#the masterpost for all of these doesn’t work anymore no matter how many times i go through and try to fix it. it sorry about that

[theoryofwhatnow]

like minds text post (28/28)

[yoonjae20]

Ric(hard) Fenton; Part 2

Read on ao3.

Masterpost. Previous. Next.

Bruce is many things — a son, an orphan, Gotham’s prince, a vigilante — but he knows that he isn’t a good father. He wants to be — he loves his children fiercely but there are too many unspoken words between them for Bruce to be a truly good father to them. But never more did Bruce believe that than when Dick stormed out of the Manor calling someone else his family. 

He and Dick argued often — always had butted heads — to be honest ever since Dick stopped being his Robin. It had only been many, many years later that Bruce realized that ever since leaving his shadow Dick had blossomed — that he had just been a dead weight holding the young man down. 

After Jason died due to his mistakes, he had been hellbent on never having another Robin again. When Alfred had put up the memorial, claiming he wouldn’t let Bruce forget, he had gritted his teeth but persisted through his anger, trying to not let his guilt drown him. But when Alfred sent Tim after him with a costume that would always be stained with blood in his mind — he had been furious. He hadn’t been fair with the boy, lashing out at him, being harsh in hopes that he would give up. But Tim had been stubborn — probably even more than Bruce himself. It’s only now that Bruce can admit to himself that the boy saved him from himself. 

“Well that went well,” Tim says sarcastically once they updated Alfred on the situation. He leans back in his seat in front of the Batcomputer. 

Bruce lets out a grunt as he looks over his shoulder as they try to find out who Danny is. So far no luck. They are running facial recognition software but Bruce has a feeling they won’t get any results there either. 

“He must have met him during the year he went missing,” Tim concludes. “That’s the only explanation.”

Bruce can’t argue against that logic, although he doesn’t like what it implies. (Bruce had hoped that despite their disagreements, there would always be trust between them. That no matter what, they would be on the same side. Nothing burns more than the knowledge that he failed.)

He stares at the map pinging Dick’s location every so often — he is moving west, about to cross the border into Pennsylvania. The only thing they can do now is wait and see where the man is going. Bruce sits in the chair next to Tim and settles in for a long day. 

Tim makes a breakthrough almost 12 hours later. It has been two hours since Dick’s signal dropped after he reached the border of Illinois and 6 hours since they realized Jason apparently followed him wherever the hell is going. 

Tim drums his fingers next to the keyboard, impatient as the software runs. At this point the intention to find out more about Danny isn’t about concern for Dick anymore, it’s about pure spite — and the need to know. Everybody has a digital footprint no matter how small. It shouldn’t be so hard to find a single kid. 

When the software pings with a result he almost topples his chair with how fast he stands up. There’s a match with the key words ‘GIW, Danny and Ric’ and Tim’s stomach drops as he scans the information. He taps his earpiece, interrupting Oracle as she briefs B and Robin who are about to start their patrol.

“I found him,” Tim says, voice shaking. “You’ll wanna see this.”

They need to go help Dick and that fast. 

It feels too quiet as they traverse through Amity Park on foot — and Jason can’t help but be on edge. He’s too used to the night in Gotham and its rowdy streets. The distant sound of bullets raining and the howling of police cars. Drugs deals around the corner, while the working girls wait on the sides of the streets in groups for drunken stragglers. Gotham is alive at night — but Amity Park? It feels like a Ghost Town in more ways than one. Even Smallville, despite being in the rural parts of Kansas, had held more life when Dick had convinced Jason to visit the Kent Farm one time.

Jason feels baffled that all the events Dick had told him about flew under the radar. Shouldn’t an entire town disappearing get noticed by someone other than its residents — or at least the Justice League? If the town vanished into nothingness once more, would anyone remember it? He doesn’t like that the answer seems to be no. 

Jason forms the rear as Dick and Danny chat in front, voices barely above a whisper as they discuss something. Jason knows he probably should listen as Danny updates Dick on the intricacies of what he missed since he was gone — voice serious, but he can’t help but keep an eye out, gaze trailing the rooftops — old habits die hard after all. 

It doesn’t take long for Jason to notice that they are being followed. The only reason Jason hasn’t warned Danny and Dick yet is because it’s nothing more than a small blob shaped green ball. Jason trails it in the corner of his eyes as it stays far enough to be barely seen but close enough to not lose them. 

Dick and Danny had briefed him on most Ghost Types — and Jason still has to blink away the green when he remembers that Danny admitted that he had his own roster of ���rogues” to deal with. Jason has to admit that there were a lot more than he imagined — other than the stereotypical ones from movies — and he’d seen himself in the description of a Revenant. That’s why he knows this must be a Blob Ghost — which according to Danny and Dick — were pretty harmless and kind of dumb most of the time, acting on instincts and emotions rather than conscious thought. But that still doesn’t explain why it would follow them.

It darts in and out of view and Jason has to admit it’s kind of adorable. Dick and Danny must have noticed that he is distracted because they stop and Jason almost walks into them.

Jason instantly notices something is wrong when there isn’t a quip from either of them about his inattention — instead they both look horrified. Jason doesn’t understand why until the blob ghost is suddenly next to them and its emotions almost overwhelm Jason. 

Scared. Not safe. Hide. Danger. Danger!

It’s only Danny’s quick reaction as he tackles Jason out of the way that prevents him from being a splat on the ground as a blast hits the position where he had been standing, leaving a smoking crater.

“Well, well, well. Look who crawled back?” a cruel voice taunts and Jason sees Dick stiffening as they get surrounded by agents in white suits. “And it even brought us a present! And here I thought we would need to find ourselves a new shiny plaything.” 

“Operative O,” Danny’s hisses, an almost animalistic growl escaping his throat. 

“Already showing your real nature, I see,” Operative O’s voice is mocking. 

“Operative O, don’t aggravate it further before we have it safely captured,” another agent reprimands, holding some kind of blaster and Jason sees green, only Danny’s warning hand on his shoulder keeping him from retaliating. 

“It’s just — here I was worried it wouldn’t fall in our trap without dear old Ricky in our grasp, but it seems I worried for nothing,” Operative O laughs but the only thing Jason hears is Joker’s laugh as the man beats him to half to death with the crowbar.  

Jason grits his teeth, shaking his head to force the memory away.  He’s not in Ethiopia. These are not his demons — he has no right losing himself here. And like hell he is gonna let Danny and Dick face them alone. 

Jason notices he must have missed something because suddenly the two agents who had spoken up are way too close and Danny and Dick both are frozen next to him — neither even saying a word or doing anything despite it. 

“Imagine my surprise when we turned up at the Fentons and you weren’t there.” Operative O slides an arm around Dick’s shoulders forcing him to bend a little as he murmurs the next words into his ear — Dick trembles in his hold and Jason’s vision flashes green. “Made it super easy for us.” 

“Get your paws off my brother!” Danny snarls, lashing out but stopping short when the agent uses Dick as a meat child. 

“Now let’s not be unreasonable, shall we?” Operative O says, releasing Dick and holding up his hands in the air. He circles them, grin sharp. “I’m not cruel after all. Let's say Phantom and the other feisty one, I saw those green eyes — in exchange for the rest — a fair deal, is it not? What do you say Ricky?”

Jason can hear Dick’s jaw crack from how hard the man grits his teeth. 

“After all the Fenton’s got you to replace Phantom now. A lot better than a corpse if you ask me.” 

Dick growls and decks the man hard in the face as he leans into his space once again. Operative O just laughs maniacally as he stumbles at the force of it, spitting blood on the ground and wiping his nose with the sleeve of his suit, staining it red.

“There it is,” he says gleefully. “That’s what I wanted to see.”

Dick is panting and to Jason’s shock his eyes are a burning, pulsing green as he glares at the agent.

“I’ll wonder how long it’ll take you to scream, hm Ricky boy,” Operative O ponders sadistically. “I hope you’ll hold out longer than Phantom at least. Makes it more fun to break them.” 

“Are you done, Operative O?” the other agent interrupts, impatient. “Other people have places to be.”

“What’s the rush, Operative K?” Operative O muses, flicking the blood dripping from his face off his hand. “It’s not like there’s anyone to interrupt us.” 

Operative K narrows his eyes at his partner.

“The higher-ups wanted us to be done with this 2 months ago,” he reminds. “The sooner we get done here, the sooner we can get the hell out of this cursed town.”

“As if Gotham will be better,” Operative O scoffs and it takes all of Jason’s willpower to not react at the name drop. “Overflowing with all those pests — starting with that infuriating Bat and its birds.” 

He hums, clearly deep in thought.

“Although I always wanted to clip a bird’s wings and see if they can still fly.”

Operative K rolls his eyes, clearly fed up with his partner’s behavior.

“I should have switched with Operative L when I had the chance.” 

“Hey, I still get the job done, don’t I?” Operative O pouts and Jason wants to claw the expression of the man’s face. “They have to die sooner or later anyway.” 

Operative K sighs but just shakes his head before he directs his attention back to the agents still surrounding them.

“Capture them.”

Jason stands up, not about to let them do whatever they want and for once gladly letting the Pit Rage consume him, but before he can even do one step, Danny writhes on the ground next to him, screaming as electricity continues to shock him. Drool drips from the corner of his mouth as he seizes and his screaming gets hoarse. And Jason — Jason just stands there. It's like his muscles have turned into lead and he can’t move his limbs one inch as he stares at Danny convulsing. 

Fuck, he knew this was gonna be bad when Danny had showed him his scars. But he hadn’t thought of the chance that they would fail before they even tried. Jason feels helpless and it’s like Ethiopia all over again. Only this time he wishes the screams he hears would come from him. 

“Enough!” Dick roars as Danny starts foaming at his mouth and tearing Jason out of his daze. “What the hell do you want from us?”

Danny’s eyes roll back in his skull as the shocks stop and Operative O uses a blaster to lift Dick’s chin, forcing him to look at him as he smirks.

“Beg.” His smirk stretches into a blood lusty smile as Dick gulps, his hands spasming at his sides. “Maybe you’ll convince me.”

At the same time as Dick throws down a smoke bomb, Jason grabs his gun in one smooth moment from the holster hidden above his foot and shoots the man point blank between the eyes. The space fills with smoke as Operative O drops to the ground — hopefully dead — and Jason quickly helps Dick with carrying Danny between them as they duck underneath countless stray blasts as the agents shout over each other.  

“That signal was atrocious,” Jason complains as Dick leads them into an alleyway, probably orienting himself on nothing more than pure instincts. They take several complicated turns until they can’t hear the sound of battle anymore. “Cass would have had your head.”

“Well it worked, didn’t it?” Dick fires back and uses his shoulder to open a door, as they drag Danny in it, the boy still out cold. 

The door falls close behind them and Dick stills as he feels the boy’s pulse, lips pressed into a thin line.

“This is bad, we need an Ecto-Dejecto as fast as possible.” Dick gnaws at his lips. “Neither of us has enough ectoplasm to heal this.”

Jason’s eyes grow wide as he sees Dick’s eyes and veins glow green, his brother’s face getting paler by the second. Jason rips away Dick’s grasp on Danny and the man lets out a gasp, breathing shakily and looking incredibly drained

“What the hell did you do?”

“Transferred the little ectoplasm I have to Danny,” Dick wheezes out. “We can’t use yours, the corruption would overpower his ectoplasm with how little reserves he has left.”

“There’s no reason you had to do this if it hurts you!”

Dick leans against a wall for support, his limbs shaking.

“You- You don’t get it,” Dick still sounds breathless. “Electricity-” He coughs. “It’s his one weakness. Destabilizes his core. It’s- It’s how he died. If we don’t get him the Ecto-Dejecto he’ll-”

Dick grimaces as if he doesn’t want to finish the sentence, but it’s far too late that Jason notices it’s actually because he’s in pain. He barely steps forward and catches the man as he suddenly faints. Staggering underneath the weight of his brother — and the responsibility that his new brother might die if he makes the wrong decision, Jason says the only word he can think of.

“FUCK!”

[rita-repulsa-ke]

Flowers for Nicky

“Oh. It’s you.”

“It is. Hi, Ags.”

“Not sure what you’re doing here, since I’m not killing anyone at the moment.”

“I can see that. Wish you were. …Um. What are you doing?”

“…nothing.”

“It’s, um. Only. That those are plants. Well. They were plants. I’m not sure they count anymore.”

“…”

“I guess I’ve never actually seen you try to do green magic before. You’re normally really good at most kinds of ma—��

“Rio.”

“Yes, beloved?”

“What. Do. You. Want?”

“Well. Do you want me to help? I mean, whatever you’re trying to do, it clearly isn’t working.”

“No, of course I don’t want you to help. Because, as you’ll recall, I hate you.”

“Oh. …Then I guess I’ll just sit here and watch you try.”

“…”

“…are you going to…?”

“Fine, if I let you help, will you please go away??”

“For now. What are we growing?”

“What does it look like?!”

“Um. Like charred plant matter and magic.”

“…flowers.”

“For who?!”

“…”

“…oh. Right.”

“His favorites don’t grow around here anymore. So I thought—you do it all the time, produce flowers from nothing, not even seeds, I should be able to do the same. But I can’t get it to work!”

“I can—“

“No! Don’t you dare. You don’t have the right.”

“…beloved…”

“Just…make yourself useful. Tell me what I’m doing wrong.”

“Our magic doesn’t work the same way, but I can try…”

Several hours of magical experimentation later

“Agatha, you need to take a break. Drink, eat, sleep, all those things mortals have to do to survive.”

“Ugh!!! Why can’t I do this??”

“Maybe humans can’t? Other green witches normally start from something. I think.”

“I’m not other witches, green or not.”

“Mm. No, you aren’t. Here, drink. Eat.”

“When did you make food—“

“While you were screaming at a tree.”

“…that didn’t happen.”

“I think you really hurt its feelings.”

“I am going to master this, you know. I’m not going to be defeated by some stupid plants.”

“You can do anything you set your mind to, Ags. But you are still mortal. You have to sleep first.”

“…only for a little while. It’s his birthday tomorrow. I wanted to get him flowers.”

“He’d like that.”

“…”

“Heh. Passed out. She never knows her limits. …Don’t be angry at me, beloved, but I think even you are going to have trouble mastering all of green magic by tomorrow. …Especially at this rate. So here, as many flowers as you could want. I’ll tell him, too. How hard his mother tried and how she still remembers his favorites after so long. …Sleep well, beloved. We both miss you.”

Masterpost or completely random rec next time

[elfwhump]

homecoming (the long way around) - masterpost

A glimpse of Morwë in training.

TW: Genocidal child abuse, including child death, references to mass graves, child sexual abuse, and whipping. This is directly inspired by the cantonist system in Russia under Nicholas the II, but probably hits some similar beats to Native American/First Nations boarding schools in the States and Canada. The characters are old enough to be adults by human standards but not by elven ones. The "darkest thing I've written" continues to be a tight competition. It's not gory by any means, but I made myself depressed with this one.

It’s starts as just another night in the barracks, cruel and usual. One of the other kids, a nér who’s even younger than Morwë, is crying. Loudly. He’s new to the unit, and Morwë’s heard the older neri say that they don’t think he’s going to make it. That one of these days, one of the officers is going to beat him so badly that he just doesn’t get up.

Morwë tries to push a pillow over his head and just ignore it. Someone had come over and yelled at the nér and told him that if he didn’t stop crying, then someone is going to come in and punish all of them for the noise, but it’s been at least fifteen minutes and that hasn’t happened, so Morwë assumes that guy was just lying to try to get the nér to shut up. That’d worked for a few minutes but the nér quickly went back to it.

Eventually, Morwë can’t stand it anymore. He gets up from where he’s curled up in his own bed — much too hard as it is — and crosses the dormitory room. It just so happens that the young nér was assigned the bed directly across from his.

He tries to hide himself as he does, but it’s hard to be subtle. He knows several people spot him. 

He just has to trust they don’t want this kid crying and keeping them up all night either. He climbs up the ladder to the top of the bunk bed. The other nér quiets his sobbing briefly, looking at Morwë with wide eyes from his tense sitting position.

“Hey,” he whispers to the other nér— in Quenya. He knows he’s not supposed to speak the language of Minyas here — most of the officers sneer at it at best and getting whipped for speaking it — usually justified as a punishment for disrespect, if they even bother coming up with a justification for it at all — is basically a rite of passage here. But the kid is clearly homesick. “What’s your name?”

“Írion,” the other nér whispers back. “Are you— allowed to be here?”

“Not… really? But, uh. I wanted to get some sleep tonight, and you’ve been… sort of keeping people up.”

“Sorry,” Írion says, wiping his eyes. He can’t be a day over thirty, at the absolute oldest. Not that Morwë’s exactly an adult at sixty eight, but— Írion is really, really young. Humans might read him as eight, to Morwë’s fifteen, sixteen, if his quick mental comparisons to the human children at the base are right. “I’m— I miss my parents.”

“Everyone does.” 

Maybe that’s something of a rebuke. Why do you think you can get away with crying loudly, when the rest of us learned to keep it quiet on the way here? But Írion seems to take it as a reassurance.

Írion’s hair is short.

Most of the neri here let the humans cut their hair. Morwë is one of a small handful who, no matter how many times the humans cut it, will not stop it from growing right back to a previous length. Each time, it’s a fresh violation, and each time, he knows it’d be easier to just let them force him into compliance. Each time, he remembers just how much of a target this puts on his back.

Írion looks at him like he’s a hero. Or maybe like a king. That’s enough, Morwë thinks.

“I don’t think the others like me very much,” Írion confesses. He doesn’t seem to think too much of someone sneaking into his bed, which— it’s not that Morwë wants the kid to be afraid of him, but that doesn’t change the fact it’s worrying he’s not thinking about the implications.

No survival instinct on this one.

“It’s not that they dislike you,” Morwë starts, but he stops himself. Is the fact that the others are keeping themselves from becoming emotionally attached to Írion because they’re sure he’s not going to make it that much better? He can’t say he really disagrees with their assessment. “It’s just— you have to conserve your empathy here. Ration it.”

Morwë remembers the first time he’d witnessed a whipping. Morwë nearly tried to run in, try to fight the human soldiers no matter how much bigger they were, no matter how surrounded he was. An older nér must’ve seen the look in his eyes, because he’d swung his elbow onto Morwë’s ribs.

Morwë had stumbled to the side, yelping at the pain. He’d looked to the side, expecting an apology, but the nér grabbed his wrist and pulled him in close.

”Whatever you’re thinking,” the older nér hissed in Morwë’s ears. He’d spoken in Quenya too. ”Don’t. They’ll just start his punishment over again, and give you twice as many as he’s due. Trying to help other people here? It just gets you both hurt worse.”

“I don’t want to do that,” Írion says, pulling tight in on himself.

Morwë doesn’t know what to tell him. Tough luck? They’re Móladar. This is the way they have to be in order to survive.

“I’m sorry,” is all Morwë can offer.

“I want to go home…”

Morwë wonders if his brand is hurting. It doesn’t seem to be. Then again, his didn’t hurt that much at first either. He’d thought the roughness of his trip here was some sort of a mistake, that those humans had been the exception for their cruelty. He’d thought, if only the emperor knew.

He’d even had thoughts of building a better Empire. Of fixing it from the inside. He’s not sure when that died, when his loyalty became something forced, inflicted through pain rather than nurtured. Maybe it was the first time one of the officers laid their hand on him in anger. Maybe it was the first time one of them did it in lust.

“This is your home now. Until you’re assigned to a unit.”

“How can you say that?” Írion demands, twisting back and away from Morwë. “Don’t you have parents? Don’t you want to go back?”

Morwë looks down. He doesn’t know what to say. Not after what’s happened here.

As much as he wants to see his mother again, to hold her and be held by her, it’s impossible to even conceive of it. Thinking of being held just transitions too easily into being held down. He thinks of Petyr. Of Sasha. Of the other older nér that’d taught him an important lesson.

The marks from his latest whipping are still healing on his back.

Besides— that town has never been anything more than a prison. He knows that now, understands the longing in his mother’s voice as she sung the old songs. It burns him to think of, but when he dreams of home, it’s not the place he grew up. It’s of the people and the stories his parents told him, passed down from their parents. Of a city where elves didn’t need to live in fear, where the work of their hands was theirs to keep.

His back burns.

“I can’t,” he tells Írion, aware he’s doing a pretty bad job of comforting the kid. He’s not good at this. Maybe he’s doing more harm than good. “And if you want to survive here, you need to accept that you can’t go back either.”

Not only is the city gone, a different set of humans have built something new on its bones. They have their own stories about that land, going back their own generations. Morwë’s never stepped foot there.

The idea of elves ruling elves— it’s ridiculous. He’s heard stories of free elves in mountains and forests in lands far away, but they sound like fairytales to him. And fairytales for someone else— someone freer. Someone not already ruined.

“You’re not very good at being nice,” Írion says.

“I can go?” Morwë offers, looking back to his bed. He doesn’t fancy the prospect of having to deal with the kid’s sobbing all night, but maybe someone else will try to talk him down. Or maybe someone will come over and smother him— but Morwë’s pretty sure that sort of thing is an “after a week” reaction and not “after a few hours.”

“No, don’t go,” is Írion’s response. He grabs Morwë, pulling him into a hug. Morwë freezes, and he tries not to hyperventilate at the sudden touch. He doesn’t know which fear it is— fear of the touch itself or fear that it’ll be found out and punished. He wishes he could relax into it, hold the kid back, but he really, really can’t. Írion lets go after a second. “I don’t want to be alone. Please.”

Morwë doesn’t really want to be alone either.

“If I get caught here, we’ll both be whipped,” Morwë tells him. I can survive that. I don’t know if you can.

Írion looks at him, with wide eyes. Terrified. Morwë wonders if he looks like that. Not right now, maybe.

“I don’t understand how you can be so casual about that. How all of you can be.”

Because the alternative is letting it kill you.

“Look, Írion,” Morwë says, trying not to let his growing resignation to the fact this is not someone he can save show. At least he can get some of the others — the ones that will survive — a decent night’s sleep. “I can stay until you fall asleep, okay? Can you do that?”

“I— thank you,” Írion replies. “Um. This is stupid, but. Could you sing for me?”

If the human soldiers find he’s snuck into another nér’s bed to comfort him, he’ll be whipped. If they find out they’re speaking Quenya to each other after hours— let alone if he’s caught singing the old songs... He aches from the pain of the disobedience.

He’s still loyal. He’s good. The empire can’t possibly be threatened by a song, or by a language.

“I can hum, if that’s okay?” Morwë offers. That’s— plausibly deniable, if one of the other neri tries to turn them in for extra rations. Írion blinks at Morwë, the kid’s eyes wet with tears. Morwë wants to wipe the tears away, wants to comfort him and say this will get better, but it won’t.

Írion falls asleep quickly after that, at least, and Morwë gets some rest.

He’ll cry again the next night, and the one after that, and after that first night, Morwë won’t comfort him— he’ll just try a little harder to shove that pillow over his head. There’s nothing he can do, for someone so clearly doomed.

Írion joins the other bodies in the mass grave in little under a month. Morwë wishes he could pretend he doesn’t notice that the kid’s gone— but everyone notices.

When someone comments at breakfast that it’s nice to have some peace and quiet again, Morwë hits him. It’s the first time he’s ever hit anyone outside of the context of training, and he doesn’t realize how much force he’s used until he hears the nér hit the floor.

Morwë expects to be punished for fighting. But somehow, he isn’t. For whatever reason, that feels worse.

Írion never even asked Morwë what his name was.

[screamingatanemptyroom]

Please Fix the Story pt 22 - Sci Fi

New part is here! Just a few more in this world. Just realized that it's been about 1 year since I've started this story. Wow.

Masterpost linked here.

Enjoy!

____________________________

The school was greatly relieved to hear that I had made a Connection and was no longer a danger to myself and others. They immediately rescinded my suspension and "encouraged" me to resume training with my new partner as soon as possible. I found the quick 180 amusing, but didn't argue.

It took multiple video calls with Alaira’s father to reassure him that everything was okay, and a few more to prevent him from throwing a parade for Liam to thank him for matching his daughter. His tears of joy at the news was a complicated moment for me.

I had felt a deep sense of joy, but it was an emotion that didn’t belong to me... it belonged to Alaira. Watching him celebrate his daughter’s recovery felt hypocritical, knowing that in the world that I hadn’t taken over, his daughter hadn’t had a good end. She had died alone and afraid, her mind fragmented.

But there was no way to tell him that.

The mission completion status on my communication device had risen quickly from 1% to 42%. Liam and I spent every waking moment together, talking, joking, and learning about each other. We practiced making the connection with the Mech, powering and controlling it now a smooth, painless process. It was natural, coming as easily to me as breathing. Working with him felt less like learning with a new partner as gaining back a missing part of me.

I was happy.

But not everyone was glad to hear we had matched.

Shortly after our match was made public, Liam and I were walking down the hallway after class, and were forced to stop by a young, angry woman blocking our path.

“It’s a lie!” Princess Ilene glared at Liam as she faced us down. “William can’t be a real Connector! He’s always been just a useless waste. He's a stain on the royal family!”

Liam seemed unfazed by his sister’s cruel words, as if he were used to it. The lack of reaction and the implications behind it made me even angrier. I stepped forward, hiding him partly behind me, and smiled pleasantly. My expression and pleasant tone obviously confused the princess, who took a step back.

“Ilene, Ilene, there’s just so much wrong with what you said… I don’t even know where to begin!” I shrugged. “ But, correcting idiocy IS my calling in life, so let me give it a shot:”

Ilene’s face was red with rage, but I ignored her incoherent sputtering, holding up a finger.

“First, Liam is capable of making the connection. He just had a strong barrier. Obviously it isn't impossible, or he and I wouldn’t be matched. “ I held up a second finger. “Secondly, and more importantly: even if he COULDN’T make the connection, he still wouldn’t be useless. He’s a kind, wonderful person, and that’s more than you can say about most Guardians or Connectors… present company included.”

“ How dare…” Princess Ilene took a step back. “What are you trying to say?”

