#i wish i had the eye to analyze the belts as specifically as you have but i figured my strength would be here in drawing it out and making

[good-beans]

Is it just me, or does it look like Fuuta is wearing a jacket in the pv shot?

It does!! (This may or may not have motivated me to finally combine/clean up the shot). I really thought it was his uniform jacket, but this ask made me realize that certain lines could be tracing his Bring it On jacket pattern 👀 Such a simple thing changes the vibe a lot -- the former feels more restrictive since he's in the full uniform, while the latter feels a lot more invasive since he's in his casual street clothes, as if he was really ripped right from his ordinary life...

There are so many extra lines that don't quite make sense. As I'm posting this I'm even realizing that those lines could be straps connecting to the arm rings. And are those part of the blindfold? The tops of his ears? For a fairly clean image it's still confusing asdfsdfs If anyone wants to try their hand at it be my guest 😂

[alluringjae]

it’s a royal order - jjh

⤑ summary: one of your royal campaigns became a success, and your bodyguard jaehyun was there to see it all happen. it’s only fair to celebrate, right?

⤑ pairing: jaehyun x female reader

⤑ word count: 2k

⤑ genre: fluff, suggestive (dirty talk, jaehyun got a daddy kink, superiority complex!!), implied smut | bodyguard!jaehyun, princess!reader, slight enemies to lovers!au, modern royal!au (where south korea remains under monarchial power)

⤑ warnings: mentions of alcohol, drugs, family problems and therapy, explicit language

⤑ playlist: lows by pink sweat$ | céline by gallant | i put a spell on you by iza | nasty by ariana grande | dance for you by beyonce | body by sinead harnett

⤑ author’s note: this is definitely less emotional than all i do is wait! i got this idea from a show i really enjoyed before it got cancelled named the royals. specifically, i really liked the story of eleanor and jasper, which is the whole princess x bodyguard dynamic. the pining and tension, ugh! if you know this show or not, it doesn’t matter. anyways, thank you for the 30+ followers and 200 notes on aidiw! enjoy!

i need holy water because of this piece.

⤑ credits to jeongjaehyuns for the gif above uwu

⤑  leave me some feedback, constructive criticism or hellos!

“On behalf of the royal family, I would like to extend my utmost support for the Anti-School Violence campaign for all students to have a safer and more meaningful learning environment.” You proudly announced to the board of officials alongside other influential individuals in Korean society.

Being the only princess in the current royal line may have its pressures, but holding a strong, direct impact for a brighter future for the people motivated you to take advantage of your platform for the better. As the image of pure innocence and revamped women empowerment, you aimed to accomplish all the things your mother wished she could before her untimely death alongside your personal aspirations.

Expressing genuine joy with the campaign, with a tinge of desire to annoy the old-fashioned and closeminded officials, your prying eyes were more enamored by a certain man in the back clapping by the ballroom doors. You can’t help but act flustered whenever he witnessed you in a state of success and satisfaction.

This man went by the name Jeong Jaehyun, your trusted bodyguard since you were in your early twenties. 3 years later, he still stuck by your side and helped you endure all the darkness as a royal.

Back then, you went through a rebellious phase that was ruining the image of your family. Clubbing almost every night, drugs, skipping school, you even managed to get all assigned bodyguards to quit! The media ate up all your tricks, turning them into scandals. That was the plan, of course. You desired your own freedom from all the royal obligations because you didn’t ask to be born into that lifestyle. To all of your peers who wished to be in your footsteps, you would’ve impulsively passed your title to them. There’s so much deception that lies behind the glitz and glam of it all.

This unexpected change in your former untainted attitude came to the point that your father, the king himself, stepped in and personally assigned one of his men to get you in check. He figured that appointing a guard nearest your age may lessen the tension and mend you back together.

In the start, you absolutely despised him. There was no way to fool him when you were up to no good. He easily found your alcohol and drug stash which he disposed of on the spot and stood by your bedroom door every night so you wouldn’t sneak out past curfew (which your father also strictly implemented).

One big turning point in your relationship was when he rushed you to the royal hospital when you drank a cocktail that went unnoticeably spiked. To think that this was a typical social gathering with other royals and officials, you’re a constant target to many. You didn’t wake up for a few days, and the entire time, Jaehyun willingly stood by your bedside and outside your hospital room.

Since that and more instances your father insisted you get involved in royal affairs, you softened up. As cliché as it was, the more time spent with him, the more you knew about him and vice versa. He was the one that got you to fully open up about your grief towards your late mother, encouraging you to seek help. Turns out you weren’t as different as you thought despite your differing ranks in society when he also had a void for a missing parent. In his case, it was his father, who ditched his family for his mistress. Silently, you helped each other recover from your traumas alongside therapy. From dreading his presence, you started treating him more casually. Your father’s tactic of assigning a bodyguard around your age admittedly worked.

Oh, how time flies.

This campaign was the last thing on your weekend agenda, so you had the entire late afternoon and evening to yourself. Bowing one last time to the audience, you stepped down from the platform and accepted the soft hand of your bodyguard, who quickly made his way to you despite the flashing cameras. It was something he got used to as it is part of the job.

Once he successfully ushered you out of the ballroom, his hand still held yours. Nothing new, except this event was quite public and you didn’t want anyone to get any wrong ideas. Strolling down one of the many hallways in the palace became a pastime for the both of you, where no one can catch you. It was a safe haven within the destructive life of the Park kingdom.

“You did phenomenal as I expected, your highness.” Jaehyun complimented, recalling your panic the night before as the stage fright hit strong when you were reciting your speech to him over and over again.

“We are in private, Jaehyun. Must you really use those formalities with me?” You taunted, bobbing your head sideways mockingly. With him could you felt like a normal young adult, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. Jaehyun loved being frisky with you, catching you get irked up. And he was up to do it again.

“Hmm last time we strolled these halls, Yuta caught us making out after a successful meeting with the Prime Minister.”

You gasped at his statement, conscious of whoever may be in the vicinity. But before you could refute, your hand that was interlocked with his were mightily slammed against the white wall. You lost your breath for a moment, his warm body closely on yours. His free hand freely roamed up and down your covered waist. His lips were dangerously near your neck, where you’re sensitive. Your hips naturally grinded against him to release the pent-up tension.

“Something tells me you want to do it again, princess?” Now he’s just using your title as a pet name, but you couldn’t complain. It just hits differently when the situation was set up like this.

“I deserve it, don’t I? Got a lot of those hell-driven officials on my side for this round.” You raised both your brows cockily, licking your lips.

“Hell yeah, you do.” Finally, he rids of the tension and plants open kisses on your bare neck. Your throaty moans were uncontrollable, and you could care less.

“My princess,”

Kiss.

“So intelligent,”

Kiss.

“So benevolent,”

Kiss.

“So helpful,”

Kiss.

“But,” He changed his pace and direction, swollen lips near your ear.

“But?” You question naïvely. He scoffed, smirking at your antics of playing dumb.

“But a total slut for her bodyguard.” He dominantly planted his lips against yours, one of his veiny hands gripping on your waist and the other by the arch of your butt. He was hungry, needy even. Due to your shared schedules, it’s been a constant struggle to have proper alone time from the snooping eyes of Korean society. After all, it wasn’t in the norm for a princess to fall deep for her bodyguard. Nor were you sure you would be accepted by anyone. Yuta, the bodyguard of your oldest brother, the crowned prince Jinyoung, finding the both of you at that time was a total shock but didn’t care either.

All that mattered was that your feelings towards each other are real and strong. Accepted or not, you had each other.

All this lust put you in a daze, wanting much more than another smooch fest in the hallway. Tugging on his belt, he squeezed your butt tightly. You emitted a moan, which allowed his tongue access. No way could you keep your hands to yourself, touching his upper body and the flexing of his abdominal muscles from his button-up. You felt his now hard member poking through.

Analyzing your area, you were on the other side of the palace. Farther to your bedroom where numerous rendezvouses were made, one kink you’ve considered in the past amplified your mind. Considering this area was also the king’s side, and he was abroad for royal affairs, this was your chance.

“I have an idea, my love. You up for it?” You rose a brow at your lover, challenging him. Not one to overpower this man in bed, but always suggesting a way on how to spice it up.

“And what exactly does your feral brain want to do with me, princess?” His finger lifted your chin so you meet eye to eye. You can just see the fire still burning, and oh how you were ready to intensify it.

“The main ballroom, where my father and late mother’s throne rest, are a few doors away.” Your fingers signal him to lower his stance as his tall height was difficult to reach. With a sneaky smirk,

“Let me ride you in the king’s throne, my love.” Your lips brushed over his and sucked his bottom lip, tugging him by his belt. He groaned, squeezing your butt. “It’s a royal order.”  

“Nasty, your highness. Insanely nasty, you are.” His hands hoisted your waist, boosting you up in his arms. You gasped with profanities, ravenously cut off by his lips again. His nails digging deep in your bare thighs, your legs naturally linked themselves around his torso while your arms passionately intertwined his broad neck.

