tongue over Clark's lips and a growl of hunger, and then he released Clark's chin, turning to Bruce and pulling him into a devouring kiss. Panting, Clark watched the two billionaires, his cock giving a painful throb of reminder. 

Bruce came to life under Lex's mouth, teeth nipping at Lex's lip. Apparently, the brunette had been coiled tight, allowing Clark to lead, take those first tentative steps; now he'd snapped, his free arm wrapping around Lex's waist and crushing the bald man to him, his other hand still carding through Clark's hair, possibly tugging harshly at the strands ineffectively, as his tongue delved into Lex's gasping mouth. God, they were beautiful together. Clark could come just watching them, and if he and Lex had looked anything like that, Bruce had more self-control than he realized. 

He watches them struggle for control of the kiss, neither one gaining the upper hand for more than a few seconds. Bruce's hand is no longer in his hair, instead joining the other in his mad scrabble to relieve Lex of his suit. Lex's jacket is stripped off his shoulders, tossed carelessly to the floor. Buttons ping as Bruce rips his lilac shirt open, revealing a pale, hairless chest. 

"You're paying for that", Lex growls through the panting breaths he's taking, pushing Bruce back towards the wall beside the bed. "Christ, Bruce…bastard!" 

"Name calling will get you nowhere, Luthor." Bruce is smiling at Lex smugly, his voice pitched to Batman. 

Lex snarls at him and redirects his attention back to Clark, pulling him into a kiss no less devouring, albeit less violent, than the one he'd just shared with Bruce. 

"Get naked, Clark, while I ready Bruce for his welcome into our bed."

Clark nodded dumbly, loosening his tie at human speed as Lex stalked back to where Bruce stood, shedding his ruined shirt along the way. 

Lex stepped up to Bruce and began working the buttons of his crisp white button down, taking the care Bruce hadn't bothered with. 

"You left me." Lex's voice was dangerous, and Clark caught Bruce's face soften at the sound of it, his eyes reflecting regret. "You told me you loved me, and then you left me."

Bruce let Lex finish removing his shirt, then caught his wrists tightly, tugging the slimmer man flush against him.

"I had to, Lex. God, I never wanted to leave you, but I needed to get away from Gotham, from the life that was set before me by my parents. I'm sorry I left you to Lionel's tender mercies, but you were too young. I couldn't legally take you with me. And now, I'm glad I left you behind."

"What?"

Bruce brushed a soft kiss across Lex's mouth and turned him around to face Clark, who had stripped out of his shirt and was working on his pants, the button popped, boxers visible where the placket gaped open as his hands stilled momentarily.

"Look what you found while I was away. Clark protected you in a way I never could." Bruce grazed his lips against the sensitive skin behind Lex's ear as he spoke, and Clark watched the shudder run through Lex's slim, pale body. Bruce's eyes caught Clark's, and he let one hand drift down Lex's bare chest to slip beneath his trousers, eliciting a gasp when his fingers wrapped around the solid flesh. "If you had come with me, you never would have fallen in love with him; and neither would I. We would've been missing him, without even being able to understand why we felt that way."

Clark continues undressing as the two older men watch, pushing pants and boxers down his legs and stepping out of the puddle of fabric at his feet. His cock is hard and leaking and curved up to his stomach, and he lets a hand drift down to stroke himself, needing to keep his mind free of the thoughts he promised himself he wouldn't allow to intrude on this night of passion. 

"Fuck, Lex", Bruce groans in Lex's ear, the hand down his pants rubbing teasingly along the hard shaft it's holding. "He's so beautiful. Just like you. Watching the two of you out there, that was the hottest thing I've seen in years. I could almost feel you, when your mouth was around him; I remember how perfect your mouth always was."

"Not as good as his, Bruce, trust me. It's like he was made for it. Almost impossible to make him gag, and he can hold his breath for so fucking long." 

"Well, we'll just have to put that to the test, won't we?" Clark watched Bruce's arm flex, his hidden hand eliciting a drawn-out groan from Lex. "Now, weren't we supposed to be holding off on all the emotional parts for later?"

"Yeah, well, you know me, Bruce. I rarely take my own advice. But don't worry, we're back on track now." And with that, Lex forced himself to pull away from Bruce's grasp, walking the few steps to where Clark stood. "Wanna see if you can take us both, Clark? See if that sweet mouth can stretch wide enough to fit two cocks?"

Clark groaned at the thought of that, and nodded, squeezing his hand around the base of his cock to hold back the sudden urge to come. Lex grinned and pulled him into a quick and dirty kiss. Releasing Clark, he swiftly undid his slacks, stepping out of them and kicking them to the side. 

Bruce stepped up beside Lex, fully naked now, and Clark spared a second to lament missing the slow reveal of the thick, hard cock that jutted out from his groin. Lex lifted his hand and pressed two fingers to Clark's lips, pushing forward as he opened his mouth for them. 

"Bruce, want a preview?" Lex raised an eyebrow and gestured between Bruce's hand and Clark's mouth. Bruce took the hint and slid his own fore and middle finger into Clark's mouth beside Lex's. "Suck them, Clark. Show Bruce how it's going to feel when you're wrapped around our dicks." 

Clark obeyed readily, taking the four digits in as deep as he could, suckling them without a care for the noise he made. He felt Lex stretch his fingers out towards his cheek, the nails brushing against the back of his throat, almost tickling. Bruce groaned as Clark hollowed his cheeks, suctioning around the digits pressing against his tongue, thrusting his gently deeper, testing Clark. 

"Jesus, Lex, you weren't kidding."

"Uh huh. Add another. Let him get used to the stretch a bit." 

Bruce pulled his fingers back, adding his ring finger on the next slide in. Clark gagged a little at the added girth, but quickly managed to adjust, sucking just as eagerly at the new addition. He lapped his tongue over whatever flesh he could reach, his mind filling with images of both mens cocks taking the place of the spit-slick digits. His cock throbbed and he let out a pleading whine. 

Lex took pity and removed his fingers, nudging Bruce to do the same when the brunette continued to finger the shiny mouth. 

"Kneel for us, baby."

Clark dropped to his knees and didn't bother waiting for Lex's next instruction, immediately flicking his tongue out over the leaking head of Lex's cock. Lex moaned at the light touch and angled himself against Clark's side to be able to slide his cock into the wet heat of his mouth and leave room for Bruce to do the same. Bruce mirrored his stance on the other side, a loud, guttural sound falling from his mouth as he eased his cock in beside Lex's. 

Clark let his eyes fall closed as two hands gripped at his hair, moving into their guidance so they wouldn't hurt themselves trying. The feeling of two thick cocks pushing deep into his slackened mouth, of two fat cockheads pressing against the back of his throat, had his arousal surging, and he thrust his own neglected cock into the empty air, struggling not to touch himself. If he did, he would come, and he wasn't exactly sure he wouldn't inflict some serious damage on both men if he lost control of his muscles. 

"God, Clark. You're amazing." Bruce was panting above him; Clark could hear his heart hammering in his chest as he thrust deeper into the tightness of his throat. He thrilled at knowing he was able to generate such a reaction from the normally reserved man. "Such a beautiful cocksucker. Fuck, Lex, how do you ever get anything done, knowing you can have this any time you want?"

"It's a hardship, I know. Next time, I'll let you have the full experience." Lex guided Clark's mouth all the way down their girthy shafts, his free hand coming to soothe Clark's throat as he struggled to relax his gag reflex. "How's your stamina these days, Bruce? If you're one and done, pull out now, 'cause I want you hard when we fuck you."

Clark felt Bruce shudder, a spurt of pre-come sliding down his throat. 

"I can go as many times as you need me, Lex. Trust me, after six months of restraint, there's plenty in my reserves."

Clark forced his eyes open as he felt both cocks thicken further, and pulled back along their throbbing lengths, wanting to see and taste them as they came. He had timed it perfectly, just as he had the tips of both cocks pressed against his tongue, Bruce stiffened beside him, a drawn-out growl falling from his lips as his orgasm hit him. Lex thrust his cock into the cum coating Clark's tongue, leaning towards Bruce to mouth at his neck and cry out his own release. Clark felt his own aching cock spurt at the taste of their combined spend, and forced himself to keep his jaw slack as he came. 

As their climaxes ended and Clark regained his control, he cleaned away every trace of cum from their still-hard cocks, suckling the head of each in turn as he released them. Licking his lips as he looked up at them from beneath his lashes and unruly bangs, he was surprised to find himself pulled up to his feet by Bruce and drawn into a hungry kiss. 

Bruce groaned at the taste of himself and Lex on Clark's tongue as he suckled the wet muscle. He had to admit, the mix was a heady one, and further proof that the three of them made the perfect combination. His hand slid from where it was gripping Clark's bicep, down his chest into the rivulets of Clark's own release. Trailing his fingers through the sticky drops, he gathered up a good glob of it and raised it to their joined mouths. The addition of Clark's cum to the traces of his and Lex's, had Bruce amending his previous sentiment; this was the perfect combination. 

Reaching out his free hand, he sought out Lex, pulling him into the kiss, both him and Clark turning their heads to awkwardly lap at his mouth, bringing more of Clark's spend up for Lex to lick away from both their lips. 

Unable to wait any more, Bruce broke the three-way kiss and pushed Clark backwards onto the bed, thankful for Lex's need to over-indulge with certain things. Climbing up after him, Bruce settled between Clark's spread legs, leaning over him to lap up the sticky remnants of his cum from his abdomen. Clark was still hard, even after two orgasms, the thick length shiny with trails of spend, and Bruce trailed his mouth down to the ruddy appendage. He felt the bed dip, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Lex bending over Clark to whisper something in his ear before capturing his mouth, muffling the moan Bruce caused as he slid his tongue teasingly over the plummy head of his cock. 

Cleaning away the last traces of cum, Bruce sat up, watching the pair kiss, Lex's hands braced against the mattress either side of Clark's head as one of Clark's giant hands cupped the back of Lex's neck, the other dipping down between Lex's legs to play and tease. With his cock eager to get to his promised fucking, Bruce interrupted them.

"As much as I enjoy watching the two of you, Lex, I remember you saying something about the two of you fucking me?"

Both heads whipped towards him, their eyes exuding hunger he was sure was reflected by his own gaze. Lex pulled away and shuffled around on the overly large bed as Clark stood back up. Lex tugged Bruce to the center of the mattress, urging him onto his hands and knees. 

"I'm going to take your mouth, Bruce, and Clark's going to take your ass." Bruce couldn't hold back the shudder of arousal at that, the thought of being speared between the two of them testing his control. "Tell me, though, for prep, would you prefer familiar, or new?"

Much as he had always loved the way Lex opened him up the few times he had bottomed for him, Bruce couldn't pass up the opportunity to feel Clark's fingers stretching him. 

"New." He looked up at Lex, and knew he hadn't offended him with his decision. There would be time for all permutations of their coupling, and none of them would ever intentionally make one of the others feel left out. 

Lex smirked and looked over Bruce's shoulder.

"Clark…"

The bed dipped behind Bruce and he felt Clark's weight settle between his legs, his hands gripping his thighs and spreading them wider. Bruce hummed softly as he felt Clark's hands slide up his thighs to cup the globes of his ass, spreading the cheeks apart. He hadn't felt this vulnerable in so long, even longer since he felt so completely safe at the same time. 

"How long has it been, Bruce?" Lex's smile had softened slightly as he watched Bruce's reactions. 

"Years. Not…I haven't bottomed since you."

"We'll have to get you nice and stretched, then, won't we?" Bruce groaned as Lex's words were accompanied by the first brush of Clark's finger over his puckered hole. "You'll enjoy this, Bruce; I know I always do."

When the finger moved away, Bruce expected the tell-tale sound of a bottle opening; it never came. Instead, Clark shifted between his legs, and he let out a loud yelp as Clark's tongue swiped over the furled ring of muscle. Lex chuckled and bent down to kiss him, his tongue delving into Bruce's mouth to smother his moan as he let his eyes flutter shut. He had never thought Clark would rim him without some serious begging and convincing. For him to do so unbidden, on their first night together, showed him that Clark really was more like himself and Lex than he had realized. 

Bruce was breathless when Lex broke the kiss, Clark's tongue swirling over his hole sloppily and noisily. His cock throbbed between his legs, his earlier climax barely making a difference with the way the two men were driving him wild. He knew Clark could hear how fast his heart was thumping, hell, he could probably smell how hot for it he was. 

Lex watched as Clark rimmed Bruce, his cock aching in remembrance of his own experiences of that sinful tongue slowly working him open. 

"Christ, Clark. I never realized how hot you look like this. You are never eating my ass from behind again if you look anything like this." Clark moaned from between Bruce's spread cheeks, the action drawing a similar response from the older man beneath him. "On my back, from now on, so I can watch you getting me all wet and stretched for you. Fuck, I'm going to suck your cock, Clark."

Bruce forced his eyes open as he felt Lex moving around, twisting his head over his shoulder to watch the lithe man lay down on his back under Clark. A rumbling vibration against his asshole alerted him to the moment Lex had taken Clark's cock into his mouth, and he pushed back against Clark's slick mouth, needing more. 

"Clark, please. Fuck, feel so good; need you in me."

Clark obliged, his tongue stiffening to prod into Bruce's loosening hole. Between the dark taste of Bruce on his tongue and the feel of Lex's warm mouth around his cock, he knew he would come again before he finished preparing the brunette that writhed beneath him. 

Lex took as much of Clark's cock down his throat as he could manage, his tongue laving along the girthy shaft. Stretching out a hand, he wrapped his fingers around Bruce's hard length, stroking it in time to Clark's thrusts into his mouth. 

"Oh, God, Lex! You are evil, after all. Fuck, tighter, Lex." Bruce thrust his hips, pushing into the tight grip of Lex's hand, and back onto Clark exploring tongue. He cried out in pleasure as he felt Clark easing a finger into him beside his tongue, the thick digit tugging at his rim. "Shit! Yeah, Clark, like that. More. Want you, Clark."