I blinked, shocked “Oh, was I not being obvious enough? I don’t like you. I think Liam is a much better human being than you, and find it pitiful that you try to derive your self worth from putting him down.”

Liam stepped forward, grabbing my hand. “It’s ok…”

“No, its not. You don’t deserve for people to call you trash.” I felt emotional, as if something deep inside me was trying to break free.

“It’s always been like this.” He shrugged, “I’m used to being alone.”

____________________________

“Friends, family?”

The man in front of me was smiling at my question, but the expression was so sad it made me want to cry.

“None.” He twisted his hands in his lap, looking away. “I’m supposed to be alone.”

“Why?”

“Supposedly that’s my fate.”

____________________________

“You are not trash.” I tightened my grip on Liam’s hand. “ and you’re not alone anymore.”

“I know.” He smiled, “Thanks.”

Princess Ilene spoke up, obviously tired of being ignored. “How dare you trample on Chris’s kindness and reject him for this tr…” She started to say the word “trash” but seeing my face, nervously trailed off and started again. “You don’t even know if you two have a high enough resonance match to ward off your mental degradation…!”

“We do. It’s gone.”

She paused, thrown by my matter of fact tone. “… But what if you’re a higher match with Chris…”

“Don’t care. I hate him.”

“… But…”

“You do bring up a good point, though.” I turned to Liam. “We should see what our resonance match rate is.”

He looked nervous. “What if it isn’t very high?”

“Doesn’t matter. We’re already partners. I’m just curious.” I grinned. “Plus, I’m pretty sure it’s really high, and I’d love to use that to shut people up.”

He chuckled at that. “If it means that much to you to rub it into people’s faces...”

“It does.”

We walked towards the match center, leaving Princess Ilene stunned into silence behind.

____________________________

Liam got more anxious the closer we got to the match center. “You promise you won’t break our partnership if our match score is low?”

“You know I wouldn’t do that.” I didn’t feel insulted at his questioning. I could feel his insecurity, the need for me to say out loud what he thought he knew. “Low or high, we’re partners. You’re stuck with me.”

“Good.” He sighed, grinning. “I like being stuck with you.”

Finally, we were facing the machine that had failed us both so many times. Irrationally, I felt a little nervous, the many prior failures of the past few weeks too fresh and painful to completely forget.

Liam stepped away from me, reaching out and placed his hands on the panel first.

“Unrecognized tester. Please let down your mental barrier to proceed with Match testing.”

I rubbed my forehead tiredly as the robotic rejection echoed loudly around the room; “I forgot your barrier is still around since it doesn’t effect me anymore.”

“Honestly, I had forgotten too.” He responded with a happy smile.

A crowd was starting to gather, curious at our actions. As more and more people realized what we were doing, I began hearing the whispering between them.

“Didn’t she go crazy?”

“...thought she couldn’t match?”

“He has a barrier? ...never could match.”

“I heard they already formed a connection.”

“Heard her dad is a general, spread the rumor of her matching so she wouldn’t get kicked out.”

“Isn’t she matched up with Chris?”

“Why are they here?”

I grabbed Liam’s hand again, feeling relieved when I felt his warm skin against my own. “Don’t listen to them.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t.” He stared straight at me, ignoring the hostile words and gazes of the crowd. “You’re beside me, and that’s all that matters.”

I squeezed his hand in my own. A strong desire welled up within me to be worthy of the trust he gave me. I wanted to show everyone what Liam could do, the bond we had... but of course it couldn't be too easy.

“We just have to figure out how to get your barrier down enough for the machine to read you." I glanced down at my hand that was still holding his. "I mean, I’m touching you now, right? There’s no barrier between us?”

He stared down at our clasped hands, his cheeks tinged pink. “Yes, I feel you. I mean, no, there’s no barrier.”

“Good!" I gestured to the pad with my free hand. "Then why don't you try again while we're still touching each other?”

He placed his hand back on the machine.

“Please let down your mental barrier to proceed with Match testing.” The machine's voice repeated itself calmly.

His hand fell away, frustrated. I could feel his anxiety, and worried deep down that I had made a wrong choice. I did this to reassure him that we are a good match. To shut up everyone saying that it's a made up story to justify the removal of my suspension. To prove to everyone that Liam isn't useless, even by their own stupid standards.

But none of this will happen if he can't use the machine.

I thought it over, and grinned as I came up with a plan. “Hmm… Well, there’s one other thing we can try…”

I leaned in and kissed him, grabbing his free hand with my own and placing it on the pad together. His breath caught in his chest and he froze in shock very briefly before kissing back. In that moment I almost forgot why I had kissed him in the first place, but the robotic voice quickly reminded me.

“Resonance match detected…. Scanning…. Resonance Frequency Match...100%.”

The voice had barely faded before there were shouts of shock from the crowd. The room descended into chaos at the announcement. I broke away from Liam, who was still distracted, and stared at him.

“Did that machine just say… we are a 100 PERCENT match? I didn’t even think that was possible!”

Liam blinked. “I’m sorry, I dinwhat did you say?”

“We’re a perfect match, Liam.” I laughed. “I knew this was a great idea!”

Definitely didn't completely doubt the plan halfway through... yep.

“So… no one can separate us then?” His body relaxed, and he reached out, pulling me against himself and hugging me tightly. I felt the trembling of his muscles and knew that the anxiety he had shown was only the tip of the iceberg. His true fears and insecurities were still well hidden, even from me.

I hugged him back, waiting for him to back away. The crowd’s murmuring were now a loud roar, as everyone discussed a match rate that most thought impossible to achieve. And there, in the back of the crowd, I saw a solitary figure standing there, watching us with a blank stare.

Chris.

I shuddered, holding Liam tighter. The first thing I had done when Liam and I announced our match was to report to the authorities Chris holding me in his room. I suspected him of drugging me as well, remembering the prick of the needle before falling unconscious.

I was laughed at.

“Why would a student with a crystal clear reputation go out of his way to kidnap a general’s daughter? He already had a match, a better one than his resonance with you if I recall. If anyone had motive to kidnap someone, it would be you to him!”

The words were cutting, made worse by the pity on their faces.

“It’s obvious: your mind was breaking down due to the strain without a Connector, and came up with this fantastical plot of being kidnapped.”

And despite my objections, the claim was dropped. I hadn’t seen Chris since the day we parted in his room.

Until now.

His gaze held mine. He was expressionless, watching us with a detached, almost clinical air. I would have almost thought he was bored, or at least uncaring about the situation in front of him… if not for his eyes…

His eyes were burning with rage.

I looked away first feeling an odd sense of familiarity, as if something similar had happened before.

____________________________

A few days later Liam and I had our first mock battle. Suspended together in the Connection chamber within the Mech, the constant physical and mental connection with Liam made operating the Mech much easier than it ever had been alone.

I fought with a sword, having abandoned the dual guns completely. I breathed a sigh of relief at the speed I could move at as I ducked under the enemy Mech’s attack. Turning with the spin of my dodge, I used the momentum and I swung around to slash the torso of our opponent with the sword.

“Nice hit!” Liam’s voice in my headset was excited. He was cheering me on along the way, spurring me to show off with more complex moves when possible, hoping to impress him.

I pressed the attack, slamming the Mech with the shoulder of ours, and kicking it to the ground before it could recover its balance. The movements were smooth, and my head was clear of any pain. The prior drain and discomfort of controlling the giant robot was completely gone.

As our opponent fell to the ground, I pressed the tip of the sword into the Mech’s neck. The referee called out our victory, and the crowd around the arena cheered, but it was just noise to me. All that mattered was Liam’s excited babbling in my ear.

“That was awesome! I’ve always wondered what it felt like to win a Mech fight, and it’s so much cooler than I ever imagined! This is great! When can we fight again?”

“Glad you had fun, Liam.” I laughed at the innocent delight in his voice. After the stress and pain I had experienced since waking up in this world, the uncertainty of who I was and why I was here, there was something simple and healing about being by Liam’s side.

I feel happy.

I was nervous about admitting it, even to myself, as if the simple acknowledgement of the positive emotion would be enough to destroy it. But I couldn’t deny it. I WAS happy.

After we had undocked and changed, Liam and I relaxed in the fighter’s lounge. Liam as always, had a container that he pulled out of a bag, opening it to reveal a slice of cake. I took it from him with a murmur of thanks, and after the first bite sighed with joy.

“I've been meaning to ask you: Where do you get this cake? It's obviously not from the school shop, it’s way too good!”

Liam smiled at the question. “I made it myself.” Usually more quiet and shy, he seemed very confident when it came to matters such as food. The change in his attitude was something I loved to see.

“Really? You made it? This is too delicious… if only I could have this all the time.” I took another bite, savoring it. As I swallowed, I looked up at him and joked. "Yep, I think the only solution would be for me to just marry you.”

“…” There was a strange silence in the room. I ate some more cake, unconcerned at first, but as the awkward stillness stretched on I paused in my actions, turning towards Liam again with a questioning look.

His face was bright red, and he stared at me with a look of shock and joy.

“Liam?”

He nodded, and blushing more, pulled out his communication device, dialing a number.

“Who are you calling…?”

Alaira’s father, General Gladus showed up on the holographic projection from his device. He stared at Liam, confused for a moment, before barking out with a frown. “Who is this?”

Liam sat up straight, staring at the man with a solemn expression. “General Gladus, my name is William. I am the third born of the Royal family, and a first year student at the academy, and a Level S Connector.”

General Gladus grinned. “I know who you are, son. You’re the wonderful young man who matched with my daughter. I’ve been wanting to talk with you and thank you…”

“Your daughter has asked me to marry her and I have agreed.”

“What?”

“What?”

My father and I asked in unison.

“I was very happy to receive your daughter’s offer of marriage. I will do my very best to support her in all her endeavors.”

“She proposed?”

I silently mouthed an echoing question as my father burst out loudly. “I proposed?”

Liam nodded. “I wanted to let you know so that you could arrange for military leave and be present for our wedding. I know the paperwork can take weeks to months. ”

“…” General Gladus looked stunned. Slowly, his hologram turned towed me. “Alaira, is this true?”

"Yeah, military leave paperwork is notoriously slow..."

He interrupted. "No I mean about the engagement!"

I glanced over at Liam’s excited face.

____________________________

“I don’t believe it’s real.” He whispered, staring down at our hands that were clasped together. “I thought that I was always going to be alone. I thought my fate… my role… ”

I fiddled with the silver band in my hand, trying it on his finger. “Screw fate. We’re getting married now.”

“Yeah.” He grinned, the smile lighting up his face, making the whole room brighter. “Screw fate. I’m your husband!”

____________________________

I shrugged. “What can I say? We’re a destined couple.” I briefly explained about our 100% resonance match.

“… Did you say 100% match?” At my nod, General Gladus opened up his arms. “Welcome to family! When's the wedding?”

After a few more minutes of discussion, Liam hung up, still looking happy.

“Should we notify your parents?”

His face froze. When his gaze finally rose to met mine I shrunk back from the dull look I saw there.

“No reason to.” He reached out, tucking back my hair. “A family without love is just blood related acquaintances. You’re my real family, wife.”

I hugged him again. “That’s right. I’m your family.” I hadn’t really meant to propose… it was just a joke. But the second he called me wife, my heart had felt a sense of recognition. It was happy, but also hurt, a deep remembered pain. A panicked feeling rose up within me, as fear, despair and sadness came in waves, before leaving quickly, overwhelming me without warning or reason. I desperately wanted to remember something, to tear open the fog clouding my brain and peer at what was hidden behind it. But I couldn't.

You must accept your fate. A metallic voice rang in my head, cold, dispassionate, filled with undeniable.

“No.” I whispered, tears filling my eyes even if I wasn’t sure why they were there.

Liam noticed my distress. “Alaira?”

“I'm fine." I think we should go back to practice.” I pulled him to his feet. “We’ll talk more about this later.”

“You’re right, let’s continue working hard so we can save the world like you wanted. But on our next break, we have a wedding to plan!” For the first time, Liam was more excited than me to get to practice. He grabbed my hand and raced forward.

____________________________

Later that night, I went back to my dorm room, still thinking over my last conversation with Liam. He was energetically talking about wedding plans, making lists and drawings with the hologram on his communicator, storing them in special file with my name on it.

When I asked him why he was so excited, he paused, staring down at his hands. “Have you ever felt a desire that was so strong, it seemed to be beyond anything you’ve experienced before?” He glanced up. “I feel this, Alaira. Deep in my soul. I want to be by your side. I want to marry you, but even if you didn’t want that, I’d be your minion or your sidekick. Being by you… helping you… it’s such an integral part of myself, I couldn’t separate from it if I tried.”

“Liam…”

“I think I believe in reincarnation and soul mates.” He smiled. “I’m so happy right now that I think this has to be a hallucination, it can’t be real.”

“I don’t believe it’s real.” I felt the memory of the young man’s whisper in my head again, and pushing it back, I leaned forward to kiss Liam gently.

“It’s real.”

Now alone in my room, I couldn’t help but feel bewildered by the connection with Liam, the emotions and memories that accompanied every moment with him.

“Who am I?” I leaned against the wall and whispered to myself.

“That is the question isn’t it?”

At the unexpected answer I straightened up, falling into a defensive stance. Recognizing the intruder did not make relax, however. If anything it made me more tense.

“Chris. What are you doing here?” I kept my voice calm, trying to hide my inner tension.

“I’m getting tired, Bel.” He sat down on my bed and leaned back, staring up at the ceiling. “I’m just… so tired of all this.”

“What did you call me?” The name resonated with me, much more than “Alaira” ever had.

He ignored me. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You were supposed to give up right away. It promised me…”

The room fell into silence. I stood as still as a statue, barely daring to breathe. I was desperate to hear more, terrified to let him continue speaking. Chris’s voice was different, his tone filled with years of regret. His eyes when they stared at me, seemed to look right through me, as if seeing through my skin to something deeper and more profound.

“Why can’t you just accept your fate, Bel?” He sighed, the sound seeming to drag on too long. “Everything depends on it.”

“What do you…?”

“The lower realms you treasure… the friends you’ve made… even…” He hesitated. “Even his existence depends on everyone having their role and playing their part.”

“I don’t understand what you mean, Chris.”

“MY NAME ISN’T CHRIS!” He yelled, the sound startling in the otherwise silent room. “Just like yours isn’t Alaira. Just like his… it wasn’t supposed to be…”

“Liam?”

”THAT WASN’T SUPPOSED TO BE HIS NAME!” Chris, or whoever he was, stood up, his face red with rage. “He corrupted it! He refused his role, and ended up tricking you to do the same.” He stepped closer. “Why do you always force me to be the one who has to carry the weight of the realms on my shoulders? Why does he get to be the only one who is happy? I don’t want to play these games anymore, Bel.”

“I’m not playing games!” I shouted back, frustrated. “I don’t remember anything!”

“And you won’t. Not until it’s over. But it will be soon. Because I’m going to end it.” He walked towards the door, preparing to leave, only stopping when I grabbed his arm.

“No. You aren’t leaving until you explain what you meant.”

His eyes lit up briefly at our contact, and I pulled my hand away quickly. “You made a bet, Bel, and these are rules you can’t escape. All it takes is one failed mission. One failure before you can finish the task of piecing together your soul.”

“Piecing together…?” His words struck a chord within me, but I shook my head. “I may not understand anything going on, but I’ll tell you this: I won’t fail my mission.”

The light is his eyes dimmed. “You started this. Just remember that, when you regret everything. You. Started. This.”

He left through room, slamming the door behind him. I stood in place, staring blankly, my mind racing.

Realms, real names, missions and bets… I don’t understand any of it.

But I knew one thing, as certainly as if it were imprinted on my soul.

I would not accept my fate.

Even if I couldn’t remember what that fate was.

Even if I had to destroy fate itself to escape it.

[eliemo]

Getting There

Part Two of The Worst Thing in the World

Summary: Logan says it will take some time. He promises the others will always be patient. Virgil knows this, he just wishes it wasn’t quite so easy to push him back over the edge. 

Masterpost

Notes: I plan on writing a bunch of these, so don’t worry! Janus and Remus’s reactions will come soon! 

Learned behavior, especially in cases like this, was incredibly hard to unlearn. Logan had made that very clear, many times, assuring Virgil that it was perfectly reasonable to have some occasional setbacks. 

A long talk and a cuddle session, while Patton’s go-to medicine, wouldn’t magically fix all their problems. 

Logan had insisted on pulling all four of them aside the next day, delving into research and tactics to use to ensure Virgil felt safe, to gradually undo the damage that  had been done. 

Patton and Roman had been listening intently, nodding along, sure to pause and ask for Virgil’s input whenever it was needed, holding his hand and making sure he was never overwhelmed. 

There were some...unpleasant phrases thrown around during the talk. Abuse, trauma, conditioning...it all felt like something dirty. Like he was tainted, broken. 

And of course they knew what he was thinking, they were all so kind and attentive, so openly worried, quick to reassure and comfort.  

It helped, but...but still. Virgil was still struggling to wrap his head around the fact that all the things he went through, all the things he’d been taught were normal and expected weren’t...weren’t ok. That it wasn’t normal. 

He’d deserved it. That’s what they told him. He went through all of that pain because that was just the way it was, and there was no other choice. 

Had he really been stupid enough, pathetic enough to just believe that and let it all happen? If he was so easy to take advantage of, so easy to hurt, then why wouldn’t the light sides end up doing the exact same thing, no matter how well meaning they were in the beginning? 

He knew it was stupid and unfair to have those thoughts. And to make it worse, he knew they knew he was thinking it. 

They wouldn’t do that. They’d sworn it to him too many times to count. Like Logan said it was just...going to take some time to believe it. 

And things did get better. Slowly. He might not have even realized progress was being made if it weren’t for the less than subtle praise the three of them kept offering, the pride and hope that was impossible to miss. 

As embarrassing as it was, being practically applauded for something as small as  forcing himself not to fall into a desperate string of apologies for bumping into someone’s shoulder, he couldn’t deny that it helped to some extent. 

He did wish he was doing a little better, though. Sometimes he had to force himself not to flee if someone was in a bad mood, silently remind himself that no one was going to hurt him, that he didn’t need to be afraid, didn’t need to protect himself and hide. 

It didn’t always work. 

And there were always going to be slip ups. Little mistakes and thoughtless behavior that Virgil would never hold against the others. They were trying so hard and like Patton had said, mistakes were part of being human. 

There had been a...particularly bad day during a rather stressful filming week. Their schedule was finally allowing them all a bit of a break, and Virgil had taken up residence in the living room for the afternoon, lost in his own head in a futile attempt to relax. 

He hadn’t even realized he’d left some things strewn around. Just a few pillows and blankets- it wasn’t a big deal, he’d clean it up before he headed back up to his room like he usually did. At the time, he was too tired to really give it much thought. 

And then Roman had stalked through the living room, nose buried in his notes, mumbling something under his breath. He was clearly swarmed with the work Thomas needed from him, lost in thought and stress, and on his way to the kitchen he’d stumbled over one of the pillows. 

Virgil smirked and sat up with the intent of calling the Prince a clutz, hopeful that their familiar banter could reduce some of the tension from the workload, but Roman beat him to it. 

“Jesus, Virgil will you clean up your mess?” He snapped, kicking the pillow aside. “I don’t have time to be tripping over your stuff!” 

And then he was gone, disappearing into the kitchen, and Virgil had...froze. 

It was fine. He knew it was ok, he knew…

But all of that had disappeared in a second, all rational thought drowned out by cold, all consuming fear and memories, harsh realizations that Roman was angry- angry at him, and Virgil had left a mess, and whenever he’d left a mess before he’d been punished--

That snapped him out of his shock, instinct and panic taking over, and he threw himself from the couch and dropped to the floor, gathering everything into a pile and frantically trying to fold the blankets with trembling hands. 

It was fine, it was fine, it was fine. He’d made a stupid mistake but he could fix it. It would hurt less if he just cleaned it up. 

God why wouldn’t his hands stop shaking? His chest was aching, his grip weak and unsteady. It took far too long to get the blankets folded, and when it was finally done the end result was uneven and lumpy, nothing that would get him out of any trouble. 

He didn’t even know when he’d started crying, fear and hopelessness setting in all at once, but suddenly he was sobbing, breaths quick and ragged as he desperately tried to smooth out the blankets, refusing to focus on getting a hold of his breathing until it was fixed, until the room was clean and Roman didn’t have to be angry anymore—

“Kiddo?” 

Oh no. No no no, he wasn’t ready for anyone else to see what he’d done yet. It was still a mess, he’d still left everything a mess and he was a mess, and he was just going to make them more upset with him and then it would be worse. 

“Virgil.” There was someone kneeling beside him, and it took him a moment to realize it was Patton. “What’s wrong?” 

Virgil shook his head, knowing Patton was looking over the mess Virgil had created, growing just as angry as Roman. 

“I-I’m cleaning,” he managed, wincing when his voice came out a pathetic, weak stammer. “I d-didn’t mean to- mean to leave it a m-mess, I was- I was gonna clean it up, I didn’t mean to upset him, I didn’t--” 

“Hey, it’s ok.” Patton’s hands were suddenly over his own, squeezing gently to stop Virgil from frantically trying to fix the wrinkles, the folded blankets still not even remotely acceptable. “Breathe, honey. Can you look at me?” 

Virgil obeyed almost immediately, not willing to risk making anybody anymore angry than they already were, trying to stop his ragged sobs to no avail. 

“There you go, kiddo. Can you take some deep breaths for me?” 

Virgil shook his head. “I- I can’t, I have to fix it, I- I’m trying to clean it up, I promise.” 

“It’s ok,” Patton said again. “It looks fine, Virge. You know it doesn’t need to be perfect.” 

“Yes it does,” Virgil argued, because he knew it did. He was already in trouble, making it perfect and spotless was the only way to lessen the inevitable punishment. “I already made him mad and he’s gonna- he’s gonna...I have to fix it, I have to--” 

“Nobody’s going to do anything to you, Virgil.” Patton frowned, moving Virgil’s shaking hands from the pile of blankets. “Who do you think is mad at you?” 

And for a second, Virgil wasn’t even sure. Just for a second, he almost said another name, too many memories overlapping. 

But then it cleared slightly, and he was only blinded by the current panic of what he’d done, still unable to fully grasp what was being said to him. 

“R-Roman, he...I didn’t realize that he wanted it clean I-I didn’t know and I ruined it and he’s upset and he’ll--”

“Slow down, kiddo,” Patton said, for some reason looking even more distressed when Virgil snapped his mouth shut, watching the moral side with wide, wary eyes. “Roman’s a bit distracted today, I’m sure he isn’t upset. He probably doesn’t even realize.”

Virgil hadn’t even noticed until Patton frowned down at their hands, but he’d been desperately fighting against the other side’s hold, frantically trying to go back to smoothing out the blankets without even realizing. 

“Here,” Patton said, gently easing him back. “How about I go get Roman, and then we can--”

“No!” Virgil had ripped his arms out of Patton’s grip, scrambling backwards without any clear thought of what he was doing. “N-no, no Patton, please let me finish, let me just try, I can do it I swear, he doesn’t have to be upset, I can be better, I can fix it please--” 

“Honey,” Patton tried, and Virgil knew he was scaring him but he couldn’t seem to stop. “You’re ok. I promise. Remember what we said? You’re safe with us.” 

Virgil curled in on himself, hunched over on the living room floor, mind scrambling desperately to latch on to what Patton was saying, trying and continuously failing to make sense of the warped reality his panic had created. 

“Please don’t get him yet,” he found himself begging. “Please, not while he’s angry, please, he’ll hurt me, I don’t want him to hurt me again.” 

And that was when Virgil had known, both he and Patton, that he wasn’t talking about Roman anymore. 

But he didn’t stop his pleading, and Patton didn’t even hesitate, carefully lowering himself beside Virgil who forced himself not to flinch away. 

The thought of fleeing to hide briefly crossed his mind. Patton would eventually call Roman in, and Roman would see the mess Virgil still hadn’t cleaned up, and he’d still be angry. 

Virgil had tried hiding before. It didn’t always work, and it often led to worse punishment once he was caught, but on the off chance that he got away, the anger had usually faded by the time he resurfaced. 

Usually. It often wasn’t worth the effort. 

“You’re ok,” Patton said again, pulling him from his thoughts. “I’m right here. I won’t let anyone hurt you, Virgil. Ever again. Can you breathe with me, please?” 

Virgil nodded, something screaming at him to obey, just do what they wanted and it would be ok…

It took an embarrassingly long time for Patton to talk Virgil down, for Virgil to even remember where he was, what exactly he was so afraid of. 

But it all came back, slowly, the real world filtering in around the panic, the soothing voices, the gentle reminders that he wasn’t in any danger. 

Oh. Great, he’d done it again. 

It took Virgil a second to come back fully, blinking as he registered Patton sitting beside him, watching with wide, teary eyes. 

Oh, god. 

“I’m sorry,” he managed, now for an entirely new reason. “I’m ok Patton, I just thought...fuck, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to freak out like that.” 

“Language, kiddo,” Patton said softly. “You don’t need to be upset with yourself, and you have nothing to apologize for.” 

Virgil’s breathing was still too shallow, his chest aching with each gasp, and before he knew it he was reaching for Patton, letting himself melt into the other side’s embrace. 

He managed to keep himself from crying again, just barely, closing his eyes against Patton’s ever soothing words of comfort and safety. 

They’d been down this road too many times by now, some days worse than others, and Virgil had no idea how long his family was going to put up with this. Their patience seemed endless, but everyone had their limit. 

“I’m trying,” he said after a moment, desperately needing Patton to understand. “I’m trying, Pat. I‘m trying so hard to be better, I swear I’m trying, I don’t want to keep doing this but I just--”

“You’re making more progress than you think, kiddo,” Patton said, cutting off his frantic rambling. “And we’ve already told you, there’s no rush. It’s gonna take time, and that’s ok. We aren’t going anywhere.”

They’d all told him that at some point. Told him he was getting there, that it wasn’t his fault when he slipped up, that they wouldn’t give up on him. 

They’d all promised, all in their own way. Virgil only wondered if they’d realized just what it was they were signing up for. 