In between kisses, he carried you to the said main ballroom. One of your wildest imaginations, just a second away. This room remained to be the only place without any guards stationed technological advancements or updated interior designs to preserve its traditional beauty. Dated as far as the 19th century, only special events were held and the highest of the high were allowed inside. Spacious, surrounded by gold linings majestic paintings of angels from above with a huge crystal chandelier right above the center. Right ahead, the original thrones that your ancestors, grandparents, and parents sat on when they were throned in its pure glory.

Pushing your lover on the king’s throne, the gold sun-like rays plastered behind the headrest, he cockily leaned back and manspread his legs for comfort. He rubbed his hands before patting his thigh, waiting for your submission. But you weren’t going to give in just yet.

Not when you prepared a mini-show just for him underneath your designer silk dress.

Jaehyun’s solemn eyes marveled over your gorgeous figure as you stripped down one strap after the other. Due to its silk fabric, it effortlessly dropped down to your figure to reveal a new set of black lace lingerie from your previous trip to Paris. Ages ago, Jaehyun unhesitatingly ripped your favorite ones during his birthday, so you decided to get a mature version of it. A version where your bra lifted your breasts more and undies hiked up to your waist to elongate your legs. Only for the eyes of yourself and the man in front of you, establishing that you were a powerful woman who can be absolutely anyone she can be. Princess, a normal young adult, or his slut, it’s up to you how you see yourself.

Jaehyun mumbled all the profanities he could think of at the moment. Looking like a divine angel when the sun from outside shuns behind you, his slacks tightening so much more than a while ago.

“All this for me?” He ogled shamelessly, undoing the buttons of his dress shirt and untying his necktie. “What did I do to deserve such regal treatment?”

You sneered at his comment, stepping out your dress in your heels and stationing right in front of his luring lap. “You’ve always been there for me, thick and thin. I think you deserve a reward, don’t you think?”

Lowering yourself to straddle him, his breath hissed when your damp core collided with his crotch. Distracted and caught in your trap, “I don’t think you answered my question, my love.”

Rather than a verbal response, he roughly pulled you back in for a kiss. His hands scattered to explore from your back down to your waist. Your hands messily ran through his hair, tugging on some when your body got too sensitive to his wild touches. The thrilling sounds of the two of you drowning in your fiery romance bounced throughout the ballroom, not minding if anyone passed by the hallways outside. It was a private room after all, and whatever happens here, stays here.

Rolling on his crotch while his lips trailed down to your collarbones, the quick snap of your bra wires echoed. The tight lift lessened as Jaehyun’s fingers dropped the straps, unveiling your bare chest covered in his marks.

“Enough playing, princess. Let daddy have some real fun with you.”

[youwerenevermeanttofeelalone]

Christmas Figurines and Mistletoe | Damian Wayne

✦ pairing — older!Damian Wayne x gender neutral!Plus Size Reader

✦ word count — 2.4k

✦ request — Could you write something about being caught under the mistletoe with Damian Wayne? Fluffy and really mutty.

✦ warnings — nsfw, reader has a vagina, making out, vaginal sex, pouty Damian, jealousy if you squint, fluff.

✦ author’s note — I assumed anon meant smutty instead of mutty.

════════════════════════

Damian was driving you crazy. And not the good kind of crazy. You were regretting staying at Titan Tower instead of going Christmas shopping with your friends.

You had assumed they would need the bonding moment on their own. They would spend Christmas at the tower while you would do so at home, it was only fair.

The problem was that you didn’t think Damian would come to the tower so early. He had said he’d come by that evening to make sure everything was perfect for the Christmas party you all convinced him to throw.

He hated almost everything. And you were terrified of showing him the Christmas tree because it was... a lot.

Explaining to him that Christmas was supposed to be colorful and that meant things looking tacky here and there would be pointless. He had been clear on what he didn’t want to see.

Damian clenched his jaw as he stood in front of the tree. “Why are the lights off?”

“The Tower’s empty.”

“You are here,” he said drily. “What did you do?”

You immediately defended yourself, “I didn’t do anything! I wasn’t here when the tree was decorated. You sent Jon and me on that quick mission, remember?”

Damian grunted, nodding. To your horror, he lit the tree up himself. A strange sound spluttered from his throat, and he turned to look at you with narrowed eyes.

“Damian, come on! It’s cheerful.”

“Who was the genius who decided that colorful lights and colorful ornaments were a good look?”

“I don’t know... Christmas trees come from a German tradition, and—“

He interrupted you, exasperated, “This specific tree!”

You shrugged. The tree had already been decorated when you came back, just like the kitchen.

Oh, the kitchen. Damian hated it, it looked cluttered according to him.

He picked a ceramic figurine and examined it. “This is the sloppiest paint job I’ve ever seen.”

“Most figurines come like that. Or with deformed faces.”

He placed it back in its place, turning around to examine you. “I find it interesting,” he mused, dragging his eyes to the microwave which was decorated by a Christmas themed microwave cover, “that you seem to know a lot about figurines and their flaws.”

“I didn’t buy them if that’s what you’re implying.”

“You bought Christmas mugs for everybody.”

“Yes, but I didn’t buy those!” Seeing him incredulously lift his eyebrows, you groaned. “Look, those figurines are common in most households. My mom loves them. That’s it, that’s how I know how flawed the come.”

“What will you do if I inspect your bedroom and more of those ugly things are there?”

You slanted your head, making a motion for him to exit the kitchen with you. “Come. Inspect it.”

You lead the way, more relieved than exasperated. He would drop it once he realized you didn’t have anything to do with it, he always did.

Before he could cross the kitchen’s doorway, Damian halted his steps behind you, grasping your hips and pulling you closer to him. You turned around, now confused.

He looked up to the top of the doorframe. His eyes stayed there and he remained silent which prompted you to look up too.

You shifted as mistletoe came to view. “I— I didn’t put that there... I didn’t even know somebody had bought it!” You attempted to move, hoping he would drop his hands. When he didn’t, you said, “I’ll get it off.”

Damian’s grip on your hips tightened. “Not following the tradition would bring us bad luck,” he explained with ease.

Your stomach flipped. Damian wasn’t superstitious.

“Yeah,” you breathed out, “you’re right.”

You half-expected a comment along the lines of ‘I’m always right,’ but instead, he slowly leaned in. You did the same, meeting him in the middle. His lashes brushed your skin when his eyes lidded closed, prompting yours to flutter.

He kissed you softly, taking his time to map your lips with his own, somewhat afraid of kissing you wrong. You tentatively placed your hands on his arms, ever so slightly tilting your head.

Pulling away, you nervously watched him. Damian slowly opened his eyes, not helping your case and making you feel giddy as he gazed at you.

He brought you in for another kiss, resting his lower back against the counter. Damian swiped his tongue along your bottom lip, and you eagerly opened your mouth for him.

His pleased hum sent shivers down your spine. As if it wasn’t enough to have you breathless, his hands lightly wandered to your back. His touch and kiss didn’t match in rhythm, and it only drove you crazier.

One of his hands fell onto your ass, then the other. You instinctively pushed your hips forward, hands flying to his shoulders. He grasped your asscheeks in both hands and pulled your hips flush against his.

A low whimper left your mouth, going directly down his throat as he swallowed it by kissing you harder.

He pushed you back. Assuming he needed space, you withdrew your hands from his shoulders. Damian briefly frowned, yet his grip tightened on you as he tried a different approach by walking you backward instead of pushing you.

“I still need to inspect your room,” he said, voice low as he analyzed your reaction.

You didn’t trust your voice so you merely nodded. It would have been easier to walk to your room by yourself, or with his hands still on you but actually looking where you were stepping.

The thought of walking slowly so you could savor the weight of his hands on your body was tempting. But Damian hated wasting time. And slow walkers.

Your room was underwhelming in comparison to your teammates’, in part because you didn’t have time to decorate and in part because you didn’t know what to do with the empty wall near the window therefore you couldn’t make up your mind about anything else.

“You can open any drawer you want,” you told him, ready to put the moment you had just shared to the side.

Damian gave you an incredulous look upon realizing you were being serious.

His eyes were as green as ever, watching you carefully as though he expected you to read his mind. Not for the first time, you wished you could.

His hands twitched on your ass. One of them softly caressed the area, drawing random patterns on your clothed asscheek.

“You can’t possibly think I brought you here to look for a stupid Christmas ornament.”

“So you brought me to my bedroom just to make out?”

”Let’s go with that,” he conceded. “I didn’t want us to be interrupted.”

“Can’t let the team know about your crush on me?” you teased him before you could fully realize what you were saying. It was fun banter, meaningless.

Damian turned serious. “I’m certain they know by now, but I would rather not get caught groping your ass in the middle of the kitchen.”

“Wait... so you hung the mistletoe?”

“No. But I’m not above admitting I should thank whoever did it.” He firmly rested his hands on your ass, pushing his hips against yours. “Now, can we stop talking?”

“Sure.” You kissed him this time, wrapping your arms around his neck.

Soon, he had you on his lap as he sat on your bed, humping him while he kissed your neck. He inched your sweater up, brushing your belly with his fingertips.

“I want you,” you whined, aware that he would leave marks on your neck.

“I’m here,” he deadpanned, nipping at your throat as he continued lifting your sweater.