Clark felt his third orgasm surging fast despite his previous releases as he slid another finger into Bruce, stretching them out to flick his tongue deeper into the warm passage. Lex was swallowing around him, his muffled grunts vibrating along his shaft, and he could hear the slick sounds of skin on skin as Lex jerked himself and Bruce off. Scraping his teeth over the edge of Bruce's rim, he felt him stiffen suddenly, his hole spasming around him as the older brunette came with a shout. Pulling away with one last noisy lick of his tongue, Clark focused on fucking the mouth that still worked his cock. 

"Jesus, fuck, Clark! Lex! Want you." 

Bruce rode out his climax on Clark's fingers, a particularly large spurt of cum bursting forth as he thrust back on the thick digits, feeling the tips prodding against his prostate. Clark continued stretching him as he sought his own release down Lex's throat, the bed shaking from their efforts. 

Lex let go of Bruce's sticky cock, his cum-slick hand immediately pulled up to Clark's mouth, his other hand speeding along his aching shaft as he felt Clark's tongue laving away Bruce's spend. Between the sounds of Bruce fucking himself on Clark's fingers, the feel of Clark's thickening cock stretching his throat, and Clark's wet tongue licking between his fingers, Lex let his climax wash over him, his screaming of pleasure muffled by Clark's thrusting length. 

A light spatter of cum landed on Clark's lower back as Lex came, and Clark stilled above the two mortal men, cock and fingers buried deeply in mouth and ass as his own orgasm was triggered by the tightening of Lex's throat around him. 

"Oh, God! Lex…Bruce…so fucking good. So perfect. Love your mouth, Lex." Clark babbled as he came down Lex's swallowing throat, this orgasm more intense than the last. "And, God, Bruce, your ass…so fucking sweet, so tight. Lex and I are going to be fighting over who gets to work you open every time we fuck."

Lex let his released hand slide over Clark's chest as he rode out his release, fingers pinching taut nipples, relishing the slide of thick cum down his throat. Finally, as his and Clark's climaxes subsided, Clark easing his cock from Lex's abused throat. Lex squirmed out from beneath him, licking up his own cum from Clark's backside as he kneeled up on the bed. 

"Goddamn, I love your cock, Clark." Lex scooped up the bottle of lube he had set aside, handing it to Clark as he clambered up the bed to kneel in front of Bruce. Leaning down, he kissed Bruce soundly, sharing the lingering taste of their Kryptonian partner. "And, trust me, Bruce, so will you. Still up for another round?"

"I'm insulted you think you even have to ask, Lex. Believe me, if his cock feels anywhere as good as his fingers, I'm not waiting."

Bruce moaned in remorse as he felt Clark's fingers slip out of him, but the sound of a bottle snicking open behind him sent a shiver of anticipation down his spine. With Clark unable to contract human diseases, and Lex's mutated healing, Bruce knew condoms would never be an issue, and he didn't think he'd want Clark fucking him any other way than bareback. He felt Clark reach beneath him, slick fingers stroking his cock back to full hardness in a matter of seconds. Lex, himself, was only half-hard, and Bruce couldn't wait to feel that long, slim cock growing thicker along his tongue. 

"Gonna fuck you so hard." Clark's voice was it's Superman rumble, confident and commanding, as he leaned over and pressed heated kisses along Bruce's back. Bruce could feel the thick shaft of his cock rubbing between his cheeks, and his cock twitched hard. "Six months, Bruce, six months of imagining this, thinking I could never have it. Ask Lex how explosive it was when we finally came together."

"God, I thought we were going to bring the mansion crumbling down around us." Lex leered down at Bruce. "I felt him for days, he fucked me so good."

"Jesus. Clark, stop teasing. In me, now." Bruce let his voice growl, urgency driving him to the animal side of himself he reigned in so tightly. "Take me, both of you."

Clark groaned and slicked his cock quickly, notching the head at Bruce's relaxed pucker, watching Lex. As Lex pressed his own cock past Bruce's lips, Clark thrust slowly forward, the two of them skewering their new lover simultaneously. The head of his cock popped past the first ring of muscle, and Clark fought not to thrust completely into the tight heat of Bruce's ass. Bruce groaned around Lex's cock, pushing back against Clark's piercing cock despite the burn of the stretch. 

Lex pulled his cock out briefly as Bruce strove to take all of Clark's long, thick cock, wondering if his face looked so blissed out every time Clark fucked him. When he saw that Bruce's ass was flush against Clark's groin, Clark's hands soothing along Bruce's sides as the older man adjusted to the girth, Lex thrust his cock back into Bruce's mouth, sliding the length slowly down until Bruce's nose was buried in the sparse auburn curls around his base. God, he'd missed this mouth; no less perfect than Clark's and uniquely sublime in a completely different way than his Kryptonian lover's. 

Pulling out halfway, Clark thrust back in, angling his cock to rub over Bruce's prostate, his enhanced vision tuning in to guide the way. 

"Fuck, Bruce. Your ass is so fucking amazing. So tight and hot." Clark's hands slid down Bruce's back to grip tightly at his hips, shifting him between himself and Lex to start a rocking rhythm. "Gonna tie both of you down one night, just take turns fucking each of you 'till you can't even sit down at a board meeting without thinking of my cock filling you up. Christ, how did either of you ever get anything done? Lex, can you manage another after you come in his mouth? I wanna fuck you, too."

Lex groaned loudly and thrust deeper into Bruce's lax throat, somewhat surprised by just how horny Clark was tonight. 

"Jesus Christ, I can sure as hell try, Clark. God, even if I don't come, I'm not saying no to having your dick split me open." Lex heard Bruce grunt around his cock and looked down, thrilled at the way their conversation was clearly driving him crazy. He cupped Bruce's cheek, drawing his gaze up to his smirking face. "Maybe I'll even slide my cock into Bruce's dripping hole while you do. Let you fuck me into him, your cum easing the way."

Bruce shuddered, a full body convulsion, and came. He felt his face heat slightly in shame at his total loss of control, but he couldn't stop the sudden orgasm that rocketed through him, huge spurts of cum soaking the already damp comforter. 

Clark growled as Bruce clamped down around him, the already tight passage now squeezing him enough that it would have been painful for a human. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he fought not to immediately follow Bruce into orgasm as the brunette writhed and shook in his grip. 

"Guess you liked that idea, eh, Brucie? Made you pop like a pricked balloon. And still so good about the teeth, even in the throes of pleasure."

Lex slipped his fingers through Bruce's hair, tugging him along the shaft of his throbbing cock, eager to come. The thought of him and Clark filling Bruce's mouth and ass with their spend had him hard as a rock. These two men were proving to be better aphrodisiacs than anything he'd ever happened across. Feeling the head of his cock slip down into Bruce's throat, Lex let his head fall back on his shoulders and thrust his hips in aborted movements, fucking the tight passage with abandon as his climax coursed through him. 

Bruce gulped the sticky fluid eagerly, still reeling from his own release, the constant pressure of Clark's cick against his prostate keeping his own erection from flagging. He licked up along the shaft as Lex withdrew, heady from the taste and the rapid-succession orgasms. He felt almost high, euphoric like that really good batch of X Lex had cooked up for fun that one summer. After six months of forgoing even masturbating - a deluded attempt to abate all thoughts of Clark beyond the professional - and years since he'd been on the receiving end of any kind of sex outside of a quick, perfunctory blowjob, his hormones were going a little berserk. 

"God, Bruce, didn't know you were such a slut for cock, coming at just the thought of Lex fucking you while you're still full of my cum. You're just full of surprises, aren't you, baby?"

Clark rode Bruce's ass harder, chasing his own release now, desperate for it, some Kryptonian instinct driving him to claim this new addition to their bed, just as he had needed to claim Lex their first time. He felt his cock twitch hard, thickening further inside the clutching hole, and roared out his need as he came. Ropes of cum jettisoned from his pulsing cock, filling Bruce so quickly that he could feel it seep out around his cock after the first few spurts. He wondered if Bruce would let them plug him after Lex fucked him? The thought of keeping Bruce stretched and ready for them, slick with their seed and his belly bulging from the excessive fluid, triggered another load of cum, and he thanked his alien physiology that he couldn't have an aneurysm from overexertion. 

As his climax finally receded, Clark eased his cock slowly from Bruce's reddened, leaking hole, reluctant to leave the tight ass that had given him so much pleasure, but eager to sink himself into Lex. He knew there was always great pleasure to be had there, as well. By the way Bruce's weight sagged in his grip, he knew he was the only thing keeping the nearly spent human from collapsing to the mattress in a limp sprawl.

"Jesus, Clark. I knew you'd be good at that, but that was beyond anything I could have imagined." 

Lex chuckled at Bruce's slurred voice, knowing his once-ex was officially cum-drunk. He quickly maneuvered Bruce up the bed so that he lay on his side, facing him, his head cushioned on one of the plush pillows. He laid out beside him, leaning in to kiss him languidly as he felt Clark spoon up beside him. One more round, and they would no doubt fall asleep just like this, covered in each other's sweat, saliva, and semen. Lex would grumble when he woke up sticky, but he knew Clark would kiss away any complaints and swiftly remind him why it was a good idea at the time. 

"God, you're still so beautiful when you come, Bruce. Though I hadn't realized you'd become a hair-trigger."

"I've gotten rusty in my abstinence. I can't believe I came so quick, without even being touched. Your sailor mouth I'm used to," Bruce flashed Lex a pointed look, before casting his gaze over Lex's shoulder, "but hearing you talk like that, Clark, I couldn't hold back."

"I liked it. I like knowing that you're so hot for me, for Lex, that you can't help yourself. Lex knows." Clark bit lightly at Lex's neck, eliciting a deep groan. 

"Oh, yeah. Our boy gets extra hot knowing he can turn me into a puddle of goo with just a well-placed suggestion, or a teasing touch. That shy, reserved farm-boy-turned-reporter doesn't exist when it comes to sex. Now, you gonna fuck me, Clark, or am I going to have to fuck Bruce with my own strength?"

Clark barked a laugh and reached for the lube he'd set between them. He poured the slightest amount of lube onto Lex's cock, knowing Bruce was plenty stretched and wet. Slicking up his fingers, he slid his hand down between Lex's firm cheeks, finding his tight hole practiced ease. Lex let out a whine of pleasure as Clark rubbed a finger around his rim, slipping the digit in slowly as the furl loosened. 

As Clark worked him open, Lex gripped Bruce's outer thigh, tugging him closer so that Lex was slotted between his legs. He draped the leg over his and Clark's hips, leaving the older man spread open. Thrusting back onto Clark's questing fingers, his cock slid down between Bruce's legs, behind his nearly depleted sac, to nestle into the opening of his twitching hole. Lex could feel Clark's cum dripping from the used hole, and he moaned at the slick warmth that trickled down his shaft. He was tempted to thrust himself into the brunette to the hilt, but knew he wouldn't have to wait long for Clark's invading cock to push him into Bruce. 

As if he'd suddenly gained telepathy, Clark removed his fingers, quickly replacing them with his cock. Lex let his head fall back against Clark's shoulder with a loud groan as he was filled completely in a single thrust. It hurt, but in the best way, his cock twitching where it was held in place against Bruce's stretched rim. Another groan was ripped from his throat as Clark pushed him into Bruce, the wet, tight heat surrounding his cock like a vise in this position. 

Bruce keened, the sudden thrust of Lex's cock into him making him clutch at Lex's shoulder, his leg clenching against the swell of Clark's ass. Lex flung an arm back to grip at Clark, his other hand tangling in Bruce's hair to pull him into a desperate kiss. He really didn't know if he could manage to come again, but his cock was giving a valiant effort, throbbing back to life inside the tight passage, his prostate pummeled with each quick thrust of Clark's hips. Sounds of flesh slapping sweatily against flesh, of Clark's grunts and Bruce's muffled moans, spurred him on. 

"This is…fucking…incredible," Clark panted in Lex's ear, teeth scraping against his neck. "Next time, I want you in my ass like this, Lex, fucking me into Bruce. Jesus, not gonna last. Too good."

Lex agreed, the feeling of Bruce wrapped around his cock, driving into his clenching passage while surrounded in Clark's cum, the steady thrust of Clark's huge cock into his own twitching hole, was just too much to keep control over the amazing fourth orgasm he felt rushing up his spine. With the way Bruce clutched at them both as Lex kissed him sloppily, told him they were all in sync on the subject. 

Burying his face in the crook of Lex's shoulder, his hand reaching out to clutch the other two to him, Clark jackrabbited his hips in a succession of bruising thrusts as he gave in to his need for release. As he poured whatever was left of his seemingly endless supply of cum into Lex, he felt Bruce and Lex stiffen in his embrace, both men moaning out the orgasms he'd wrung from their overstimulated bodies. 

Bruce went limp in Lex's and Clark's grasps, unused to the onslaught of sensations coursing through him after so long. He whited out for a few seconds, his cock still spurting trickles of cum onto his and Lex's chests when he came back to consciousness. He could feel Lex's cock still pulsing inside him, and he was amazed at how much the mutated, but still essentially human, man could come in such a short time span. He definitely had his work cut out for him with these two. 

Lex felt like he was floating, his whole body felt weightless, like if Clark and Bruce unwound themselves from him, he would drift up into the atmosphere. He'd had some spectacular sex with both these men, separately. Together, it was beyond his ken. His cock surged in Bruce's spasming hole, his cum mingling with Clark's, coating the passage and his shaft in the sticky substance. His ass throbbed deliciously as Clark's orgasm petered out and the Kryptonian eased carefully out of his twitching hole. 