He didn’t get a chance to respond before Patton was carefully pulling away, smiling almost apologetically. 

“I’m going to get Roman now.” He frowned at the way Virgil’s shoulders tensed, eyes cast downward. “I’ll tell him what happened. But we can’t just leave these things unaddressed, you know that.” 

He did know. Logan had said it enough times, along with countless other tactics and behaviors to help Virgil that never seemed to work. 

Nothing ever worked. He couldn’t even recover properly. 

But when he nodded miserably Patton just gave another small smile, squeezing his hand before standing from the couch and hurrying into the kitchen. 

It couldn’t have been more than five minutes, Virgil left to hunch over himself beneath his pulled up hood and press into the corner of the couch, when there was the sound of footsteps rushing towards the living room. 

He managed not to flinch, just glanced up and watched as Roman practically came barreling into the room, eyes wide and face flushed. 

Princey looked like he wanted to rush across the room to Virgil’s side without a second more of hesitation, but a glance back at Patton in the doorway stopped him in his tracks. 

“Virgil, I-I’m so sorry.” He was breathless, and Virgil’s throat felt tight at the waver in his voice. “I should have known...I wasn’t even thinking--” 

“It’s ok,” Virgil said, willing his hands to stop shaking, pushing down the cruel, nagging voice shouting warnings in the back of his mind. “Really, Roman. It was a stupid overreaction. It’s on me.” 

Roman took a careful step forward, only moving the rest of the way to the couch when Virgil didn’t immediately tense up or move away. 

“I am sworn to protect you,” he said, voice oddly small as he lowered himself beside Virgil. “I was stressed and distracted- but that's no excuse. I should never have allowed myself to do or say anything that could make you feel unsafe.” 

Virgil let out a trembling sigh, the obvious guilt in Princey’s eyes like a punch to the gut, so painfully undeserved, and all his fault. 

He took Roman’s hand, noting how the creative side almost instantly relaxed at the physical contact. “You were stressed, and you just asked me to pick up my things off the floor. I shouldn’t have freaked out like that.” 

“And I shouldn’t have been so aggressive,” Roman said. “You have no reason to be ashamed of your reaction, especially with the stress you’re under. I promise it won’t happen again, Virge.” 

The reassurances, as always, settled something in Virgil’s chest, breaths coming a bit easier, a weight gradually lifting from his shoulders. But it still just felt...wrongly placed. 

“It’s ok if it does,” he said, finding himself leaning against Roman’s side. “We’re...learning, right? All of us? It’s- it’ ok if we have slip ups. It happens.” 

Logan had said something similar to all of them countless times before, his words of course were much more steady and eloquent, but Virgil knew Roman would recognize the words for what they were. 

“You’re right.” Roman still sounded unconvinced, but Virgil couldn’t bring himself to dwell over it too much when he was being pulled close, once again enveloped in strong, safe arms. “And we’re getting there. Together.” 

It wasn’t the first slip up that had sent Virgil back into that awful, panicked state, and it definitely wasn’t the last. 

It was stupidly easy to trigger him back into that mindset, convinced he was too much, that he’d done something horrible, that he would be punished and hurt accordingly. 

He was assured it was ok, that it was “normal” to react like this after going through the things he had, but Virgil was almost sure he was taking an absurdly long time to show any improvement. 

But then again...maybe that wasn’t entirely true. 

Improvement could be so slow, so small, that maybe the bad just sometimes happened to overshadow the good. 

The first time Virgil really noticed it, he’d been finishing up putting away some clean dishes, Logan setting the table for dinner while Patton and Roman idly chatted over their cooking. 

“Virgil?” Logan called. “Those glasses actually go in the other cabinet to your right. Do you mind moving them?” 

Right, he’d known that. “Oh, yeah. Sure.” 

It was only a few cups, and he wordlessly moved them to the next shelf over before closing the cabinet and making his way over to the couch until dinner was ready. 

Or at least...that was what he planned on doing before realizing that everyone in the kitchen was staring at him. 

They were trying to be sneaky about it, but Virgil could very clearly see everyone was watching him with wide, poorly hidden smiles, looking ridiculously giddy like he’d just announced he’d won the lottery. 

What the hell? 

“Uh, guys?” he asked. “Everything ok?” 

Logan was the first to speak, and Virgil wondered if he was imagining the pride radiating from the logical side. 

“Everything is satisfactory, Virgil,” he said, reaching forward and squeezing the other’s shoulder.. “Thank you for doing the dishes.” 

Before Virgil could even consider calling him back as he walked away, Patton let out a noise that could only be described as a squeal, practically flinging himself forward to envelope the anxious side in a tight hug. 

“I am just so gosh darn proud of you, kiddo!”

“I- what?” 

Even Roman was looking like he was forcibly holding himself back from joining in, and the Prince was actually bouncing on the balls of his feet, smiling so wide Virgil felt something in his stomach swoop. 

“Give him some space, Patton,” Logan spoke up, having stopped to watch from the doorway. “You responded extremely well to my request, Virgil, but apologies if we overwhelmed you.” 

As Patton pulled away, Virgil once again opened his mouth to ask what on earth everyone was so happy about, before it suddenly dawned on him. 

He’d put the dishes in the wrong cabinet, a mistake that had been pointed out by another side. 

It was exactly the sort of thing that would send him into a panic, make him lose himself in a fit of frantic apologies, paranoia and anxiety rising up to choke him, to send him under a wave of regression. 

But...that hadn’t happened this time. 

It hadn’t even occurred to him to apologize. No panic, no fear, no flood of memories and guilt. Just a simple mistake that he’d quickly corrected and then promptly forgotten about. 

And he still didn’t feel the need to apologize or get out of the enclosed space. 

Huh. 

“See? I told you,” Roman said, leaned up against the kitchen counter. “We’re getting there, Stormcloud.” 

And...yeah. Virgil supposed he was right. It was slow, sometimes almost invisible, but that really didn’t matter. They were getting there.  

[thran-duils]

Doll Me Up (P.10)

Title: Doll Me Up (Part Ten) Summary: Fem!Reader x Dark Mob!Tony Stark. On good days, you and Tony were a power couple. You, a perfect trophy wife with your hands in local charities to promote a wholesome image. Tony, business man but sullied with organized crime. He indulged in his illegal gambling, extortion, and political corruption. And he indulged in his escort business. Hell, that is where he had found you. You were a brat, and he loved a challenge. Words: 3,025 Warnings: Unhealthy relationships, smut, daddy kink, dom/sub, manipulation, death, violence, possessive behavior, drug use

Part Nine || Part Eleven || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

~A month ago (cont.)…

Tony walked into the bedroom, drawing your attention away from the TV.

“Thank god,” you groaned pathetically, tossing the body pillow you had been curled up with over yourself onto the ground. “Please snuggle with me. I haven’t felt good.”

“I know. But are you going to vomit?” Tony questioned, coming over to the side of the bed.

You rolled over onto your side to face him and said, “I don’t think so. I don’t feel so sick. I’m just tired.”

“Cause you know I don’t do well with that. The vomiting.”

You groaned again, throwing the blanket over your head. You just wanted him to get into bed and hold you and stop the talking.

Tony patted your hip impatiently. “Alright, dramatic. Come on. Up, up, up.”

“I don’t want to get up!” you said from underneath the comforter.

“Princess.”

“I want you to lie down with me, daddy.”

“I will, promise. Cross my heart. But business first. And that involves you getting up out of the bed.”

You whined, “What business? You just got back from business.”

“Y/N, get up,” Tony told you firmly. You knew that tone; he was not playing around anymore.

Sighing dramatically, you tossed the comforter back, looking up at him pitifully. He beckoned you with two fingers and you did as he asked. You shivered against the loss of the heat from the blanket, especially since you were just in a lounge bra and underwear.

He held out a small box and you took it from him. Your breath caught reading the label, staring dumbly down at the pregnancy test.

“What’s this for…?”

“I think it’s pretty obvious. The nausea that you’re feeling?”

Oh no.

Your mind raced with all the times the two of you had had unprotected sex recently. He had asked for it, seeming really into it, and you had obliged, wanting to turn him on. You knew it was a possibility of course, pregnancy. But you figured that problem could be solved fairly easy if it arose.

“Y/N?” Tony asked, interrupting your thoughts.

You turned your gaze up from the box and licked your lips nervously. Slapping the box on your other hand, you said, “Right. Nausea… sex. Pee on it.”

“Yeah, I think that’s generally how it works,” Tony confirmed, a smirk tugging at his lips at your stammering. “I’ll be out here.”

Grabbing your phone to keep the time, you turned away from him and made your way to the master bathroom reluctantly.

The three minutes seemed to take forever, and your hand was shaking when you turned the test back over.

I I

Your hand was gripping the test so tightly your knuckles were white as you stared down at the result.

Tony walked into the bathroom and asked from behind you, “Are you alright?”

“It’s positive,” you said sounding far away from yourself.

Tony looked over your shoulder at the test and you saw him smile in the mirror. Your face screwed into confusion seeing he looked… happy.

Tossing the test onto the counter, you made to turn to him. “Hey, love, there’s pee on that—”

“Why are you happy?” you demanded.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Tony asked, giving you an incredulous look. His hands came to your waist and he smiled. “Look at that. Making steps together.”

“W…what?” you stammered.

Tony hushed you with a deep kiss and he said, “This is wonderful news, kitten.” You tried to pull away from his grasp but he held tight, his face falling slightly at your resistance. “Really. It’s wonderful. I’ve been hoping for it actually. I think it’s the next step.”

“Having a baby?” you asked in disbelief.

His face fell completely now, his grasp letting up on your waist, and he stated flatly, “You’re not happy.”

“No! No, I’m not! I don’t…” you started to say trailing off. “We didn’t even talk about this!”

“What’s there to talk about? Shit like this happens all the time. Do you know how many unplanned pregnancies there are? Luckily for us though, we are in an established relationship, financially stable, in a good area for schools,” Tony started saying, listing off the positives. He noticed the look on your face and his hands left your waist to come up and cup your face. “Hey… look at me.” You did and his fingers caressed your skin affectionately. “This is a good thing for us.” One of his hands came to rest on your abdomen and he said sincerely, “Really. I want this for us. We can still have our fun and whatnot, cause I sure as hell don’t want to ever give that up. But this is a good growth for us. We’ve got the means to have the best of both worlds. That’s what nannies are for. Right?”

He sounded sincere, joyful about the prospect. And he was looking at you, desperately waiting for you to agree with him. Could it be so bad?

“It better be an ugly nanny,” you finally said.

Tony burst out laughing and brought your forehead to his lips. “Of course. The homeliest.”

<><><>

“Why is the fish of the day not priced?” you muttered.

“That’s pretty normal, Y/N. You should know that,” Tony commented back as the waiter brought the bottle of wine over that he had ordered. He thanked him, as the waiter poured the first glass for him and placed the bottle gently on the table. “We need a couple minutes.”

“Well, I want it, but I don’t know how much it costs.”

“It doesn’t matter. Only the best for you,” Tony told you, giving you a tight-lipped smile. There was something malicious lurking there, but you smiled back weakly all the same.

Happy shifted in his seat and you turned your attention towards him. He caught your eye and you stared at him silently for an explanation. He shrugged at you and you held back a sigh. Apparently you were going to have to prod yourself.

“What’s wrong?” you asked Tony.

He did not look up from the menu.

“Tony!” you said and that caught his attention, you using his real name. You rarely did it. “What’s wrong?”

He shook his head, wagging his finger at you. “I’m not having this conversation right now in the middle of a restaurant. What we are going to do is eat, enjoy each other’s company for lunch, and then we can go back to the penthouse.” You were silent, watching him and his gaze snapped up from the menu to look at you. “I’m serious, Y/N. I’m not talking about it here. So, drop it.”

“Okay,” you told him, fingers tapping on your menu.

He finished off his glass of wine and picked the bottle up, refilling it. You stared at the glass wanting to taste it but knowing you could not. The waiter came back and took your orders.

Tony and Happy fell into a hushed, masked conversation about an e-mail that Happy had just received. You looked around, seeing what other patrons were doing. Your gaze fell on a couple that had their baby in a highchair. The father was keeping it entertained with small toys, no doubt using a goofy voice based on his expression. Soon you would need to request a highchair. How old was that child? Definitely not an infant but not a toddler. You wondered if it could walk yet. What were you going to do when your baby started going mobile? Just having to chase it down constantly? Would it be well behaved?

Suddenly, you noticed a fairly attractive man was watching you from a few tables over from the couple. He smirked when he noticed he had caught your eye and he winked. You furrowed your brow in annoyance at his boldness considering you were obviously out with one of the men at the table. At your cold response you watched his smile falter for a moment before he looked at the empty seat next to him. You rolled your eyes and looked away from him back at the table to find Tony and Happy watching you intently. Had they been trying to talk to you and you had not heard?

Tony shot a quick look at the guy before looking back at you and you realized they much have caught that exchange just now.

“He seems like a prick,” you said calmly, picking up your water and taking a long drink.

“That he does,” Tony replied. “Good thing you aren’t tempted by twenties anymore, huh?”

He took a large drink of his wine and you watched him warily.

There was definitely something off about him. But you were going to follow his rule and enjoy lunch, not prod. The way he was acting, you were going to heed his warning that he did not want to have whatever conversation the two of you were going to have out in public. But now all you could do was worry about what type of conversation that was going to be.

<><><>

Tony unzipped his jacket and tossed it onto the back of the couch as he walked by towards his bar. You followed him, kicking your heels off by the couch too. You stretched out your feet, relishing in the flat ground.

Tony smacked his lips after taking a sip of his bourbon – you noticed it was the bottle you had bought for him – as he walked back towards the couch, past you. He sat back, stretching out.

You came up beside him and sat down, trying to curl up into his side, tucking your feet underneath a pillow. He did not return your embrace, instead bringing his glass to his lips again and taking another drink. He was good and toasted now. He had had the entire bottle of wine to himself, minus a glass that Happy had, at lunch.

“Daddy, seriously. What’s wrong?” you asked him tired of going back and forth.

He ground his teeth for a few moments, and you worried he was not going to speak to you. But he shifted, a little away from you, which hurt more. “Uh, I don’t know. Just… I’ve got a million things running through my mind.”

“About?” you asked.

“About what type of plans you have rolling around in that beautiful – albeit, deceitful – little head of yours.”

Your heart skipped a beat hearing the sneer in his voice and you had a feeling where you knew this conversation was going and you hoped to god it was not.

“’Plans’?” you asked uncertainly.

He leveled you with a scathing look that made you stiffen beneath it. “Yeah, ‘plans’. Like, do you have one? A fully fledged one? Were you just going to sneak off one day while I was gone and go get an abortion? Or were you planning on asking for adoption near when the baby is due?”

Your stomach sunk hearing that. He was watching you closely and you knew you were not masking your shock at his questions.

“Hmm. You look surprised, princess, that I would be saying this. Or are you not surprised and that’s just shock that I know?”

“Pepper told you?” your voice cracked.

Tony gave a wry chortle. “Of course she did. I mean, she had some persuasion because Happy happened to overhear the conversation the two of you were slinking around about.” You inhaled; you knew he had, and he had acted like he had not. “Granted, she was kind of backed into a corner about it. But she wants to stay on the board, so why would she not want to stay on my good side? By telling me my wife is scheming behind my back?”

“I’m not scheming!” you said indignantly, trying to pull away from him. But his arm wrapped tightly around your back, pulling you roughly to him. His bourbon sloshed in his glass in his other hand.

“You want me to agree to either getting rid or giving our baby away, but you won’t talk to me about it. You went behind my back to do try to get someone else to do it for you!” Tony growled.

“Because you would get mad at me!” you told him, sounding pathetic more than anything.

“I’m more mad now, Y/N!” Tony shouted, causing you to jump. His fingers dug into your side as he continued on, “We talked about this. I told you why I thought it was a good thing and you seemed to agree. And I should emphasize the ‘seem’ because you apparently were already putting on an act then. I shouldn’t be surprised about that though because you are a damn good little actress, princess. And you fucking love pushing my buttons!” He yanked you closer and said, his breath hot, “Let me be very clear that this is not something to try to press my buttons about. I am not fucking around about that.”

You tried to pull away from him and his fingers dug in deeper, causing you to wince. “I wasn’t trying to press your buttons, daddy!” you whimpered.

“You could have fooled me! You’ve been nothing but misbehaving at every opportunity!”

You felt it boiling to the surface and you just blurted, “You’re going to leave me! I know you are!”

Tony’s face screwed up in confusion and you took the opportunity to unravel yourself from the lax he gave on his grip on you and pulled away to the other end of the couch. You were breathing quickly, staring at him, waiting for him to say something. Anything.

He leaned forward and you watched him like a hawk as he placed his glass down on the coffee table before coming back to sit straight, his gaze piercing.

With some difficulty he asked, “You really think I’m going to leave you?” All you gave was a slight shrug and he said, “Why?” Your lashes brushed your cheek as you looked down and Tony pressed with more force, “Why? Answer me.”

It was hard to admit to him about your insecurity and you word vomited, “I don’t want to be a mum! That’s so much responsibility!”

Tony sighed, “You don’t have to shoulder all of it. What made you think you had to?”

“I… I am the mum. I have to. It’s on me.” You knew that was a lie. You had seen that father in the restaurant today doing just fine while the mum was scrolling through her phone, writing things down in a notebook.

“Kitten, come on. We talked about a nanny. You think I don’t want to take trips with you still, childfree?” He leaned in and said firmly, “But that’s not why you think I’m going to leave you, is it?” You stared down at the couch, picking at the fabric and he demanded, “Kitten.”

Pepper had told him; she must have told him everything. And he wanted to hear it from your lips.

In a voice barely above a whisper, you said still not looking up at him, “I’m not going to be the same. My stomach is gonna get really big and I’m gonna get stretch marks. My boobs will sag if I breastfeed…”

Tony was quiet for a few moments before he said, “Your body will be fine. Bodies change. But if you feel insecure we can talk about surgery.”

You looked up now, your brow pinched. “If ‘I feel insecure’?”

“Yes. Breast lifts, tummy tucks. Whatever will make you feel better. It’ll be up to you what and if you want to do any of that. I want you to be comfortable. It’s up to you.”

Tears came then and you did not try to stop them as they rolled fat down your cheeks. He was suggesting to get plastic surgery to correct all the damage the baby was going to do to you. The damage you expected. Like it was going to wave it all away; all the insecurity you had. And he sounded like he did not have any concern about it. It was you.

Choking out, you told him, “I don’t want to be unattractive. You only married me because of my looks.”

His face fell at that, you saw through your tears. He looked… pained.

“That’s what you really think isn’t it?” Tony could see it in your eyes and warbling bottom lip as you tried to hold it together. All the fight left him, it finally sinking in. “Oh, princess…”

Tony closed the space between the two of you on the couch, pressing in between your knees to get closer to you. He kissed you all over your face, ending at your lips. The kisses were tender, lingering. He tasted of his bourbon and you drank it in all the same. It was a comforting embrace he was giving you, a sincere one. You wanted to believe him so badly that everything was going to be okay.

Pressing your foreheads together, he held you close. He whispered, “You’ll always be beautiful.” He kissed the tip of your nose affectionately. “And mothers’ glow. Didn’t you know? You’ll be like an ethereal being.” You let out a strained laugh, hiccupping. Tony pulled you in for another kiss and he breathed against your lips as he said, “I’m sorry you felt like you couldn’t voice this to me. I know I’m an asshole sometimes and I don’t always express myself well, but… that shouldn’t keep you from talking to me about this. I should do better… I’m sorry.”

His hand came to rest on your stomach, and you breathed into his touch. He kissed the tip of your nose and said, “You’re doing me a favor. Really. I know I haven’t expressed it well. But, you are. You’re giving me stability. And yes, your looks are what drew me in but it’s you that made me want to stick around after that. Do you understand that?” You gave a weak nod and he repeated his eyes glossy, “Do you understand that?”