You stopped moving your hips, lightly shifting on his lap in order for your hands to reach his belt. He didn’t stop you, so you went on and unbuckled his belt before undoing his pants.

Damian made you stand up, not for a moment taking his hands off you. In contrast, your neck already missed his plump lips.

He undid your jeans in a hurry, lowering them down your knees along with your panties.

Bluntly, he asked, “You need me to finger you first?”

Feeling your face heat up as he intensely gazed at you in expectancy of an answer, you pulled one of your hands off his body and parted your folds.

You found embarrassing how wet he made you. Only able to shake your head, you avoided looking at him directly.

“Use your words,” he commanded softly.

“No,” you whispered. He shuffled, lifting his hips to get rid of his pants and boxers. The gesture made your skin tingle, and as you kicked your shoes and jeans off, you added, “I don’t need you to finger me.”

Hissing, Damian held his cock for you, looking down as you placed your palm on top of the back of his hand. Your hand replaced his, and you softly caressed his cock.

“Condom?”

He stretched his arm, slanting his body to the side as he reached for his wallet. He handed the condom to you without a word, throwing his wallet onto the floor.

Once you had rolled the condom down his cock, his gaze lifted. You straddled him again, slowly gliding down. A groan spurted from within him as you took your time to push inch after inch of his cock inside you.

Damian’s eyes were on your face, refusing to lose any detail of your reaction as he entered you for the first time.

You moaned, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. He held you by the waist, holding his breath as you ever so slightly drove your hips forward.

The more you moved, the less he cared about whether he was loud or not. There hadn’t been signs of the team coming back, but you were certain Damian wouldn’t have cared either way.

He began moving his hips at your rhythm, only prompting you to roll your hips more enthusiastically as you sucked on his neck.

You tried to push him to lay down on the bed, but he stopped you, speaking softly. “Wait. It’s hot in here.”

Feeling empty as you moved away from his lap in order to get rid of your remaining clothes, you entertained yourself by admiring his body as he did the same.

Damian grabbed your hand, bringing you on top of him as he laid on his back. He kissed you, holding the back of your head with a hand as the other rested on your lower back.

Such placement made it extremely easy for him to roll you over so he could be on top, and the distraction his lips bestowed upon you a calculated move.

“Meanie,” you lightheartedly panted on his mouth.

He huffed a laugh, giving you a short kiss. “You seem to like it.” Damian dragged the tip of his cock along your folds, briefly teasing you before shoving it inside you.

He caressed your thighs as he started to thrust in slow strokes, teasing you some more as he controlled his breath.

Bottoming out, Damian tightened his grip on your thighs. He rolled his hips, and by your request started going faster.

You dropped your head onto the pillow, whimpering freely. This time you were the one who didn’t care if the tower was still empty.

His mouth hovered over yours. You were struggling to keep your eyes open, and by the way he was smiling at you, he surely knew.

“You look so beautiful right now,” he told you, lips brushing against yours. “Even more beautiful than in my imagination.”

You canted your hips up, desperate for more. More of him, of his voice, of everything he was willing to give.

And he granted you such wishes, picking up his pace, kissing you, gripping your thighs just the way you liked it even though he had no way to know.

Your nails dug into his back as you attempted to have him closer. It was impossible to do so, yet you had to give it a try.

“You’re gonna make me come,” you announced.

As though your words had been a demand for him to make you come already, he pressed his fingers on your clit and started rubbing as he thrust inside you.

Tired and spent, you felt his weight fall on top of your front. Damian kissed the side of your neck as he rested his head on your shoulder, breathing heavily.

Eventually, you softly pushed him off you and begrudgingly left the bed in direction to the bathroom.

You were washing your legs with the showerhead when Damian entered the bathroom. “There are clean towels in the second drawer if you also want to wash yourself,” you informed him.

He opened said drawer as you shut the water. He didn’t make any move for a moment, but he took a clean towel nonetheless.

You patted your skin dry, moving out of his way so he could use the shower.

“You had condoms here,” he observed.

“Well, I didn’t know which type of condom you preferred...”

“Oh, are those somebody else’s preferred ones?”

You slipped a clean pair of panties on. He watched you. “Please tell me you’re not actually angry because of this.”

“Your shower gel smells nice,” he opted for saying.

You hummed. “It’s new. I got tired of the blue one.”

Giving him privacy, you exited the bathroom and decided to check the mattress in case you needed to change the bedding.

Back in your bedroom, Damian silently put his boxers back on. He didn’t bother with his pants nor his shirt.

“I’m not angry,” he finally stopped avoiding the subject.

You tried not to frown. “You’re pouting.”

His expression turned blank. “I don’t pout.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“Come to the Christmas party with me.”

“I’ll be at the party either way.”

“Yes,” he gritted before inhaling deeply. “But I want you to be with me. As my date.”

“What would the difference be?” You didn’t understand why it was such a big deal. “We know everybody already.”

“For one, it would help me sleep at night.” He took you by the face with one hand, looking straight into your eyes. “Yes or no?”

“Yes.” Your voice sounded weird due to the pressure of his fingers on your cheeks

Damian gave you a sweet kiss, loosening his grip on your face to cup your cheek. You softly placed your hand on the back of his head, giving him another kiss. And another, and another, until you lost count.

[jadelynlace]

Heavy As Bone⎮Modern Vikings AU [Ivar x F!Reader], Chapter One

author’s note: Inspired by this post & kinda by Ink Drinker & mostly by my uniform kink on these men specifically. You are all to blame, and I will not be convinced otherwise, so let’s see, together, how long this lasts before I lose interest in it as a whole and re-board the train to the town of writer’s block. Yes, the reader is going to be a medic in this one; I was convinced by @ivarisms and @prepare4trouble to keep that idea, despite me thinking it would be overkill. (And I still do so if it is, please just tell me.) This AU is totally separate from Ink Drinker but there will be some twists and turns along the way. And no, that’s not evil laughter you hear in the distance, I promise. Also, I don’t want to hear any complaints about Ivar and children, you all know how much the mere concept slaughters me. The divider is by the amazing @firefly-graphics.

**content warning**: We start off with a pretty gruesome scene (welcome, again, to EMS!), and this is the warning for it. Mentions of suicidal thoughts, and stress in this chapter, which I will place a trigger warning for. Mentions of mental health breaks, and time off. This is your reminder that it’s okay to not be okay. My messages are always open. The overall series will have mentions of blood, gore, and trauma, as well as medical inferences with that of emergency medical services. Swearing, adult themes & sexual content will be present. Chapter-specific contents will be added for upcoming additions.

pairing: Modern Ivar x F!Reader

synopsis: A best friend’s dying wish, and no means to ever really repay it, Ivar has been raising his Godson as if he is his own flesh and blood. He’s put up walls for his sake, for his Godson’s sake, and he’s not sure he’s ready to let them fall. But an old co-worker, healer, & unlikely lover helps to tear them down; even when you have your own walls just as high. This is the kind of human wreckage that you love. 

word count: 1900+ words

Seconds dragged painfully by, rocking under metal and he trembles towards the center of the chest. The illusion that the harder he works, the more life will flow back to this deceased body. Painstaking care as a devoted friend, watching seconds tick by, bleeding out in glory and then he screams. Veiled in a breath of smoke from the chill in the night, her perfume mixing with the car’s oil. And nothing on the earth mattered as lives spilled over the black asphalt. Analyzing, and as he’s grabbed, they hear the young cry rise slowly through his mouth, and they talk with little sense but Ivar’s world is already silent. 

Present Day:

You had never seen so much blood. Gripping black leather, pulling it as a reign across the skin of the man’s arm, tighter and tighter, higher and higher to get the trickle to slow. A tap from your finger meets his checks, a low moan on his mouth as his only response and you yell for people to move when the sirens roll through your eardrums. 

There’s a voice that catches your attention before everything else, as the back doors fly open, broad shoulders under the blues with eyes as ice that fall on you instantly. Crossing him as a field comes an emotion you can’t dictate, nor taste with your tongue but all you could smell was metal. Copper, oozing around you and soiling your clothes as he comes towards you. 

“Do you know him?” Ivar asks quickly as he maneuvers a new tourniquet to lay above the belt, and you shake your head.

“I saw the crash and pulled him out,” You say back.

“Almost didn’t recognize you without the uniform,” He quips and you both smile before his partner is there next. 

“He’s cyanotic, get the Lucas,” You try.

“You can’t boss us around Y/L/N,” Ivar teases, securing a c-collar around the head you’re holding stationary. Thrusting the man’s jaw under latex fingers, the curve of the oropharyngeal airway slipping over his tongue before Ivar turns it, and speaks again: “How long have you been here?”

“Less than five minutes,” You reply. “Bleeding stopped just as you pulled up,” You add as you watch them work, a well-oiled machine and it makes you long for your title again, for your career to roll back but you’re not sure what side is worse. Holding the man as he dies, or trying to be the one to save him. “I was the first medic on scene.” And your sentence makes Ivar chuckle.

“That may be true, but you’re on leave, remember?” Ivar smirks, adding humor to the air to push out the toxins as the man’s coffin looms closer. “Lewis grab the stretcher,” He adds with a toss of his head. 