As he'd suspected, Lex felt Clark use his speed to pull the covers from underneath his and Bruce's lax and sated bodies, slipping back in behind him before draping the sheets back over them. Lazy kisses were shared between the three of them, lips pressing to whatever skin could be reached. As Lex let his eyes droop closed, he heard Bruce's soft snores issuing from in front of him, and felt the gentle sweep of Clark's fingers over heated skin at his back. Enveloped so snuggly between past, present, and future, Lex let himself drift off to sleep, a sated smile on his face. He loved it when a plan succeeded without a hitch.

~~~~~~~~

@leatafandom

[ghostieagere]

do you have any headcanons about how the little ghouls deal with being sad?

oooo this is a tricky one, anon !!! (/pos) i have lots and lots of thoughts about this and how each of the littles deal with different types of sadness, but for the sake post-length (and keeping everything fairly light-hearted) i'll just stick with a few headcanons <3

under the cut for length !

rain cries a lot. they can't really help it, it's part of their water ghoul nature, but that doesn't mean it's ever very fun :( they also tend to get muddled up between their languages, so their caregivers know to prepare themselves for english or french to come out of little rainy's mouth when they're upset. but yes, when they're sad, they know they need to go and find a caregiver (if they're not with one already) and ask for a sippy cup of water, a little snack, and a lot of cuddles. and that usually helps them feel a bit less sad, depending on what made them upset in the first place

dew is a bit of a tricky one for me to pin down :0 i don't think he's much of a crier, but he does get a bit whiny if he's upset. being sad or upset also usually makes him quite overtired, so his caregivers know that a quick nap is usually enough to get him feeling a little bit better, and at that point (if he's big enough) he can do his best to explain what's happened that made him sad. he does also throw the occasional tantrum if he's feeling overwhelmed by all his emotions, but a teether to chew on, something else to fidget with and a cuddle in steady arms can help him calm down again and bring him a bit further away from the sads

aeon tends to have meltdowns when they're feeling sad. their emotions get a bit too much for them to handle and the only options when they're small is to shut off or go into overdrive. whoever's with them in that moment will try and get rid of anything that might be causing aeon distress (whether that's other people in the room, or clothing that they're trying to pull off because it feels bad against their skin). the caregiver will try and wrap aeon in their arms to keep them safe from their own flailing arms. this usually helps calm them down more quickly because the grounding feeling of being surrounded by a comforting presence can usually be something good for aeon to focus on

mountain hides when he's upset. even when he's regressed, he still has the belief that he's not supposed to be sad or upset, so he hides himself away in teeny tiny cubby holes until someone comes and finds him. once he's found, he'll be reassured that he's not a burden for being upset, that everyone gets upset, and mountain is allowed to ask for help if he wants or needs it. after this reminder, he usually asks for a drink (apple juice) and/or a snack (cut up peaches) with sign language because being upset can often make him lose his words, but once he's with his caregiver and he's got something in his tummy, he usually starts feeling a lot better

aurora doesn't tend to have many big, bad emotions when she's regressed, so if she's sad it's usually because she's fallen down and scraped her knee or if she's not feeling very well. if she's scraped her knee, by the time she's got a hello kitty bandaid on it and cumulus has pressed a soft, healing kiss over the bandaid, aurora is usually ready to go out and play again, all sadness gone. but if she's sick, she'll stay feeling sad and not very good until she's all better. when she's sick though, her caregivers are always ready to provide her with hugs, bedtime stories and warm soup galore !!

[sicklyseraphnsuch]

Simon Sleeps AU Overview

Marcy leaves Simon because she was afraid that her new vampiric state would harm whatever was left human in Simon. Also, she really is awfully angry at Simon for leaving her the first time.

Simon understands that he has Made a Mistake in leaving Marceline the way he did. Good intentions aside, he knows that he hurt her terribly. But hey, if he already left once before, and aiming to leave permanently. Then leaving again temporarily is a decent compromise. He can't look out for Marcy 24/7 like he used to. But this way, if he sleeps, he can keep his mind for longer. He can stay as Simon longer. And maybe, just maybe, he can buy himself enough time to figure out a permanent solution.

He carves a note in his hibernation station to Marcy. It has instructions to wake him up so if ever she needs him, he can be there for her.

Of course, Marcy is not who wakes him up. Fast forward a century or so. Marcy is still out doing whatever it is she after becoming a vampire. A little penguin stumbles into Simon's hideyhole, seeking shelter. It wakes up Simon who stays awake long enough to expand his hidey hole and give the little penguin a place to live out. In exchange, he hopes that the penguin could maybe collect some trinkets or curios that it could find for him.

When the Crown's whispers start getting too loud again, Simon freezes himself into slumber.

Fast forward however many years.

The next one to wake Simon is an odd creature hithertofor unknown to him. She looks like a person made of gum. She followed a penguin when it tried to steal some curios out of her scavenging bag.

Simon stays awake again, a little longer this time, to give this little bubblegum girl some company. They start organizing the loot that Gunther, the penguin, collected for Simon in his long sleep. She gets a fascinating look into the Pre-War world and also some company.

Simon catches himself calling her Marcy, and each time he does, he goes to sleep for a month. But his plan works out in that he is successfully prolonging his lucidity (much much longer than he ever did in canon). During one of his awake periods, Marcy comes back to find:

Simon literally did not move from where she left him and it was literally centuries ago

There's a new kid on the block and Simon is doting over her

In true Batman gets a new Robin fashion, Marcy gets angry at Simon and Bubblegum. She unceremoniously tells Bubblegum to go away before she really lets Simon have it. The emotional turmoil this inspires in Simon causes him to freeze humself before the Crown could take advantage.

At this point, a hurt Bubblegum decided that if Marcy was gonna be a total tranch, then she was gonna make her own family.

Meanwhile, Marcy feels too guilty about blowing up at Simon that he lets him sleep for awhile. Also, she's still not over him "replacing" her and leaves again.

But this begins the cycle of Simon sleeping and waking up, now with Marcy and Bonnie to do so. At some point, they figure out a way to do it more regularly than "something happened and I could really use a friend" when they distress call Simon into waking. But this takes centuries to hash out.

Marcy and Bonnie through Simon have a contentious relationship. But repeated exposure to each other via their common friend lets them get to know each other like that. They end up dating. They still break up.

As magic begins to really establish itself in the new Ooo, they wake Simon up more to do little bursts of research together. Simon builds himself a psuedo home that's a cross between his school office, his classroom, and a his apartment. He believes that surrounding himself in familiar sights delays the Crown's advance for a little while.

(Some days, he less lucid moments gets him believing that he's still at his university, teaching classes. Bonnie takes these pretend classes either as a student or a teaching assistant. But when Simon starts to call her Betty, she stops and ropes a few of her candy people to attend in her place. If it helps Simon...)

(They tried introducing Simon to princesses once. Once. Ever since, they know to keep Simon's circle small. And even so, they sometimes invite a few friends to Simon's lectures because a new, non-princess face keeps his mind fresh)

Eventually, a little human boy learns about Simon's lectures through PB. Simon isn't known as the Ice King, despite the Crown on his head. In this world, he's known simply as Professor Petrikov.

[werdlewrites]

masterlist - ao3 - twitter @ djomamma

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summary: “I’m sure I can handle it. And you? You’re not going t’say a word, got it? Not t’anyone.” It’s a warning—a threat—as his finger points like a gun, holding him hostage until he surrenders. Steve can only accept his fate—one worse than Hopper’s anger—as he pictures her face contorted in rage. His arms raised to rest behind his head, fingers locked with a gaze far off beyond the parted blinds at the other's back. “Lying t’a superhuman. Great. I’ll get my will ready. Seeing as, y’know, she’ll definitely kill me.” warnings: Steve is an angel, emotional avoidance, secrecy, some Jopper wc: 3,750

The night is long—nearly never-ending. It was far past any normal dinner time, but their situation wasn’t exactly deemed normal. Together, the pair sit in the living room with paper plates of warmed food. They bicker over who gets the unsturdy sofa, knowing it’ll buckle with their weight added together. She uses the excuse that he’s worked all day and needs to rest. He argues against her, willing to sacrifice his comfort for a girl in distress. But she falls to the now-cleaned floor across from the couch, ignoring his words as a fork cuts away at the lasagna. Briefly, he fumes. He was nearly red in the face at just how stubborn she was, but ultimately chose to sit on the floor as well, disregarding the ache in his back. They talk about little things—from how his day went at work to what her favorite classes were to how she managed to find her way back out of the woods on her own. He’s impressed by her bravery, yet he's still frustrated at her inability to listen. It’s how kids are; he knows that.

Through a mouthful of noodles, she asks about her home. If that level of destruction was truly at the hands of one man, paired with her own curse, Hopper seems reluctant to give clarity, thinking over his words carefully before choking down his mouthful, wincing at the lump as it slithers down. “It’s a cover-up,” he mumbles, preparing another bite to pile onto his fork. There’s a pause between them both, chewing behind her hand before asking, “For what?” He waits, his eyes fluttering elsewhere as he continues on this false path. “Don’t know yet. I just know that he’s not a good man.” What comes in reply isn’t what he anticipates. A hearty snort to echo in this small space shared. “Yeah, no shit.” They fall silent just after—a look of wonder and worry in his stare, watching as she so casually pulls apart her meal. Unaware of the torment to twist and tear at her mind, she was unable to escape the sight of the grayed woman and the girl she connected with in that space. A girl who seemed very much alive and aware. Somehow pulling Autumn’s mind into her own, where there was only fear, blood, and the man to invade her home. It’s an unsolved mystery—no simple man could give an understanding of the storm she fought through. Yet still, she speaks. “He’s not the only one I saw.” Her voice is soft, like a gentle summer breeze. Warm, and barely heard beneath the crickets from just beyond the front door. He questions who, and the passionate pace she held for a hot meal slows to a standstill, shrugging in response. “I don’t know. Sometimes I feel like... I’m just seeing someone else’s story. Their life, y’know? And he’s right there. I don’t get it.” There’s a beat, and then the atmosphere around her seems to shift. Nightmares are lifted, or rather forced back into the closet, to live in ignorance as she stands from her place to discard her plate. Her hand extends down toward him, waiting for his own, and he can’t help but offer a nod in thanks, though the smile he wears is fake. As they turn from one another, he allows the weakness to creep in, his grin falling flat as a stare burns holes through the floor. Words rush forward before being swallowed back down, shards of glass to rip at his insides, and his pain goes unheard as she scrubs at the utensils. He wants to give her the space she needs to move at her own pace, but the secrets are a slow and unseen torture within him. Slowly, he lets them trickle out for some sort of relief from the pressure. “He knows your father,” he states with a cracking voice, picturing the way her eyes shoot daggers toward his back as if he misspoke. “Works with him, I think.” She doesn’t budge from her place in the kitchen, turning at the handles until the water eases its flow. He’s not even entirely sure if she heard him. But she asks, “Doing what?” She already knows. At least she knows enough to where the idea is less surprising. He wonders what she’s seen—what he’s told her, if anything at all. “I’m not sure,” A lie. Too fearful to look her way in anticipation of a glare, plucking out the weeds of an ugly truth. He’s hesitant, ready to cast away his gaze should tearful eyes find him, but she remains facing the sink, fingers gripping the edge.

In a breath, she turns with arms crossed over her chest, seeming more irritated than disturbed by the idea of the girl's father working with a man on a mission to steal her away. Then, the denial comes in like a burst of wind to blow away the heavy fog. Eyes lit with new energy and purpose. “Well,” she says, cutting through the silence. “You better figure some shit out. I can’t imagine how much schoolwork I’ve missed. I’m probably failing right now, Hop. Failing.” His mouth is hung agape, with a slight twist at the corner of his lip in pure disbelief. He’s seen this behavior before, staring right back at him in the mirror. The switch you flip, leaving the room dark and a mind ignorant of reality, so that you may live. “You were almost abducted, and you’re worried about school?” She makes a face, shoulders shrugged with palms out to the sky, as if to say, “Duh,” and he’s baffled. “CPS will come knockin’, and then what?"

He knows the girl is right. He knows her empty home echoes with numerous phone calls from the school, searching for the missing girl. He’s not ready to let her walk through those doors and out of his sight. Not without a plan. So, Wednesday morning comes, and he’s back in the office, plotting and making secretive phone calls to the only other person who’s familiar with the situation, Steve Harrington. The boy was eager to help in any way that he could, though cut short the moment he attempted to mention her name over the line. Hours pass, and the sound of sneakers scuffing along the tile brings his full attention toward the shut door, listening to the sounds of complaining as the door is forced open. It’s well after hours of school coming to an end, and the boy's face is still holding remnants of sweat with flushed cheeks. “Sorry,” he mumbled, kicking the door shut behind him as he flipped a thick stack of paperwork with a single hand. “Had practice after class. It must’ve slipped my mind. Life’s been so crazy,” he finishes with an uncomfortable laugh. Hopper is left unimpressed or amused by the boy. Arms folded over the table to support his weight, as his stare burns through freckled skin, a smile quickly falters. “Y’know…because of?” He waits in silence, studying the other man's expression carefully, yet all he offers is an extended hand, waiting with great impatience. “Yep, anyway,” he states quickly, slipping the collection into Hopper’s grip. Now satisfied, the officer sits back in his chair to sift through the work. Specific things he’s requested.

Autumn’s homework.