“Yes, daddy,” you said, and you let him pull you to him again to cradle you.

~~~

Forever tags: @coconutqueen21, @undecidedsworld

Fic tags: @kvzctam @farihafangirls, @teenageregression @mrsnegan25 @lilacs-lavender @agustdowney @kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay @emmariexx

[kitkat1003]

Who Are You Really?

Chapter 3: To Mold; To Raise One

Summary: 

They should know, he thinks, that things like them aren’t picked. The warrior was forgotten by the hero. By everyone. And Macaque? He is going to make them into a tool for a warrior, a warrior themself even, whether they like it or not.

Spirit Masterpost

If he had to say anything on the matter, he would have said they’re useful.

It hadn’t taken much, not really.  He finds them in the woods, alone with nothing to their name but whispers of favors to powerful people and three eyes that stare through you.  He finds them, appraises them, and despite the way their tail curls around their leg and despite the way they hunch down on themself, something is there.  A little broken, but there.

Like a memory of a debt owed, Macaque knows he can fix them and is willing to try.

Convincing them isn’t difficult.  They perk up at the word favor, ears pressed up against the sides of their head and their eyes wide and earnest.  Desperate for a use, excited to have purpose—he dangles it in front of them and pulls them in.

There were more than a few roadblocks.

There is the anxiety, of course.  Kid barely can stand the sight of their own shadow, much less the ones he can summon at the drop of a hat.  He gets them used to the clones soon enough.  Exposure works wonders, and if they don’t like it at first?  Tough.  The clones are a part of him, he says  It wasn’t as if he could just get rid of them because they don’t like them.

A well placed guilt trip, and Kid stumbles over themselves to fix their error.  Good.

They’re soft.  Gentle.  Caring for all the other living creatures almost to the point of those being above their own needs and wants.  Careful of pretty flowers they don’t want to step on, kind to the trees and grass as much as one can be.

Wide eyed, but not doe eyed.  Their eyes are something, though.

It’s interesting to watch the large pupil move, the smaller two following.  They bounce around like ping pong balls, always taking in every detail.  When they wink, they either close the large one, or the two smaller ones.  Sometimes, when they’re trying to focus on something, they’ll close one of the smaller eyes.

“My vision’s a little lopsided,” they admit, when he questions.  “It, uh, can make things blurry.”

Not doe eyed, he knows, when he looks at them.  The furtive way they glance around.  They look at dead animals far too long to be normal.  Stare wistfully out at human settlements.  And when they’re not looking at anything, their eyes look...tired.  Empty.

Haunted, even.

Guess they call themselves Spirit for a reason.

It takes a while to teach them to stop caring about the petals you ruin in your walk, to crush bugs underfoot without thought.  It would go faster if he taught them the hard way, with broken bones and bloodied fists, but breaking more than they already are serves no purpose.  Beyond it all, Macaque wants a tool to use, and a tool shattered beyond repair isn’t useful.  So he has to be patient about it.

Of course, his patience runs out sometimes, but they never complain.  Maybe he gets used to yelling.  It shuts them up real quick, so it works.

Training them is another matter.  As much as he wants to beat all of the lessons he’d learned into them, he has to be patient.  A warrior isn’t made on the first day, there’s a process.  And they’re flighty, too.  One wrong move and they might run away.  Sure, he knew they’d come back, like a dog on a leash whenever the word favor was involved, but waiting would add more time to the process.

So he takes things slow.  Somehow.

They have stamina.  Running and jumping through forests day by day leaves them lithe and lean when it comes to muscles.  They tower over him even when they bend over; they are always bent over.  He forces them to stand up straight, just to get a measure of their height, and they loom like a tree in the forests surrounding them.

A good foundation, but their stance is so easily toppable that he barely has to push them and they stumble back, falling to the ground.

So he starts there.

“You need to be unmovable,” he says, using a stick found in the woods to prod at their limbs until they’re in the right position.  “Rooted to the ground.”

“Like a flower?” they reply, turning their head around to look at him.

He smacks them on the side of the head with the stick for that.

“Like a tree,” he corrects.  “Do you have any idea how easy it is to pick a flower?”

He hears them mutter about how they think it wouldn’t be too bad to be picked, but they correct their stance and go silent before he can bark at them to be quiet.

They should know, he thinks, that things like them aren’t picked.

The warrior was forgotten by the hero.

By everyone.

And Macaque?

He is going to make them into a tool for a warrior, a warrior themself even, whether they like it or not.

Once their stance is steady, he teaches them self defense.  How to punch without breaking your fingers.  How to kick without losing your balance.  How to dodge, duck, strike.

Kid takes to it like a duck to water, with a few hiccups.  The largest of which is a lack of want to land a hit.

Oh, they’re plenty strong.  They can lift up half a tree’s worth of firewood with a bit of strain.  They could likely kick harder than they punch, with how much they run, but to get them to do either is an uphill battle.

“C’mon kid, hit me,” he says, gesturing to his chest.

They pale, shoulders hunched, fingers rubbing against each other awkwardly as they keep them from becoming a fist.

“But-why?  I don’t want to, uh, hurt you.” They frown at the thought.

Macaque laughs.

“You can’t hurt me, trust me.  I’ve been hit by bigger and stronger people than you, kid,” he gives them a half grin and snorts at the thought of them being able to hit that hard.

“I don’t…” They draw circles in the dirt with their toe, glancing between him and their feet.  “I don’t like hurting people.”

He sighs, long suffering.  “You have someone you want to protect?” he asks.

They blink a few times.  He watches their pupils dilate, shifting as they think.  They don’t have the best poker face, but when they want to hide something, their face becomes carefully blank, a slate wiped clean.

It’s kind of creepy, in a way.

“Not anymore,” they finally mutter, forlorn.  Ears downturned.

There’s something deeper there, but Macaque doesn’t have time to hear their life’s story.  Especially when they’re training.  

“Yeah, you do have someone.” He walks over and sticks his finger into their chest, poking them hard enough that they wince.  “You.  You want to stay alive?  You fight.”

They stare at him, hard, and he raises a brow.

“Look,” he says.  “You hate anyone?”

Kid glances down at him—he hates that they’re taller than him, even when they’re hunched down—and their gaze flashes to something dark.

He stares back.

“Yes,” they whisper.  “Some.  One.”

Macaque does not stiffen.  There’s nothing haunting about how quietly, how gently, how angrily Kid says that.

“Alright then,” he takes a step back, arms splayed out to make himself a target.  “Hit me like I’m that person.”

He watches them stare at him.  They tilt their head to the side.  Their pupils shift.

A minute passes, and Macaque is about to say something else, when they blink once, and then strike.

His clothes are ripped, a slash across his chest.  Kid holds their hand out like it’s a weapon, claws bared.  They took off some fur, too, but they didn’t go deep enough to break skin, though Macaque thinks it’s not for lack of trying.

Another blink, and they come to, yanking their hand back and cradling it against their chest.

“Oh-sorry-I-I was just doing what you told me, and, uh, I didn’t,” they mutter out more apologies, looking away.

Macaque laughs.

“No, no, that was great!  We’ll have to get you used to punching and kicking, but using claws ain’t half bad.” He looks them up and down, seeing them in a new light.  “If you like something sharp, then, well, we might as well get you a weapon, right?”

“A...weapon?” They look surprised that he’s not upset.  

Macaque only yells when they make a mistake, though.  And when they’re being annoying, but regardless.  Why punish them for a job well done?  He told them to hit him, and they did.  Not exactly how he wanted, but as long as they’re more willing to fight, he wants to encourage the behavior.  An inch of negativity towards them and they’ll jump a mile back from where he wants them to be.

“Something sharp,” he repeats.  “Claws will only get you so far.”

He pulls out his staff, twirling it around a few times before holding it out, sideways, for the kid to look at.  They peer down at it, tilting their head to the side.  They close one of their eyes, to focus.  Their eyes trace the spikes on the ends of the staff.  They swallow, fidgeting, as their gaze ends at the sharp points.

“It’s...nice,” they say, a little nervous.

“We should go to a market.  I’ve got a bunch of weapons we can test out, but your weapon has to be for you.” He pats the kid on the back, smiling.

“Shopping?” 

He watches them perk up, eyes wide, a smile on their lips.  There’s a certain charm to it.  As tall as they are, they have quite the young face.

“Yup,” he says.  “But first, I’m teaching you how to sew.  If you’re going to tear my clothes, you’re going to know how to fix it.”

They duck their head sheepishly, embarrassed, guilty, but happy that he’s going to teach them something new.

Hook, line, sinker.

He takes them, first, to one of his caves, his hideouts.  He has his stash of weapons there, so they can start training with them to get the kid used to weaponry before he buys them anything.

The trip takes a week, and during it he has to stop himself from strangling the kid every evening.  They light up every two seconds, prattling on about every little thing they spot, skipping along with both their pack of things and his own.  He thought making them carry his things as well as their own would get them tired enough that he wouldn’t have to listen to them chatter well into the night, but they manage to ask so many questions it makes his head spin.

“Do you think that anyone is going to like you if you never shut up?” he growls out, one night.  “I can barely hear my own thoughts, you keep spouting out all of yours.”

They blink.  Hunch their shoulders.  Shift their gaze off to the side.

“I don’t know a lot,” they mutter.  “I thought asking questions was how, uh, I learn?  My mom always had me tell her what was on my mind, so she could let me know if I was thinking of something wrong.”

They shrug their shoulders, gaze off somewhere, or sometime else.

“Well I’m not your mom,” he snaps.  “And neither is anyone else.  Trust me, no one wants to hear your thoughts.”

The kid looks up at him, hunched over and sitting down.  Their pupils shift, again.  Their expression goes carefully blank.

“Oh,” tThey reply.  “Sorry.”

Macaque lets out a huff.  He doesn’t want to be the bad guy here.  Not only is it a bad look, it also makes the kid less likely to trust him.  It’s a balancing act, where he toes the line.  Sure, the kid can take a bit more attitude than most, but you kick a dog enough and it bites back.

If you kick a dog, and then feed it nice food for a month before kicking it again, well...it takes it a lot longer to think of biting.

“Look,” he sighs.  “I’m saying this for your sake, kid.  I’m patient, but most people aren’t.  You think a regular demon will just tell you to shut up?”

He pauses, levies them an incredulous look.  “You’d lose a tooth or something, or an eye.”

They flinch, when he says eye.  He files that away for later.

“How about this,” He continues.  “You get 3 random questions per day while we walk, and 2 random comments.  Sound fair?”

Kid looks up at him, a little less despondent, and then they smile.

“Okay.” They turn to the fire, grabbing a piece of firewood from the pile and adding it to the fire.  

They glance up at Macaque, after a bit.  “Thanks.”

Macaque reaches over and ruffles their hair, and it doesn’t feel like there’s a fake smile on his face when Kid giggles and leans into the touch.

When it comes to weapons, the kid is clumsy.

Most long weapons are surprisingly difficult for them to wield.  Their height should be an advantage in that regard, giving them more of a reach, but instead all their long limbs are good for are getting hit whenever they slip with a staff or spear in hand.  They nick themselves a few times, and Macaque thinks he’s going to have to make a fuss with cleaning them up, but every time they get cut they pull out well worn gauze and some mixture, and carefully clean and wrap the wound themselves.

“My mom taught me,” they explain when he stares for too long.

Anything long is difficult for them to handle, so he throws those out the window.  Now, short blades they do well with, but they don’t like to stab.

“Curved blades,” he suggests, handing them a pair.  “They’re more for slashing.  Like a couple of extra claws, but longer.”

They hold them awkwardly, but with some careful correction they do a few practice swings, glancing over at Macaque for approval.

“Looks good,” he says, because they seem most steady with the twin blades, and that’s something to hone in on.

The kid beams.  Macaque finds himself smiling back.

They train for a couple months, not just with the curved blades.  A jack of all trades is far more useful than a master of one, after all, and letting them have at least a rudimentary understanding of how to use most weapons will make it so even if they’re without their typical arsenal, they’ll be able to make do.

That, and between the hand to hand combat lessons, will make them a force to be reckoned with, though they still refuse to strike with a killer’s intent.

All in due time, though.  Macaque would hate to waste all this effort to create something of use by scaring them off with his impatience.

They know of the Monkey King.

“I hear about him all the time,” they say, over dinner.  “He’s a very famous monkey!”

“Sure,” Macaque grumbles, ignoring the urge to punch their teeth in.

It’s not their fault, he knows.  Anyone who knows anyone would know of the Great Sun Wukong enough to—

“Have you met him?”

Now, there’s a question.  Something dark and pleased rises up when he hears it, because he can’t ruin the reputation of Sun Wukong to the world, but starting small never hurts, and why not score some trust with Kid along the way?

“We were actually pretty close,” he explains.

The look on their face when he shows them his scar and tells them how he got it is just priceless.

Shopping with them is...something else.  

He takes them to the market closeby, a few miles out from where they met in the woods.  They’re like a kid in a candy store, bouncing between market fronts and looking over every random object with interest.

“Some of the people here owe me favors,” they whisper conspiratorially to him, waving at a few of the shop owners.  “I helped them out!  It was nice.”

“Mhmm,” he nods along.

Kid is very, very insistent on favors.  The wording is important, and Macaque pockets it, pulling out the phrase whenever Kid starts to get too hesitant about doing what Macaque needs them to.

“What’s the whole favor business for, anyway?” he asks, because he genuinely is curious. 

As much as Kid’s ramblings can get annoying, they do provide insight.  Information on insecurities makes for a fun leverage.

“They owe me,” Kid replies.  “I do what they want, and then they can’t hurt me.”

Short, simple, to the point.  But oh so interesting, an insight Macaque files away.  He can’t go around hurting Kid after the favor is done, then.  That’s fine.  He has plenty of time to get them to heel without yanking on the leash.

A few tugs will do well enough, anyway.

They reach the weapon shop, and Kid is enamored with a purple pair of their preferred weapon, fluttering over to them and tracing the shapes with their fingers.  They’re practically bouncing on their feet, grabbing fistfuls of their pant legs to stop themself from snatching up their prize immediately.

They glance back to Macaque for approval.

“Not a bad color.” Macaque has always liked purple.  Maybe that’s why Kid doesn’t annoy him as much as most people.  They’re bright in personality, but wear the colors of shadows, and hide in the shade rather than stand out in the spotlight.

Kid preens at the compliment.

“Can-uh-is this what-can I have them?  Please?” They’re vibrating with excitement, eyes wide and earnest as they hope for a yes.

“Maybe,” Macaque replies, smooth as silk.  “It all depends on if you’re going to use them properly.”

That gives them pause.  Their excitement diminishes into confusion as they try and parse out just what Macaque means, ears twitching.

It is almost charming in a way, how they always seem to be moving a little bit.  Whether their tail is swaying back and forth, or they’re curling and uncurling their toes, or fluttering their fingers at their sides, they move.

“I...know how to use them,” they finally say.  “You taught me.”

“Practically,” Macaque replies.  “But you still won’t fight with them.”

Kid blinks again, tilting their head to the side.  Genuinely confused, befuddled, uncertain of his words.  He watches their eyes slide to the side, glancing around and trying to figure out what exactly he means.

“I…,” they start, haltingly.  “I thought I was?”

Macaque sighs, more out of exhaustion than annoyance, but they take it as such, ears drooping low.  Their tail brushes the floor.

“Intent, kid,” he says.  “You can use the weapons, but you don’t fight with them.  Not with intent.”

“Intent to what?” Kid asks, hesitant but insistent.

“Kill,” Macaque says, simply.  “These weapons are for killing.  If you aren’t going to use them like that, there’s no point in you getting them.  No point in continuing the favor.”

He can tell the second part hits them hard.  They stiffen, hands clasping in front of their stomach, tight.  Their feet overlap each other, toes curled, shoulders hunched, tail coiled around their leg.

Fidgeting, tense like a coiled spring, Macaque waits, because he’s seen this before.  Every time he pushes, they duck their head in quiet defiance for only a moment, before

They buckle, going limp.

“No,” they mutter.  “You’re right.  I’ll get intent, sir.”

Sir is new.

Macaque likes it. 

“Good.  Then they’re yours—” He gestures to the twin blades, with purple glossy handles and white grips.  “Take them.”

Their smile is smaller than it was before, when they pull the pair from the rack.  Their hands tremble when they hold them; they grip the blades tight to keep them steady.

Macaque pays for the blades, and ignores how still they’ve become.

With Kid’s preferred blades acquired, Macaque ramps up training.  He pushes them farther, because he’s laid the groundwork, and now the only way to get them to bend is to force them into the position.

Starting small is important.  Kid is still fit to scatter if he scares them.  It’s like placing a frog in a pot of boiling water.  It doesn’t work.  You set them in the room temperature water first, and then turn up the heat.  Slowly, still.  If he cranked it up now, well, they’d still jump out.

So, they start with a shadow clone.  Looks like a real person, but is detached enough from it that Kid won’t get too freaked when they attack it.  No blood, no screams, just smoke and mirrors to get them in action.

Maybe he should be concerned that he’s teaching them to fight a visage of him, but Macaque knows Kid isn’t stupid enough to think they can beat him.

That would be ridiculous.

He guides them through the motions, hands on their wrists as he tugs their arms into the correct positions, jerking their hand forward in a slashing motion and letting go just as they make contact with the clone, dissipating it with a single strike.

Typically his clones are more powerful, but an easy win to start will embolden them to strike harder next time.

“Nice job!” he pats them on the back, hard enough that they stumble a little from the force of it.

They’re smiling though, small and secretly pleased.  They love praise, he finds, desperate for approval.  A few kind words can feed them for a week, if he plans it out right.  Not that he’s always planning.  Some do just...slip out.

“Now,” he summons another clone, placing it a few feet away.  “Try this one on your own.”

Kid nods, turns, and settles into a stance.  They charge forward and strike.

Macaque smiles.

From clones, comes animals.

After all, he explains, they have to eat.  Sure, a true warrior eats less than most, but they still need to have food.  Starving themselves when they’re in the middle of training, in the middle of gaining muscle and strength, is stupid.  They need to bulk up.

“I don’t, um, usually eat much,” Kid says.

Macaque scoffs.

“That’s why you’re a stick.” He gestures to their general size, how their clothes hang off of them.

They fidget, shrugging a little.

“I guess,” they reply, which is their typical response when they don’t exactly agree but don’t have the courage to actually disagree.

“Well, I know,” he bites back, finding some sort of pleasure in how they shrink away from him.  “We need to make sure you know how to make food anyway.  You’re no use to me half-starved.”

He drums up options, glancing off into the forest they’re surrounded by.

“There’s plenty of food out here,” he says.  “We can fish in streams, shoot for birds, and there’s a human settlement just out west a couple miles, so—”

“We are not,” Kid interrupts, interrupts, voice harder than he’s ever heard, “Eating humans.”

Their eyes are sharp.  Angry, even.  So rarely does he find anger in them, find fire where there is cool terror and anxiety.  This is something noticeable.  Kid likes humans, enough to fight for them.

They’re trembling, waiting for his reaction.  Clearly, they’re terrified that he’ll snap at them, that he’ll shut them down.  But they don’t apologize.

Interesting.  How rare is it that Macaque sees them be brave?

“Fine,” he shrugs.  “They scream too much to be worth it, anyway.”

That much is true.  While he might not be showing off the six ears that beget his title, they’re still there, and shouting is nothing that he wants to deal with.

Kid relaxes, relief evident on their face that he’s not yelling at them.  It’s good that they’re smart enough to fear his reproach.

“But, that means you’re gonna have to learn to gut fish,” he jerks a thumb towards the stream behind them.  

Kid smiles, with all their sharp teeth on display.

“Sir yes sir!” They salute.

Macaque has to wonder who taught them such a motion as they jump up and rush to the water.

He stands and prepares the next lesson.

In the weeks following, they learn to fish with both a line and with their hands.  He teaches them to use a bow for the birds, as well as the bears.  They only kill one bear, because the amount of meat will last them ages and it’s foolish to waste such meat.

They trade some of it for spices in the human markets, once Macaque makes sure they know how to look human.  Apparently, it’s the only form they can shift into.  Not surprising, but disappointing nonetheless.

Kid takes to cooking with a gusto he doesn’t expect.

“I would help my mom with dinner,” they explain, setting up the fire one night.  “I didn’t know how she was making what she was, but I loved all of it.  I—”

They cut themself off, suddenly shy.

Macaque doesn’t pry.  Half because he doesn’t care, and half because he knows it’s a fruitless endeavor.  For most things, Kid can be cajoled into explanation, but if they truly don’t want to say anything, he’ll get nothing.  Which, considering his secrets, is fair enough.

“I...like that I can make something nice,” Kid finally admits, turning away from him to grab some spices.  “For you.”

Oh.

Somewhere along the line, Macaque stops finding them as annoying as they should be.

They smile at him like he’s a star, the sun, and years of being a moon, of being second best, makes that look something to covet.  If that means he lets them drag him into the forest to look at some rare plants, if that means listening to them ramble about the medicinal properties of said plants, well.

It’s only because it ingratiates them to him.  That’s it.

Physical affection, too, is something they desire.  It’s a reward.  That is it.  A reward for a job well done, a pick-me-up when they’re too morose to be useful, a new tool in his set to fix them into something worthwhile.

Say nothing to the times they shivered in the cold, slowly shifting towards him, pressed against his back to conserve warmth.  Macaque didn’t push them off because he was asleep.  Say nothing to the days they would shiver in the day, lack of proper fur like he had to keep them warm, and he’d lend them his scarf.  He didn’t need it anyway.  He’s stronger than they are, he can deal with the cold.  He’s setting an example.

He refuses to groom them.  Grooming is something private, something reserved for people who are no longer around, who left, who left and took the whole of him with them.  And Kid is not that someone.

Sometimes, though, he wonders.

Bright, like a star, they can shine in the darkest corners.  Hands bloodied from a carcass, they’re always gentle with the animals they kill.  Always certain to make the cuts clean and precise, so the animal dies quickly.

It’s a small mercy, but to choose to find that mercy and lean into it…

They’re not naive.  Neither was he.  Enough knowledge of a cruel world to understand hate, but enough kindness in a soul to push back against it.  But that type of soul is flighty, off to the next weeping child to console, the next problem to solve, the next world to save.

That type of soul leaves, and doesn't come back.

Better to crush that type of soul, then.

“Mac!” Kid calls, holding a full net.  “Look at how much fish I caught!”

Macaque fights a smile.

“Don’t call me that,” he barks out and wishes it hurt less when he sees them flinch.

“Sorry, sir,” they reply.  “I got excited.  We’ll have food for weeks!  I’ll dry some of the fish out for snacks, and I have some spices that would go really well with—”

They pause, flushing, ears pointed up and pink with embarrassment.  They bite their lip.

“Sorry,” They say, again.  “I know you don’t like me rambling…,”

Not typically, no.

But now…

“Well, if it’s about our food stores, it’s important,” he says, a justification that rings hollow.  “So go on, kid.”

They brighten, eyes wide and happy as Macaque becomes their sun, again.

Macaque basks in it, just a little, and thinks he can wait a little longer.

They get very good at using the blades.  Between traveling, getting food, making food, and training, they can hold their own pretty well.

Of course, they only really fight animals and clones.  Whenever Macaque suggests they spar with him, they lock up, terrified by the idea.  That’s fine, though, because Macaque wants them to be in top shape when they actually fight him, anyway.

They can manage against eight clones at once, dodging punches and slashing through them.  Of course, the clones aren’t at their top durability or strength, because Kid isn’t Monkey King levels of powerful like he is.

But, they seem to be doing fine, so he raises the intensity level a little bit.  Has a couple of the clones level up, so to speak, to keep Kid on their toes.  They can’t expect every enemy to be the same skill level every time.  They have to be used to surprises.

Maybe he does it too quickly, because Kid ducks, slashes, and is unable to dodge the kick to their side that sends them flying.

Their head cracks against a tree trunk just outside the clearing.

When they drop, they don’t move.

Macaque is up on his feet in an instant.  The clones vanish as he sprints across the clearing, at Kid’s side so fast his vision blurs with the motion.

“Shit,” he breathes.

Macaque lifts Kid up in his arms.  They’re limp in his grasp, eyes closed, and they look dead but he knows they’re not, he checks their pulse and they’re fine, it’s fine.  He wouldn’t kill them.  Not like this.  

He feels where their head hit the tree, and his hand comes back wet.  

“Shit, shit, shit.”

He reaches into Kid’s pockets, and finds that roll of gauze they always have on them.  They buy a new roll every time they go to the market, just in case.

He hasn’t needed to wrap wounds in a while, considering his healing...style, but he remembers how it goes.

Blood drips onto the ground, even as he wraps the wound as best and as tight as he can.  He folds Kid’s gangly long limbs so he can lift them up, and their forehead rests in the crook of his neck.  He can feel their breath on his fur.

Good.  They’re still breathing.

He squats down and presses hard against the dirt, lifting off the ground and speeding through the forest.  There’s a demon market a few miles out, there’s got to be a healer there, they can fix this.  They will, whether they like to or not.  No one says no to the Six-Eared Macaque, regardless of circumstance.

He hears a shuddering whine crawl out of Kid’s mouth.  A hand grasps at his shirt, as pained gasps reach his ears.

He can hear them so clearly.  Curse of six ears.  But, he can still hear their heartbeat, and even the gasps are a good sign.  They can still breathe.  It’s fine.

“Give me a minute, kid.” He whispers, forgiving the hand because they’re injured, that’s the only reason.  “We’ll get you fixed up, just sit tight.”

They whimper and curl up tighter, as their wrappings on their head stain quick.

It takes Macaque twenty minutes to get to the market.  Twenty minutes for eleven miles, as he rushed between trees, over boulders and hills, through towns.  It would have been quicker, but whenever he picked up too much speed, Kid would whimper as the wind whipped at their face and head wrappings.  So Macaque took it a touch slower, if only to keep him from hearing that noise.

They’d passed out a few minutes before he’d arrived at the market, though, so he’d managed to speed things up a little.

He slips between the shadows of market stalls, eyes searching for a healer.  They’re typically at one end of the market or the other, to keep the stench of blood and pus and rot from infected wounds away from the rest of the market.

He finds the tent and dashes inside.

The healer is some sort of fox demon, tail twitching as Macaque enters.  Sharp eyes fall on him and then Kid in his arms, and when Macaque speaks up his tone leaves little room for argument or reproach.

“They hit their head.” He doesn’t explain how.  It’s none of their business what he does with his tools.  “Fix it.”

The healer raises a brow, glancing at the two monkeys, one with sharp eyes and the other curled and trembling in the other’s arms.

“There is a fee,” comes a silk voice, near a hiss.  They point to their price.

Macaque summons a clone and sets Kid in its arms, growling under his breath.  He digs into his pocket and pulls out his coin pouch, digging into it and grabbing out the correct amount.  He slams it onto the counter with a force that would have caused the coins to scatter all over the room if not for how tightly he grips them in his fist.

They trickle down onto the desk with a clatter.  Macaque places his trembling fists at his sides, enraged enough that his eyes glow.  If not for the fact that this healer is needed, their blood would paint the tent and everything inside of it.

The wary look the healer sends him is proof that they understand that.

“Fix,” he growls.  “It.”

The healer gestures to the table off to the side, and Macaque has his clone set Kid down before dispelling it.

The healer moves Kid onto their side, lifting their head and glancing at the covered wound.  With a careful claw, they cut away the bandage, a swirl of magic creating a small bubble over the wound, keeping the blood from spilling.