There’s grace to how you and Ivar turn this man’s body, less of it soiling you as you look like a wounded warrior, drenched in the day of battle. A roar from Ivar pulls the crowd to part like a sea, as if they’re watching for curiosity, a soap opera with their dinner and they’ve lost the connection that this is a man’s life.

“Let me know how he makes out please, Ivar,” You say softly to him and his eyes catch yours. There’s one nod from him as he pulls himself into the ambulance, tossing a clean rag in your direction. 

Despite his call that evening, you don’t answer. You neglect the contact from everyone as you wash the blood from your skin. Staining the porcelain of your tub as the soap eats you until you’re raw, burning water and bubbles of acid that feel as though they melt your skin when the two touch. No amount of crying helps, despite how you pity yourself for the onset of grief. First comes the blood, then the tears, then the sleep.

*

You watch him fall, tumbling towards the cement floor and at first, your mind can’t make out the scene before you. Ivar’s laugh rings through your ears and he turns, the small body of a child crawling up his back with a giggle twice as loud. Confused as all hell as the two stand up and in the five years you have known this medic, never once has he mentioned he’s a father.

Ivar stands tall, with impressive stature and sturdy; he’s held his ground for even the strongest patients you’ve seen. Excited delirium making them as super humans, and he can push the ambulance with his own arms. You’ve seen it. It hits you then that the knock towards the ground was routine; the tap on his legs from small hands pushing him as a secret promise and your heart can’t detect what to make of it.

“Ivar, I’m sorry but he would not stop asking for you,” A woman’s voice calls.

“It’s alright Ma, shift change is soon,” Ivar answers back.

“Who’s that?” The boy asks, a less than polite finger pointing your way.

“That’s Y/N, she’s my partner today. Can you tell her your name?” Ivar asks, ruffling the mop of dark hair on the boy’s head.

“Igor,” He mumbles shyly, pressing back against Ivar’s side and you only smile.

“Hi Igor,” You reply. “The last ambulance down there isn’t on duty if you want to look inside,” You then add, and a bright smile takes over the boy’s face. Through a tug on Ivar’s uniform-clad arm, they start off, steel toes following the light-up sneakers as they march through the bay. The woman smiles at you and you smile back.

“I’ve worked with him for five years and I didn’t know he had a son,” You start. “I’m Y/N.”

“Aslaug,” She replies with a smile. “He’s Ivar’s Godson. His best friend growing up was Igor’s father. He and his wife were hit by a drunk driver and Ivar was in the back seat. He tried to save them, even though they were killed on impact. That’s why he’s a medic now, I suppose.” Aslaug tells you.

“You don’t have to explain it to me,” You say to cloud the overwhelming sensation that climbs through you. “I’ve known Ivar long enough to know he doesn’t even bother to try to explain his reasoning anymore.” 

“It’s different with Igor,” Aslaug sighs. “It’s always different when it comes to that boy,”

That little boy alone proves to be the solution to too many of Ivar’s ailments. A cure for his loneliness, his remorse. A very bright power always overtakes Igor when he is excited, the calming rays of sunshine he brings to Ivar’s most challenging days as he still struggles to remember how his best friend sounded, how he laughed. Igor is his second chance; he owes it to them.

You offer the two a smile as you go about your routine of finalizing every part for this hospital on wheels. As Ivar blows up glove after glove, flicks on the red lights to illuminate the garage and then Igor pads his way over to see you. Ivar’s eyes are on the child as you help him into the back of the rig, sit him on the stretcher, only to jump out and start the system. He giggles as the bed slides closer to you, as it halts and as the legs crank to touch the floor and then you repeat the process. Sending him back into the ambulance as glee rings from his mouth and he watches you. He only jumps out to push the buttons once more, but you stop him, climbing yourself onto the stretcher so he can orchestrate it.

His eyes watch the two of you, a small smile stuck to his lips as Igor toys with each red button, making sound effects all of his own. A whine comes through when Aslaug tells the boy it’s time for them to head home, but the sound is quickly swallowed up when Ivar reminds him he’s driving. You’re shocked Igor hasn’t been gifted the whole universe with the way the two of them look at each other.

You watch how Ivar lifts the little one onto his back, sending him to be twice as high and he laughs, the two walking off to his truck. The blues cling to Ivar as Igor pulls them, fiddles with his badge and his pins, tugs on the pulled back hair, and then you watch how Ivar leans into his truck to put him in his car seat. 

Ushering a hug over to his mom, Igor yells something about food—drive-throughs and smoothies and you warm with how precious, how different Ivar becomes within the presence of his son. Turning away, you pretend to finalize the last few remains of the rig check, even though you’ve already done it. Twice.

“You did that already,” Ivar says as he grabs his coat from his locker.

“And I’m doing it again,” You answer.

“Are you all pissy because I drank the coffee?” He jokes and you can’t decide if you want to slap his cheek or kiss it. Instead, you offer him a sideways glance, deadpan on your face and it makes him smirk out of pleasure for your annoyance.

“Get some sleep, Ragnarsson,” You grumble back.

“I will tonight—are you going to sleep upside down again? Or in a coffin?”

“I didn’t know you had a kid,” You finally say and Ivar’s eyes darken. “He’s a good kid, Ivar, you should be proud of yourself,” You then add and the darkness on his face melts suddenly, a light smile claiming the space. Draining the remnants of his mug, you watch the smile not leave his lips as he does, trying to cloud the gesture and it only warms you once more. “But I’ll sleep where ever your Father decides to sleep tonight.” And Ivar chokes on his coffee.

“When you get the rest of your sanity back, let me know,” Ivar nudges, bumping your shoulder with his and you laugh.

“You leech it from me as my partner!” You call and there’s a snicker that rings through your lips and Ivar’s.

Walking through the parking lot to your car was torturous, overspent bones ready to be wrung out and dried, left to be overanalyzed from the days being back in the station. Six months off was welcomed—it was needed, looking down over your balcony and wondering if the fall would hurt, or if it would kill you. Even when your medical mind knew the answer. Admitting that to you chief was the largest mountain to climb in the never-ending journey, and then you had vanished from the station like a ghost. Rumors here and there but they were all dismissed, even the ones Ivar was told about you running off, finding love, or whatever nonsense they came up with, ticked him worse than the most horrid patient. As your partner, he thought you owed him at least an explanation, but his texts went unanswered, and his calls were never returned. 

Not until you were holding the man who was the victim of a car accident, his truck railed by another to the point where undetected metal nearly severed his brachial artery. And then you were back, one shift like you had never left and everything poured through your mind at once. The love for the rush, the sirens, but the fear for what new terror would come tomorrow. You weren’t sure if you could put yourself wholly to help someone who was splitting because now you could not find the other half to your own human wreckage. The job was a lot, physically and mentally and you were lonely; fucking lonely and tired of being your own, and only best friend. Even if the only way you’d open up to someone was when the coroner pulled your ribs to part at your autopsy.

You feel your phone buzz as you park your car, the message rolling through your screen under Ivar’s contact:

“Give me a call when you get a chance, I want to talk to you.” 

Ivar Tags:

@smileysam13579 @dreamtherapy @youaremyfamiliar @kathryn-jane @readsalot73 @lihikainanea @queen-sarang @anastasiaskarsgard @andmyannabellee  @peachyboneless @heavenly1927 @istorkyou @quantumlocked310 @xbellaxcarolinax @mighty-ragnarssons @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom @queen-of-upshur @nanahachikyuu @fandomlifeandeverythingelse @ivarhoegh @a5hl3y5ibley @pixluru @hashimily @youbloodymadgenius @love-all-things-writing @not-another-viking-fanfic-blog @theanxietyqueen17 @trip2themoon @tgrrose @synnersaint @ivarisms​ @nordicshield​madien 

*please message me to let me know if you would like to be added or removed from my tag list. specifications for series/etc. are also welcomed, as well as feedback.*

full masterlist can be found here⎮reminder: requests are closed

[dulce-pjm]

clean up on aisle seven!

word count: 3.3k

genre: casual fluff :)

summary: you really didn’t want to go on this grocery trip. and now you’re stuck trying to track down that last thing your mom needs while the clock is ticking before she checks out. but something (or someone) might just make you lose track of time. 

This is your worst nightmare. Your heart was pounding in your chest, your breaths were shallow and staggered, and you could feel droplets of sweat quickly accumulating on your forehead. You’d just suffered finals week and you could definitely say this was the most stressful situation you’d experienced in your life.

This might be where you die. 

Actually, if you died now, your mother would drag you back from the grave and kill you again for being so dramatic. 

You were standing helpless in the middle of the produce section of your hometown’s grocery store, desperately looking for the red potatoes. And while you frantically scanned for the vegetable- Are potatoes vegetables? Maybe they’re starches. Or a root. It isn’t important. What is important is that you have no clue where they are and your mom is currently in the checkout line, wondering what’s taking so long. 

Onions, leeks, asparagus, radishes, cabbage. . . 

Maybe you were looking in the wrong place. You circle the aisle, hoping you don’t look like a madwoman as you wring your hands and tug at your hair. 