Steve watches as the man's face twists up in familiar annoyance, saying a silent prayer that the girl would never ask for his help with precalculus. “Good job,” he sighs, letting the stack fall to his desk with a “whap,” before leaning further back in his chair, hands running along his tired face. “All she can think about are her grades,” Hopper snorts. The humor isn’t lost on Steve, his lips turning up in a smile as he settles into the chair just across from the chief. “That doesn’t surprise me.” The man casts a glance in the boy’s direction, a subtle frown developing the more comfortable he gets. Like he belonged in a place like this—a secret agent working undercover for Hopper and a wanted girl. His thumbs twiddle, and his focus shifts around the shared space, taking it all in with his lips parting before closing again. He wants to speak but feels small under Hopper’s stern stare, swallowing his words. The police chief can hardly handle the growing tension, snapping, “What?" Earning a wide-eyed look from Steve in surprise. “What?” he repeats back with an innocent tone, his ignorance not once fooling Hopper. “You’ve clearly got something on your mind. Spit it out.” He’s uncertain, lips pursed with an avoidant focus as scrambled thoughts collect. His hesitance is visible in the way his Adam’s apple bobs, fidgeting hands now frozen though his knee bounces. “I just, uh,” he pauses, now chewing at his still-healing lip. "How—how is she?” A heavy intake of air fills the man's chest, exhaling, “She’s fine,” he said, his eyes now locked on the quiet phone at his desk, waiting for a ring of interruption. What he gets in return, however, is a hard snort just across the way. “Yeah, I’m sure. She seemed real fine before I left.” Steve leans with his back against the chair, arms folded over his chest, and a look of light amusement in his expression. “Can’t imagine being in the best mental state after finding o-” “She doesn’t know,” he cuts in, watching how it all shifts into something of disbelief. Like all he had known was ripped out beneath his feet, now unbalanced and incapable of processing this new reality. “What?”

The teen waits in silence. He was hoping for a shift in the atmosphere or a twist of a smile to suggest he was only joking. But he’s stoic and empty. “Are you kidding me? You haven’t-? How can you explain-?” “It’s complicated, kid,” the man mumbles behind the hand to scrub away his frown lines. A glare soon lands on the boy as he scoffs, following with, “Yeah, no shit, it’s complicated.” Steve seems ignorant of his tone or the lack of respect shown to not just a peer but also an officer. He sees them as companions, a duo linked together through unsettling times. A friend in the darkness, when no one else could understand. "But it’s going t’get about one hundred times worse if you don’t tell her.” He feigns a smile, replying, “I’m sure I can handle it. And you? You’re not going t’say a word, got it? Not t’anyone.” It’s a warning—a threat—as his finger points like a gun, holding him hostage until he surrenders. Steve can only accept his fate—one worse than Hopper’s anger—as he pictures her face contorted in rage. His arms raised to rest behind his head, fingers locked with a gaze far off beyond the parted blinds at the other's back. “Lying t’a superhuman. Great. I’ll get my will ready. Seeing as, y’know, she’ll definitely kill me.” With a roll of his eyes, Hopper stands with the paperwork in hand, making his way towards a discarded duffle bag, plunging them into its depths where few other secrets remain hidden. The last thing he needed was for someone to stumble into his unoccupied office, his mind filling with a thousand questions after finding homework scattered across his desk.

He waits in silence, hands hung on his hips, while he watches as the boy lives out what he believes to be his very short future and torturous end. His stare glazed over with anxiety and unavoidable doom. “I need another favor,” Hopper speaks up, immediately regretting his lack of control once he sees the curl of a smile. “I seem t’be doing a lot of those lately.” He doesn’t allow enough room for the response to evoke annoyance, pushing through with a clear mission ahead. “I need you t’watch her.” “Watch her?” he questions, tone dripping with uncertainty and confusion. “I don’t know where those people are. They could be out there,” he gestures towards the space out just beyond the closed door, where people filed in to provide complaints against their neighbors. Hell, it could have been Florence, for all he knew—keeping tabs on a man who threatened the secrecy of their operation. “I can’t be there all of the time. I’ve got t’keep up some sort of illusion here. Just-just watch her at school for me.” “Oh, she’ll love that. Being spied on.” Hopper pulls from the wall, fingers curled into fists as they press against the desk that separates them. It’s then that the boy feels as though he is being buried alive, with Hopper holding the shovel as he looms over the grave. It’s intimidating, and he feels himself shrink away, looking for a quick escape. Preparing to scale the walls of his demise. “You got a better idea?” He’s unable to find his voice at first, his lips parting to speak and nothing coming forward until he clears his throat, carving a shaken path. “Jonathan? She actually likes him,” he finishes with a heavy-hearted sigh, a look of sadness in his eyes as his arms fall to rest lazily over his torso. The officer isn't exactly the most knowledgeable when it comes to teenagers or their strange behaviors. But he isn’t blind to the clear disappointment and longing, and he uses that to his advantage, taking a softer approach to tug at his strings. “She asked about you,” he offers in a light tone, pushing himself back to give the boy the space he needed. “She asked if you were okay. Seemed worried t’me.” The boy doesn’t respond just yet, taking it all in with great caution, weary of this sudden shift after all of her verbal lashings.

But it was different now, right? Autumn had opened the door for him and given him a place of rest when he felt lost. He had pulled her from the fire at the risk of his life. Should he dare be hopeful that maybe she found a familiar security in him? Even at minimal, a tolerance. “I strongly recommend leaving your bullshit behind, kid. Get over whatever happened between you two. We’ve got bigger problems than some... ’Lovers quarrel,’” he adds with fingers raised in a quotation. He doesn’t miss the way freckled skin flushes with embarrassment, nearly shooting out of his seat to argue. “Not lovers! We never-” “Save it, kid. Are you going t’help me or what?” A steadying breath fills Steve’s chest, his foot nearly kicking at the carpeted floor as he thinks it all over. The two had barely scratched the surface of friendship—he wouldn’t even call it that just yet. The ties of their connection are still blowing in the wind, torn in two. Could he force himself into her space for her safety, but at the risk of her pushing back? He sees the face of every teacher in that school, posing as an educator but keeping a close eye on the girl as she lets her guard down behind a book. He thinks of them isolating her just as she tries to leave the class—another sedative to keep her from screaming—before carting her off without detection. Some things are worse than her anger—her annoyance and lack of understanding as he lingers at her back, so he nods. “I’ll keep her safe.”

By the time the end of Hopper’s shift comes, he’s found some form of relief. The crushing weight on his chest is lifted, but only just. Knowing she would be looked after in places he could not go gave him comfort. No, he didn’t expect Steve to rush in head-first and fend off monsters disguised as humans. A sinister gleam in their eyes and eager hands ready to snatch. But he hopes, with his presence by the girl's side, that any plans of disruption will be discouraged long enough until she’s under his watchful eye once more. But the iron that lays out across him, threatening to concave, has names for all the things he has yet to solve. Her father and the medication he forced upon his daughter. The girl named Jane, and what role did she play in all of this? What role did Autumn play? The sheriff needs more than just the camaraderie between himself and Steve, a mere boy who stumbled into this chaos by chance. Hopper seeks solace in someone familiar with the turmoil. The struggle of having their life flipped on its head. So when the sun sets just over the horizon, leaving a glow to spread through the evening, he finds himself standing at the Byers’ front door, taking in the calm as all seems to stand still behind the door. Joyce had pulled the newspaper from the windows, now pulling the curtains shut to hide from anyone too nosey to get a look at the undead boy. He would have thought it empty if it weren’t for the glow of a lamp and a sudden clattering followed by, “Shit.” A smirk graces his features, knuckles tapping against the wood, and he imagines the look of surprise on Joyce’s face. “One second!” She calls back.

The ruckus inside continues as she sets things down in a hurry; the click of an undone lock is heard just before she peers out through the crack. Light shines on his face, a low "Hi" drifting through the cold air. “Hopper,” she calls in surprise, now pulling the door back to welcome him inside. “I’m so happy t’see you,” she states with a shuddering voice, shoulders hunched as she fights the breeze that slips through before the door can close. “Things just... it all just got crazy, and..." she pauses, arms crossed over her torso for further warmth. She seems almost embarrassed, avoiding his gaze. Teetering back and forth until the words finally come through. “I’m sorry I didn’t call.” The man makes a face of confusion at her apology, amused by her seemingly scattered priorities. “You just got your boy back, and you’re worried about a phone call?” Of course, she was. He could see the guilt in doe eyes as they looked up at him. Together, they had marched through the devil's door and made it out alive. She thought of him daily. Where he had gone and if he was okay. Her days were long and dragging, filled with exhaustion as Will cried in the night, seeking comfort from his nightmares. Her body was too tired to reach for the phone, but she took the sight of his SUV in town as something positive. “It’s fine, Joyce,” he reassures with a smile—one that she returns in full.

Hopper gives himself a moment to drink in the changes in her home. The hole was still boarded, and clutter had been cleaned up from the floor after the monster's attack. One thing he noticed above all else was a lack of multi-colored lights that once hung in his face. Instead, they lay dim inside a box, ready to be stored away. “Not leaving those up for Christmas?” he teases. “I don’t want to see those lights for the rest of my life.” They find happiness together, laughing in unison as if the horrors they experienced didn’t loom over their backs. “You got any suggestions for that?” She turns to gesture towards the still-painted wall—letters once serving a purpose, now an ugly memory as they stain the paper. He wants to make another joke to keep the air light, but a new presence creeps in, dressed in pajamas with damp hair clung to his forehead. Will stands in the doorway, eyes wide with surprise and the slightest hint of a smile, though faltering. An innocent and tormented mind thinks of only bad news—nothing good to come from the hero who stands in his home. “Hiya, kid,” the man states with a softened grin, noting the apprehension. “Just wanted t’come check on you and your mom. See if you guys need anything.” Hazel eyes shift towards his mother, finding comfort in her brilliant smile. “He’s going to help me put up new wallpaper.” Hopper laughs in return, a deep chuckle echoing through the small home to lift low spirits, though their weight is too much to carry. “I did not say that.” Will remains distant with a hesitant grin, not yet full, as he's forever haunted by the shadows he ran from. Not confident enough to face the man who pulled him from death's grip, gratitude was left unheard on his tongue as he slipped back down the hallway. Hopper waits before he speaks, hearing the click of his bedroom door before asking in a hushed voice, "How is he?" Joyce takes a breath, letting a hard sigh fall through, no matter the reassurance in her expression. Not wanting to worry anyone with her stress or troubles as they adjust back into normal life. "Oh, he's, y'know, as good as he can be. He's still really shaken up. Not-not really himself yet."

With a gaze still locked on the now empty doorway, he hums in acknowledgment. “It’ll take some time,” he speaks in a gentle, reassuring tone, watching as her fingers curl up around the fabric over her chest with anxiousness. “Yeah, I know.” His focus is shifting, mind slowly tearing itself in two as he debates himself over the reason for coming here. To bury his burden and drag his feet through the mud, or to risk the need for some relief by unleashing that weight for someone else to carry. Joyce was in her own world—her own mess. It’s selfish to ask for her ear and her support. Fingers press into closed eyes as if the arguing voices shattered every nerve, leaving him distressed. He’ll bid his “Goodbye’s” and apologize for interrupting her evening by slipping out that front door and into the dark. But she holds on—a gentle touch to his arm with sweet words to ask, “What’s wrong?” The walls come crumbling down—Joyce breaking through with little effort, ready to pull him from the prison he keeps himself in. “We need t’talk,” he says, just low enough for only her to hear. Together, the pair slip out the front door with a freshly lit cigarette between their fingers, Joyce watching as the officer paces across her porch, spilling his guts and theories over the wooden planks. Both are unaware of the boy creeping out from the shadows, leaving his ear pressed to the door to take in their secrets.

[ms-erin-kallus]

I Threw Stones at the Stars but the Whole Sky Fell

Chapter 5

AO3 link in master list

(I’m so sorry these are taking so long, I haven’t been feeling well.)

The flight back to Lothal felt like a slow motion, lucid nightmare that she couldn’t wake up from, no matter how hard she tried. Rhoan searched frantically through the gaping hole in her memory’s timeline for how, or even when, she ended up back on Kallus’ ship. Every minutia of detail leading up to, and shortly following, those few blank minutes sat clearly in her mind. That short, brief time eluded her no matter where she searched, and she was looking hard.

 His stupid game, the myriad people that played with her like a thing; and she with them, too many blasters pointed at her, Eind. Nothing. Then Kallus’ sudden concern.

 The last thing she did remember; however, she really didn’t want to.

 Kallus couldn’t hide the distress in his voice when he tried to talk to her through the door. There was a sense of worry that lingered in his words that only left her more and more confused as he tried diligently to convince her to come out.

 Whatever had happened, despite his sudden sincerity in her well being, she somehow <em>knew</em> his recklessness was to blame.

 She didn’t care about his feelings. Nor would she ever.

 And so she sat reticently, curled up and hidden in a corner hidden within the dim light of the room as she stared blankly at a pretty, blue, shapeless mass that completely swallowed the chair she had thrown it onto.

 The entire night she had felt like that chair.

 She grew up being told ‘things happen for a reason and you need to trust that they will work out. Keep your chin up. People depend on and even envy your position.’

 <em>Things happen for a reason.</em>

 Those things could’ve worked out much better.

 It was <em>why</em> she felt just like the chair that was being slowly suffocated in front of her.

 <em>Pain filled facades.</em>

 The cold silver rings of the necklace he had given her slowly warmed as she moved them back and forth along the length of the delicate chain that held them as she mindlessly twisted it around her fingers. A whirlwind of confusion and emotion spun themselves into a rapid bombardment of feelings that she felt so intensely she swore it permeated into her bones.

 The small room steadily grew smaller with each second that passed as she pulled her knees closer into her chest anxiously and waited.

 <em> This wasn’t worth it.</em>

  ~

 A little over an hour later, she felt the ship enter Lothal’s atmosphere followed shortly by the soft thump of landing gears as they met with the hard ground below them. Dread filled relief flushed over her when a quiet knock came so quickly that she was sure he had been standing outside of the room the whole time.

 Her heart froze and she glared at the thin door that was her only physical barrier between the two of them and hoped that he wasn’t stupid enough to open it.

 “We’re back,” Kallus said quietly.

 Rhoan said nothing and waited longer than she felt she should have until the sound of his footsteps carried him away. She slowly let her aching knees uncurl from her chest before she stood and stealthily peered out into the eerily quiet ship. Cautiously she looked down the hallway and waited again for the nothing that came. Boundaries had been crossed the entire night and she had no reason to believe he would suddenly stop because of whatever had happened.

 A prolonged silence reassured her, as much as it could, before she finally felt that he had gone. His necklace was still tangled around her fingers and she shuddered when she looked at it as she suddenly felt both the way he drew his fingers along her neck as he deliberately invaded her space and his breath against her ear as he told her to keep it. There was no sound when it hit the floor nor any remorse in her heart when she casually threw it down before she made her way to the opened boarding door.

A trail of hundreds of golden beads led to the middle of the sitting room where a thousand of them lay in scattered patterns across the floor.

<em>Stars.</em> 