The lack of pressure, the new sensation of magic, gets Kid to stir.

They twitch, fingers and toes curling as their eyes blink open.  Confusion paints their posture and expression, and they take in a hitching breath, ears swiveling to try and figure what is happening.

“M-Mo-Mac-h-hhhhhh,” they gasp out, trying to move.

The healer presses them gently back down onto the table, placing a careful finger to their forehead.

“Shhhh,” they whisper.  “Rest, child.”

Kid’s eyes slide shut.  They relax.

The healer first gets a rag and some water, carefully dabbing at the wound, cleaning away any dirt that may have gotten into the crack.  They use their claws to align the tiny pieces of the skull that have dislodged both from the wound and from the journey.  Then, they grab a jar off of the shelf, pulling off the lid and dipping their fingers in to scoop out an orange-yellow cream substance.  Gently, they rub it across the wound, and then wrap it again.

They use a spoon to put more of that cream into a smaller jar, and hand it to Macaque, along with a roll of gauze.

“The wound will heal in a few days.  Change the bandages twice a day and reapply the cream.  It speeds up the process and prevents infection,” the healer explains.  “The child may have a foggy memory of the incident, and may hallucinate.  Be aware.”

Macaque sticks the jar and gauze in his pocket and nods, picking Kid up.  He’s gentle about it, supporting their head on his shoulder.  They shift a little in their sleep, pressing their forehead against his neck.  Their fur brushes against his chin.

Their tail curls around his arm, a comforting squeeze.  The end wisps against his palm.

Macaque pointedly ignores how any of this makes him feel and heads off.

Back at camp, he sets Kid up with blankets and enough soft material for a pillow, making sure their head is elevated and kept away from the hard ground.  He sends a few clones out to grab firewood, setting up a flame and throwing some stuff together for a soup.

Macaque, on a whole, doesn’t cook much.  He’s content to chomp on apples and whatever fruits he finds.  Occasionally, he’ll cook some meat.  Otherwise, he just won’t eat often.  Kid’s the one who makes all the different concoctions.

He hopes the mix of spices is good here.

Kid wakes up a few hours later, when stars dot the sky and Macaque shivers a little at the night chill.  Bleary eyes stare up at the sky, pupils shifting to try and focus, though Macaque doesn’t see them settle.

He scoops a bowl of soup, still warm though the fire has died down, and shuffles to Kid’s side.

“Hey, kid,” he whispers.  

Macaque is not a delicate man.  But no one is here to see, no one who could matter, so he hooks an arm beneath Kid’s shoulders and lifts them up so they’re sitting up against his chest, though not fully considering the height difference.  God knows they won’t be able to sit up on their own, and he refuses to waste good soup.

Bleary eyes blink, staring up at him.  Recognition flickers in their gaze.

“Mom?” they croak.

Macaque.  Freezes.

He carefully lifts the bowl of soup to Kid’s mouth.

“Drink,” he says, pointedly ignoring their comment.

Hallucinations, the healer told him.  That’s all this is.  Kid isn’t seeing him, after all.

Kid takes a few steady gulps of the soup, turning away to breathe.  Macaque exercises patients by glancing up at the sky and ignoring how idiotic this is.  He’s not a babysitter.  He doesn’t do this.  He isn’t their parent.  He isn’t...

“Did Dad hurt you?” Kid turns back, looking up with eyes that stare through him rather than at him.  “Your eye…”

They reach up, fingers close enough to brush the line where his scar is, hidden beneath glamour.  Macaque pulls away, lifting the bowl up to Kid’s lips again in lieu of responding to that.

“Drink,” he snarls.

They flinch, nodding and getting the rest of the soup down.  He helps them back to their bed, and their eyes stare back up at the sky with that same faraway look.

“I’ll be better next time,” they whisper, quiet but strong.  “So you won’t get hurt.”

Macaque turns away, and doesn’t look back until he knows they’re asleep.  Hallucinations, he knows.  Hallucinations.  That’s the only reason they’re saying anything like that at all.  They don’t know him, he’s kept his heart under his cloak, never on his sleeve.  That's why he’s their teacher, so they will learn to do the same.

He watches the fire sway in the night, until he can find it in himself to sleep.

The next day goes mostly smoothly, with incoherent ramblings occasionally from Kid that Macaque tunes out.  He changes their bandages in the morning and then goes out, leaving a shadow clone to watch the camp while collecting food and other supplies.

They sleep through most of the day, but at night when he goes to change their bandages again, they start to squirm.

“Kid,” he starts, trying to hold them steady.  The wrappings are already off, and he’s trying to keep dirt from getting in.  

They kick and writhe, whispering and growling and making an assortment of whimpering noises he can’t make heads nor tails of.  He grips them tight enough to bruise, to keep them steady.

“Kid, I’m not going to hurt you!” he shouts.

“YOU HURT ME!” they scream, and it sounds so much as if the words had been torn from their throat that Macaque is surprised he doesn’t see blood splatter out of their mouth.  “YOU HURT ME!”

Their hand claws at his, and he drops them with a shout of pain as they tear off the skin of his knuckles.  They drop to the dirt with their own short cry of discomfort, curling in on themself as Macaque backs away.

“You—” They cough.  Their breaths are short and uneven.  “You-it-it’s like an earthquake,” their voice is quiet and strained and quick.  “Cracks beneath the surface.  Snow, melting from inside.  Inside out.  Cracking.  Melting.  I’m-I’m-I can’t see it.”

They gasp it out, trembling.

The water is boiling.  Why is Macaque the one burning?

They still. 

“You don’t look,” they finally say, a hoarse whisper.  “You don’t want to.  You don’t want to see.”

Macaque swallows.  Stares at the-the—

The child may have a foggy memory of the incident, and may hallucinate.

Child.

He shuffles forward, so, so gentle as he reaches toward them.  They don’t move when his hand brushes against their back.  They’re boneless when he pulls them toward him.  As if every last drop of them was poured into their words, they’re empty.

He patches their wound.  Sets them down.  They’re silent, asleep on the bed.

He sits, watches the blood from his knuckles drip to the ground.  It’ll heal on its own.  He can heal on his own.

He doesn’t sleep.

The next couple of days are easy.  Kid doesn’t say or do much, moving when prompted and sleeping when not.  Macaque ignores the buzz in the back of his head that feels like guilt.  He leaves Kid with a shadow clone and tears down a forest.  Anger is easy to deal with.  This is not.

A little under a week after the incident, Kid wakes up with a groan.

“Mac?” They rub at their eyes sitting up with a bit of effort.

Macaque fights the urge to tell them not to call him that.  He’ll save it for later.

“About time you woke up,” he says, with an easy grin on his face.

Kid blinks up at him, confused. 

“You hit your head,” he explains with a wave of his hand.  “One of my clones caught you off guard.  You were out for a few days.”

Kid blinks a few more times, tail and ears twitching.  They tilt their head to the side in thought.  They reach up and feel the back of their head, poking at the freshly healed wound.  They wince.

“Oh,” they say.  They smile up at him.  “Thank you for taking care of me.”

They stand up on shaky legs, shuffling a little before they steady.

“I’m gonna see about some food.  I’ll make you your favorite tonight!” They grin, all teeth, and vanish into the forest before Macaque can stop them.

He stares at their retreating form.  He sends a shadow clone to keep an eye on them, in case their wound acts up.

He sits and ponders their smile.

YOU HURT ME!

Thank you for taking care of me.

The strange thing is, he doesn’t think they were lying either time.

He eases them back into training, and they fall back into it with ease, the injury fading from view as their fur covers it up.  He’s still ever so careful the next couple of weeks.  The last thing he needs is for them to get hurt again.

They’re too much like him.  Too much like the sun, the hero, but the difference is that the hero could be like that because he was powerful.  The hero could strike down any foe, the hero had power.  It allowed him to be soft.

Kid does not have power.  They can get hurt.  They can die.

Their heart is on their sleeve.  They smile.  They curl up, sometimes, hiding their chest, but more often than not they’re splayed out, an open target.  Wide eyed, not completely naive, but just hopeful enough to get them killed.

And he...he doesn’t want them killed.

It’s sad, he thinks.  If they were stronger, maybe they could stay as they are.  But they aren’t, so he will rip their heart from their sleeve and teach them to keep it hidden.  

Whether they like it or not.

“You’re too...you. To be intimidating like I am,” he tells them, pacing.  “But there are different types of scary.  We’ll have to find the one that fits you.”

Kid is sitting on a rock, watching him pace.  Their eyes follow his movements like a pendulum, swinging back and forth.  They tap their palms on their knees, nodding along as they listen.

“Um, Mac?” They start.

He glares in their direction.  They shrink down, shoulders hunched.

“Sir,” they amend, quickly.  “Um, why do I have to be scary?”

It’s a valid question.  Annoying, but fair, and an explanation will get them to further listen.  Still, the fact that they don’t know, when they’re as old as they are (not that Macaque knows how old they are), is annoying.

“Because,” he stresses, rolling his eyes.  “When you intimidate, people won’t fight you.  Intimidation is making sure everyone in the room knows you’re the strongest one there.  Even if you’re not.”

And they won’t be, more often than not.  They’re crafty, and fast, but not strong.  In a standstill fight, they’ll lose a lot.  But that’s why the intimidation look has to be perfect.

“Oh,” they reply.  “Cool!”

“Of course it is,” he shoots back, puffing out his chest.  “Now, angry intimidation won’t work.  You don’t have a good angry face.”

“I don’t get angry often,” Kid shrugs.

“Exactly.  You don’t have it in you,” he rubs his chin in thought.  “We could go for the ‘danger behind a smile’ angle.”

He takes a few steps toward them.  With how they’re sitting, a rock as a prop up, he’s at eye level with them standing.

“We want a small smile, kid.” He reaches a hand towards their face, to help shape their grin.

They flinch back, and have their blades out in a flash.  Their eyes are wide, locked onto Macaque’s outstretched hand.

Macaque blinks, startled by their sharp shift in mood, and Kid comes back to themself, lowering their hunched shoulders.

“O-oh,” They breathe, letting their hands drop.  “Right.  Y-you’re right.  I think.”

They set the blades on the ground, shuffling their feet.

“...Alright,” Macaque continues.  He knows they were hit by a clone of his, and, well, the clones are made looking like him.  They might be more shaky than they say, over that.  He certainly has taught them to be quiet. “Now, you want the smile to be small.  Your eyes are wide, and your pupils are small.  You want to look like you’re a second from ripping their heart out and eating it in front of them.”

Kid makes a face.  “That’s gross,” they say.

“It’s an analogy,” Macaque groans, throwing his head back and slapping a hand over his eyes.  “Just do it.”

They try it, and Macaque has to give them a few pointers.  No, your smile is too wide.  Don’t fidget.  Keep your tail still.  Don’t look away.  Keep eye contact.

Finally, they have a good look.

“There,” he says, stepping back.  “That will make sure nobody messes with or hurts you, kid.”

Their expression drops away into something blank, and Macaque stills.  He wouldn’t tell them, but when their expression is empty it’s far scarier than their smile.  Better they not know that lest they use it to an excessive degree.

“Um,” they start, a little shy.  “But, you do this.  And you got hurt?”

Their eyes trace the scar hidden beneath glamour.  Macaque turns so that eye is out of view.

“It doesn’t always work,” he mutters, casting a glare in their direction.  “Because some people know that they’re stronger than anyone, so intimidation doesn’t work.”

“What do I do then?” they ask, with all the wide eyes of a student expecting their teacher to have the perfect answer.

“You claw at any part of them you can reach,” Macaque replies.  “And you run.”

He ramps up their training.  Any time they aren’t traveling is spent sparring, practicing, cooking, hunting, no free time.  No time to play or joke around.

They’re confused, at first, by the change of pace.  They try the same tricks, the same comments.  Macaque does not budge.

“Quit it.”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“Stop acting like a child.”

They quiet, eventually.  Learn to be smaller and less bright, keep their light within themself so it doesn’t attract too much attention.  They learn to keep their thoughts inside, following orders with a blank face and the occasional grin.

They still get overexcited, and sometimes Macaque bites his tongue.  If it’s just around him then it’s fine in small doses.

It’s not because he’s scared of their light going out.  It’s not because he likes it when they ramble and drag him along until they get him to grin.  It’s not.

He gets them a new outfit.  Their old one is worn, the fabric thin and worn and ripping.  They sew up the patches and clean it as best they can, but considering the age it’s soon to be a lost cause. 

They do love shopping, so he strings them along.

They sprint through different styles.  Everything is new and interesting to them, as if they spend time outside of the present and are then shocked by the new future.  He trails them along different stalls, pulls them away from items they shouldn’t touch, and critiques outfit after outfit.

They find the right one, though he’s quick to tell them how rare that is, so they don’t get a big head.  Besides, with how tall and gangly they are, finding something that fits them is pretty difficult.  It takes them two hours to find something right, two hours better spent training, moving around.

He goes up to pay for it while they spin around and jump excitedly in their new look, and his eyes widen at the price.

“Enchanted pockets,” the tailor explains.  “They hold up to a full pack’s worth of items without showing it.”

And, well, Macaque didn’t expect to spend this much.  He turns around, because they don’t need those pants, they can carry a pack just fine, and—

Kid sees him looking and waves, gesturing to their new outfit and striking a valiant pose.

Macaque sighs, softens, and pays.

They tell him the flaps on the side are just like his, something excited and happy in their tone, and he grins.  If they’re just like him, then they’ll be smart.  If they’re just like him, they won’t make silly mistakes like trusting people, like getting attached, like getting hurt.

The issue with that is when you stare at a person who is functionally a mirror, you start to see all your flaws.

His final challenge isn’t supposed to work.

Kid has barely been able to spar with him, when he gives them his challenge.  They spar and they don’t fight hard, and Macaque always wins.  

But then they say they have to go, and Macaque knows they’re not ready (secretly, they’ll never be ready because they’ll never be powerful enough, but if he keeps them within arms reach he can make sure they stay away from him) so he picks something he knows they can’t do.

Kill.

He expects them to get to where that demon is and balk.  He expects that they’ll try but their fears will halt them in their tracks, and they’ll come back with their tail tucked between their legs and apologies spilling from their lips.  He expects that he’ll smile, and say that they’ll just have to stay with him, then, now won’t they?  And then they will, and everything will be fine and good and right.

He doesn’t need or want anyone, but...he doesn’t mind if they’d stay.

He doesn’t know them.  He doesn’t know what they’ve lived through, what they’ve done before.  He doesn’t know how deep their ties to favors run.  He’s never asked, he doesn’t know.

Two days after he tells them to kill, they come back with a severed head.

They’re smiling, when they do.  Their tail curls around their leg and they’re trembling, but they’re smiling like they always do.  Macaque is supposed to be able to tell when someone is lying, and he’s supposed to know them and read them like an open book, but Kid smiles and it looks real.

They’re trembling.  He barely hears what they’re saying, over the sound of their thudding heartbeat.

The eyes on the head are sewn shut.  He asks, and they give him an excuse, and he doesn’t press because he never has.  He’s never cared enough to ask about their past, their feelings, never dug deep enough.  He thought they were surface-level, because they’re quiet, and they don’t talk about themself too much beyond comments about their mother.  He’s staring at a stranger he’s known for over half a year.

He’s not supposed to be caught off guard.  So self-assured, he plans his schemes with the knowledge that he understands all the moves the player will make.  Now he’s in the dark, lost with the simple sight in front of him.

Macaque doesn’t understand, but if Kid’s a stranger he’ll keep them as one.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out two gifts.  He’d gotten them months ago, finding a jeweler who could enchant the token, and a book binder at the market that could create a tome practically infinite in space but small enough to be a notebook.

He holds it out, and then they smile so wide he thinks it could crack the porcelain of the mask of indifference they’re wearing so perfectly.  They strangle their tail as if it were their neck, and he knows that must hurt.

They have blood, staining their feet.  Every part of them is pristine, but the dried blood is crusted on their feet, covered with dirt.

He watches them go, tired eyes and bloody feet.

He makes his dinner by himself.  He makes the fire by himself, he sits by the fire by himself.  He sleeps by himself.  He travels by himself.

There is no voice, pointing out different flowers.  He doesn’t hear about this certain mixture that can cure this illness.  He doesn’t get any anecdotes, he doesn’t hear the patter of feet as they run ahead.

It’s quiet, save for the typical sounds of the forest.  As it should be. 

The Six-Eared Macaque walks alone.

Just like a warrior should be.  Isn’t that why they left, to be alone?  Isn’t that what he wanted?

Macaque ends up back on that cliff, where they stared up at the sky on New Year's.  He never cared much for the holiday, but the Kid was insistent, so he'd let them drag him along. 

He closes his eyes, and for the first time when he thinks of fireworks he doesn't see Wukong's smile. When he opens them, the sky looks devoid of stars. 

The moon looks lonely, without them.

.

.

.

Centuries later, a silver token with amethyst gemstone eyes buzzes in Spirit’s pocket.

[ladynestaarcheron]

Fears All the Way Down - Chapter One

ao3 - masterpost

back on my bullshit, y'all! as i have chattered about, this is my fix it for acosf. we've established that because acosf ignores canon from the original trilogy and is so poorly edited that emerie has two--count 'em, two--on-page tragic backstories...i am completely at liberty to ignore what I please, and so are you. i'll let you know chapter by chapter what you should keep in mind.

this one's not critically important, but I just want to say it: in acosf, nesta's revealed to be taller than average, and two inches taller than feyre. wrong. nesta's short. feyre's the tallest and she's only 5'6", elain's an inch shorter, and nesta's 5'3" on a good day.

anyway. enjoy!

---

There's nothing quite like stepping into Feyre's beautiful new home to remind Nesta just how truly ugly she is. The literary part of her, dulled by the wine from last night and the downward spiral of the past year, appreciates the contrast. Sometimes she still likes to narrate her life in her head as though it were a book. What would she write here? The woman curves her foot inside her boot, as if that would stop her from dirtying the marble. That's a nice line, isn't it? A good hook. But she isn't a woman anymore, so it wouldn't work.

"This way," Cassian says, unnecessarily waving his hand behind him.

It's probably supposed to be insulting, that Feyre has sent him to fetch her. But she doesn't care. Feyre can do what she likes. Just as Nesta will do what she likes. She'll sit through this scolding, turn down the invitation to stay for lunch, go home and sleep until she wakes up and has another night like last.

Although perhaps she'll spend less this time. If only to avoid this headache again.

"They're waiting in here," he says, stopping in front of one of the doors. How many rooms are there in this mansion, anyway? Feyre might've mentioned it on the tour, but she doesn't remember. Only remembers that decorating the walls are dozens, maybe hundreds of pictures of Feyre and Rhysand and Morrigan and Cassian and Azriel and Amren and Elain and their father, and none of Nesta. Or their mother, for that matter. She remembers that very well.

"Wait," Cassian blurts out as she lays a hand on the doorknob.

Nesta angles her head slightly. Not a full turn, not to look at him.

"Do you want your tea?"

Rolling her eyes, Nesta opens the door and shuts it--pointedly, she hopes--behind her.

Her sisters look up from the couch where they sit, heads close together. Little cakes and sandwiches and tea are arranged prettily on the glass table.

"Nesta!" Elain says, leaping up."You're here early!"

Nesta bites her tongue to keep from answering Five whole minutes. No use snapping at Elain before they've even begun, is there?

"Let me take your coat," Feyre says, standing up too.

Ah. So this would be this sort of meeting, then. These...luncheons, that they sometimes try to have with her. But it's nine in the morning.

It pulls at her heart, that they still try. And makes her sick to her stomach. She winces as she feels it. Too much alcohol and not enough food to add any extra queasiness. This will not be easy for her.

"Heard you had quite the night," Feyre says, voice bright and cheery in a way that does not quite match her eyes. "Sit down, sit down."

She does, opposite them. They take note.

"Do you want to try these macarons, Nesta? Raspberry. I made them."

"We got this new cinnamon tea...from the Continent. I think you'll like it."

Her sisters try again a few times, and eventually she says, "I'll take tea."

"I'll pour it," Feyre says quickly.

Great. Wonderful.

This isn't so bad, though, she thinks as she sipped her tea. She'll get through this...whatever it is. Force herself to make some conversation, say Feyre's newest art project is pretty, force down half a cookie and tell Elain it tastes good. Then she'll agree to see them for lunch in a week. And that will be all.

How long can they possibly keep her for? An hour? Two hours? She can do that.

And then Feyre clears her throat. "Nesta," she begins. "Elain and I...have something we want to say to you."

Here it is. She should've known better. Tea and macarons, at nine in the morning? Of course not.

"And we're only saying this because we care about you," Elain adds quickly.

"Yes. Yes, right. We are. And...well...what we want to say is..." Feyre looks to Elain, who nods encouragingly.

Good grief. Will this never end?

"We know that...all of this...has been...difficult...for you to adjust to."

Nesta's heart stutters. They wouldn't. This--this isn't happening.

She keeps it off her face, though. She is cool, impassive. Blank. Nothing.

It doesn't make Feyre give up, but it does make her duck her head. "We...understand. But we think...we know that because we love you we can't allow this to go on any longer." Feyre clamps her mouth shut as she finishes, appearing to be holding her breath.

Nesta only raises an eyebrow slightly. Inside, she is not nearly as calm.

"All of the...drinking, Nesta," Elain says, lips beginning to tremble. Oh, no, not this. Anything but this. "And the m-males." She cringes as she said the words.

The color leachees from her face. She wants to die. There is no Mother, she knows, because if there were any being with mercy, they would surely split the earth beneath her feet and take her down.

"Not that there's anything wrong with that," Feyre says, now the one hurrying to add on to the other. Elain nods, but she looks sick. "Just that--you hadn't really...there was Tomas, but other than that--"

Nesta flinches violently when Feyre says his name. She still isn't making eye contact, though, so she doesn't notice, and continues.

"--so the--switch. From not being with anyone, and then...and these males don't care about you. And I wouldn't--I would never judge you, Nesta, really, but it doesn't appear as though you're...enjoying...yourself." She shrinks back.

"So then," Nesta says, proud of herself for keeping her voice even, "you are judging me."

"We're just noting facts," Elain says.

"And...all right, let's take a step back," Feyre says, swallowing. "We're not here to criticize you. We only want to offer a solution."

"A solution," Nesta repeats flatly. To her problem. To her.

"A--not a solution. Help. We want to help."

Elain clenches her hands into fists in front of her. Feyre stills as she visibly holds her breath.

"Well?" Nesta says after half a minute of this, voice still deadly calm. "What is your solution?"

Who will be the one to say it, she wonders? Elain, frightened as a mouse already, or Feyre, ill at the sight of her?

It's Feyre. Perhaps being High Lady makes her feel responsible. But she exhales sharply, picks up her head, and says, "We think it would be beneficial for you to spend some time in the library."

Nesta blinks. A library? That...doesn't sound--

And then she realizes. Not a library. The library. The one off the side of that mountain, where Hybern had attacked...where Bryaxis had lived...where all those priestesses...those priestesses...

"Are you out of your mind?" she blurts out, losing grip on her faux calm completely. "You want me to go to that library? Are you insane? How is that possibly supposed to help?"

"Nesta--"

"With those--those sycophants? Who worship that thing?" The thundering of her heart blocks the sounds from her sisters' protests. "Is that what you want me to be? Some acolyte of that--you want me to pray to that--how can--how dare--"

"Nesta, please!" Feyre cries, hands thrown up in front of her.

"We don't mean that at all!" Elain says, tears in her eyes.

Nesta's chest heaves as she struggles to catch her breath, her mind too full of that...Cauldron. That thing they all worship--that thing that did this to her--to Elain--to Father--

"Please hear us out," Feyre says. "Sit back down, please."

Nesta falters. She hadn't even realized she had jumped up. She fights to keep her cheeks from reddening in shame. Stupid--she shouldn't have lost control like that--and what if something had happened? Shattered a window, shattered one of her sisters' bones?

"Thank you," Feyre says as she sits. "What we mean is...to spend time at the library during the day...working on entirely secular things. Nothing to do with any worship at all. Not reading those books, not participating in any prayer, not even wearing their robes."

"We would never suggest you do that, Nesta." Elain's voice is tight. Feyre reaches out and holds her hand.

"Just during the day," Feyre continues, "and then at night staying in the House of Wind."

"So you don't even have to share a room with any of them," Elain is quick to clarify. "Or eat with them. And you could go to that private library, too, remember?" She still fights back tears, but her voice takes a hopeful turn upwards.

Nesta latches onto everything inside her and holds it down tightly. "What would I even be doing there?"

Elain and Feyre exchange a look. Was that excitement? They probably take it as her willingness to go. That is not what this is.

"So, day to day, it would involve librarian duties. Reshelving books and such. And over time, if you find something you're interested in, aiding a senior librarian with her research. Or perhaps doing some of your own, if you'd like. But...the real purpose, Nesta..." Feyre sneaks another look at Elain before saying to her, "is for you to heal."

"We're not saying there's anything the matter with you," Elain says, jumping in before she can respond. "Just that...you've been hurt. And w-we take responsibility for not being by your side all this time. That was obviously wrong. We thought...well...we know you've always preferred to be on your own. But you're--you're hurting yourself too much. We can't just let you do that anymore. We love you," she finishes, choking back a sob. Her tears start falling from her eyes, but she does her best to keep quiet.

Feyre squeezes her hand, but doesn't turn to look at her. She keeps her eyes focused on Nesta. "Look, we know...it'd be a big change. But just...give it a few weeks. Get a feel for it. And if it's really not working...and you don't like it..."

"Then what?" Nesta asks, hollow.

"Don't worry about that," Feyre answers, firm. "We'll think of something else."

She's going to be sick right here. She cannot handle this...concern. Their trying. It's too much.

And now she has to say no. And Elain will cry--maybe Feyre, too. And then she'll have the rest of them upon her; Rhysand leading them to storm down her apartment, probably. It'll drive her down further, and perhaps be the last snip needed to finally sever the frayed, sole remaining string tied between herself and her sisters. Goodness knows she has ripped apart the tie between her and Amren, had stomped out the one between her and Cassian before it even had a chance to be something--

"Hey," Feyre says, placing a hand on her knee. "Stay with us, please."

"We know it's not easy." Elain speaks slowly, breathing deeply and fighting back her sobs. "But...don't think of it as a big thing. Just one step. One change. And w-we're not abandoning you to do this alone."

Feyre stands up and moves to sit by Nesta's side. Elain takes her other.

"I know how you feel," Feyre says, quiet and calm, squeezing her knee. "I've felt the same. If you can't do this for yourself...that's fine. Just please, please. Do it for us. Please."

Nesta narrows her eyes on Feyre's hand. She doesn't open her mouth for fear of what might come out. She won't give this voice--can't--

"I killed two innocents," Feyre says in that same voice, and suddenly, Nesta forgets her own thoughts as she turns to face her.

"It was my third trial," she continues, meeting Nesta's gaze, "Under the Mountain. Amarantha made me. I could've killed myself...and I was going to. But then it all ended and she died and Tamlin took me back to Spring. And I..." Only now does a tear slide down Feyre's cheek. But she just wipes it away and musters a small smile. "I promise I know how you feel. Please do this for me."

There are some truths Nesta knows. That she is not worth anyone's effort because of who she is, what she is. Which is defiled. And rotted. And small. And ugly. And these are the reasons why people give up; why she deserves that.

And yet, here her sisters sit, quietly crying, begging, beside her, and they are not giving up.

It's not exactly seeing the chance, rather...knowing it's there. In her periphery. Out of reach from where she is now, but...perhaps she can get there.