You were a STEM major, for god’s sake! You just crushed your sophomore finals (maybe. probably. you completed them, it’s all that matters), you were not going to let some stupid red potatoes and a fear of abandonment you’ve harbored since childhood distress you in this way. 

Spinach, lettuce, carrots, celery. . .

You know, you never should have agreed to go on this grocery trip. Just an hour before now, you’d been comfortable in bed, sleeping in to your heart’s content. But it’s the holidays and you know your mom likes to run her errands with someone and the guilt was just too much. So you let her drag you out of bed and you barely got to brush your teeth before she was dragging you out of the house, too. You probably looked like a wreck. You sure felt like one. 

Tomatoes, avocadoes, peppers. . .

Normally by now you’d suck it up and ask an employee for help like the adult you were supposed to be, but, just your luck, the entire section is void of any workers. Honestly, good for them. You’re sure they’re tired of dealing with hopeless idiots like you, anyway. 

Garlic, strawberries, blueberries. . .

Who puts garlic next to strawberries? And how did you end up in the fruit section? Even you could do a better job organizing this place. Or maybe you have poor observational skills. You decide not to dwell on which thought is more correct. 

You rush back to where you started, begging your eyes to actually work and help you with this one task. 

And then: a miracle. Yellow potatoes! You scan the vicinity and... 

No red potatoes to be found. Maybe there’s no such thing as red potatoes. Maybe your mom just wanted you to go away for a while. Well, no, that can’t be it. You’re certain you’ve had red potatoes before. 

The stress was getting to you. By now, your mom was probably loading her groceries onto the conveyor belt, annoyed at your slow pace and mind. 

You know, in many other situations you’d actually consider yourself good under pressure. Put you in a lab coat and in front of a titration and you were a goddamn genius, if you did say so yourself. But once you weren’t poring over textbooks or analyzing data, you felt completely useless. Ask you to cook and you’ll set the kitchen ablaze. Anything more athletic than a casual jog is off the table. Your friends often joke that you can’t even be trusted with a microwave. For good reason. How were you supposed to know those chicken sandwich bags can’t go in the microwave? They’re made of paper. 

Other shoppers bristle past you to grab their own groceries, but all you can do is reply with a few murmured “sorries” and stand in the middle of the place looking like a lost puppy. To them, you look utterly distressed. A few shoppers consider asking if you’re okay, but little do they know there’s only one question plaguing your mind. 

“Where are the motherfucking red potatoes?!” 

You didn’t mean for it to slip out, but at least there’s no one close enough to hear-

A giggle rings from the other side of the waist-high aisle you’ve been staring at. Your eyes slide up to meet the gaze of a boy not too much taller than you- kind of cute too- but the important thing is that he’s staring right at you. Very obviously trying (and failing) to fight an uncontrollable grin on his face. 

Your cheeks heat like a furnace. All you can do is stand and stare, caught red-handed cursing over produce at the corner grocery store. 

The boy with full, boyish cheeks, twinkling eyes, and a very cute smile that you might consider infectious in any other scenario leans forward on the tips of his toes and peers at the side the aisle you’ve been intently gazing at for the past several minutes. To your horror, he lifts his finger and points just inches from where you were just looking. 

“Maybe right there?” It isn’t said sarcastically or with even a hint of ridicule, but despite his genuine nature you only grow more sheepish. You wish you could shrink into your sweatshirt and never come back out. 

You lower your eyes to the direction he’s pointing and lo and behold, there are several bags of red potatoes just under your nose. 

“Oh. . uh. . Thanks.” You tentatively reach and grab a bag, your eyes not leaving the boy’s face. You can’t help but notice the line forming between his eyebrows and the way he cocks his head to the side. Now, that you think about it, there’s something distinctly familiar about him. 

“Wait, Y/N?” Your eyebrows raise, and that seems to be all the confirmation he needs to know that you somewhat recognize him too. “I’m Jimin!” He continues when you don’t respond. “We were best friends when we were, what, six or seven?” 

The memories immediately begin rushing back. Though many of your memories from back then have faded, you can remember very distinctly the elementary days full of you and a younger version of the boy across from you causing mischief. More specifically, the two of you thought up increasingly risky pranks to play on your parents and friends until one or both of you got the scolding of a lifetime. You’d nearly completely forgotten about him. 

“Yeah, it’s me,” you finally manage. “It’s been a while.” Jimin circles to your side of the aisle. 

“Oh my god! When was the last time I saw you?” Jimin thinks for a moment. “Wasn’t it your birthday party? When we hid in the bathroom cabinet and it took them hours to find us!” The memory has the both of you giggling.

“Yeah! My mom would have grounded me for scaring her so badly if it wasn’t my birthday.” The atmosphere is comfortable. Almost as if it had been no time at all. 

“I think if anyone was scared, it was you. Weren’t you terrified of the dark?” You blush despite the ridiculousness of his teasing. 

“Hey! I talk to you for two minutes after all this time and you’re already back to making fun of me?” Despite their legitimacy, the words carry no malice and you’re grinning from ear to ear. A smirk plays on Jimin’s cheeks and you catch yourself studying his features. It should seem normal, but you’re slightly struck by how much he’s grown up. His baby fat is long gone, replaced with a striking and defined look despite his sweet and boyish features. His brunette locks are neatly cut, his bangs complimenting his cheeks and forming a slight heart shape on his forehead. He’s cute. 

If you weren’t so caught up in your own embarrassment, you might have noticed the endeared look he’s giving you as he studies your face at the same time. 

“What can I say?” he replies with a shrug. “You’ve always been easy to tease.” You scoff, shifting the bag of potatoes in your arms. 

“Speak for yourself, crayon-eater.” Jimin’s giggle is infectious, drawing a snort or two out of you, though you desperately try to play it off as just a cough. 

“Where did you end up going? I never saw you after that.”

“Ahh, we moved to the other side of the city. It was pretty sudden.” Jimin nods in understanding. 

“I guess you moved again for college, too?” he asks tentatively, gesturing to your sweatshirt. You glance down at the university logo before meeting his eyes again. 

“Yeah, I’m just back for the holidays. You?”

“I go to university in the city. Just picking up some groceries for my family. I tend to do our grocery shopping on weekday mornings anyway, since most of my classes are in the afternoon.” You learn that Jimin is a communications major, which you think suits his personality spectacularly. Jimin is not even close to surprised to find out you’ve dedicated yourself in chemistry. 

“And to think, just yesterday we were making potions from mud in your backyard. You’re practically a prodigy. Can I get your autograph? You know, for when you become a famous scientist saving the world and all that?” You shake your head, noting that Jimin is just as ridiculous as you remember him.

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” you muse. “But I’m leaning more towards education. I’d like to teach high schoolers one day, maybe college students too.” Now that strikes Jimin as a surprise, evident by his shocked expression. You can’t help staring at the way his lips puff out in an unintentional pout.

 “Really? You want to deal with those brats? We just left high school and you already want back?” If your mom thought you were a drama queen, Jimin had you beat tenfold. He’d always been a bit of a class clown, always supplying exaggerated expressions and stupid jokes to garner as many laughs as possible. You roll your eyes. 

“They’re not that bad.” You pause. “Well, they are pretty bad but I think I could get through it if I knew I could make at least one kid excited about science, you know?” You inwardly cringe at your mini-spiel. Normally once you get talking about your love for chemistry, your friends zone out or casually change the subject to avoid massive boredom. But to your surprise, Jimin doesn’t seem the least bit annoyed at your sappy, nerd-ish outlook on your career. Instead, he’s nodding with you, attentive and interested. 

“That’s. . . really nice.” You blush, stopping yourself from going on a further tangent, sure he has much better things to be doing than listening to you go on and on. 

“Oh, it’s nothing.” You twiddle your thumbs and Jimin tugs on the sleeves of his oversized sweater. “Do you still have that cat? What did you name him... Snuggles?”

“Chubbles!” he nearly shouts with a massive smile. “And yeah, I do. He’s still overweight as ever. And old as hell. But I love the grumpy thing to pieces.”

“He was so cute! I remember cuddling with him while watching cartoons together.”

“Oh my god, yeah! That was the only time my mom would let me eat in the living room. I swear those waffles tasted better in front of the tv screen.” The story sparks a memory in your mind. 

“Hey, wanna know a secret?” Jimin leans in slightly, confused but definitely interested. You pause for effect. “My mom didn’t let us eat in the living room either. I only said that because you wanted to and I thought it’d convince your mom.” Jimin feigns a gasp, putting a hand on his chest. 

“Are you serious? I was jealous of you for years after that and it wasn’t even true? You said your family always ate in the living room.”

“I may have exaggerated a lot of things back then in order to impress you.” 

“No way. Then do I really know you at all? Was everything a lie?” You find yourself laughing again. Talking with him is easy, like being kids again. 

You shrug. “I like to maintain an aura of mystery.” Now Jimin’s the one rolling his eyes at your antics.

“Hey, speaking of Chubbles, do you want to see a picture of him? My mom posted the best picture of him on Facebook the other day.” Jimin whips out his phone. While others might find a college student doting on his cat and his mom’s Facebook a bit dorky, you find it all too endearing. 