  “Rhoan,” Kallus said gently, as he smartly maintained his distance when she finally disembarked.

 She closed her eyes and took in a sharp breath before she turned on her heel to face him. His expression dropped heavily as their eyes met and she was genuinely surprised, but completely indifferent, to his newly found remorse.

 He started to say something but hesitated before his shoulders fell and he looked down. “It happens to me too sometimes,” he said quietly. “When thi-,”

 “But you deserve it” she interjected monotonously. She shot an exhausted glare at him for long enough to make sure that her point had been made clear before she left him to stand alone and watch her walk away.

Again.

 ~ 

 Rhoan was still wide-awake when her alarm went off the next morning. She reached over and swatted at it blindly until the harsh chime stopped echoing through her ears before she rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling with dry, irritated eyes. Every muscle was sore and it felt like her head was pounding itself against her skull.

 <em>They won’t find you,</em> she thought before she begrudgingly pulled herself up and walked over to the small sink in the corner of her room.

 The hollow eyes of forced acceptance stared back blankly at her. She looked older than she was, and tired, because she was tired. A lifetime of stress had that effect on people. Her head dropped hard as she sighed loudly and splashed her face with cold water in a feeble attempt to snap herself out of her trance. It would be another long day. She could feel it.

 <em>You should go.</em>

 Her carry bag felt heavier than it was as she threw it over her shoulder and made her way out and onto the lift at the end of the hallway. A list of reqs that had come in while she was on her <em>date</em>    scrolled under her finger as the lift dropped a single level. The doors opened and she stepped to her side to allow room for those coming in as she continued to read absentmindedly.

 When she noticed that no one got on but the doors stayed open, she looked up to see that Agent Kallus stood in front of her in all of his aggravating glory.  No matter how many times she begged the universe to mercifully stop his continuous reappearances, it was beginning to feel to her like her pleas were going unheard. 

The next system over could’ve heard her sigh as she went to step around him. 

“No,” he said as he quickly put his hand against the inside wall before she could exit.

 The sound of his voice, even just the one syllable, grated mercilessly against her ears as his always present woodsy smell quickly became so overbearing that it made her stomach turn hard.

 “Do not assume that you may tell me what to do,” she hissed as she looked out into the hallway and sighed with indignation at the unwanted apology that she knew he would attempt. But she also knew better than to cause a scene, especially with a superior, even if that <em>superior</em> was an officer that had spent the previous night trying to get her out of his dress.

 And almost killed.

Twice.

 Just as she had known, he didn’t move his arm to let her pass and instead used his size to push her back. “Take the next one,” he said forcefully to the group of confused people behind him as he reached over and pressed the button to close the doors with the back of his other hand. As always, his demeanor was outwardly authoritative but there was a subtle sense of stress in his voice. He hadn’t slept either.

 Rhoan stood perfectly still and continued to stare straight ahead in hopes that openly ignoring him would make him angry enough to just leave in frustration. She did have a penchant for pissing him off until he lost full control of the situation. But instead, she could feel his gaze beat down on her as he shuffled the cup he held in his left hand. The smell of caf suddenly and blessedly overpowered the fragrance of his skin but his mere presence was still more than enough to keep her nauseated.

 “You didn’t sleep,” he said with a quiet sigh.

 “Thanks for that.”

 “Rhoan,” he started gently but stopped when she looked up at him.

 The corners of her mouth pulled down and back as her gaze darted across his face. The unforeseen reaction caught her off guard and she quickly looked away from him out of both embarrassment and confusion. If he noticed, he didn’t mention it.

 He cleared his throat uneasily and she braced herself for what she knew was coming, the forced feelings of pseudo remorse and sympathy that were typical of someone that wanted forgiveness to help ease their barely functioning conscience.

 “I wanted-,“

 “How can someone trained in recognizing nonverbal cues be so damn clueless?” she snapped, and as she reached over to restart the lift, he stepped in front of her hand before she could touch it. “I’m. Fine,” she sighed angrily,

 “No, you’re not,” he said sternly as he looked deep into her eyes and somehow stepped even further into her way.

 “Don’t you have some rebels to go chase and not catch for the thousandth time? How are you not embarrassed by that by now? I woul-.”

 “That’s not going to work this time. If I could survive it last night, then I’m sure I can survive this.”

 “Wanna test that hypothesis?”

 “No, I want you to take this,” he begged more than he asked as he held out the cup and a small bowl of fruit pieces in desperate hopes that she would see the sincerity in his offer of beginning their reconciliation.

 Rhoan looked at it and shook her head, “I don’t need, much less want, <em>anything<em> from you.”

 “Hate me. I deserve it, but you do need to at least take care of yourself,” he said with feigned authority as he held them closer to her. His eyes plead for her to take them with what she almost felt was <em>panic.</em>

 She chose to ignore it and put her arms behind her back as she stood and glowered up at him.

 Suddenly her eyes shot to the doors and he instinctively followed before she swiftly reached over and slapped the tops of both containers in a recycled move that she had learned was quite effective when she needed to get her point across quickly.

 Kallus swore angrily as while stood with his arms held out awkwardly at his sides as he kicked the fruit pieces and empty containers out of his way with soaked, sticky boots. He looked up at her furiously and growled, “what the fuck, lieutenant!”

 “Finally, he uses my title like he’s <em>supposed</em> to!” She couldn’t help the loud laugh that escaped as she looked from his scowl down to her happily created mess, “ya know, last time I did that you killed people,” she quipped as she crossed her arms and smiled up at him expectantly.

 He looked at her in what he recognized as shock, pride, or fear before he realized it was actually all three.

And he knew that she knew it.

 <em>Go straight to your office. Start the transfer papers.</em>

 She pushed him out of her way and hit the door open button. “Keep this up and I might have to use that page from your playbook,” she added darkly as she walked away from him.

  ~

 Luckily, Rhoan had plenty to keep her busy after her elevator encounter. Regardless, she felt that time hadn’t moved much for her, no matter how much work she managed to finish. Being steadily occupied at least kept her mind off of things and R3 had an innate ability to keep her grounded and focused.

 “Droids,” her comlink suddenly chirped.

 Rhoan rolled her eyes hard and sighed before she responded to whoever it was on the other side of their pleasant conversation that needed a serious lesson in civility.

 Then she remembered where she was.

 “This is <em>Lieutenant Rial.</em>.”

 “You are needed for maintenance in HC-4. A droid is stuck in the wall,” a man’s voice snapped back before she finished her sentence.

 R3 let out a series of beeps and Rhoan had to shush them before she could respond. 

“I’m sorry, what exactly do you mean <em>stuck in a wall</em>,” she asked as she rubbed her right temple with her free hand and shrugged at an astromech that was ready to shut down power to the whole dome and possibly save her the hassle the fun way.

 The man on the other end huffed loudly, “just get up here and pull it out.”

 The transmission went dead and before she pulled herself up from the disassembled droid in front of her, Rhoan debated whether or not she really should walk down to a hangar and escape it all. Instead, she stretched hard and rubbed her tired eyes, the lack of sleep had begun to manifest itself physically and quickly.

 “Ya wanna come with, my love?” she asked R3 as she put anything she thought she would need to free an unknown type of robot from an unknown type of wall into a toolbox.

 R3 just spun their dome in a quick circle of disapproval and rolled off into the back of the cluttered workshop before she could force them to go too.

 “I’m gonna put a restraining bolt on you when I get back.” She yelled her empty threat over her shoulder as she walked out.

 There was a series of loud beeps and she couldn’t help but giggle to herself as she made her way up to HC-4.  

~

 Two Stormtroopers were standing silently at attention outside of the lift door when Rhoan stepped off and into the heavily guarded hallway that was the High Command level.

 “Credentials,” one snapped at her as the other gripped their blaster rifle tighter in an open show of aggression.

 “Okay. No problem,” she said with shaky confusion before she pulled her badge out from under the top of a uniform that no one else in the dome wore. <em>Oh, yeah.</em> “I’m just here to pull a droid out of a wall,” she said as confidently as she could while the trooper turned her credential card over in their hand enough times that it began to make her nervous.

 The two looked at each other before one asked, “You’re…what exactly?”

 Rhoan shrugged. “We do what we’re told,” she joked to an uninterested audience as the other spoke quietly into her comlink.

 “Okay,” she said slowly as she stepped aside and handed the card back.

 Rhoan quickly walked away from them only to be stopped and re-identified by two more sentries at the door to the command room.

 She stepped inside and immediately hesitated as she quickly looked down before any of them saw her surprised fear. On the far side of the center logistics table, sat the <em>’always threatening unless you’re that one stormtrooper no one has the balls to mention aloud’</em> Grand Moff Tarkin flanked by two officers that she was unfamiliar with. 

 A fourth person stood across from him with their back to her but she hadn’t gotten a good look at them before her face fell. A subtle but nauseatingly familiar scent abruptly assaulted her nose and made her want to turn and leave.

 Before the thought had fully registered in her mind, Agent Kallus turned to face her. He stood as tall as he could with his hands clasped firmly behind his back and his nose held high, as always. 

They were in a place where she couldn’t talk down to him and he was openly enjoying the fact.

 “I believe that Lieutenant Lyste has something he would like to say to you,” he said sternly over his shoulder, his eyes locked onto Rhoan’s.

 She waited a second before she looked from Kallus over to his side where a smaller man stood behind him and shifted his weight nervously. It was incredibly uncommon, and slightly uncomfortable behavior, especially for an officer in both this type of situation and its company. She liked it.

 “I’d like to apologize for my curtness earlier. It was uncalled for.”

 “It’s alright,” she lied as she quickly glared back at Kallus despite his chivalrous act of protecting her honor. There was a quiet beep of desperation that turned her attention to the real matter at hand. A messenger droid’s data spike had somehow become lodged into the computer terminal of the logistics table and was unwillingly stuck there.

 The conversation that she had obviously interrupted began again as she stepped around the distressed droid and sat down beside it. “What have you gotten yourself into here,” she asked calmly as it tried to shake itself loose again.

 “Easy,” she said reassuringly as she patted the top of its dome and smiled. She opened up the tool kit and began to rummage around quietly as she desperately hoped it had everything in it she would need because interrupting them again was not something she wanted to deal with. “How long have you been stuck here, little friend?”

 “Not long,” it beeped in binary.

 “Good, good. Did anything happen when you got stuck,” she asked as she reached over and hit a small green button on its dome before she began to analyze the situation further.

 “What do you mean,” the droid asked as it looked from side to side nervously.

 “Like, any sort of power surge,” she began before she heard a voice above snap “is this going to take you long?”

 She looked up and opened her mouth to say something but Kallus tapped his finger hard against the bottom of the lip of the table three times and she took the begrudgingly appreciated hint and stopped.

 “I’m sure that it won’t,” he intervened successfully on her behalf as he steered the conversation back to where it had left off.

 Rhoan shook her head and rolled her eyes as she pulled out a small screwdriver, “I’m gonna remove your arm before I start to tear down the porthole. Just in case,” she whispered to the droid.

 A few seconds later, the unit was freed and quickly rolled away from her and took a place by the door as it faced the rest of the room. She smiled and winked at it as she set to remove the spike as quietly as she could.

 The conversation between the four was regarding the rebel cell, known as the Spectres. She wasn’t intentionally eavesdropping, but she did pick up enough pieces to figure out that they were working out the logistics of setting up an ambush near Geonosis.

 <em>Ten credits says he fucks it up enough to finally consider a career change,</em> she thought as she pulled the front plate off of the terminal and took out a small light to look inside.

 The meeting, and time itself, quickly lost her interest as she began to meticulously remove the droid’s spike without causing it irreparable damage. ‘Useless’ droids ended up in the scrap heap and she wasn’t about to let that happen over something so trivial.

 Before she knew it, the men began to file out of the room.

 “Come on already,” she begged the universe once again as one of them stayed behind. It wasn’t the one she wanted either and she honestly considered which of his superiors she would have to sleep with to get him put on permanent desk duty at ISB headquarters. On Coruscant. Far, far away from her.

 “You never ate,” he said flatly after an unreasonably long silence.

 Rhoan felt her grip tighten around the wrench in her hand, “and how exactly did you know that? Are you spying on me now?”

 “I could hear your stomach growling earlier,” he replied simply as he turned and walked out of the room.

 “The nerve on that one,” she said to the armless droid once she knew he was far enough away.

 “He got really angry with the one that was rude to you before you came in,” the droid told her as it rolled up to inspect her progress.

 “Well, that’s nice but it’s not what’s important now," she sighed as she pressed a red button on its control panel and set to work.

  ~     

 A few minutes later Roan heard heavy footsteps and turned around just in time to watch Kallus enter the room. She refused to acknowledge him and instead turned back to the spike that she almost had freed from the porthole.

 He looked around somewhat confused for a second before he finally turned his attention squarely on her, “are you alone in here?”

 “I was. I prefer it actually, so if you don’t mind.”

 “I thought I hea-, never mind, it’s not important,” Kallus ignored her as he grabbed a chair from a corner and placed it in front of the door.

 Rhoan’s fight or flight response immediately went into overdrive. “What are you doing,” she asked cautiously as she stood up and chose <em>fight.</em>

 “I’m not leaving until you eat this,” he said sternly as he held out a protein bar to her.

 She looked at it and then up at him, “you can’t be serious?”

 “I’ve got time,” he said simply, with no intention of leaving her any room for argument.

 “Not from what I heard earlier, you don’t,” she retorted as she crossed her arms in front of her chest in defiance. “Given your track record you might want to spend this time preparing for <em>them</em> and leaving <em>me</em> alone.”

 The attempt at deflection went unheeded as he simply looked down and held the bar out further toward her.

 She didn’t move her eyes away from his as she reached out and quickly slapped the inside of his wrist and the backside of his hand at the same time causing the bar to suddenly fly across the room. Neither of them broke their gaze as it hit a wall and fell to the floor.

 In a subtle indication of the pride in her action, she clasped her hands behind her back as she stood up on her toes and ever so slightly raised the corner of her mouth, “you lost your intimidation factor when you took me on a date.”

 “It wasn’t a date,” he said quickly, his voice pitched just slightly higher than normal in his sudden defense.