And Nesta realizes that there is a small, nearly insignificant--except it's the most important, isn't it?--part of her that throughout this whole drowning tempest, remembers what it is like to breathe. And it wants to breathe.

The girl who gave everything she could against the Cauldron may be buried, but she's not dead yet.

So she nods once.

Elain gasps and throws her palm against her mouth. Feyre squeezes her leg so hard she thinks she might draw blood.

"Thank you," Elain chokes out, crashing her head onto Nesta's shoulder.

Feyre doesn't say anything; only leans onto her other side.

Nesta doesn't relax. She sits there stiff and unmoving. But that distant, minuscule thing inside her flickers and breathes.

[p-artsypants]

P-Artsypants Fic Masterpost!

This information is always available on my blog. 

Find most, if not more, of these fics on:

Fanfiction.net | Archive of Our Own | Wattpad

(~AU’s, *Finished, ❤️Author’s Favorites)

Kingdom Hearts

~❤️Rage Awakened AO3 | FF.net- Ten years ago, Terra, Aqua, and Ventus lost their fellow apprentice, Sora, in Deep Jungle. Now, they are to return with two new students, Riku and Kairi, to lock the heart of the world. All the while, something watches from the trees. Feral!Sora AU

My Kingdom for a Heart AO3 | FF.Net - The curse of being one of the Princesses of heart, is that there’s always someone out to get you. As Xemnas looked failure in the face, he reached out in a last ditch effort and destroyed Kairi’s heart. Now her friends must travel the worlds again. Sora, to find a way to recover Kairi’s heart, and Riku, to make amends to those he has wronged. All the while, the darkness grows. [Unfinished, on permanent hiatus]

Miraculous Ladybug

One Shots

*❤️Amalgam- When an young man is rejected for being ‘incompatible’ he turns into the akuma ‘Amalgam’ able to fuse two people together. And later Adrien and Marinette would debate if it was lucky or unlucky that they got hit. (Also Available in Russian)

*Sing We All Noel- After receiving the worst Christmas present ever from his father, Chat Noir finds himself out on the streets with nowhere to go on Christmas Eve. Thankfully, Ladybug finds him and brings him home.

*Speechless- In a world where everyone has a soulmark, the first words their soulmate will say to them, Marinette is born without one. But Adrien Agreste has two. Curious, considering he’s mute.

*❤️Tunnels of Love- The night started out with an accidental kiss from Adrien Agreste, and ended with her bleeding in the Catacombs of Paris. Ladybug, the wielder of the miraculous of good luck. Yeah right. (Some blood)

*The Reveal That Wasn’t- First Parts My ending to kittybug’s Tumblr Prompt

*What A Mess We’re In- Ladybug has a lot on her mind, and when Chat Noir bugs her enough, she tells him she’s going to confess to her Crush, Adrien Agreste. Chat’s reaction is not what she’s expecting.

*Oblivi-oh no! - A retelling of Oblivio, except Ladybug is the only one to lose her memory. How will Chat deal?

*Bad Day (3 chapters) - Marinette was Ladybug! This was Adrien’s luckiest day ever! Except it wasn’t, because all his good luck was used up in one go. Turns out this might be the worst day of his life.

*One Win, So Many Losses- Marinette was forced to break up with Adrien. It had been a low blow from Gabriel, to be sure. But she was Ladybug. She’d find a solution…right? An alternate ending to Chat Blanc, where Adrien doesn’t Cataclysm the akuma.

*❤️Five Minutes- Gabriel has had enough of all these girls fighting over Adrien. He decides it’s high time Adrien picks one, and arranges the perfect opportunity for him to do so. Each candidate has five minutes to present why they’d be a good girlfriend. Marinette decides to take this opportunity to shoot her shot.

~*Panache- Every eligible maiden was invited to the Prince’s ball. That included Marinette, scullery maid in her own household. But her stepsisters destroyed her dress, and she can’t go to the ball in rags. Or can she? (Cinderella!AU)

*Perfect, No Matter What-In which Gabriel sets the bar even lower for himself, a reveal happens because of pain medication, and the new guardian actually goes to Chloé for advice.

*Crushed- Stuck under a collapsed building together, Chat Noir and Marinette have a heart to heart.

*Lovelace- Convinced that he's unlovable, Adrien is quickly thrown for a loop when Marinette confesses her love for him out of the blue. An akumatization and reveal later, he changes his mind about being unlovable.

Long Fics

*❤️Longest Night- (FF.net | Ao3) - The day started out sucky to begin with. Her crush ousted to the class and Adrien. Lila taking pride in exacting her revenge. But by the time patrol was over, a young man was dead, and Ladybug’s identity was at risk. Lila was the least of her concerns. Good thing Adrien was taking it all like a champ. (Rated M for scenes of torture)

*❤️Nine Lives- (FF.net) When Adrien Agreste is scheduled to go to a Military School in Germany, Chat Noir must make a critical decision. Does he give up his Miraculous? Or does he give up his life as Adrien? I’ll save you the trouble of guessing, he gives up being Adrien.

*Tender Words- When Marinette finally gets the guts to confess her feelings for Adrien, some things go so wrong, and other things go so right.

*Integrity- Overwhelmed with her responsibilities, guilt, and drama, Marinette has an emotional breakdown in front of everyone, and even hands over her earrings in a moment of weakness. Only for a few seconds, but the damage was done. Adrien’s pretty quick on the uptake like that.

~Much Obliged- Everyone deals with grief differently. Some take to drinking, others devote themselves to charity. Adrien Agreste? Well, he became a cowboy. Marinette Dupain-Cheng is a witch, one of very few in the world. She knows what it’s like to be doubted, and assumed delusional. Maybe that’s why they got along so well. Or maybe it’s just because they both like big hats. AU where everything is the same, except instead of superheroes, Adrien is a Cowboy and Marinette is a witch. (Unfinished) (Based on a AU by @bugaboo-n-bananoir)

*I’ll Handle This- “I’ll solve all your problems,” Plagg had said. “You just have to agree to it.” A fixed relationship with his father, Lila to stop bothering him, and Ladybug to fall in love with him? Who wouldn’t agree to that? Except Plagg was the God of Destruction and Chaos and had a more…hands-on approach. Adrien just wants his body back. (Body swap fic)

The Ghost of Smokey Joe- Adrien Agreste was acting bizarre. Stilted body language, plastic smile, and he seemed to have forgotten how close they were. Before she can get the truth out of him, Marinette finds herself as the sole heir to the Gabriel brand and the mansion, following the murder-suicide of both Adrien and Gabriel Agreste. The mystery continues as Tikki explains that Adrien was Chat Noir...but if Adrien is six feet under, why is Chat Noir still running around?

How To Train Your Dragon

One Shots

The Vikings Have Their Tea (FF.Net | AO3)

Arranged Marriage- Takes place at the beginning of HTTYD

❤️Breathe- Survival of the fittest

~Childhood Friends- At the Sandbox

❤️Easy Fix- In which Hiccup has a bad day

~Fashion Designer- Astrid needs a fill in

❤️Frozen- In Which Astrid takes a Dip and things get frisky (Rated M)

❤️Headache- In Which Hiccup hits his head….really hard

❤️Heir- In Which Hiccup is Picked (Longer version by FateCharms)

Illness- In Which Stoick is a dad

~Illusionist- Trick gone wrong

~In the Walls- In which there’s a poop ghost

~Knocking On The Wrong Door (2) - A chance encounter

❤️Messages- Astrid is Frustrated with Hiccup’s obliviousness

~To Mirkwood- Hiccup is not a dwarf

~Monster Falls- Hiccup and Astrid take a dip

❤️Mute- In which there’s a quiet stranger

~Music Video (ImgHS)- He didn’t expect it

❤️Operation: Lovebirds- In Which the gang makes a plan, and Hiccup gets Drunk

~Over- Too many nightmares

~Partners in Crime- A normal day at work

~Pirate- Astrid is the greatest treasure

~Prince- He doesn’t want to be a broken King

❤️Sorting Things Out- In Which Astrid gets her ducks in a row

~The Dragon and The Dame- Beauty and the Beast Au

The Pit- In Which Hiccup is rescued

Hide and Seek- Part 1

Lost and Found- Part 2

Long fics:

*❤️Infernal Responsibility- Being the son of the chief takes brains, courage, and a lot of patience. But at his father’s the request for marriage, Hiccup decides he has had enough. When he seeks out a life of ease, he runs into more than what he bargained for.

*❤️Roses and Lilies- “Astrid, you and I both know you’re much tougher than I am. You’re more brave, and a better fighter…but just for a little while…could we pretend that I’m the one protecting you?” “Oh gods yes!” (Also Available in Spanish!)

*~What the Water Gave Me- The sea is a wild and dangerous thing, something that cannot be foretold or predicted. Hiccup discovered this many years ago, in human naiveté. Yet, what was meant as a sacrifice became a new life, one like no one could comprehend. He now finds himself once more in the unknowing hands of those that sentenced him to death. He only prays things will be different this time. Merman!AU

*Parasite- Soulsnatcher Dragons are rare but deadly. But, As Hiccup finds out, it’s the eggs you have to watch out for.

*~320 State Street- Gobber’s Goods. A Hardware Store that was rumored to have everything you needed. She thought she only needed a job. Turns out, she needed a lot more than that. (A Modern AU no one asked for)

*~❤️The North Tower- When Finn Hofferson died, Astrid inherited his castle in Wales…and a whole lot more. Something sinister lurks in the North Tower.

*~❤️Boy Toy- AO3 - At the age of 21, Princess Astrid lawfully has to pick a husband. But when the perfect groom is nowhere to be found, she requests the toymaker to create one for her. It’s safe to say that everyone in the kingdom is a little concerned. (Pinocchio!AU I guess?)

No, You Go First- AO3 - The Chief of Berk was a headstrong viking, stubborn and full of pride, and willing to do whatever it takes to keep his village safe. But for a moment, he puts that aside, and listens to his son. In which Hiccup convinces his dad not to make him go through Dragon Training, and the subsequent changes that follow.

*In Due Time- AO3 - As another illness sweeps through Berk, Gothi needs another ingredient for her medicine…one that doesn’t exist anymore. Fortunately, she kept that old spell book around for such an occasion. Big Hiccup is sent to five years into the past, and his younger self sent to take his place in the future. But it’s only a few days, what could go wrong?

Trollhunters: Tales from Arcadia

❤️Arcadia or Bust- In Which Arcadia welcomes back it’s underground citizens.

Teen Titans

Oneshots:

~Big Brother- Don’t turn out the light (Horror)

Dear Jason- Bruce Writes a letter

Just Drawing- Bruce thinks about Robin

The Prisoner- Starfire is Guilty

Of Mustard and Three Foot Purple Tongues- A collection of Oneshots and Drabbles

Long Fics (*Finished):

*~❤️Carol of the Bells- High in the dark Bell Tower of Notre Dame, there lives a mysterious bell ringer. Legend tells of the angel who fell from the sky, and the curse she bares. There are few who know her true identity though; her master, the priest, and the acrobat that performs on the streets below. Based loosely on ‘The Hunchback of Notre Dame’ RobxStar and slight BBxRae

*No Escape- Three years ago, Starfire escaped an Alien race called the Gordanians, to arrive on Earth. They’re back, and ready to put Starfire back where she belongs, behind reinforced Titanium bars. Robin’s not about to let her go…if only he hadn’t got captured first. How does it feel to be the alien, Robin?

*Now you Know My Pain- When the new Villain, Gender Bender, comes to down, the Titans find themselves in an odd situation. They’ve been turned into the opposite gender against their will! Now in order to change back, they must learn to understand the gender they’ve turned into. Rated T for obvious reasons. A great read if you’ve ever wondered why girls or guys do [blank].

*Paint it Black- Robin disappeared three months ago. Now, Jump City’s crime rate is mysteriously being taken care of by a normal, albeit strange, teenage boy who goes by the name Black. As the Titans befriend this lunatic, they begin to see a relation between him and their missing leader. Will they be able to find Robin, or will Black turn them all insane as himself? Actually, contains NO OC.

*Saving Grace- “When I’m done with you, you won’t be able to walk upright or speak coherent sentences and all you’ll see is my mask and my voice repeating in your head…Weak. Richard Grayson, I am not tough, I am everything that you fear.” Happy Ending! Smudge of RobStar. NO Slash!

Other Fandoms

Final Fantasy XV

❤️Requiem for Pitioss-“O King. The god’s have heard your cries. Know that we weep with you. The Oracle’s calling has not yet been fulfilled. But…Lunafreya as you know her cannot return the way she was.” Noctis looked up, hopeful. “But she can return!” Canon divergence from Chapter 9. Happy ending. Some spoilers.

Final Fantasy X

I Do…I Guess? - “I would…like to ask you something.” “Shoot.” “Well…if it’s not too much…I’d like to ask you…to marry me.” Knowing what’s to come during her pilgrimage, Yuna asks Tidus to marry her, strictly for convenience and having an official next of kin, of course. Starts after Luca and how this decision would affect the rest of the story.

Beauty and the Beast

*❤️Behold the Beast- A Oneshot alternate ending to the Animated Film

Cinderella

*❤️Midnight- “When the clock strikes twelve, the spell will be broken,” the fairy godmother had warned. A retelling of the story, when Cinderella doesn’t escape the ball in time. Oneshot

*So This is Love- What if Jaq and Gus hadn’t made it in time to help Cinderella? A new twist on the ending of the classic Fairytale, and what lies beyond the story. She still gets her happy ending and her Prince, and her step family gets their just deserts.

Sleeping Beauty

*❤️A Love Song Back To Me- Maleficent saw the loophole that stared her in the face. Prince Phillip would break the curse in time, for sure. After all, he was betrothed to Aurora. So in an effort for her evil plan to stay in action, Maleficent takes care of the young prince herself. Phillip never imagined having to live off the land like the birds above. Alternate twist on the classic Disney tale.

Escaflowne

Down Feathers- Hitomi’s depressed. She’s been away from Van too long, he comes back to visit her…but what if something went wrong with the transfer? (Not finished. Never will be finished. Mwahaha) Circa 2012

*Angel’s Wounds- Fanelia’s been victorious in their most recent battle with Basrum. Unfortunately, someone is wounded and just seeks solace in his love that lives so far away. Post Anime.

Momma Look Sharp- With the war between Fanelia and Basrum finally coming to a close, the kingdom is celebrating. The young king, however, is suffering from an experience unlike any he had before. Van finally seeks solace in his wife.

[stonefreeak]

I am so sorry this has taken me so long. I can’t believe i missed updating in February entirely! Work is busy, and I have moved and am trying to get everything in my apartment put together and it’s just A Lot right now. But I will work hard to not forget to update again!

Shaak Ti walks through the halls of Kamino, projecting the sort of calm she knows she's become known for over the years. In times of upheaval, anxiety, and unrest, being a source of calm and peace is helpful not just for yourself but also to the people around you. She's long since learned to keep a tight leash on her emotional responses.

It's not that she doesn't feel, to suggest such a thing would be ridiculous—she's hardly had the emotional centres of her brain damaged or removed after all—she's merely cautious with how she lets herself express it. If she becomes agitated, if she lashes out, she risks bleeding her own agitation into the Force and affecting other people and beings around her, stoking their agitation. Not to mention that she risks entering a feedback loop with the Force, where she projects her emotions into it, and it sends those emotions back to her causing a spiral into ever deepening loss of emotional control.

As a Force Sensitive being, allowing your emotions to get the better of you means you risk losing control of yourself entirely. Usually that means that people get hurt, and Shaak Ti has no interest in people coming to harm.

She locks her emotions down, catalogues them, acknowledges them, and leaves them for meditation later when she's alone and has the time to properly dissect what she's feeling and why she's feeling it.

A side effect of this is that she has an amazing poker face—none of her fellow council members will play Correllian poker with her anymore—and as she tries to investigate the supposed chips inside the troopers' brains, it more than serves her well.

The people of Kamino have very limited emotional reflection in the Force, it seems to be an inherent trait of their species. That they're also so foreign to her that she still cannot accurately gauge their emotions from their facial expressions—limited as they are—means that she's always in a precarious situation when she speaks with them on sensitive matters. Being able to tell if they're deliberately hiding something from her or if they simply don't know is more than a little bit difficult.

But if Master Kenobi is correct, then they are deliberately hiding something from them all. Something that Former Chancellor Palpatine likely knows about, was told about, but which they haven't shared with Master Kenobi despite him being the new Chancellor.

She doesn't like the sound of that, the idea that they wouldn't speak about it with any Supreme Chancellor, but rather only Palpatine. It gives her a bad feeling, and she wonders if, perhaps, the Former Chancellor is corrupt in a way they have yet to discover? She's been told by the rest of the Council that he's been found guilty of some milder charges—as far as any corruption charges are mild—but perhaps there's more to the whole thing. Perhaps there are things that the investigation couldn't find, because all evidence of it existed only in Kamino's data systems, far beyond the reach of the investigative team.

When Master Kenobi had first brought it up, she had agreed despite her own scepticism—she is not one for dismissing possible dangers off-hand, after all. With how things have developed... Well, she's starting to believe that he was on to something, even though her own research so far has not yielded much results.

Of course she realises that if the Kaminoans wish to hide these chips from them, her access codes would not give her access to anything that is related to the chips. But she had to look into it through official and open—to her—channels first. There is no good reason to treat people as untrustworthy criminals when you have not even the smallest bit of proof that they are that. She had originally planned to simply ask the Kaminoans about the chips, but once she was about to, a sudden feeling of unease swept over her, and she held her tongue.

But her general research has failed, and now she's facing a very difficult choice: either she asks the Kaminoans directly regarding the chips thus tipping them off to the fact that she knows about their existence in the first place, thus risking them looking more closely at her actions following said discussion, or she tries to conduct covert and far from legal entrance into their systems before she so much as ask them about it.

She pauses and realises that she's made an error in judgement. While it's true that the Kaminoans would keep a closer eye on her if she were to bring any of her concerns up to them... They are unlikely to believe she would trust any trooper.

Of course, if the chips exist at all, then the problem comes in the form of what the chips do. She has never sensed any sort of duplicity or danger from any of the clones she's ever trained or interacted with. They are good and loyal men, men who deserve more life than what the Republic is willing to give them due to their status as clones, so she does not fear trusting them.

The question is... Who should she ask?

There is sure to be capable and subtle troopers among those stationed here. All her men are capable of course, though not all of them are subtle.

She needs to find a trooper who can be trusted to work covertly, but also without being detected. They also need to be without pride, because if they get caught, they need to allow her to run interference in any way she can, and trust her to be doing so for their sake.

Perhaps she should lay a false trail, express worry about information leaks, and ask the Kaminoans regarding their security. Vaguely, not pressing for any details of course. However, just as with doing any clandestine breaking and entering the secure data centres of Kamino herself, she is too noticeable a figure. She cannot blend in or hide herself away, and if she asks too many questions, she risks making them suspicious.

If the Kaminoans are hiding something from the Jedi and the Chancellor—possible because the new chancellor is a Jedi—then she cannot tip them off to the fact that they are suspicious. That they are trying to investigate.

She would like to walk into this potential fire first, ahead of her men, as the Jedi do... But in this particular instance, she is quite certain that her presence at the metaphorical front would do more harm than good. She will need to send a trooper in her stead, and put her hope in their skills and strength.

She'll look into it, there are sure to be some who stand out as appropriate choices. Some who will be willing to help her with her covert mission. The clones have no love for the Kaminoans, as far as she knows, even though they seem to consider Kamino their home world. As far as she's been able to ascertain, their loyalty is with the Jedi and the Republic—even though the Republic has never given them anything, and the Jedi has never been able to give them anything except a clear command structure and the occasional meditation help and teachings about the Force.

Perhaps once this war is over, the clone troopers who still live can finally be given personhood and a place to live and stay. Perhaps when they're all finally free from this terrible war, her men can be allowed to flourish in any which way they want.

Not just on the battlefield.

For now she'll speak with the Council again. She cannot tell them openly, just in case the Kaminoans keep some sort of watch on their communication channels, set up to trigger on specific keywords. If they do, then they may already know that she is looking, so all the more important to not let them know any of what she's planning. But while she cannot speak plainly, she can speak in the kind of code that will have the Council send out a fleet to Kamino under some sort of pretence, and through that, she can send back a coded flimsi message containing any and all information she's found until then. Whichever trooper she finds for this mission will have to go with the fleet, and perhaps that will be the safest way for them all.

The Council will be able to request the trooper's aid far away from Kamino and the Kaminoans, and without any risk of them overhearing it. The Temple, at least, is safe enough that jammers alone will keep the information safe.

If she were to use any here, it would most likely make anyone looking to overhear her conversations suspicious.

The last thing they want is anyone trying to hide away the evidence.

They cannot afford any mistakes. It's too dangerous for that.

She lowers herself to her knees and places her hands gently in her lap, focusing on her breathing as she wraps the Force around her.

She will meditate on her next step before she makes any move at all. It wouldn't do to move too quickly and make a mistake.

—

(Supreme Chancellor Obi-Wan Kenobi masterpost)

[readyplayerhobi]

Flower | 28

; Hoseok x Reader

; Genre: Fluff

; Word Count: 4.3k

; Synopsis: You finally decide to take a dip into the world of online dating and find the Flower dating app. One of the top matches for you proves to be a guy who looks to be your complete opposite; tattooed, pierced, a metalhead and oh…incredibly handsome. What happens when you throw caution to the wind and reach out to him?

; A/N: After a month of no Flower...here’s a chapter. Please reblog and let me know what you thought in comments or an as! I’ve been struggling a lot with writing lately and feedback really does help to motivate me!

; Flower Masterpost

-

Taking in the sight of the tattoo gun and all the necessary accessories that are being prepped in front of you, you can’t help but purse your lips in slight worry. As excited as you were for this, you were also afraid that it was going to hurt. Because getting a tattoo wasn’t a quick process.

Nervously, you glance over at Hoseok. He’s sat on a stool that Jay, the tattoo artist, had brought over for him while you sit on the padded, leather chair. Taking in your uncertain expression, he gives you a bright smile before squeezing your hand to give you a little reassurance. Which you need, because you were a big baby when it came to pain.

“You’ll be okay, I swear. You’ve watched me get tattooed before.” Hoseok says sweetly, white teeth flashing for a moment as he grins once more in another effort to soothe your worries. It doesn’t work though, as you almost immediately begin to frown upon remembering the one time you’d gone with him to watch him get tattooed.

“Yeah...and you ended up crying in pain.” Twisting his lips in a grimace, Hoseok’s expression is suddenly unsure before he sighs deeply in acknowledgement. Lifting your hand, he kissed the back of it gently before running his thumb along the thin, soft skin.

“Hey...I was getting tattooed on my ribs. That’s one of the worst places to get done because you’re tattooing on bone and muscle. Jay can attest that yours isn’t going to be that bad, I swear.” His tone is gentle and you can tell he’s trying to keep you calm. Glancing over at Jay, you watch as the tattoo artist finishes up his preparations before giving you a wry smile.

“He’s right. I won’t lie, it might hurt but if it does, it should get better hopefully. If it gets really bad though, tell me. We can stop if you can’t handle it. You will end up with only a partial tattoo but...” His shoulders shrug casually beneath his Amon Amarth shirt and you want to complain. But then you realise he’s right, and he’s only telling you the truth. 

Grinding your teeth together, you sigh deeply before nodding at him in acceptance.

“Okay. I’m a big girl, I can cope with this.” That line is directed at Hoseok, your tone slightly sarcastic and he snorts in response. Leaning forward, he gives you a quick peck on the lips before settling back and starting up a conversation between the three of you once you approve the positioning.

There’s a brief pause before you feel Jay’s cool, glove covered fingers pressing against your shoulder to make sure he gets the right angle. Your first dip into the tattoo world as going to be a small one; just a watercolour style tattoo after extensive research. Jay had frequently tattooed Hoseok over the years and so had been Hoseok’s number one recommendation, leading to him creating a pretty little cherry blossom flower design.

The first press of the tiny needles makes you flinch slightly as they begin to prick and you wince at the slight sting before breathing out slowly. It’s not as bad as you’d thought it was going to be in reality though you certainly wouldn’t want to have to sit for hours upon hours and have large, intense pieces done as Hoseok does. Still, you felt like this was a little bonding moment between you the two of you.

Even if there was a third person here, but whatever.

You weren’t getting the tattoo because of him exactly, but you wouldn’t deny that he’d been a big part of why you’d finally made the decision. Tattoos have always been something that you thought were pretty but they were also something you’d never considered getting as they were permanent. But Hoseok’s love and pride for his own had led to you gaining a new appreciation for them too.

When you’d told him that you wanted to get one, and what kind of style you wanted as well, Hoseok hadn’t asked if you had a special meaning behind it. One of his philosophies, when it came to tattoos, was that you didn’t always need to have a special reason to get a tattoo. It was more than acceptable to get something just because you thought it looked cool or pretty.

You’d discovered early on in your relationship that Hoseok had a real axe to grind against anyone who wanted to gatekeep tattoos and make it so that you always had to have some sentimental reasoning for it. He’d said something along the lines of ‘this isn’t fucking American Idol or X-Factor and you don’t need to have some dying relative to get it. Just get something cos it looks badass if you want.’.

But you did personally have a reason for getting it. Firstly, you’d made sure that Jay made it look pretty enough that you wanted to go through with the pain and have it on you. The second reason, which was incredibly cheesy and you’d rather die than tell anyone the meaning because you can’t handle emotions well, is because it’s a flower.

Part of it was that you’d met Hoseok on an app called Flower, which had led to the most important relationship you’d ever had. It wasn’t his name or anything, but more symbolic of how you’d met. The other major reason for it was that it was a symbol of how much you’d grown over the past year, becoming more confident in yourself and accepting that while you may have weaknesses, they didn’t make you weak overall.

Your research had shown that the cherry blossom, aside from just looking pretty, was also seen as the symbol of renewal and life. They’re only around for a few days, maybe a few weeks, every year but they’re bright symbols of beauty and happiness. Your own life had been renewed in the last year with all the changes that you’d experienced and you just wanted a little reminder that your while you’d struggled, your life was just as bright.

And that kind of cheesy talk was exactly why you wouldn’t explain the meaning to anyone. Not that Hoseok had pried too hard, though you were certain he’d probably at least figured out the whole Flower app connection. He hadn’t mentioned anything though.

As a result, you’d decided to get the tattoo on your first anniversary together. Which obviously, was today. It truly boggled your mind to realise that you’d been in a relationship for a whole year now. A year of being romantic with someone and them not getting bored or tired of you. Hoseok was still here and he loved you more than ever.

Technically, you didn’t have an actual anniversary. Neither of you had formally asked the other to be in a relationship. It had ended up being one of those weird adult relationships where you just start dating and just never stop. As a result, you’d both agreed that you’d the anniversary of your first date to symbolise the beginning of your relationship.

It was the first time you’d been together after all, and neither of you had even looked at anyone else since then. A whole year later, including many moments of bickering, confusion, anxiety, panic attacks, depression and moving your whole life around, here you both were. Still together, very much in love and tentatively looking forward to the future.

As a result of moving in the last month, the two of you had initially agreed not to get presents for each other today as a lot of money had been spent buying the things you needed to fill and decorate the house. Yet it had become quickly apparent that you both seemed to have secretly agreed to spoil the other with the excuse of ‘it’s our first anniversary, I can’t just get you nothing!’ being thrown around a lot.