“Um, of course!” You step towards him to peer at his phone. But instead of cat pictures, all the two of you see is an endless loading screen. 

“Shit. My service sucks out here. I’m sorry.” He gives an apologetic look, but you’re quick to brush it off. 

“No, it’s okay. You can just send it to me later.” The connotation of your words hit you like a freight train and you’re about to not-so-eloquently take them back, but Jimin beats you, a smile is plastered across his face. A part of you wants to reach up and squish his cheeks together, but you don’t need to create any more reason for the other shoppers to think you’re unhinged. Also, personal space. 

“Oh, great. I’ll just get your number-”

“Y/N.” You freeze, your head whipping around behind you to where your mother stands. She glares at you with her hands set on her hips, no groceries in sight. 

“Oh, um, oops.” You muster the best smile you can but your mother is anything but amused. “I found the red potatoes!” You hold up the bag that’s been making your arms ache, as if that would magically fix the situation. She scoffs. 

“And while you did, I checked out, paid, put the groceries in the car, and realized that we’d already gotten red potatoes. They were just piled under all that sugary cereal you insist on-” Her eyes flicker to the boy standing awkwardly behind you when she lets out a scream of joy. “Park Jimin!” She nearly shoves you aside to wrap him in a hug, instantly recognizing him despite years of not seeing him. Though if Jimin’s mom is active on Facebook, you guess your mom has seen plenty of Jimin via social media. While you stare incredulously at your mother, Jimin is staring at you, internally laughing at your expression. 

“How’s your mother? Is she well? Healthy?” Jimin nods with a charming smile.

“Yes, she’s great.” Your mom is clutching Jimin’s hands as if she’s in her seventies and not her forties. Jimin awkwardly shifts his grocery basket to his elbow, but your mom pays no mind to the uncomfortable position he’s in. 

“Oh, you’ve grown so much! I can still remember the days when you two were taking baths together!” Your face blanches while Jimin chokes. Knowing the volume of your mom’s voice, you’re sure the entire grocery store knows your and Jimin’s history now. “You know, I was just thinking about your mother the other day. When we were pregnant with the two of you, we-”

“Hey, Mom.” You place a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t you think we should get going? The groceries are in the car...” 

“Oh! You’re right, sweetie,” she smiles. It seems that all it took was Jimin’s charm (and by charm, you mean standing there with that grin of his) for her to completely forget about your previous transgression. She turns back to Jimin. “It was lovely to see you, dear. Please tell your mother I said hello. We really should have a get-together over the holidays, don’t you think?”

“That sounds like a great idea, Mrs. L/N,” Jimin says, his eyes trailing to you. “Sorry for keeping your daughter. We were reconnecting and lost track of time.”

“You’re too sweet. I’m sure my daughter was the one babbling on about whatever popped into her head next. It’s no wonder she got lost looking for potatoes, she’s so easily distracted. You know, we had to put her on a leash as a child.” Your cheeks flush red while you get the sense that Jimin is enjoying this a little too much, despite his awkward smile. 

“Oh...” You can tell he’s doing his best to spare you the mortification, but if anything his efforts to conceal his laughter only make you more eager to end the conversation. 

“Uh... Mom... Groceries...”

“Fine, fine. You didn’t seem to care that much when you were flirting in the produce aisle.” Now that is the final straw. 

“Mom! Oh my god, let’s just go.” You feel like a teenager again, embarrassed and at your mother’s mercy. “Bye, Jimin! It was nice seeing you!” You grab your mother by the elbow and nearly drag her out of the store, tossing the red potatoes back onto the aisle as you go. You barely catch Jimin’s weak wave as you storm out. 

“He really is such a sweet boy, I’ll have to give his mother a call.” Call. That’s right. You forgot to give him your number. 

On pure instinct alone, you spring around, abandoning your mother in the parking lot to sprint back inside. 

“Y/N? Y/N! Where are you going?”

“I’ll be right back! Start the car!” Your mother sighs and shakes her head. You imagine she’s pinching the bridge of her nose and wondering how her child still acts like a seven-year-old chasing after butterflies. 

You find Jimin not far from where you left him, skimming through the juices. You do your best not to show how heavy you’re breathing or how you’ve nearly broken a sweat. And you curse yourself for not using the university gym more often. Upon seeing you reappear, Jimin’s face lights up, albeit somewhat confused. 

“Oh, hey.” He holds up two jugs of orange juice. “Pulp or no pulp?” You freeze for a moment.

“Pulp. Obviously.” Jimin nods in agreement, putting the jug in his basket. He looks at you expectantly. “And I forgot to give you my number.” You quickly catch yourself. “For that Chubbles pictures.”

“Oh, yeah. Right.” Jimin’s hand rises to the back of his neck nervously as you punch the digits into his phone, making a contact for yourself. If your friends saw you now, they’d think you’d been replaced by aliens or finally gone over the edge. But something in you just had to do it. 

“Send me that picture, yeah?” You hand him back his phone. 

“Of course.” Jimin gives you a salute, making you giggle shamelessly again. With nothing more to say, you spin on your heel and speed walk out of the store to be mercilessly interrogated by your mother. 

Jimin shakes his head and smiles to himself as he watches your retreating form. He makes a mental note to go through his mom’s scrapbooks to find a childhood photo of you two to use as your profile picture. 

While your mom is berating you for wasting time and questioning your intentions with Jimin, you couldn’t be happier, grinning from ear to ear. Didn’t Jimin say he did the grocery shopping on weekday mornings?

“Y/N, are you listening to me?” You nod vigorously, which is enough for her when she switches to ranting about gas prices nowadays. 

But in reality, you’re not listening at all. You’re planning your next grocery trip. 

At least next time you’ll know where to find the motherfucking red potatoes. Though you doubt you’ll need to remember. Something tells you Jimin will remember this for a long time too. 

[danger-xylophones]

Family Reunion (Darth Maul x Reader) Pt. 1: Wild and a Quest

I had this idea and I thought it was fucking interesting and I wanted to write it

This will be in multiple parts as I made this first installment hecka long. Maul will soon be more heavily featured but for now, I just had to establish some stuff. 

Story summary: Reader reunites with Maul for the first time in twelve years and...the ex-sith lord gets a strange surprise.

Warnings: canon-typical violence, slow start

Notes: Female pronouns, an OC child

Current read, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

.............................................................

The roar of the ship as it took off was deafening despite you being housed in the cockpit. Instinctively, you reached up to cover your ears and closed your eyes as gravity shifted. You couldn’t wait to be in the vacuum of space; at least then gravity wouldn’t even exist. A gentle pat on your forearm was enough to make you open your eyes and look to the side. To your right was Wild, an eleven-year-old zabrak-human hybrid, the last piece of evidence you had of your life before all this. He was the symbol of your union with him. Wild was your son. 

The carmine-colored, half-dathomirian, barely-tattooed boy was looking up at you with sympathetic saffron eyes, he knew of your deep-rooted hatred for liftoff. Gently, you smiled at the boy to ease his worry and offered a soft pat on his head, careful to avoid the tiny horns protruding from his skull. Wild didn’t return it and instead opted to grab your hand off of his head to hold it in his own before focusing on the viewport. You deflated at that as your heart suddenly ached. 

Wild was so much like his father that it hurt you sometimes, not only in looks though (although he was practically his carbon copy) but in personality; proud, serious, and protective with a cunning unrivaled by anyone else on the outside but a soft-spoken, gentle, curious and sometimes anxious boy inside. It was hard to remember that he was eleven sometimes-not the adult he pretended to be and not your little baby boy that used to cling to your leg all day. You just wanted him to be a little boy who was free to dream, explore, and play as he pleased but it seemed the force would not grant you your one wish. Instead, it took his father away from you before he had even got the chance to know of the remarkable gift he’d given you. You did suppose that Wild’s predisposed traits that bound him so tightly to the father he’d never known were a blessing in disguise. It had always served as reassurance that if anything ever happened to take you away from Wild, he’d be fine on his own.

...His own. It was a thought you never liked to dwell on. Wild was born at a delicate time in your life. You were 21 when you learned you were pregnant with the baby of a sith-lord and the news had been...startling to say the least. It had occurred to you one day while you were preparing to face the Trials that your cycle had been off. Deeming it odd enough to warrant a visit to the medbay, you sought out one of the healers. You’d instantly wished that you had chosen a droid instead as it was soon revealed that you were two months pregnant. You had to feign ignorance about knowing of a father at all. It had worked for a time as the issue was immediately brought before the council who were all in various states of shock. The worst reaction, you remembered, was that of your master. But, the council did not kick you out like you were certain they would have had they known of the baby’s heritage. Instead, the council believed your lie-that there was no father. Of course, they believed it. You were Ki-Adi-Mundi’s apprentice, chosen specifically by him due to your, as he phrased it, “natural and strong alignment with the light side”. You were a model padawan who would never even think of breaking the code, let alone to this extent. Your training was put on hold for the time being as the council awaited the birth of your baby, some Jedi even began to wonder if the child would be the prophesied ‘chosen one’ (though Qui-Gon, most notably, believed otherwise). It was then that you knew that your time with the Jedi was up. You formulated a plan. Qui-Gon Jinn and his apprentice, Obi-Wan Kenobi, were being sent on a mission to Naboo to protect the queen. 