 “Would you rather I call it your failed mission? So many options,” she asked as she slightly tilted her head up at him and smiled as sweetly as she could muster.

 “Why are you being like this?”

         “Why are you here,” she countered hostilely.

 “Because you aren’t taking care of yourself. You had a serious traumatic episode last night and you’ve obviously tried to compartmentalize it instead of deal with it in a healthy way,” he said as he took a step toward her. She noticed that he very slightly reached out as he did but instantly pulled back upon realization.

 “I was unaware that the Royal Imperial Academy offered electives in psychiatry,” Rhoan popped off as sarcastically as she could. His newfound concern had become an annoying nuisance to her.

 His left brow raised ever so slightly at her remark, “Rhoan-,”

 “Why do you even care?” she shouted as she crossed her arms in front of her.

 “Because I feel guilty,” he yelled back.

 “Good! You should be ashamed of yourself!” she screamed back. “It’s not my problem that you’re having some sort of attack of conscience all of a sudden. Honestly, after everything you’ve done, and not just to me, I didn’t think you even had one.”

 What she said stung. Not because she said it, but because she was right. He was ashamed of what he had done to her. It was eating him alive and he didn’t know why. Kallus never felt anything <em>the day after</em> but he also never had a night go the way theirs had, much less end in such unintended and deeply personal revelations and emotions.

 Kallus quickly looked away, but she still saw him and he tried to cover when he quietly walked over and picked up the bar from the floor. He stood and faced away from her for a few seconds before he turned back and walked to the door. The package fell heavily into her tool kit before he moved the chair back to the corner and sat.

 “What did he say to you,” he asked quietly after a few seconds. “That man, the way you just shut down was-.”  

 “I am <em>not</em> talking to <em>you</em> about <em>that</em>,” she hissed as she turned and sat back down at the terminal heatedly. 

 “Rho-,”

 “Fine. You wanna know what he said? He said he couldn’t believe I had come there with <em>you,</em>” she snapped as she moved the head of her screwdriver up and down to reiterate that she meant <em>him.</em>

 “You shouldn’t have done this, joined the Empire. Not if you’re going to be so obvio-,” he started in a low voice as he sat back down in the chair.

 “What the fuck does that mean?” she interrupted as she picked up a wrench in her other hand.

 His long fingers interlaced as he leaned forward to put his elbows on his knees to look at her on a more personal level, “there were almost two hundred people on that yacht last night and you were the only person that reacted that way to the decraniated slaves. The way you looked at them, Rhoan, these are things that the academies arduously work out of people and they do it for a reason.”

 Rhoan closed her eyes and let out a long, slow breath. “Well, I guess now you know why I work with droids then,” she finally answered around the flashlight that she had placed in her teeth before she went back to the terminal socket.

 There were a reticent few seconds, “the Empire has a way of stripping people of their humanity. It makes the job easier,” he finally said almost despondently as if it were a spontaneous recognition that he felt was brought on by <em>her.</em>

 “Yeah, is that how you sleep at night then,” she asked over her shoulder at him.

 “I don’t sleep actually.”

 “Have you tried not doing things like razing refugee camps? I feel like that’s a good start,” she asked sarcastically as she looked over at him.

 There was an unexpected look of remorse that sat heavily in his eyes when she turned to see why he was abnormally quiet. <em>Is he malfunctioning?</em>

 “I was under direct order from Lord Vader himself.”

 She looked at him with empathy for the very first time.

 “What would you have done in that situation? Told him no,” the agent asked her quietly.

 “Should’ve made yourself scarce like I did. That guy or thing or whatever he is now, is scary.”

 “Serious-,”

 “I don’t do hypotheticals,” she said shortly as she turned back and pulled a small screw out of the terminal and placed it on a magnetic strip at her feet.

 “Humor me. You’re obviously still a decent person. What would you have done,” he asked curiously as he watched her fight back with her work.

 “Left the room when it was obvious that I wasn’t wanted there,” she said as she examined the porthole and twisted at the droid’s spike gently.

 “Dammit, Rhoan,” he yelled as he shot up and stormed over to where she sat. He reached down into the small space between her and the table, grabbed the spike and turned it a full three hundred and sixty degrees before he yanked it out and threw it to the ground at her feet.

 The woman sat shocked and confused as he quickly stood up and crossed his arms tightly around his broad chest, he was tired of her diversions and it was making him absolutely irate with her.

 “Did you do this on purpose,” she started before she took a rage filled breath, “to get me alone?”

 “You can talk to <em>me</em> about this or I can have you placed on an involuntary hold,” he threatened darkly, ignoring her correct statement. “I’ve seen what things like this do to people and I don’t want to see it happen to you too. Especially if I’m to blame.”

 Rhoan looked at the spike and back at him before she slowly stood up and stepped over to face him. 

His brow was furrowed ever so slightly and she would bet her life that he didn’t realize that the leather of his gloves made as much sound as it did when he stretched and retracted his fingers, which she now determined had to be a subconscious nervous tick. 

 She stared deep into his eyes for a few, long seconds before her quiet surrender, “fine.”

 After a long breath he finally relaxed, “good, where would you like to begin?”

 Rhoan shrugged as she walked over and sat in the chair, “I don’t know. I would assume you call medical and let them know you have a concern.” She kicked her right leg over her left and placed her hands on her knee. “I don’t know how you’re going to explain away that you took a date on a mission and almost got her killed and you now think she might be having some problems dealing with it.”

 “I’m not fucking playing, Rhoan,” Kallus yelled.

 In the blink of an eye she was in his face. “No, Agent, <em>I</em> am not playing,” she growled up at him.

 Kallus grabbed her left arm and quickly pulled her into him. Rhoan went to swing with her right but he had learned that lesson the night before and caught her wrist before he pulled it into his shoulder. 

His facial hair grazed softly against her heated skin as he leaned down and whispered into her ear, “no one saw you leave, <em>Irys</em>.”

 Her stomach instantly sank. He was right, the hangar was empty when they left <em>and</em> returned, and he admitted that Boom had cut the security recordings on the yacht when they were in Eind’s private residence.

 A quiet concession slightly loosened Kallus’ grip on her arms. He looked down at her anxiously and she could somehow sense that it was sincere, the whole exchange had been. He hadn’t put her in <em>that</em> kind of danger on purpose and she could tell by his actions that he was desperate to rectify the situation for both her and himself. Alexsandr Kallus was just really bad at differentiating when to be an agent and when to just be a man.  

 “I don’t want to do that to you. I just want to make sure that you’ll be alright,” he whispered.

 She looked up at him and his eyes softened as soon as they met hers. The tension in his shoulders released and his face, still mere inches from hers, relaxed. They stood together, close enough that she knew he could feel her heart pound in her chest. His thumb ran slowly and deliberately across the back of her left hand, and in what she could only assume was a moment of sheer bravery or utter stupidity, his hand slid from its grasp of her upper arm to hold her around her shoulders.

 His touch was soft and warm, and inviting and her eyes instinctively fluttered closed at the motion as her breath caught suddenly.

 She sighed slowly before she leaned up into his ear close enough that her chest pushed slightly into his and escalated the interaction into the stratosphere, “first, tell me about Lasan.”

 He instantly let go of her and took a step back. His eyes went dark and his body rigid. The betrayal read on his face like an open book that the simplest of minds could easily read.

 It felt like someone had sucked the air out of the room and replaced it with a raging radioactive inferno, as was her intention.

 “Maybe the Academy was better than I hoped they hadn’t been,” he said quietly as he turned and left the room.

[rebrandedstoryline]

Rebranded - 12.3 - Revelations

Ayala learns something unpleasant about Sun and Moon. She corrects this problem. And Sun gets a bit emotional.

Word Count: 1,543

“Trash? You’re telling me that he’s been eating actual trash?” Ayala questioned, her voice suddenly taking on a rather stern tone. She very clearly did not like having heard what she had just been told. The solar animatronic offered a slow nod, unsure as to why she seemed to be so bothered by this revelation.

“Well, yes. The primary reasons behind our upgrades were to reduce our need to connect to a power grid and to reduce the amount of trash exported by Fazbear. The Pizza Plex would have produced a lot of waste if it had ever regained former popularity. That would mean a lot of food scraps and paper waste. Additionally, in my case, I would also be able to encourage kids to eat their fruits and vegetables.” Sun explained, speaking in a very matter-of-fact tone as he answered Ayala’s question. “... In Chica’s case, the upgrade would have played a vital part in keeping her out of parts and services. She had a corrupted string of code that gave her an obsessive compulsive disorder. Prior to the upgrade, she would try to eat trash and it would jam up her internal workings.” He added, not even sounding slightly bothered by the fact that he had been specifically designed to eat trash.

The woman only seemed to grow more distressed upon hearing this.

“You... You guys can’t actually taste it though, right?” Ayala inquired, at this point blindly grasping for any snippet of information that would somehow make this situation less horrific from a human standpoint. The idea of being forced to live off of trash was not a good one. It was something literally considered inhumane and probably illegal; if it was something a human was being forced to endure. That question was what made the animatronic offer an unhappy expression.

“Unfortunately, we can taste everything just fine. Apparently being able to taste what we’re consuming is meant to allow us to be able to differentiate between what is consumable and what isn’t. Metal and stone taste very different from paper and wood.” Sun explained, a sort of scowl on his face as he did so. “It’s... It’s not all that pleasant, but it serves a purpose! Trash is messy and attracts pests. Pests carry diseases, which could make people sick. So the easiest solution is to get rid of the trash in a clean and efficient way. By consuming it.” He added, attempting to validate the importance of his unfortunate circumstances.

At this point, Ayala responded by abruptly getting up. Apparently whatever work she had to get started could actually wait. There were more pressing matters to attend to.

“Yeah, no. Go get Moon.” Ayala ordered rather sternly, walking past the very confused Sun as she made her way back into the kitchen.

Still, the animatronic complied. His assumption was that she was about to establish some additional house rules for them to follow. Ergo, Sun made his way over to the closet that his brother had claimed as their hideaway hole.

Being polite, he knocked before opening the door.

“What?” Moon grumbled, clearly not in the mood to be disturbed. He reacted to the light much like a nocturnal animal, curling away from it as if he needed to protect his eyes. Not that he actually needed to do so, he was simply in a bad mood and wanted to be left alone.

“Ayala would like to talk with us.” Sun responded, his voice sounding rather apologetic. He did not wish to bother his brother. Still, if the woman wished to speak to Moon, then Moon would have to reluctantly comply.

Such was noted as he began to get up so that he could crawl out of the closet. The space was not tall enough for him to properly stand, so he had to kneel and creep out.

“What does she want?” Moon grumbled, getting himself out of the closet and standing up. Various joints throughout his body clicked as everything settled back into place.

“Well... I’m not sure. I brought up the issues about fuel and she seemed to be upset. So... She might want to establish some more ground rules.” Sun stated, answering Moon’s question with an obvious amount of uncertainty. He honestly wasn’t sure as to why Ayala wanted to talk with them.

The nighttime attendant offered a groan at this, following after his twin as they led him to the kitchen, where they found a rather peculiar sight.

Ayala had started cooking again. Now, Moon was not so much confused as he was annoyed. Sun was the one who had gotten confused. Because Ayala already made herself something to eat. She had a bowl of food sitting on her desk.

Had she just decided that she wanted something else?

“What do you want?” Moon groaned out, annoyed at having been disturbed. He also had no interest in watching the woman cook. He was not like Sun in that regard. He more or less had the mindset that he would stick to what he was good at and leave it at that.

In other words, he had no interest in branching out and learning new skills.

The woman did not immediately respond. She simply finished with whatever she had started to make; which seemed to be some sort of crispy little cake made from the mashed potatoes. She made multiple of them and put them on a plate.

Once she had finished cooking, she brought that plate over to the animatronics and held it out for them.

“Eat.” Ayala commanded, sort of glaring up at the two. Which, naturally, confused the animatronics.

Was she mad at them?

Was she mad that she had to feed them?

Sun had already explained that they could subsist on the unwanted scraps without issue. Still, she prevented them from asking any further questions. If either Sun or Moon attempted to speak; and they did; she immediately shut them down with a repeat of her command.

She was not asking them to eat. She was telling them to eat.

Sun was the first to do so, though he did so awkwardly. He was unfamiliar with food prepared in this manner.

Still, he ate it.

To his surprise, it was rather pleasant. Actually, it was probably the most delicious thing that he had had the luxury of eating.

Then again, he was accustomed to soggy pizza crusts and actual trash. Any normal food would be ambrosia by comparison.

“Golly~ This is really nice. What is it~?” Sun inquired, smiling down at the woman with a curious expression. While he was still a bit confused about having been ordered to eat, he could still acknowledge that the food was delicious.

Moon, meanwhile, became hesitant to try the food. And not for the reasons that one might expect. But Ayala’s intense staring inevitably made him obey. If only for now.

The food was good. He just found himself not wanting to eat it.

“Potato cakes.” Ayala replied, before turning around to make her way back to the stove to clean up the mess she had just made. “I figured it’d be easier for you to eat than straight up mashed potatoes.” She added, bringing the dirty dishes to the sink so that she could wash them.

“Well... If you say so. But...” Sun began to speak, only to cut himself off. He wanted to ask why she had gone out of her way to make them something to eat. Then he recalled a phrase that she had told them when they first became acquainted with each other.

“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth”.

Don’t question a gift someone gives you, simply accept it.

The woman, meanwhile, was more or less able to guess what the question would have been.

“Look. This isn’t Fazbear. This is a Home. My home. While you’re here, I’m going to take care of you. I don’t produce enough trash to keep you two charged, and even if I did, I wouldn’t want you eating it. Its trash. I have other means of getting rid of it.” Ayala stated, casually responding to the question that Sun failed to actually ask. All while she went about the business of cleaning her dishes. “On the other hand, I can more than afford to buy enough food to keep you two running. You know how cook... Or at least one of you does. If you need to eat something, then eat. You don’t need to ask.” She added, pretty much establishing that she did not want the animatronics eating trash. She would rather them just eat normal food.

Which was admittedly something that neither Sun nor Moon seemed ready to comprehend. Both wound up just standing there silently with some degree of surprise present in their features.