You’d been bought the cutest fluffy Pikachu that you’d spotted in a store earlier today and he’d promised to pay for this tattoo given it was your first. And you weren’t any better as you’d bought him the BluRay boxset of the Godfather along with a gift box of flavoured teas that he’d been surprisingly excited over.

After your meltdown in the house the other week, it felt nice to be back to being happy. You still weren’t completely content or settled, but you’d managed to get yourself to relax enough to not snap or get grumpy with Hoseok anymore. The house was mostly finished with only the yard needing to be done, but you’d both agreed to wait until springtime for that.

It didn’t feel like home yet, but you knew it was just a matter of time.

But yeah, your anniversary was going pretty great so far. Even if you were having to put up with being pricked hundreds of times with the tattoo gun. You tried your hardest to ignore it and instead focused on Hoseok. He was busy talking to Jay while occasionally stroking his thumb over your hand, absentmindedly comforting you. 

Looking him over carefully, you took the time to simply admire him. How you’d managed to end up with such a stunningly handsome man as your boyfriend, you’d never know. Or understand, not that you were ever going to complain. What was even more baffling to you was the fact that along with being one of the most beautiful people you’d ever seen, he had a heart that was perhaps even more beautiful.

You were sure that if you’d ended up dating anyone else, you would have probably had multiple arguments that resulted in someone storming out by now. Or the relationship would have been ended long ago. Yet the most you’d done with Hoseok was bicker over small things with the incident the other week being the most friction you’ve had so far.

That was probably solely down to the fact Hoseok seemed to the unnatural patience of a saint. Something you didn’t take for granted, that was for sure. Just the thought of it has an overwhelming surge of love swelling in your chest.

You wished that you were the kind of person who could easily vocalise your feelings. It frustrated you eternally that you weren’t because there were so many times you wanted to tell him you love him. Instead, you gently poke at his hand with your free hand. Happiness fills you as he smiles at your way of telling him that you love him, poking your calf gently in response while carrying on his conversation.

He’d probably never realise how important he was to you. How much he’d helped you to grow as a person and with your personality. You owed him a lot and you would happily spend as long as he let you repay it. Not that he’d like that idea if you told him of course, but you didn’t care. You loved him, more than he’d ever know.

Tuning back into the conversation, you realise that they’ve been talking about the next tattoo that Hoseok wants. He was planning on getting a watercolour style tattoo similar to yours only he was contemplating having it be space-themed to match his sleeve. Jay is nodding as he discusses options with Hoseok, occasionally checking on you with a gentle touch before carrying on once he realises you’re okay.

And then the conversation moves back round to you and your tattoo. Jay had designed it after Hoseok had made the appointment for you and you’d emailed over what you were thinking. He’d sent over the design and tweaked it to your desire and finally, you were here today, getting it done. 

But apart from that, he didn’t have much knowledge of why you wanted it. Given Hoseok was a long time client of his, he had trusted that your boyfriend had given you enough information to make sure you were knowledgeable at what you were getting into. He’d sent over stuff as well but you’d discussed it in depth with Hoseok to make sure you were comfortable.

“So how come you decided today to get your first tattoo? And I’m honoured to be the artist you chose by the way.” Jay says, his tone sweet and you look to him giving Hoseok a slightly sarcastic smile. He’s given one back by your boyfriend and you snort, rolling your eyes at their interaction. As if Hoseok would let you go to anyone else other than his trusted artist.

“Err well...I’ve been considering it a while but wasn’t sure whether to get it or not. And Hoseok said I should try and go to you if I did want it as you’ve always done good work for him, so...yeah. I just decided I want it.” You mumble out, shy at explaining why you’d finally gotten a tattoo. There’s nothing more to say on that and Hoseok squeezes your hand in reassurance before taking over the conversation for you.

“And it’s today because it’s our anniversary so...why not get your first tattoo on your first anniversary, right?” Hoseok grins broadly, letting his fingers lace with your own and you feel yourself go warm at his pride and the affection laced into his voice. Jay pauses what he’s doing for a moment to look at you both with surprise.

“It’s your anniversary today? Oh man, congrats. Happy anniversary,” You grin at his good wishes for you both before he carries on, the needles pressing into your skin once more. “A whole year, that’s great. How did you both meet then?”

Hoseok glances at you with a small smile, wrinkling his nose slightly until you give him a smile in response. He seems happy with that and kisses your hand once more, playing with your fingers as his gaze turns back to Jay.

“Online dating, believe it or not.” There’s a snort of what sounds like amusement from behind and you frown, wondering what’s so amusing about that. Lots of people get together through online dating. That’s the whole point of it. Or is it that someone like Hoseok was on an online dating service? It still confused you, in fairness.

“Oh yeah? Take one look at the pretty lady and decide she was going to be your girl?” He teases and you see Hoseok’s smile turn devilish.

“More like she saw this handsome specimen and decided she wanted a piece of that.” Now you’re the one pulling a face at him, rolling your eyes at his bravado while being secretly amused the whole time. He wasn’t wrong in reality, only you hadn’t been quite as bold as he made you out to be.

“Would you and your ego like some space? I’m sure I can arrange that for you. Also, we love a woman who knows what she wants and goes for it.” Jay applauds you, smirking at Hoseok’s outraged face in pure glee and you can’t help but laugh softly at them both. It was obvious they’ve known each other awhile with how they interacted and you liked how Jay made you feel at ease.

“It wasn’t as...bold as that.” You murmur shyly, looking down at your hands as you recall the panic and anxiety you’d felt after messaging Hoseok the first time. It was hard to believe you’d come so far since then. Even harder to believe that outrageously attractive man was now not only your boyfriend but living with you.

“Ignore her. She’s weirdly bold in ways you wouldn’t expect. But anyway, yeah. Officially one year together today. Can you believe it?! Me? In a relationship with the prettiest and funniest girl for a whole year?” Hoseok snorts as he makes an incredulous face while Jay laughs as well. 

You’re not sure what to make of that at first before you recall that they’ve known each other years and Hoseok had been pretty notorious before you. Though his compliment does make you squirm in embarrassment, a desperate need to deny his words bubbling inside you.

“I’d say it’s shocking but honestly, you’ve been looking at her with the biggest heart eyes this whole time. So not really. I’m happy for you both though.” He says and you can practically hear the smile in his voice even though you can’t see him. It’s not too long before he’s finished with you, cleaning up and showing what your tattoo looked like to you to make sure you’re happy and then covering it.

You were beyond pleased with the tattoo, excitement flooding through you as you’d looked over it and realised it was even better than you’d hoped for. Grinning at Hoseok as you stood up, you gripped his hands tightly before wiggling with a bright smile.

“It’s so pretty!” He’s smiling at you in agreement as Jay cleans up his workstation before you all move over to the front desk to pay. The sweet receptionist from earlier is there, covered in even more tattoos and piercings than both men with you. At her request, you show off your new tattoo with a happy smile and accept her compliments with joy.

“How much again?” Hoseok asks, pulling out his wallet. You frown at him immediately, lips pursing into a pout as you remember he’d said that he was going to pay for it but he just tuts at you, shaking his head. “Shh, anniversary present, remember?”

Pushing at his stomach lightly, you sigh as you realise you’re not going to win this argument. Not that you were even arguing really, but you knew that Hoseok would refuse point blank to let you pay for this. Plus, you would admit to enjoying being spoiled by him sometimes. It wasn’t something you were used to but you couldn’t help enjoying it when he did it.

“Actually, it’s on the house today,” Jay says with a smirk, looking you both over with what looks suspiciously like fondness in his eyes. “Consider it my present to you both for your anniversary. Maybe you can make this a little tradition and I’ll see you both for many more years.”

Hoseok is silent and you look up to see his jaw dropped. It’s not often you get to see him so surprised and you can’t stop the giggle that leaves you at the sight of it. Smiling at Jay, you thank him profusely and squeeze Hoseok until he’s muttering out thanks as well. 

“It’s nothing. Use that money to spoil your girl today. And I hope you’re okay with being spoiled.” Jay grins, tilting his head at you as he practically gives you both an order. It might not be overly feminist of you right now but you certainly weren’t going to say no to it. You’d never had an anniversary before and damn it, you wanted the full experience!

“I will, I promise. Thanks, man.” Hoseok reaches forward and does that whole man hug thing with Jay, causing you to roll your eyes with the receptionist in amusement. Jay doesn’t try anything with you and you suspect Hoseok had probably told him you weren’t fond of physical contact from others. Instead, he gives you a nod of goodbye as you both leave.

“That was nice of him.” You murmur, brow rising as you take Hoseok’s hand and link your fingers together. He hums in acknowledgement, lips twisting slightly as a light frown touches his forehead.

“It was. So you like your tattoo?”

“I do, it’s so pretty. I didn’t think it’d look this good but...I like it.” Smiling up at him sweetly, you don’t miss the way Hoseok’s eyes soften as he looks down at you. Jay was right, he did go all heart eyes around you. Not that you were going to complain though.

“Good, I’m glad. I’ll make sure we look after it properly. For now, though, I’m hungry so how about we go get something to eat?” He throws his arm around your shoulder, hands still linked together so that you end up with your arm crossing over your chest. Laughing at the movement, you happily push into his side as he pulls you even tighter to him before agreeing.

“Okay, but you pick. We’ve been sat there for over an hour now just for me. Your choice.” Hoseok’s about to complain before sighing and giving in, letting go of your hand to purse his lips as he hums in contemplation. Your lower lip juts out at the loss of contact with him and you momentarily pause in bemusement at how much you’ve come to love physical affection from him when you dislike it from others.

“Let’s recreate our first date and go to the Indian restaurant. Only this time, let’s not talk about girls throwing up on my dick and end the date with us going home and having some hot anniversary sex instead.” Raising a brow at him, your lip quirks in amusement momentarily.

“You never cease to amaze me when horny, you know that? You just literally talked about someone vomiting on your dick and then went straight into having sex. Ew.” Wrinkling your nose, Hoseok snorts in amusement before grinning broadly.

“Look, we’ve established many times by now that when I’m horny, my IQ drops to almost single digits. Anyway, we’re not doing it now. We’re gonna eat and then go do it.” Laughing, you stop to wrap your arms around his waist and hug him tightly, resting your chin on your chest to look up at him as a confusing array of positive emotions bubbles and swirls around your body.

“Okay...that sounds good…” You trail off, brows creasing as you feel so many words and emotions stalling in your throat. Like a lump, you can’t get past. Instead, you squeeze him harder before pushing up onto your tiptoes to kiss him. He lets you, amusement causing him to chuckle slightly as he carefully hugs you back.

“I love you too. Now let’s go eat, I’m so damn hungry you can probably feel my belly rumbling.”

-

Wincing slightly, Hoseok manages to shift until his arm is sliding out from underneath you. Massaging feeling back into it, he clenches and unclenches his hand before settling onto his back more comfortably. As much as he loved to cuddle you at night, he did often end up with a dead arm.

Sighing quietly, he stares up into the darkness of the bedroom. Your breathing is slow and steady, a calming and soothing sound to his ears as you sleep comfortably. Without even realising it, he's smiling gently before glancing over at you.

A whole year. He'd been with you for a whole year. If someone had told him this two years ago, he'd have laughed. Even though he was in a much better place than when he was a teenager, he knew that some part of him had avoided relationships. Like he still hadn't felt worthy of one.

He did now. He had to. You didn't deserve anything less. And if that sounded cheesy then dammit, it was his first anniversary. He was allowed.

Thinking over everything that has happened in the last year, he feels immense pride at how much you've grown. How comfortable you've become in yourself around him. How happy you are. There were bumps along the road of course, but the two of you had gotten through it.

Expanding his cheeks almost childishly, he lets out a slow and deep breath as he contemplates just how mushy he's being. If the guys could hear his thoughts…

And it's then that he realises he hasn't even posted anything today. Nothing to declare to the world that you'd both made it a year. Even when people hadn't expected you both to last a month.

Grabbing his phone from the nightstand, he unlocks it and opens Instagram. Choosing the right pictures takes him a solid 10 minutes. He has so many and he wants to make sure that you'll approve of each picture that he chooses.

Finally, though, he settles on them. A selfie of you both grinning broadly from today, the photo of him kissing your cheek from his birthday, a picture of you sat reading a book in your old apartment, a selfie of the two of you kissing and finally, a picture of you holding Kasumi and smiling so big.

Each one gets edited carefully until he's happy with them, moving forward to the part where he has to write. Glancing at the time on his phone, he sees that he has fifteen minutes left of his anniversary.

So he starts to write.

Jungsevenfold: Today we celebrated our first anniversary!

One whole year of being with the funniest, kindest and on occasion, strangest, girl I've ever met. I've learnt many things being with you, from discovering I like board games to the fact it's a bad idea to destroy the moon.

I'm never quite sure what you're going to say and I love that. I love the way your mind works, what you find funny and so much more. We're often told we're mismatched but I think it's working out. Better than anyone thought.

I think this is long enough and mushy enough, so I'll finish up. Y/N, my princess, my little meeple; I love you ❤🥰. So may we have many more years!

/cheesiness

Posting it, Hoseok watches it upload and feels a momentary pang of embarrassment at what he'd written. But glancing back over to you, he pushes it away. You deserve for him to yell his feelings.

Rolling over, he places his phone back before smiling to himself and wriggling into the covers. You're hard enough on yourself, so if a little embarrassment on his behalf can make you smile.. then it's worth it.

[theriveroflight]

Miraculous Ladybug: Lukanette Fanfic Masterpost

This is a masterpost of all of the Lukanette fics I have written. Sorted mostly chronologically.

Format:

Title (w/ link) | Rating | Wordcount | Theme/AU | Event, if applicable | Chapters | Date Published | Endgame?

Summary

footfalls echo in the memory | T | 1427 | psychics AU | 1/1 | 7/28/2020 | Yes

He hopes that it’s her. He hopes that it isn’t. He doesn’t know what he wants.

heart eclipsed by the dark (tiniest of sparks) | T | 1565 | assassin AU | 1/1 | LBSC SFC | Yes

After the worst of catastrophes, the two come together.

life makes love look hard | T | 1674 | atla AU | 1/1 | LBSC SFC | Yes

Marinette struggles to come to terms with what she's done, and makes a decision.

take my hand? (hold on tight) | T | 1468 | mutual pining | 1/1 | LBSC SFC | Yes

They both know, but uncertainty plagues their relationship and their interactions.

falling apart to half-time | T | 1168 | assassin AU | 1/1 | Spin the Record Challenge | No

She says she’s no good With words but I’m worse

like the darkness is the light | T | 1453 | urban fantasy AU | 1/1 | LBSC SFC | Yes

Marinette aches for something different.

still hurts underneath my scars | T | 1832 | grief | 1/1 | LBSC SFC | Yes

It doesn't matter how, but before Adrien can reclaim the ring from Uncanny Valley in New York, he dies.

Marinette's world is permanently changed.

daylight | G | 1715 | post-canon | 1/1 | collab w @/mininoire for LBSC SFC | Yes

She's a sunrise, a beginning. He's a sunset, a comforting end. They're opposites - but there's a whole sky that bridges them.

dive in deep | G | 1095 | breakup | 1/1 | No

Marinette reflects.

Fair Fight | T | 1695 | urban fantasy AU | 1/? | LBSC SFC | Yes

Marinette works for the Miracle Box Sanctuary, a dragon-focused animal sanctuary. She's worked there for five years, with her friend Adrien and her mentor Fu.

Luka is a dragonslayer. Simple enough.

all the pieces fall (right into place) | T | 1232 | celebrity AU | 1/1 | LBSC SFC | Yes

Luka knows who Ladybug really is dating.

get you to take my hand (reaching out far) | T | 1476 | angel/demon AU | 1/1 | LBSC SFC | it’s complicated

They find out after dancing around the subject of the past. Confrontation ensues.

heartbeat on the high line | T | 1683 | Carmen Sandiego AU | 1/1 | LBSC SFC | Yes

Marinette's not a mouse anymore. She's not a coward. She can stand, and outstretch her hand, and just pray that he will take it for once.

Everything I Wish For | T | 942 | the Wish | 1/1 | @miraculousfanworks 500 followers celebration | Yes

…will never come true.

the hero died (so what’s the movie for?) | T | 1134 | movie date | 1/1 | Yes

“I’ll always be there for you, milady,” his voice says, echoing through the movie theater. “It’s you and me. I won’t leave you.”

But he did, she thinks, he did leave her.

---

Luka and Marinette go on a date to see the Ladybug & Chat Noir movie for charity.

a million different ways | G | 1088 | love languages | 1/1 | LBSC SFC | Yes

There are many ways to say “I love you.”

The Algorithm of Love | G | 1814 | youtube AU | 1/1 | booster prompt | Yes

When Marinette stumbles upon a cover by YouTube band Kitty Section, she knows what to expect from the title of the video -- but she doesn't expect what happens after she watches the video.

a galaxy around her neck | G | 2019 | knitting | 1/1 | LBSC SFC | Yes

Marinette takes up the project of knitting all her friends sweaters. It's a great idea! But her boyfriend, Luka, is worried about her health.

And that was before he took up knitting himself.

we were built to fall apart (and fall back together) | T | 1752 | getting back together | 1/1 | LBSC SFC | Yes

It's been a long time. Nothing's changed, but everything's changed.

touch the sky | T | 3432 | wingfic | 1/1 | LBSC exchange | Yes

Marinette gets hurt, and her identity is revealed, but it's not the end of the world. Not when she has her friends & boyfriend to help her out.

I'm climbing higher with the past behind me Heights that I never dreamed...

[hansolmates]

jjk; angel’s trumpet [01]

summary; one second, your life is flashing before your eyes and the next, you’re transported into a world exactly like your own. but the jungkook you meet in this world isn’t a renowned singer or your former almost-lover, in fact he has no clue who you are and why you know him so well. as you work to find your way home lost and confused, you conclude that you’re either dead or in the middle of the most wicked drug trip of your life. pairing; idol!jk x reader (f), alternatively film producer!jk x reader genre/warnings; fluff, angst, supernatural, idol!au, non-idol!au, alternate universes, themes of fate, language, alcohol consumption, mentions of smut in future chapters w.c; 2.7k a/n; after spending an entirety of june on this fic im proud to release it! this story is based on the prompt “I’m losing my mind!” for @btsghostiewritersnet​ BGW Bingo Bash! I hope you all enjoy this mini series and stay tuned for this wild ride

[01] [02] -> masterpost

“Just give it up!” Jungkook snaps, and you flinch at the sudden raise in voice level. Jungkook is a soft spoken person, only really having the audacity to speak up at the strength of his friends or when his body burns with attention after a performance. The fact that he chooses to use this tone around you, gets you seeing white hot. 

“How can I give up something that hasn’t even started?” you shoot back just as stubbornly. He won’t even let you in his room, and it pains you that he wants to fight out in the hallway where anyone could walk in and see. You glare at the heavy arms that bar your way inside, as if he’s creating a barrier for you, both emotionally and physically.

You hate this. For the past three months you’ve hated this version of yourself, manifested between the strained relationship of you and Jungkook. It pains you to see each other like this. Jungkook’s ears are tinged red with fever, simultaneously a little sick and a little annoyed at the fact that you wouldn’t let up. 

It wasn’t always mismatched stares and bouts of mixed signals whenever you two entered a room. There was a time when it being in each other’s presence was like a breath of fresh air, a bakery full of nothing but sweets and mouth-watering confections. That’s not to say that your relationship with Jungkook was, or is easy. After all, Jungkook chose a life that is never meant to be easy, no matter how far deep. 

But at the crux of everything, deep in your gut, you know that the both of you have that spark. 

“We can’t be together.” Jungkook states simply, pressing his coral lips together in a thin line. “My career! The traveling, the media, my crazy schedule, all of this, it doesn’t match.” 

It doesn’t match. Like the way a toddler puts a triangle block in a square space. In your opinion Jungkook is pointing out shallow, baseless reasons. You’ve gotten this far together, not quite addressing any officiality but leading to it. If all of his reasons really mattered, you wouldn’t be here right now. Unfortunately, Jungkook’s deciding to cut the line when the two of you have already sunk so deep. 

You’re both hurting, Jungkook doesn’t want to admit that. 

“But that doesn’t matter to me!” you reason, and you’re crumbling. Jungkook was once a fighter, too. Today, it feels like it’s just you who’s taking a stand, grappling on thin slices of thread that resemble what little confidence Jungkook has in the both of you. “I want to keep you grounded. I want to be the person you come home to.” 

Jungkook’s face reaches the final boss: a frustrating shade of scarlet, stunned at how shameless you are. You didn’t care, you know what you and Jungkook feel for each other is real. 

In a fit of emotion your hands reach for the crook of his elbow, grappling the black fabric between your fingers. It’s enough to ignite heat in your veins, starved of touch from so many nights apart and text messages that weren’t enough to convey how you truly felt. 

Jungkook’s eyes drag from your grip to your face, eyes glimmering. You look so small in the large hallway, empty and echoing between both your heaving breaths. There’s acute control in his expression, as if he’s grappling to reach both an inner and outer peace with himself. 

You bite your lip, sealing away your whimper of protest as he takes his hand in yours, untacking your grip. He’s not rough, but not gentle either as your hand pendulums to your lap. 

He turns his back to you, and for the first time you’re glad he looks away because the tears have already fallen. “Maybe in another world, we’d work out. But not this one.” Jungkook whispers, slamming the door to his studio. 

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

“Baby, it’s okay! You’ll find a new person to love!” The neverending flow of liquor and poetics is provided by none other than Sehlyung, a fellow employee you befriended after you got hired as a language teacher. 

You barely register Sehlyung’s hopeful smile through your misty eyes. Feeling bloated with liquid and far too tired to reply, you bob your head against the bar table. 

Sehlyung is the epitome of a fun time, and the first person you thought of to help quell your aching heart. A relationship that first started off as snide jokes and offhanded work qualms that eventually turned into a deep understanding and care for each other. After a long day of work she pulled through for you, showing up at the bar like a warrior in emerald green pencil slacks and an untucked blouse. At the edge of the bar she absentmindedly winds a lock of pale curly hair, sipping languidly from her electric blue beverage. 

“Listen, I get it. You think it’s the end of the world because Jungkook seems like the perfect catch—” the pretty blonde pauses when she notices your lip tremble, “but! He’s not that perfect, y’know. He—he sweats, sweats a lot, it’s like he’s freakin’ Niagara! It takes forever to get outfits on him in-between sets, it’s like clothing a wet noodle.” 

You choke back a laugh, shaking your head. “That is one flaw.” 

“A-and he’s very,” she starts waving her hands around, plucking the answer out of thin air, “competitive? Remember that one time Nabi said he couldn’t finish that whole loaf of milk bread? And then he accidentally ended up eating the parchment paper?” 

That has you in a fit of giggles, recalling how scared he was when his urge to make Nabi regret her words bit him right back in the butt. The hospital’s personal phone became number 8 on his speed dial shortly after. 

A fond, tentative smile melts on Sehlyung’s lips. At least you had it in in you to laugh, which Sehlyung knows is a good sign. She runs her fingers over your hair, forehead damp from your previous wallowing and overconsumption. ”You’re gonna find yourself a simple, wholesome partner! One who’s top-tier normie and will have all the time in the world for you!” 

You grimace at the thought, despite how uplifting that sounds. You once thought that was the only life for you, a nuclear family with two point five kids (the half point being a puppy, of course.) While you wouldn’t mind that kind of life, after meeting Jungkook you decided long ago that all you ever needed in a relationship was his company and combined happiness. 

“Time isn’t the issue,” you slur, voice warped from how your lips fall tiredly against your arm. “This issue is that he doesn’t want to try.” 

Sehlyung doesn’t say anything to that, but instead prefers to pour you another glass of liquid despair. Of course, she knew how Jungkook got. Sweet and caring, but headstrong, letting nothing get in the way of his music. 

Evidently, you’re one of those things. 

“Boys are dumb,” she says simply, swinging her head back. 

“I’ll be okay,” you murmur, “it just hurts. There’s no closure, y’know? I feel it, I feel so much love for him. And I know he feels, he feels something.” 

Sehlyung bites her lip, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Hey, I got you a gift.” 

That gets you to perk up, your head tipping a miniscule degree. She pulls out a glass, filled with a clear liquid. It’s small, almost vial-shaped, enough for barely two shots. Inside, there’s a young flower shaped like a bellsprout. 

“It’s angel wine,” she chirps, pulling your shot glass to give you a hearty pour. “The old lady was selling it when I was getting my mom her ginger wine.” 

“Hm, is it like ginseng?” you ask curiously, grabbing the now half-empty bottle where the wet flower sat. The bell shape, despite being bloated with residual wine, still clung vibrantly to the glass. The bumblebee yellow and sunset orange tint looking absolutely mesmerizing. However, you’ve never seen an infused liquor quite like this. 

“Think so,” Sehlyung shrugs, “I’m sure you’ll like it though! I told her about how you got dumped and she said you’d need this to cap off your night!” 

She snatches the bottle from your hands, making sure it’s sealed tight before slipping into your purse. “That wine’s special, baby,” she winks, “save it for yourself when you get home, alright?” 

“Gee, Lyungie,” you deadpan, swirling the fragrant liquid, “I’m so glad my boy drama is spreading to your wine dealer.” 

Your friend holds her own drink in a toast, urging you to drink up. You don’t need to be told twice, the floral liquid going down surprisingly smooth. It’s sweet, and your whole body tingles. It’s like the feeling of being outside, and the sun shines over your exposed skin like a warm kiss. For a brief moment, you feel like you’re seeing pink and orange, blissfully satiated. 

“Mm,” you hum, licking your lips in hopes the feeling will return to you, “that’s some good stuff, got anymore?” 

Sehlyung scoffs, only mildly jealous that you get that particular drink all to yourself. “I wish. An arm and a leg cost me that, my hometown is very far!” 

The rest of the night is a haze, a comfortable one. Sehlyung goes off about Namjoon and his countless wardrobe malfunctions, keeping her from going home on time one way too many nights. You talk about how you’re getting into real progress with Soobin’s English, and how he doesn’t complain his head hurts when he speaks in full sentences. Hopefully he isn’t too mad when you send him a pop quiz next Tuesday. 

Sehlyung’s cab drops you off first, and she bids you a hug and kiss goodbye. She tells you to come a little early before your first class, because she wants to redesign Seokjin’s blazer for a new shoot and she wants you to pick out the best crystals. 

You know she just wants to show off and that your opinion is minimal because most of the decisions are made weeks before, but the gesture is appreciated. From Sehlyung’s knowing gaze, you have a feeling that she’s also doing this because she wants to keep you at arm’s length for as long as possible. 

The cab zips away first, leaving you in front of your apartment complex. You’re teetering on your heels like an infant, and you’re surprised that you managed to fake-sober this far into the night. 

Speaking of. It’s beautiful outside. With a tired sigh, you wrap yourself further into your burgundy knitted scarf, begging for warmth. You feel a fresh bout of tears surfacing as you look onto the pale yellow moon, shrouded by thick ghosty clouds among the starless sky. You wonder if Jungkook is looking at the same moon, thinking the same thing. 

You shake your head and wipe your tears, absolving you of that romantic notion. Jungkook hasn’t had the time to look at the stars in so long. You imagine he’s probably either working or sleeping soundly in his bunk, completely oblivious of the semi-depressing night you’ve had. You don’t know if it’s a blessing or a curse that Jungkook doesn’t have the opportunity to dwell on feelings for too long. 