You begged your master to let you go with them as you had been cooped up in the temple for a whole month after the pregnancy announcement. Your master obliged, certain that no harm would come to you on the mission, and you were swift to join the grey Jedi and his stuck-up padawan. Your plan from there was to land on Naboo’s surface and disappear for a bit to get the Jedi off your back and to get in contact with him again. But, of course, that all went downhill and...you had seen your love be cut down by your fellow padawan. He wasn’t supposed to be there to your knowledge and now he was dead and you were still carrying his baby. Obi-Wan was swift to pick up on your anguish and even swifter to alert the council of your lies and treachery against the Order. You were ejected from the order and locked away in the temple prison to await the birth of your baby whereupon the Jedi would tear him away from you indefinitely. It would have been a fate worse than death for you. That is, had you not escaped and faked your death to get the Jedi off your back. 

Wild came soon after, being borne to a disgraced and presumed dead mother and a most definitely dead sith-lord father. Yet, you had done your very best to love him in every possible way as he had no other family besides you. 

It seemed that this was something your son was acutely aware of too as the young boy was fiercely protective of you just as you were protective of him. Case in point: the only other person in the room that could pose a threat-Wild’s own uncle, Saváge Opress. 

The seven-foot walking mountain of a zabrak had found you and your son on Tatooine whilst during one of your rare visits to the desert world. Your first meeting wasn’t pleasant. 

“You, woman, what is your name?” The low bass voice sounding from behind you would have been enough to make you run if not for the fact that your son was still in the store you had just left. Slowly, you moved your hand to one of your sabers concealed within the confines of your cloak before turning around. 

“Give me your name, dathomirian,” You spat at the goldenrod zabrak despite the fact he towered over you and could probably crush your skull with one hand, “and maybe I will give you mine.” 

He snarled, clearly displeased with the response but relented. “My name is Savage Opress.” 

You analyzed him for a moment, eyes raking up and down his form. He was big and strong and going by the saber hilt hooked on his belt, trained in the force. Was he a Jedi? Was he a sith? Had he been sent here to kill you? He was in for a surprise if he had. “Why are you speaking to me, Opress?” 

“You told me you would give me your name.” Savage growled, large hand landing on his saber. 

“No, I said that maybe I would.” You removed your lightsaber from your belt but ensured you kept it hidden from view. 

“I don’t have time for your games, woman.” 

“That makes two of us, good day, sir.” You hissed and turned to walk away, intent on looping around and meeting up with Wild to get off this miserable planet. However, that wouldn’t happen right now as your ears soon met with the distinctive sound of a lightsaber igniting. With an agitated sigh, you whipped out your own weapon and spun around just in time to meet your attacker; green blade clashing with red. Sith. Most likely his master’s new apprentice.

Savage was strong, physically, but you could feel that he was weaker in the force than you. That would be your only hope; let the force guide you while he relies on his own physical prowess. You met the male zabrak strike for strike, each one threatening to knock you off your feet with the force Savage fought with. The fight was grueling and you could feel the rustiness in each spin and block-you only ever used your lightsaber when training your son-and as it went on, one thought became abundantly clear; you weren’t going to win like this. You had to figure out a way to make the mountain stand still. Thinking on your feet, you fell back before taking a running start at Savage. You feinted to the right and used the wall to boost yourself over the behemoth of a man, twirling as you went until you landed behind him and shot a well-aimed kick to the back of one of his knees. The move was meant to bring Savage down to your level so you could cut his head off but when the blow landed, nothing happened. Startled, you froze which would prove fatal. 

Savage spun around and grabbed your ankle in one hand before roughly swinging you into the wall. The air was driven from your lungs as you felt your back connect with the sandstone of the building behind you. Savage released you, allowing you to crumple to the ground as you fought to breathe. You were granted little reprieve though as soon Savage was stooping down and roughly lifting you by your neck in one fist. Your feet kicked lamely at your attacker in your struggle for survival as your nails clawed at the back of Savage’s hand. 

“I’ll ask one more time, what is your name?” Savage growled low in his throat and tightened his grip. 

“Will you let me live?” You coughed out, looking Savage dead in the eyes which briefly reminded you of your son’s. Your son. You had to stay alive for him. 

“Maybe, if you are who I am looking for.” 

It seemed that that was as good a chance as any.

“Y/n, my name’s Y/n.” Savage’s necklace suddenly glowed an eerie blue and you were prompted to ask your next question. “Wha-What do you want with me?” 

“I’m looking for someone-my brother. I was told that you knew him, jedi.” 

Electing to ignore the incorrect title, you continued to talk. Maybe, if you lowered his guard, you could still make it out of this alive. “I know a lot of people but not a lot of them are zabraks.” Savage’s eye ridge quirked up in questioning. “But...if it’s who I think you’re looking for-he’s dead. Killed by Obi-Wan on Naboo twelve years ago.” 

“That’s what I was told too-but I have cause to believe he is still alive and I was told that you would be the one to help me find him.” 

No...impossible. “You’re....you’re a liar!” You screamed at the zabrak. “I watched him die! He’s dead-he won’t come back-he can’t come back no matter how much I-” 

“Mom?!”  A familiar pre-pubescent yet soft voice cut you off. Immediately your attention, as well as Savage’s, were on Wild who stood at the mouth of the alley with saffron eyes that blazed like molten lava. He had never looked more like his father than in that moment.

Savage looked at you, confusion and something else (regret maybe?) all over his goldenrod face. “Mo-?”

“Wild, run!” You cut Savage off and gathered enough strength to curl in on yourself and strike Savage in the face with both feet. The zabrak released you at once and you fell to the ground unceremoniously before summoning your lightsaber to you. Not wasting time, you ignited it and dove at Savage, ready to make him pay for his filthy lies. Savage was quick, though, and managed to block your blow with his own sword. However, what neither of you expected was for a second contender to join the match in the form of Savage’s nephew and your son wielding your old blue lightsaber. “Wild, I told you to run!”

“You also told me to never run from a fight!” The little boy shot back, pressing down with all the strength he had. Stubbornness. That was another trait inherited from his father and enhanced by your own strong will. With a roar, Savage launched both of you back, sending you to the ground and your son flying. You watched as his little body collided with the same wall you had been smacked against minutes ago and nearly lost it. Channeling all your anger, you reared on Savage and pushed him back with the strongest force push you could muster before immediately running over to your son. He had sat up and was clutching at the back of his head where you noticed a small cut. You were going to kill Savage; brother-in-law or not. 

“Wild, when I tell you to ‘run’, think of it as a tactical retreat. And for the record, I told you to know when to run from a fight.” You reprimanded quickly as you picked your son up and ushered him behind you. The two of you began to back away as Savage struggled to his feet. The two of you were almost to the entrance of the alley when the zabrak got a hold of his senses. 

“Y/n, wait, please.” Savage began, sheathing his lightsaber and holding out a hand to you in surrender. His yellow eyes flickered between your son and yourself, guilt prominent in his features. You found yourself pausing. “I know you do not believe me-”

“No, I don’t and frankly, you have given me no reason to. If...if Maul was alive, I would have found him.” You spat in anger at the arrogance of this zabrak. Did he think that you hadn’t searched? Did he think that you hadn’t cared for him? Did he not see the disproof standing behind you? 

“But you did not have the magicks of Mother Talzin.” Savage’s voice was soft now as he tapped the talisman around his neck. 

You were struck silent at that. He was of course correct-you hadn’t had the aid of his people. With a heavy sigh, you rose out of your defensive position and sheathed your lightsaber, much to the surprise of the two males. “Wild.” Your voice was soft, caring, and you could feel your progeny’s confusion as if it was your own. “Take everything to the ship. I’ll be there in a minute.” Wild hesitated for a moment and you expected to get some attitude later but for now, he just softly handed your second lightsaber to you and stalked off after sending a final glare at Savage. 

“Alright, you have my attention, Savage. What do you need?” You asked in a steely voice. 

“Everything you knew about my brother.” 

From there, the three of you had begun your search. Savage had explained his story and you had explained yours (he was almost overjoyed to know that he had a nephew). However, you both agreed that, for now, you wouldn’t tell Wild who Maul actually was in relation to him. This meant that Wild didn’t know that Savage was his uncle which led to the current distrust you were witnessing now. You hated not telling Wild but you didn’t want to give him hope that his father was alive to then rip it away from him when Savage’s wild goose chase proved to be just that. Now, you were riding in a cargo ship on your way to the trash planet, Lotho Minor.

You had landed a few minutes ago after Savage took control of the ship and were now faced with a dilemma. Did you go with Savage or stay in the ship with your son?

“Wild,” Savage’s booming voice called the young boy’s attention to him, however resentfully, “Stay with the ship. Your mother and I will explore.” 

“No.” Wild snapped immediately with a glare as his hand tightened around your own till his sharp nails started to dig into your skin. You sighed softly and turned to your son. 