In addition to this, Sun found himself sort of awkwardly glancing between the plate of potato cakes that he was holding, and Ayala. Until eventually his expression contorted a bit.

He suddenly looked as though he might start to cry. His hands even began to shake a bit, causing the plate to rattle somewhat against his palms. This caught the woman off guard, as she couldn’t understand why he suddenly seemed so upset.

[truckreincarnation]

Confession Pt. 2 || Theophania || Trial 4.5 || Re: Avery, Manami

No! No, goddammit! There Avery was, thwarting her plans. She'd hurt them once again, not unlike only a few short hours prior. That brief moment of peace shared between them in Avery's room. That look of anguish on their face. There it was again, with their words only acting as more and more knives to the chest with each one.

Avery had refused to promise her one thing. They'd said they would protect her no matter what. Should've figured that also meant from herself.

Theophania's hope was that everyone would be too angry to find the holes in her story, but Avery intercepted before anyone but Bian could say a word. She clenched her jaw so tightly it hurt, her teeth grinding together.

Why would you have used the thing you know I love to murder someone on purpose?

Those words stung more than anything. She wondered how Avery would react if she said yes. If they would yell at her, scream at her, just like she deserved. It would be easy.

But she just couldn't do that. She couldn't lie to them. And she certainly couldn't cause them pain, even if it meant she'd get her due punishment. Losing Avery was the least she could do to repent, but watching that look of pain on their face... She didn't know whether it was the selfishness of wanting to keep them, or the fact she just loved them too much to see them in pain. Either way, they told her to finally be honest.

She opened her mouth to respond, but then Manami chimed in.

Do you hate us that much?

How could she even answer that? All of the words she'd pushed down started bubbling to the surface. All the things she'd hidden, tried to get over. Now was hardly the time to hash it all out, but like the bomb that went off at the Gate, she was threatening to explode.

"...I hate you... That's right, I hate you!" The words tumbled out, somewhere between a snarl and a sob. Tears pooled in her eyes. "I hate all of you people so damn much! I hate that you were so quick to abandon Meili in favor of her unrepentant killer! I hate that you all pick and choose your morals based on how much you like a person! I hate how untrustworthy you all, how I've sacrificed my own power because I thought it was better! Because I thought I had to! Become a healer to boost everyone else's strength, you can rely on them to protect you! Except I can't because you've all proven time and time again that I can't trust any of you to do that right thing or have my back! So now I'm weak and pathetic and vulnerable and scared. I promised myself I wouldn't help any of you anymore! I would put myself first! So why...s-so why...I hate you all so much, so why did I still try to save Frank anyway?"

She couldn't control the wretched sobs that escaped her. The way her body shook and shivered from the exertion of it all. Ever since this trial began, she'd been holding everything back. The pain, the guilt, the emotion. It was all too much. But everything needed to come out.

"...And I hate that the one thing I can rely on you all to do, to yell, and scream, and insult, and accuse...you didn't do. I h-hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate...th-that you won't just punish me already, like I deserve. Because I'm a filthy killer."

She had truly never felt more repulsive. She hid her face in her hands as she continued to cry. She hadn't given any answers, not really. Avery wanted the truth. She had to pull it together long enough to. She had to. She had to. If she couldn't do this one thing for the one remaining person she cared about left, then what worth was she?

"...Purify..." Success. She only had one charge of this. She wanted to save it for Avery later, before her execution, so she could Purify their pain away. So they wouldn't have to struggle when she marched to her death.

The overwhelming emotional distress faded away into a distant hum, enough that she could pull herself together. She tugged her hands away from her face, tear streaks and makeup smears covering it.

"...I built the bomb and placed it by the Gate. Then I backed up as much as I was able while still being able to see it, and I used the slingshot to sling the knockout bomb at the larger one. That's what detonated it." She stared down solemnly at her feet. "...No one else was supposed to be there. I studied days in advance, memorizing the patrol patterns of Cap, but I didn't calculate anyone else coming out there into my plans. I didn't even see or hear Frank and Luz. If I had...I never would have detonated that bomb. Putting myself at risk...that's one thing, but I wouldn't do that to anyone else. I should've studied the barrier first. I should've done a test, like Avery said. But I was reckless and desperate. I hate this place. I thought...I thought if there was a big enough explosion..." She couldn't even finish. It didn't matter. There was no point making excuses. "...I only saw Frank after the explosion, and it was only because he was moving. I didn't even know Luz was with him. My head was in a haze, but I thought...this was my fault, he shouldn't die because of it, so I sent my Phoenix Blossom over to him, but...he refused it. For Luz. I didn't know... I didn't know..."

At least, if she'd been conscious a little longer, if she'd just seen Luz there...maybe she could've at least saved one of the victims of her negligence.

[sweetthepotato]

The Final Pillar: Chapter 21: And There, the Forest Became Her Fortress and She Became Its Pillar

Disclaimer*

Please note the following work is meant for mature audiences.

Masterpost

Chapter 20

Chapter Summary

Pushed to her limits, Kagome has no choice but to face the incoming horde of demons, even if it means taking more risks.

Contents⚠️

Warnings for graphic violence, blood and injury, emotional distress, cannibalism (between demons), themes of survival, exhaustion and fatigue.

If these themes bother you, please be cautious. Always seek professional help where possible if these may trigger you.

It took a few seconds for the kinoe to catch herself, clutching at her side. With a tear this large in her abdomen, her Breathing alone wasn’t enough to stem the blood pouring out at the side of her abdomen. She felt the holes of her uniform enlarge, as with some effort, she channelled more of her demon powers into her bloodstream. The sensation was beyond the heat one would find in the water of an onsen; it burnt through her, lava-like and molten, but it repaired her wounds much more effectively. At the same time, Kagome took a stream of air in through her nose, inhaling slowly and steadily until she exhaled carbon dioxide through her mouth. The pain was there and still excruciating as all hell, but it had subsided.

The bleeding had sufficiently stemmed at this point. A few more moments later, the brunette was able to regain a standing position, her muscles now reinforced enough to scale the trunk of her camphor tree to its third-highest branch. With the threat of demons now looming closer and closer towards her location, the kinoe silenced her presence to next to nothing.

Her thicket became swathed in silence, save for the snarling monsters further off into the distance.

She waited, peering down below.

Her right hand, recently healed from Kirimori’s impalement, gripped at the side of the camphor to hold her steady. Her legs were spread out across the length of the branch, crouched low and keeping the rest of her body in balance. Her thighs tensed when the first ten or so demons were within eyeshot of her bird’s eye view. As they crept towards the scent of the dried blood on the tree’s trunk, she launched herself with increased power and velocity.

Now airborne, she announced herself, peeling back her layers of concealment. Katana withdrawn, she performed the fifth form of her Nightmare Breathing style, Hell’s Valley. Somersaulting three times before gravity led her towards the ground, she slashed her nichirin above the crowd. Fortified by a demon’s strength, the strikes were more powerful than they would’ve been without, fissuring the earth with a thunder-like crack. Some of the maple trees toppled down under the sheer force of her kata, and while some demons faced the brunt of her wrath, more fell under the destruction of their surroundings.

In that move alone, Kagome estimated that at least eight of them died, with an additional few more incapacitated and trapped in the ground. There were a few, her senses informed her, who were specifically crushed under the weight of trees, and this, she hoped, was where they’d stay until the sun claimed them. As she stumbled a landing on another, much lower branch, the girl released a small trickle of blood from her stomach wound onto the forest floor.

She was sure that a sizeable group would fall for her trick. Sure enough, another swarm appeared, including the hair demon who’d destroyed Kirimori earlier. Gravity seemed to allow her blood art as an exception; as the demon moved closer to her location, her tresses drifted in the air, at some points, ensnaring and cannibalising more of her fellow creatures.

There was a rumbling from Kagome’s tree trunk that travelled to the branch below her zori. The hair demon’s blood art snaked around the base of the maple tree, fully intending on crushing the base of her hiding place. Her hair only seemed to make its way to the half-point of the trunk, and so Kagome wagered that it was best to convert her set of kata into more mid-ranged attacks. As the tree broke down in its middle, tilting downwards in a perilous angle, the Nightmare Breathing user thought that urgency justified her taking the risk.

‘Nightmare Breathing, ninth form! Equinox Flower, inverse!’

Flipping until she was upside down, the kinoe spun in a clockwise motion while swinging her katana and wakizashi around in circular motions. As the ‘flower’ itself was completed, Kagome almost lost count of the demons she’d successfully eviscerated with her latest move. Luckily, the hair demon, as she was able to see when she flipped, landing on a much lower branch of a different tree, was well and truly decapitated. She didn’t hear a thing over the screeching of her teal blades, but there was a grim satisfaction at watching Kirimori’s killer waste away in the hours of the early morning.

When she jumped down for the third time, Kagome released Hell’s Valley again, cutting down more trees in the forest. Two other demons with blood demon arts ended up being squashed by the felling of camphor and maple.

As the kinoe landed back on the ground, she estimated there were still at least forty demons left in the forest. She inhaled deeply and breathed out, feeling her tiredness seeping into the muscles in her legs and chest, her vision darkening in her periphery. Swallowing her sense of self, she placed her wakizashi back into its sheath, arms trembling from the effects of her adrenaline.

She decided to try and keep her core sealed off for now. Her left hand holding her katana, she leaked blood, imagining thin cuts along her biceps, especially where the holes in her uniform and haori made her skin meet the humid summer air. If she was even remotely aiming to be successful with this, she needed to ensure that none of the demons were tempted with a visit to the nearest town.

Streaks of crimson wept from the lacerations in her skin, and then she closed them off temporarily. She concealed herself within the surrounding environment, running as fast as she could towards the horde, slicing down upon their necks and leaping off the bases of surrounding trees to provide more momentum.

‘Nightmare Breathing, second form, Despair!’

With the strike of her sword, each one in a different cardinal direction than the last, she metered out the exact amount of strength needed to decimate those in the horde. Where she was unable to cut through some of their necks, she’d slash at their legs, making those demons collapse and squirm from their injuries. When she charged against them a few more times, at one point from their north-east, and at another, from a south-south-westerly direction, she slayed the monsters with little time for reprieve. Being in such close proximity, she was able to hear their screams this time, their howling at their own demise comparable to the brute force of her nichirin blade.

The last part of her second form came to an end. Kagome skidded ungracefully into the earth, eventually outstretching her right hand towards the roots of a tree to stop herself from completely keeling over. The brunette’s uniform and haori were torn in various places; as she dropped herself onto one knee, she felt the wetness of the dirt seep into the gaps of the fabric. Her breath was abuzz with the smell of death, but the scent and texture of the earth was a source of grounding. Her heart was still beating, albeit rapidly, and she kept the grip of her camouflage tight, lowering her body closer towards the floor of the forest.

More acid made its way through her oesophagus. She followed her urge through, throwing up again at the side of the tree. At some point during Despair, she’d lost control of her Breathing, and now here she was, hyperventilating on all fours. Morosely, she noticed that her stomach started to bleed again, the tear re-opening. If she knew what would’ve happened earlier that night, she never would’ve intended to take on so many demons at once, but she reminded herself that she was the only one who could now. She acknowledged, though, that such physical exertion took its toll. If only there was more opportunity to train earlier in the week.

Her head swam, but even then, she half-berated herself; the moment Shizu caught wind that she got herself killed after letting her skills deteriorate, she’d never stop hearing about it for at least the next ten of her lives. There were people to protect, further away from her; she supposed that her pride as a demon slayer was also something to consider.

Shizu better fight a Lower Moon after this, she seethed.

Feeling, hearing, smelling, seeing and even tasting the air told her that more demons were approaching. Her bleeding made it completely impossible to continue hiding herself, and so she relinquished her careful control over her presence. Tonight was the night of risks, she thought, as she pondered her next move. It was a decision that was half a calculation and half made of desperation, but the brunette considered that it was worth it to utilise more of her demon powers, just as the same as she did earlier. She could sense the jawless demon with the pitchfork was making his way towards her, and so time added pressure.

She inhaled and exhaled, combining her powers with her Breathing. There was a hum coming from the deepest layers of her flesh, her heart palpitating, circulating more of that liquid lava through the channels of her veins. It made it to the scarlet dribbling from the wound in her abdomen and the power in the pit of her stomach grew there, close to the exact centre of her body. Below her, she saw her creation. It was a whirling spiral of blood, not yet fully corporeal, but it was good enough for now.

The kinoe refined it and honed it until the spiral smoothed over, eventually reflecting her haggard appearance. Her demon blood took its toll on her, and she dug her fingertips into the earth, channelling more of her essence into her new weapon. Her tongue slightly grazed against the top row of her teeth, and there, she felt her canines sharpen. Likewise, she could tell that her object was comparable to that of a razor, though now it was about the size of a square of tatami, albeit circular in shape. She concentrated, the pressure around her eyes pressing down around her sockets, until she exacted her authority over her creation, sending it flying into the trees.

To be safe, Kagome got up, hand on the hilt of her katana. The pitchfork demon withdrew his weapon from the confines of his flesh, preparing to throw it now he was dangerously in close proximity for a point-blank hit. As soon as he pulled back his arm, the sheet of her blood rushed past under the command of its master, splicing the demon horizontally through the middle of his body. His top half toppled over, as did the bodies of several others as they writhed in despair. Rushing forwards, Kagome swung her katana, not even bothering with a Breathing form. The pitchfork demon’s eyes widened in terror as his neck met the bite of her sharp blade.