The midnight sky starts to flicker, as if night and day are competing for dominance. Either that, or it’s really late in the night and early in the day. Your vision starts to blur, and you wonder if the secretary at the front desk would be so kind as to help you up to your apartment. It’s embarrassing, but it’s better than you cracking your skull open in the middle of the hallway where anyone can find you. You clutch your head, bemoaning on how much alcohol must be running through your blood if you’re hallucinating this much. 

Wiping your bleary face, you dig into your purse for your keys. Upon pulling out the key your favorite lip balm rolls onto the street. A little part of you feels like leaving it behind so you can get to bed, but it’s your favorite one and you are so close to finishing it. Muttering a curse at the thought of bending down at the possibility of you vomiting in public, you quickly scramble to the ground. Your knees buck at the pavement, tiny stones digging into your skin. Focusing your gaze on the pink and blue plastic, you reach for the glittery tube. 

Unfortunately, you’re not quick enough to notice the moving truck swerve the corner and skid towards your body. 

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

The first thing you notice is that it’s unbearably bright. Like when you vegetate in a dark classroom watching a movie, and the teacher suddenly flips the lights on without warning and your brain panics from the shock. 

You’re also painfully sober, as if you didn’t have a liquor-based dinner. Your bladder doesn’t feel like a small child is sitting on it, and you’re wide awake. 

Someone’s yelling at you, their voice shrill from emotion yet gravely from the early morning. Suddenly there’s a whip of hot air against your hair and a harsh skid as the smell of tire on gravel fills your nose. You’re on sensory overload, and you don’t have the capacity to care about your surroundings. 

This is probably the third time you have to mentally repeat to yourself that it’s daytime, the sun shining brightly on your fallen form. Your body is splayed out in a half-starfish position, and you quickly close your legs in fear of someone seeing up your skirt. You put up a hand to cover your face, and it’s instantly snatched up by a larger one. 

“Hey, hey! Are you okay? I know I turned the corner pretty fast, but you shouldn’t be standing in the middle of the street like that!” the person calling you sounds frantic, frustrated at your lack of response. 

Your eyes flicker to the small jet black cruiser strewn across the sidewalk, haphazardly parked. Fingers curling around the person’s hand, you look up at their face and scream. 

It’s now their turn to collapse on the floor, eyes wide and terrified. Their soft black hair is fluffy and sweaty from using their helmet, now rolling away from their grip. 

“What?” he screams back, as if there’s something on his face. His hand whips up to clutch his collar, undoing the top button because he’s starting to sweat profusely. “Are you really injured? Do I need to call an ambulance or something—” 

“Jungkook!” you cry, ripping the woolen scarf from your neck to wrap it around the top half of his face. You scramble between his legs, making sure his piercings, tattoos and any other identifiable part of his body is concealed. You don’t even think about your fight from last night, knowing that it’s miniscule in comparison to Jungkook being swarmed by PR. “Kook, what the fuck? It’s broad daylight, you can’t be out like this without a mask! Where on earth did you hide that bike? Why—are you wearing fucking pastel green? Since when have you added color to your wardrobe?” the boy noticeably pauses at the attention to his outfit, tensing under your ministrations. “Dispatch will have your ass and the devil Min Yoongi’ll kill you again for sneaking out—”

It’s then that Jungkook snaps, two strong arms pushing you away like paper. You don’t expect Jungkook to ever lay a hand on you, and with a surprised yelp you’re painfully shoved onto the pavement.  

“Get off of me!” he cries, and throws your scarf on your lap. “Who the hell are you and why do you know my name?” 

He’s scared, holding his helmet like you’ve burned him. His doe eyes are glistening and dewy, as if you’re someone he should be running away from. 

“Jungkook—” and as you hold out your hand to him, you realize. 

I’m losing my mind, you think, clutching your head to double-check no injury has come to your brain. His hair is much, much longer. It waves and falls into his eyes, as if he’s just gotten out of bed. He’s wearing a backpack, and you notice some crumpled post-its sticking out of the zipper. Clipped around his neck is a university ID. Heck, he isn’t even wearing an outfit you recognize. Gone are the cargos and oversized sweats, replaced with professionally tapered dress pants and a plain polo. 

Is...  is Jungkook wearing khakis? 

It’s daylight, you’re sober, and the Jungkook that’s standing in front of you is not your Jungkook. 

[whenisitenoughtrees]

Congrats on 500 followers!!!!! Your writing is amazing and you totally deserve it! Would you be able to do “Can you please stop biting your lip…it’s distracting.” for analogical? If you don’t get inspo for it that’s totally fine I’m just on a total analogical kick recently lol

@wisherbystarlight thank you!! i absolutely love analogical so here you go

Title: abject impermanence

Word Count: 3,570

Content Warnings: implied suicidal ideation (in reference to virgil ducking out), negative self image

(fic masterpost)

Virgil would rather die than admit this to anybody, but he develops a crush on Logan after their first debate.

It’s ridiculous, and bothersome, and stupidly humiliating, and he has to spend a few days in his room before he feels prepared enough to face anyone again, prepared enough to put up his usual walls and throw around his usual sarcastic comments, and all the while, his heart is beating far too fast, his mind racing, insisting that he’s being obvious, that everyone knows.

(That is what being Anxiety means: he is under a microscope all the time, his every movement watched and analyzed and derided, alone in a crowd of people who wish him nothing but ill.)

It’s awful, really. Is he truly so pathetic that the first time someone treats him like his opinions are valid, he falls head over heels for them? Because he has to admit, that’s the root of all of this. The debate, and the fact that even though Logan didn’t agree with him, he still treated him with respect, like he was someone worth listening to, and none of the light sides have ever acted like that before.

And they’ve certainly never told him that they don’t mind his company.

So. He has a crush on Logan. And it takes him a few weeks to calm down enough to really think about it, but when he does, he decides that nothing has to change. It’s not like he’ll ever work up the courage to act on these feelings

(because holy shit, how badly would that go? He can picture it now: Logan sneering at him, Logan rejecting him, Logan informing him that he would never in a million years have feelings for someone so irrational and useless, and while Virgil is at it, would he kindly remove himself from his presence and never come back and— well. Maybe Virgil is irrational, but he can’t bring himself to risk something like that)

so the only thing to do with them is pretend they’re not there, right? He’ll keep all of his emotions right here, in his chest, and then one day, he’ll die, and no one else has to know a thing about it.

He doesn’t see what could possibly go wrong with this plan. Which is odd for him because usually, he can only see the things that could go wrong. But the only factor in this plan is him, and his own ability to disguise his feelings, and he’s been successfully doing that for a very long time.

(After all, it’s been years, and none of the others have managed to figure out how much their rejection hurts him, how deeply it strikes at the heart he pretends not to have.)

But he doesn’t anticipate things changing. He doesn’t anticipate trying to duck out, at least, not until the moments in between making the decision and actually going through with it, and he doesn’t anticipate anybody coming after him. He certainly doesn’t anticipate their reactions, doesn’t anticipate being told that he’s important,

(because since fucking when?)

and doesn’t anticipate their acceptance.

He doesn’t anticipate telling them his name.

And alright, maybe he could deal with all of this. Maybe he could ease his way into being one of them, edge his way into their inner circle. It’s something he once would have thought impossible, but now, they seem determined to make him one of them, to bring him into their family, and even though part of him wonders whether they’re just trying to make sure he doesn’t duck out again, doesn’t hurt Thomas, a larger part of him is ecstatic about the fact that they’re including him at all. Maybe he can let himself have this, for once.

But that night, Logan comes to his room.

“Do you have a moment to talk?” he asks, and reluctantly, Virgil takes off his headphones.

Because, yes. Of course. He’s hardly busy, and even if he were, he’s certain he’d figure out a way to put it aside in favor of Logan, because really, he’s helpless to do anything else.

“Yeah, sure,” he says, aiming for casual. He thinks he makes it, if only because he is very practiced in hiding how much of a mess he is internally. “What’s up?”

Logan looks uncomfortable, a bit shifty, even though he hasn’t been in his room nearly long enough for its effects to take hold.

“I merely wanted to check in with you after today’s events,” he says, and then pauses, biting his lip, something that Virgil finds incredibly distracting. “Specifically, to ensure that you are alright.”

He blinks. “Of course I’m alright,” he says. “Why wouldn’t I be alright?”

“Well, I was considering everything that happened, and it occurred to me that we glossed over precisely what ‘ducking out’ would have done to you in the long term.” In an oddly vehement motion, Logan shoves his glasses further up his nose. And Virgil knows very well that as the embodiment of Logic, Logan tries not to display his stronger emotions, but right now, he is the perfect picture of distress. “I find it likely that if Thomas had been unable to utilize you for an extended amount of time, you may have… disappeared, for lack of a better word, not unlike a muscle that atrophies after disuse.”

Well, yes. He knew what he was risking. But he’d felt low enough that he didn’t particularly care about himself.

He was just tired of hurting Thomas.

(And maybe, just maybe, if there was a part of him, small and insidious in the back of his brain, that found the prospect of nothingness appealing, he’ll keep that to himself.)

“I mean, yeah,” he says. “But that didn’t happen. You guys came and got me, and I’m okay now. Not gonna do anything like that again, I swear.”

“That’s not my point,” Logan says, even more upset entering his voice. He crosses his arms, holding his shoulders tensely. “No matter how illogical it might seem, I find myself wondering what might have happened had we not attempted to reach you in time, and the idea is… displeasing.”

Oh.

Despite himself, Virgil’s heart flutters.

“So, I arrived at the conclusion that assuring myself of your continued well-being would help to assuage my concern.” Logan fidgets. “As well as the fact that… I want you to be alright. For yourself, and not just because I am…”

“Anxious?” Virgil can’t resist finishing, even as he feels his face flushing underneath his foundation. God, he hopes Logan doesn’t pick up on that. He shouldn’t be reacting this strongly to something as simple as basic worry, especially after the day they all had, but to know that Logan has been thinking about him? That Logan doesn’t like the idea of him not being around, doesn’t want him to vanish?

That Logan cares enough to come check on him like this?

It’s a strong, heady feeling, and Virgil has the sneaking suspicion that his crush has just upgraded itself.

“Yes,” Logan answers, and he seems a bit embarrassed, but he holds his ground, staring Virgil straight (gay) in the eyes. The direct eye contact is intense, almost too much for him to handle, but Virgil finds himself unable to look away.

“Well, uh, I appreciate it, I guess,” he manages. “Really, it’s nice to know that you care.”

“Of course,” Logan says, and seems almost indignant at the idea that he might not. “I value our discussions,” he adds, and Virgil has to pretend that that statement doesn’t almost give him a heart attack.

But that is mostly the end of that conversation, because really, neither of them is very good with touchy-feely emotions. Logan sinks back out shortly after, and Virgil is left alone in his room, his headphones lying uselessly on his lap as his mind reviews their exchange over and over again, searching for all the places where it might have gone wrong, or where he might have messed up. He can’t really find any, and that is a realization in and of itself, almost enough to distract him from the bigger one, the one that looms over him.

It’s not just a crush anymore. He could try to deny it, but he thinks that would summon unwanted attention. So he accepts it, accepts that he is… he’d say infatuated, but infatuated isn’t the right word. Infatuated doesn’t even begin to cover what he feels when he looks at Logan, doesn’t cover the way his heart races and his words trip over themselves and the way he longs for his approval. It doesn’t cover the way he knows so many little details about him, like the way Logan pushes at his glasses or fiddles with his tie when he’s nervous or upset, or the exact way his lips curl around the edges when he’s pleased and trying not to show it. So many little details, none of which would be on his radar at all if he wasn’t—

Well. He won’t deny it. But he doesn’t particularly see the need to voice it, either.

After all, it’s not like it changes anything. Or at least, it shouldn’t. He wasn’t planning on sharing his feelings when they were a simple crush, and he’s certainly not going to share them now that there’s more.

Except, nothing is ever that simple,

(Nothing ever can be, with him. It’s what he does best, turning easy things into overcomplicated messes because he can’t let go of all the what ifs—)

because suddenly, he’s welcome to spend time with the others. Is welcome at their table, is welcome in the commons, is welcome to join their movie nights and their game nights, and most of the time, he even feels mostly okay with doing so, because Patton is enthusiastic in his invitations, and he can tell that even Roman is honestly trying. And sometimes, it makes him want to cry, because this is all he’s ever wanted, to be one of them, and now he can and it’s almost too much.

The only problem with that is that he’s spending a lot more time around Logan.

Which is fine. Great, even.

Except, sometimes, Logan will do things. Little things, inconsequential things, but things that remind Virgil all too clearly of the feelings he keeps nestled under his heart.

For instance, Logan bites his lip a lot. When he’s working, when he’s watching movies, when he’s listening to the others, and sometimes for no reason at all. It’s a stupid thing to get caught up on, but he can’t help himself. And it’s not as if Virgil’s attraction to him begins or ends with the physical, but—

Whenever he does it, Virgil can’t stop his eyes from zeroing in on his lips. Can’t stop himself from thinking about how much he would like to kiss him.

He would like to kiss him a whole lot. And he’s fairly sure he’s being pretty obvious about it, but he can’t bring himself to stop.

So, really, he should have prepared himself for the possibility of being found out. Under any other circumstance, he would have, but there’s a saying, he thinks, about love and fools.

“Can I help you with something?” Logan says, and Virgil flinches violently, the rest of the world coming back into focus. He snaps his gaze up to meet Logan’s eyes, and the expression on his face might be amusement, maybe, but it could also be annoyance, and in fact, it’s probably definitely annoyance, because actually Logan is annoyed with Virgil and maybe even angry and now their budding friendship is completely ruined and all because Virgil doesn’t know better than to stare when he really shouldn’t be staring and—

No, stop. Stop. He’s not going to do that, not right now. He wrests his thoughts back under control with an effort.

Logan was working, typing away on his laptop, biting his lip as he concentrated. And Virgil just so happened to be out in the commons as well, in the perfect position to watch him and daydream, just a bit.

He needs to reply. He’s left it too long, and Logan’s eyebrows are inching up his face as he awaits a response. And the longer he takes to come up with something, the more suspicious Logan will be, so he should just shrug, mutter a denial, and pointedly turn his attention away. Something like that.

But it’s his job to make snap decisions under pressure. And sometimes those decisions aren’t the right ones.

So instead of taking another second to think things through and deflect Logan’s interest, his mouth opens ahead of his brain and says, “Can you please stop biting your lip?”

Logan stares. Virgil feels himself wilting.

“… It’s distracting,” he finishes weakly, and prays for the ground to swallow him whole. He can’t even manage to sink out

(because his mind is screaming at him now, screaming horrified recriminations, screaming all of the worst case scenarios, and it’s taking all of his concentration to breathe properly, much less get out of here)

because the sheer force of his embarrassment is leaving him paralyzed, curled up in his chair and with nowhere to go, nowhere to escape Logan’s widening eyes.

“Is it now,” Logan says, and he doesn’t sound particularly angry, but Virgil could very easily be wrong. Or, he could be angry and trying to hide it. Or maybe he’s not angry, but irritation would probably be just as bad, at this point.

“Sorry,” he mutters, hunching in on himself. “Nevermind, forget I said anything.”

“Virgil, you’re magnifying,” Logan says softly, and that softness is worse than any anger could be, because what if he’s figured it out? What if he pities him? Virgil would take just about anything over pity. “Whatever you think you just said, I assure you that it didn’t come off nearly as badly as you seem to believe.” He pauses, tilting his head. “Though, I can’t say I’m certain of what you meant, considering—”

He cuts off suddenly, and Virgil can practically see the cogs turning in his head. He should leave now, leave before Logan draws his conclusions, but he is frozen, powerless to do anything but let this train wreck happen in real time.

“I wouldn’t ordinarily consider biting my lip to be a disruptive habit,” Logan says slowly. “It makes no noise and does no one any harm, and it’s not something I would think affects anyone else. But you were staring, which means there is something about the habit that draws your attention. I can only think of a few reasons for that.”

He takes it back. Pity would be far better than this, than this slow and measured reasoning, drawing out all of Virgil’s best-kept secrets, spiraling toward a conclusion that he never wanted anyone to know, much less Logan himself.

Perhaps that is why he says what he says. Because with this, Logan is only prolonging the inevitable, and it’s torture.

It’s like a band-aid. The biggest band-aid ever, maybe, covering one of the worst wounds of his life, but a band-aid. And it’s coming off one way or another, so he might as well rip it off now and brace himself for the sting.

“Oh my god,” he says. “It makes me want to kiss you. That’s why it’s distracting. And I’m just gonna go die in a hole now, if that’s alright.”

His face is burning, mortification rising up in him like a tidal wave, threatening to swamp him. This is, possibly, the worst thing that has ever happened to him, ever.

(It’s not, of course, because anything and everything is better than it was before he was accepted, when he was on his own and so lonely and bitter all the time. But this comes close, he thinks. It’s a different kind of hurt altogether, but a hurt nonetheless.)

Logan sets his laptop down, giving him his full attention. For a moment, he is completely silent, and Virgil prepares himself to stand and sink out and into his room, where he will spend the next few weeks huddled under the covers on his bed with his headphones on blast, hating his life and himself for being such an idiot, because here he is, ruining one of the best friendships that he has ever known, and for what? Because he was too much of a moron to keep himself from staring, from forcing his unwanted attentions upon the one side who was more likely than any of the others to notice what he was doing? It’s pathetic, and stupid, and he knows it, and Logan knows it, and—

“I don’t see why you need to do that,” Logan says. His voice shakes, just slightly. “You could kiss me, if you wanted.”

Virgil stills. He can’t have heard that right.

Logan clears his throat. “That is to say, I would enjoy it, if you kissed me. If I’d realized you were interested, I would have broached the topic sooner.”

Hysterical laughter threatens to escape him, his brain dissolving into static, because what? And he knows he needs to say something, needs to respond, but his vocal cords refuse to work, so he’s left sitting there, staring, stricken dumb.

Logan glances away, something like uncertainty crossing his face. “I apologize,” he murmurs. “I’m not doing this right, am I?”

And that is what finally spurs Virgil to action, because Logan sounds so terribly dejected, and that is absolutely not allowed. Not when it’s Virgil that’s made such a mess of things, when none of it is Logan’s fault at all.

“Do you mean it?” he croaks.

Logan blinks, his expression clearing, and then landing on comprehension. His face softens, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he stands, crossing the floor and kneeling in front of where Virgil sits.

“Of course I do,” he says, and then reaches out with one hand, cupping Virgil’s cheek. Virgil’s breath catches, the contact shooting lightning across his face and down his spine. His heart starts beating faster, and he doesn’t know whether it’s fear or anticipation or some mixture of the two. Most of him still hasn’t processed that this is happening, hasn’t made the jump from Logan can never know about my feelings because he’ll reject me and then I’ll have no choice but to jump off a cliff to Logan knows about my feelings and he is doing the exact opposite of rejecting me hoooooly shit what do I do—

“I think about you often,” Logan says. “Ever since our first debate, if I’m being completely honest.”

Virgil blinks.

The laugh escapes him, then, but there’s not much hysteria in it. It’s something warm, now, something bright and colorful and blooming as he realizes just how much of an idiot he’s been, as his anxiety slowly begins to fade away,

(not completely, never completely, because he is who he is and that will never change, and his mind is already looking to the future, at all the fresh new opportunities he is going to have to screw this up, but for now, in this moment, he has Logan here in front of him, offering to kiss him, telling him that his feelings aren’t as one-sided as he convinced himself they had to be, and it’s very difficult to be negative at all, in the face of such a beautiful thing as this, as him)

morphing into something that he is tentatively willing to call hope.

“Yeah?” he says. “Me too.”

Before he can lose his nerve, he shifts position, leans down, and kisses Logan. Lightly, briefly, and it’s really more of a peck than anything else, but in the split second in which their lips meet, Virgil can feel just how soft Logan’s are, and when he pulls back, anxiously searching for a reaction, Logan’s cheeks are dusted with red.

“Yes, um,” Logan says. “That was… good. Would you like to do it again?”

A wave of fondness washes over him, and he lets it drag him away.

“You dork,” he says, and pecks him on the lips again. He doesn’t yet have to courage to try for more, but he thinks that might come with time. If he is allowed time, if he is allowed this, and he is not prone to optimism, but for once, he might be willing to give it a go.

Optimism, and whatever this is, new and exciting and budding between them. And there is a part of his mind that is screaming at him, insisting that he’s only going to hurt Logan or get hurt himself, and that no brief happiness could ever be worth that, but—

Logan’s lips are gentle and soft, and Logan is smiling at him, and that, he thinks, might be worth the world.

(“I would be extremely displeased if you died in a hole,” Logan informs him a bit later. “Please refrain from doing so.”

He agrees, if only because of that fact that if he died in a hole, he would never get to kiss Logan ever again. And now that he’s started, he doesn’t ever want to stop.

He is not one to believe in permanence. Or in happy endings. But just this once, he’ll try it, and trust that Logan will catch him if he falls.)

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[saey-bae]

Saeran Choi/Reader - A Lost Timeline

guess who found another piece hidden in her drafts

check out my masterpost here

tw: violence

-

He’s five years old and his small body aches with lashes and bruises. A tear rolls down his cheek. 

His mother doesn’t love him because he’s sick and weak. That’s why she hurts him. 

But his brother Saeyoung is able to go outside and scavenge for the two of them, coming back with all sorts of books and treats.

He wishes he could be more useful. 

He wishes he could go out, too.  

-

“Do you miss me like I miss you, Saeyoung?” 

He’s fourteen years old, and he’s leaning against the window sill as he looks up at the night sky with an unfathomable sadness in his eyes. It’s an expression that no child his age should bear, yet it’s the one that graces his face the most often. 

He wonders if his brother watches the same sky.

-

He’s eighteen now, and he’s become enamoured with blue roses. There is something about their ethereal beauty that so thoroughly captures his heart.

The bushes he now tends to are a gift from the Savior, who had praised him for his hacking work. She was so kind as to let him plant his roses in her garden that he’d take extra care to make sure they grew as beautifully as he remembers them to be. After all, that’s the least he can do.

Somewhere, in his mind, he remembers an old saying his brother- no, his competitor- his someone- used to remind him of: “When you grow plants, you must say five nice things to it so they will grow to be beautiful.”

He crouches by the dirt. 

“Mint Eye. The Savior. Ice cream. The sky.” He pauses, struggling for a moment. “Saeyoung.”

-

He works on his coding whenever he has the opportunity to, hardly getting a wink of sleep. He chain smokes when he gets frustrated. He won’t touch any alcohol, though-- instead, he’ll down another bottle of elixir when shit gets too tough and plow through his work until he passes out.

Wash, rinse, and repeat.

He’s turning twenty-two this year, but he feels older than that. In brief moments of lucidity, he feels like he’s lived an eon. He feels like he’s lived too long because how else would you feel when you just want to die, to sleep forever?

He doesn’t let those thoughts linger for too long, though, because he knows he must be of some use to his Savior and her paradise. That is the only thing worth living for. It is the only thing he knows.

That is, until you walk into Mint Eye. Your presence bothers him at first. It must be because you’re from the cruel world that shunned him all those years ago, and that must be why he feels the need to crush your spirit. He doesn’t try to repress those cruel thoughts, nor does he hesitate to put them into action.

He'll call you weak as he backs you up against a wall, a smile curling his lips when he hears the sharp intake of breath. A rush of heat courses through his body as his hands land on your hips, and he swears that his heart only pounds because he’s excited to have a new toy to play with.  

He claims you to be his as he bites down on your neck, his teeth leaving angry red indents on your supple flesh. His nails dig into you, but you don’t so much as flinch.

It leaves him confused, but he would come back and try again later— then you’d see who you’re dealing with.

But no matter how often he corners you, no matter how he threatens you, you never do flinch.

In fact, over time, he’s learned that you don’t flinch. That’s just who you are as a person— yielding, but unbreakable. And for the trailing months, he finds himself growing increasingly more uncomfortable with your presence, pushing and pressing you further, wondering why you just won’t break.

But instead, he only learns that the pounding in his chest isn’t because he’s excited to have a new toy. And the newfound warmth that blooms in his cheeks isn’t because the room has grown too hot with another person in it. 

It’s because of you. Of him. Of how he’s fallen for you.

And that’s when he’s realized that you’ve broken him instead. And he crumbles in your arms, suddenly unsure of everything he thought he knew.

-

Leaving was difficult. Adjusting is difficult. 

He still has days where he wants to curl up beneath the sheets and forget that he exists.

But those days were growing far and fewer in between.

And leaving has been the best thing that’s ever happened to him, he thinks, as he glances over at you while tending to his roses.

You’re kneeling by the marigolds, laughing as a gust of wind nearly sweeps off your straw hat. You reach up and pat it down with a dirtied gloved hand, keeping it from flying off.

Only, your hand slips and it does fly free, and his eyes turn to see Saeyoung abandon his post at the tulips to chase after it.

He’s just turned twenty-three, and he thinks this is the best year of his life.

This is the freedom he’s been looking for all these years.

-

He’s twenty-five, he thinks, but he isn’t quite too sure when he awakens. He’s dazed and disorientated, but he’s sure that he’s staring at the ceiling of the hovel he used to call his room at Mint Eye. An instant spike of fear courses through him, and the realization that follows has him bolting up into a sitting position-- only, he isn’t quite alone.

A gentle hand caresses his cheek and he leans into the touch readily until his eyes lift up to meet the vibrant green ones that haunt his dreams.

He flinches.

“Ray, I see your fever has broken,” the blonde woman says quietly, her soft voice laced with sugar and venom. “Why do you look so afraid?”  

He wants to push her away because she’s leaning in closer. He wants to say that his name isn’t Ray. He wants to tell her that his name Saeran. That he is not afraid. But the words are stolen from him before they can escape his lips, and he stares at the Savior --at Rika-- in silence instead. 

“Believer Y/N, bring the glass.” 

You. You are Y/N, but you are not looking at him with a smile when you walk over to him with the glass of elixir in hand. You are not smiling as you tilt his chin up.

He whispers your name, but you don’t respond. He wants to ask why your eyes are devoid of emotion as you pour the burning drink down his throat. He wants to ask why you are in Mint Eye when he’s sure that the two of you escaped all those years back. He wants to ask you many, many things, but his mind is clouding over again and he can’t quite remember what all those things are anymore.

-

He’s sixteen and it’s his first time walking to the cathedral by himself. He feels the cool summer breeze rustle his t-shirt and the contrasting heat of the rising sun warm his skin, and he hears a morning bird sing its sweet tune. His footsteps slow until he comes to a full stop, and he closes his eyes and absorbs this peaceful moment in its entirety.

He thinks this is what freedom must feel like.