In the time she was hunched over, her limbs had a small moment of reprieve. The Nightmare Breathing user reinforced her arms and muscles with a combination of Breathing and demon techniques. She was sure that she was hot to the touch now, if the singeing of her clothes was any indication, but she was sufficiently pushed beyond her limits. The katana in her left hand felt much lighter than it did before, and she angled it, no trembling in sight, in preparation for the next few Nightmare kata.

Screaming, more of the demons ran, scenting her marechi blood. She charged towards them in kind, tossing her katana up and away from her to make her seem as vulnerable as possible. With her right hand, she pulled out her wakizashi as her legs continued to sprint.

‘Nightmare Breathing, eighth form, False Salvation!’

She swiped using her much shorter nichirin, soon enough losing count of the number of demons she’d managed to cull. She’d made her calculations accurately, spotting how her katana descended towards her new position in the forest. It spun as it fell, but it managed to land in the palm of her left hand. With both hands now full, the Nightmare user continued to strike down any demon within her purview, not relenting on her assault until the last of the monsters had been executed.

At one point, she had to dispatch a hole-ridden demon whose blood art was the throwing of needles. The female, she supposed, must’ve been a seamstress when she was a human; she sprayed a bunch of spikes at her through the holes in her body, but her very skin had hardened with the power of Kagome’s very own demon arts, not even leaving so much as a dent. Upon cutting through her throat with a rendition of her second kata, Fear, she felt an irritating tingling on her left hand. The brunette ignored the sensation for now, out of the concern that if she immediately stopped herself mid-momentum, everything would come crashing down.

The closest group of demons were destroyed through exacting Equinox Flower one more time. The ninth form, as it was performed according to her moveset’s orthodox, repelled the dredges of the monstrous horde as the sharpness of her nichirin lopped off parts of their limbs to begin with. As she crouched down, adding the finishing touches to her series of circular swipes, the demons who’d faced her onslaught proceeded to dissolve with their screams, fizzling up into the lightening sky as if they were made of confetti.

With time, Kagome eventually descended upon the last of them. They were a female demon, she remembered, her black hair arranged in a loosened bun, and hardly even threatening in contrast to the others of her kind that night. With as much brutal efficiency as she could scrape out of herself, she was quickly beheaded. The monster screeched in pain as she met the brunt of her katana, but the girl tried her best to ignore her desperate pleading.

The demon slayer skidded to a halt upon finishing the first form of her Breathing style, a spinning cut Shizu named ‘Midnight Howl���. She tripped as her foot returned to its position on the forest floor, rolling over as the rest of her body buckled downwards.

Sensing the end of her impending danger, her demonic traits receded automatically. She didn’t find the strength within herself to get back up as she hyperventilated the air back into her lungs. There wasn’t much energy left in her by that concluding stage; her use of her blood demon arts, as it tended to do, had long since drained that from her. From that point, it took her utilising every last will within herself to try and warm her body back up.

The feeling of being cold, tired and empty bore into the very marrow of her bones. Her injuries were finally catching up to her, and they returned to her senses with a searing ache –that was always the risk, she knew, of involving her forsaken biology to its fullest. When she figured out that her position wasn’t going to be enough, the ramifications racking through her entire being, she used the last of her strength to shift to her side, hugging her legs in the foetal position. She needed to conserve as much of her body heat as possible. Trembling, her hand, as one last precaution, clutched at her wakizashi.

Her body, for the last time in the span of twenty-four hours, acted on its own. Her eyes felt heavy all of a sudden and she blacked out.

[thehypermaniacprince]

[DE NOVO]

A alternative universe where R is killed under mysterious circumstances, and K rushes towards her body.

K hands R her bloodied jacket after moments of silence between the two. K asks, “Do you remember how you died…?” R sits. She traces the imperial R on the back of it, her fingers running alongside the texture of denim. Her fingers hit a hole, filled with dry patches of blood. She feels like she is recalling something long ago. It’s blurry. But the emotional low is still there. “Yes… no… I do not know.” K’s face falls even more. R wonders what she said wrong to him. A high ranking imperial, she deduced, from the clothing he wore. “…I do not know how to tell you this fully, R.” K, now staring blankly into R’s mask. “Hands of an imperial…” “…Wrought your life away. I do not know what reason though.” K seemed to wince. Emotional pain, or physical pain, it hurt regardless. K looked away from R after that. It felt like the chills of a bad dream. The deluded feeling of never being real. But it was, wholly real, and K could not shake it so easily… … R’s robes fluttering in the wind, propped up by staff. A message written so shakily on paper buried by the sand. He felt bitter sweetly happy for R, in that moment. He hoped she was alright. He thought she was. Feet shuffling in the sand. He was halfway back, when a distress signal emanated from somewhere. He’d check who sent it, and he felt a pitfall growing. It’s R. He dropped everything and ran. He didn’t care how much sand was piling in his boots. How scorched and rocky the territory was within Borealis Island. … He couldn’t quite exactly recall what R said to him during those moments, for her voice was but a whisper, her blood pooling against both his robes and R’s jacket. Such iridescent blood, on his hands too. He didn’t even know what to do anymore. For such shock filled his systems alight. What stuck in his mind, however, was R weakly grasping the staff that pierced through her body, her eyes barely gazing at him. … “AN IMPERIAL HAS FALLEN!” was the last thing he remembered someone say. Did he yell that with such force? … K felt unshakable, inconsolable. He’d felt trapped. Why did he be honest about the circumstances of R’s death, to an R he did not remember? Was that still his R? What even could become of the R he knew if her life wasn’t stopped so short? R noticed how K sat there, possibly recalling everything that was but distant to her. She didn’t know what to do, either. What of K does she remember, what of K can she even cling onto? She didn’t quite know how to comfort him. She looked at the jacket once again. She donned it on, awkwardly shuffling towards K. It stood out of place against the imperial robes. Blue against white. Remnants of black and shimmering against white. She lifted K’s mask. Her own as well. It felt weirdly natural for her… but why so? She didn’t question it at that time. K finally looked up at R. Those minutes he’d spent reliving were suspended. “R… I’m so sorry for my…” “Don’t apologize.” He was taken aback choked in tears. More aching silence. …What? Did she utter those words so naturally? Why was she asking a imperial to not apologize? That should normally be the case, for a higher to apologize to a lower when something went awry. R’s hands hovered over K’s body. She didn’t look at him in the eyes. K did the same, but then looked up. It felt… so familiar to the two of them. He’d remember R constantly reaching out to him in his darkest times. Those same hands that saved him. Those same hands that gave such a gentleness no Imperial ever offered before. Like a former love. K leapt towards R, his hands gripping both the jacket and the robes so tightly. The two embraced each other.

[broomballkraken]

Title: C'est la vie Chapter 4: All That's Left Is Love

Fandom: Octopath Traveler 2

Pairing: Papp/Roque

Word count: 1531

Warnings: None

Fic Summary: C'est la vie is not only used as a descriptor for a pessimistic situation, but it can also be used to express something vital, essential, beautiful. Thus, it makes for a perfect descriptor for the tumultuous relationship between Papp Yellowil and Roque Brilliante.

Chapter Summary: On that fateful day when Roque had left Oresrush, Papp wasn’t sure if he’d ever see him again. Now, eight years later, Roque stood in the office that they shared during those blissful days, and Papp was having very conflicted feelings about it.

On that fateful day when Roque had left Oresrush, Papp wasn’t sure if he’d ever see him again. Now, eight years later, Roque stood in the office that they shared during those blissful days, and Papp was having very conflicted feelings about it.

Papp could barely hear himself think over the sound of his heartbeat roaring in his ears. When he received a letter from Partitio detailing his final confrontation with Roque, Papp hadn’t been surprised in the slightest that his son had been able to guide him back onto the straight and narrow.

What did surprise him, however, was the fact that Roque had shown up on his doorstep not even a week later.

The tension in the room was palpable and neither man had said a word yet. The two cups of coffee that Papp had poured for both of them remained untouched on the desk, and he figured that they’d probably gone very cold by now. Roque was staring down at the floor with such intensity that Papp was worried that he was going to burn a hole straight through it, and Roque’s knuckles had gone white with how hard he was clenching them at his sides.

Papp opened his mouth to speak, but he quickly snapped it shut and set his jaw. The convoluted mixture of emotions that he was feeling was making his head spin, and he couldn’t quite get any coherent words to form.

He wasn’t an idiot; he knew that Roque had been the one to screw him and this town over after he left eight years ago. Deep down, he supposed that he always knew, even before Partitio had finally led the charge to take their town back by force and obtained the landlord’s true identity in the process. It certainly explained why Roque had just up and left when Papp had thought that their relationship and business were going so well.

It had shattered his heart when Roque left, and Papp really didn’t have a clue if he’d ever see him again. Now that Roque was back, however, Papp couldn’t decide if he should feel angry, relieved, happy, distressed, or some completely different feeling altogether.

“Papp, I...”

Papp’s head shot up when Roque finally spoke up, his voice quiet and defeated, which was uncharacteristic for the Roque that he remembered. Roque swallowed thickly and raised his head, his eyes meeting Papp’s as he paused to fidget with his monocle.

“Y-You’re probably...very angry with me, and don’t want to see me,” Roque continued, and a deep frown crossed Papp’s face, “And I don’t deserve your forgiveness, I know...But still...” Papp’s heart clenched as he watched a few tears fall down his face with Roque’s wavering composure.

“I’m so, so sorry, Papp, for how much pain I’ve caused you. You are the last person that ever deserved that from anyone, but especially from me.” Roque grimaced and brought a hand to his face, a choked sob escaping him as he started to tremble. “I will never forgive myself for hurting the man that I love so dearly.”

Papp bit his cheek and clenched his jaw so hard that it popped as he wrestled with his thoughts. He wanted to scream at Roque, curse him, slap him, kiss him...To hate him, forget him, forgive him...These conflicting feelings waged a savage war within, but just as they threatened to smother him, one of those feelings managed to rise above the rest in triumph. All that was left...was love.

Papp couldn’t stop his tears from falling as he reached out with a shaky hand to take one of Roque’s. “I...never stopped, you know.”

“Stopped...what?”

“Loving you.”

Roque scoffed and shook his head, but he did not let go of Papp’s hand. “How can you say that? I...betrayed you, broke your heart...even after knowing how much pain you’ve already been through. I chose greed over my love for you. You should despise me.”

“I don’t. I can’t, Roque.” Papp gave Roque’s hand a squeeze as he reached up to cup his cheek, which was damp with tears. “Don’t get me wrong: I’m madder than a wet settin’ hen at you for what ya did...but I could never, ever hate you. I...love you too much for that.”

Roque slumped forward, his weakened composure crumbling even further as he swallowed thickly. “Of all the foolish...How...Why would you forgive me, after all that I’ve done?”

“Heh, well,” Papp said, a small smile crossing his face as he pressed his forehead against Roque’s, “Partitio had to get his foolish, bleeding heart from somewhere, right?”

“Papp...”

Roque let out a choked sob as he broke down completely, burying his face in Papp’s shoulder and crying in earnest. Papp wrapped his arms around him, warm and gentle, and he was silent as Roque clung to him with trembling hands.

“I’m-I’m so s-sorry,” Roque wailed between sobs, and Papp’s arms tightened around him, pressing his face against Roque’s head and dampening his hair with his tears.

“I’ve got ya, it’s alright...You’re home, Roque.” Papp smiled when he heard Roque start sobbing harder. Hate was such a bitter and hopeless emotion, and Papp knew that he could never feel like that about Roque. Sure, he was still a bit pissed about the whole betrayal thing, but from what Partitio said, Roque had turned over a new leaf in the end, and most importantly, he had found his way back home to him.

Eventually, Roque’s sobbing had slowed and finally stopped, and he lifted his head from Papp’s shoulder. With a gentleness as if he was handling the most precious of silver, Papp moved Roque’s monocle out of the way so that he could wipe away the tears that still lingered on his face. Roque let out a weary sigh as Papp pressed their foreheads together.

“That bleeding heart of yours...truly is something special, Papp,” Roque said, his voice just above a whisper, “I...still don’t understand why you’d waste it on me-”

Papp didn’t want to hear it, so he quickly silenced Roque’s self-deprecating hogwash by kissing him. His lips curled up into a smile at the startled noise that he had coaxed out of Roque, and Papp deepened the kiss when Roque’s arms snaked around his neck; he had really missed this. Words were not enough to express their complex feelings for each other, so they let their bodies do the talking for a while...

The sun had begun to set by the time their passionate...‘conversation’ had ended, and Papp now stood on the hill overlooking Oresrush, his fingers entwined with Roque’s while they watched the town become bathed in the beautiful oranges and reds of the Wildlands sunset.

“We stood here just like this once sixteen years ago, remember?” Papp asked, grinning as he turned to Roque, “Our eyes were shinin’ bright with hope for that silver mine, and we worked like busy little bees.”

Roque chuckled as he slipped his arm behind Papp’s back and leaned his head on his shoulder. “...Yes, that’s right. I’ve remembered something that I had long thought forgotten...There is true value in toiling alongside equals, sweating and working for a common cause.”

Papp’s heart swelled at Roque’s words; he really did seem to have overcome his greedy side, and Papp couldn’t be more proud of him for that. He placed a gentle kiss on Roque’s forehead, and Papp absolutely adored the cute blush that rose upon his darlin’s cheeks.

Roque cleared his throat, and Papp found his bashfulness to be quite endearing as well. “O-Of course, the thing that really has me excited is this new business venture of ours.”

“The times, they are a changin’, huh?” Papp mused. He really was excited to see what Partitio could do with this newfangled steam engine technology, and he knew for a fact that his not–so-little chickadee was going to make the world a better place for everyone.

“But, one thing that will never change...is my love for you, Roque.”

Roque sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck, a sheepish look crossing his face. “...Yes, you’ve shown me that, and though I still don’t think I deserve it in the slightest...I love you too, Papp. I won’t leave you again, I promise.”

Papp barked out a laugh and pulled Roque into a hug. “You better not, or I’ll just hogtie ya and drag yer ass right back here.”

“...Ah, there’s that crass humor that I missed so much.”

“I wasn’t joking, partner.”

Roque stared at Papp’s stern face with wide eyes, but he found himself smiling when Papp’s straight-face faltered, and they both broke down into a fit of laughter until they were both wheezing and tears stained their cheeks.

When their laughter finally faded away and they gazed into each other’s eyes, so full of admiration and mirth and love, their lips met once again, and as they embraced upon the hill overlooking the town that they built together, Papp knew that the love that he and Roque shared was strong enough to withstand any storm, and Roque wholeheartedly felt the same.