“Wild, I’ll be fine. Savage won’t hurt me. Protect the ship, sweetheart, we’ll be right back.” You placed a soothing hand on the side of his face. His little red face grew more grave. He didn’t trust Savage, plain and simple. You wrinkled your nose at him before placing a peck on his forehead and pulling him into a smothering hug. “You worry too much, little man.” The boy protested at the display and loosely pushed you away but you had done your job as Wild seemed much more on board with the idea. “We’ll be right back. Don’t let anyone else on board, got it?” 

Wild sighed with an eye roll. “Yes, mother.” His tone was annoyed but, having raised the boy, you knew he was only exaggerating his feelings. You placed yet another peck on your son’s forehead and gently pinched his carmine cheek before striding over to Savage who had watched the whole interaction. Neither of you spoke until you were outside. 

“You’re good with him.” Savage piped up suddenly, his low bass a welcomed contrast to the wind whipping through the heaps of garbage. 

You were taken aback. For all the times Wild had been brought up in conversation with the older zabrak, your skill in parenting was never mentioned let alone complimented. “I should hope that I would be,” you began, uncertain where you were going with this, “I am his mother.” 

Savage made a funny noise in the back of his throat that prompted you to look up at him. “I-I just meant that…you’re...different than the nightsisters. They...they didn’t care if they had a boy.” Ah, the nightsisters. The infamous clan of witches that had bought and traded your unofficial husband long ago and continued to do with Savage. You prompted Savage to elaborate as you two began to walk. “They cared if they had a girl as she would stay with their clan but...if it was a boy, he was sent to us to be subjected to the same fate as so many men before us.” Savage’s eyes were clouded in thought as he relieved what was probably some awful memory. “It’s strange to see a boy be cared for is all.” 

“Dathomir sounds...awful. I can’t imagine what you went through, Savage.” You dared to lay a hand on his forearm, making the zabrak halt in his tracks. “But...but if Maul isn’t...but if Maul isn’t here to be found, you could have a place with us.” You smiled gently. “You are family, Savage. I see it and I’m sure Wild will see it as well.” 

Savage’s other hand came up to rest on the hand on his arm. There was a genuine smile on his face, for once. “Thank you, Y/n.” With a dip of your head, you resumed your walk. “Y/n?” Only to be stopped by the questioning lilt in Savage’s voice. “I never asked, how did you and Maul ever meet?” 

A wistful smile dared to dash across your face as your mind’s eye immediately conjured up the image of the stunning ruby red zabrak you’d come to love so dearly. “That, my dear brother, is quite the story...”

....………………………………

Next ->

[simp-4-kylo]

you don’t have to use this, but maybe a kylo fic where he wants to marry someone to be more like vader but doesn’t really expect to catch feelings for the reader but then he has like a whole realization moment and it’s just fluffy and sweet, idk sorry if that wasn’t very specific

It had to be you

Request: you don’t have to use this, but maybe a kylo fic where he wants to marry someone to be more like vader but doesn’t really expect to catch feelings for the reader but then he has like a whole realization moment and it’s just fluffy and sweet, idk sorry if that wasn’t very specific

Warnings: fluff. Kylo being a softie and lowkey liking it but also hating it at the same time, curse words, conflicted Kylo :( uhh not sure what else lol

Word Count: 1,456

A/N: Okay! I have been saving this request because I have been thinking about it a lot and also I am going to be starting a tag list. Please leave a comment or leave me an ask so I can know your @ and what you want to be tagged for ! Enjoy the stuff below <3

The amount of women he had met in the last 24 hours was absurd none of them had met his expectations. They were all either too self absorbed or they had no idea what it was like to rule next to someone who holds as much power as Kylo does. He had wanted to marry someone so that he could be more like his grandfather, Vader. He looked up to him and wanted to continue his legacy and become even greater than he had been.

Kylo had never actually wanted to be in a relationship, he saw no need and being so romantically involved with someone would be a waste of his time. He needed not to love someone and look after someone else, and besides even if he had wanted to actually be in love. No one would actually love a monster like him, if he couldn’t even like himself how could someone else love him?

As he sat on the throne awaiting the last group of women, he thought of all the women he had seen and was deciding one which one wouldn’t be a pain in the ass. The sound of the throne room doors being opened pulled him from his head. He just glanced in the direction of the women that were standing in a line. Each one of them had tried to introduce themself and walk closer to Kylo, except that the Knights of Ren stepped forward stopping the women from approaching Kylo. All of them fought for his attention, because they all knew how powerful he was. Each one of them wanted a taste of the power and riches he held, there were also rumors going around the galaxy that he was human and had a stunning face.

Kylo just sat upon the throne giving each one of them a quick glance over and then moved onto the next one. He knew that this was all a waste of time and that maybe he would just become a failure and never be like Vader. His grandfather had actually loved his wife, Kylo had just wanted to marry just to be like him, not to actually find love.

His thoughts had stopped when he heard a female voice say I wish this would be over, yeah it would be cool to get to know him. He just looks so annoyed right now, jeez me too buddy. His face had a questioning look, he had heard someone speak but they weren’t talking outloud. His mind sparked at the thought of once of the women being strong with the force. He had decided to look around and see if he could figure out who it was without breaking into their minds.

His eyes darted around the throne room, looking each one of them in the eye. They had all just looked eager and annoying, except for the girl on the very end. She had been standing there just looking around the room and sighed, an audible display of boredom. Kylo grinned at the sight of her, she was pretty and she wanted out of this stupid meeting just as much as he had.

“Everyone leave except for the one on the end, you stay.” Kylo spoke up and as all the women grumbled and gave you annoyed looks, you stood there in shock. Kylo stood up from his spot on the throne and made his way down to you, he had motioned for the Knights to leave the room as well, they lowered their heads in respect and walked out.

“You are strong with the force, I heard you talking in my mind.” said Kylo,his voice being distorted by his mask. “I’m what now?” You had said as you moved your head to look up at the masked creature. He was a bit intimidating but he didn’t scare you, he just made you wonder if the rumors about him were true. Was he really human? Or was he some ugly creature and wore the mask to hide his face from the world.

“I am human, I’m not some creature.” He had said as he reached for the sides of his helmet. He pushed on the sides and with a hiss he lifted the mask off to reveal a human face. He was stunning, the most handsome thing you had ever seen in your life. The rumors were true and you were alive to tell the tale.

“Do you know how to use the force?” He had said in a deep voice, it was so different from the distorted one he had earlier. “The what?” You had said as you just kept staring at him in awe. “The force, you are strong with the force. Do you know how to use it? Yes or no, do not waste my time.” He had said as he swiftly turned around and made his way back towards the throne. “I’m not a force user, those people don’t even exist anymore.” You replied as you released a chuckle, hadn’t he known that all the Jedi were long gone?

“They are not all gone. I can use the force and so can you.” He had said as he reached his arm out towards you. You felt as if an invisible rope had wrapped around you and pulled your body closer to him. You were slightly freaked out but it interested you more. Kylo was looking at you as if he was analyzing every inch of you. “You are now mine, and I will now train you. You are the one I am to marry and you will become my apprentice.” He had said in a cold tone. You weren’t really sure what to say, no one had ever told you what you were and weren’t going to do.

“Two stormtroopers will take you to my quarters and get you some personal items. They will also bring you clothes to wear when I teach you how to fight and be one with the force.” he had said as he picked up a holopad and typed onto the screen. Minutes later two stormtroopers walked in to take you to his quarters. You were in utter shock at what had just happened, you were just told you were getting married and that you have the ability to use the force.

As the door shut behind the two troopers, Kylo had remained sitting on the throne. He had been going through different things and what he wanted to start training you in first. One little thought had made its way into his mind, he had felt something when he was near you. He thought you were pretty and that scared him, he did not want to fall for you. You were just to be his wife so that he could be like Vader, he didn’t need to be loved or need someone to love.

He leaned forward with both his elbows resting on his knees, he couldn’t fall in love with you. But the more he thought about you, the more his face grew hot and the more his entire body felt off. He felt a pull towards you and that scared him. You wouldn’t want to be with a monster like him, he had already ordered you to do things and used the force on you. He kept repeating in his head that this was just for the sake of the First Order, in order to fulfill his duties of Supreme Leader

He wanted to punch himself , he couldn’t think of you as another task to check off his list. Vader had loved his significant other, so why shouldn’t he? Kylo grumbled in response to the conflicting thoughts racing through his head. He wanted to get to know you , but he was afraid he had already scared you off.

He ran his gloved hands through his hair , part of him wanted to take his TIE Silencer and fly off this floating hunk of metal and go and grab some beautiful flowers. Kylo released a low growl, reaching to his hip and unclipling his saber from his belt. He ignited his weapon and stood up from his throne. He turned around and started slashing at the throne, cutting the entire thing into nothing but rubble. He was panting like a dog, his shoulders moving up and down at a fast rate.

That was Ben Solo inside of him, he remembered he was always so awkward around girls. Except that Ben Solo was gone, he had suppressed that version of him, the weak version of him. Kylo approached the throne room doors. Not knowing which side of him would take control, was Ben Solo really alive somewhere deep within him?

interested in a part 2? Let me know! Thanks for reading! Requests are open but posting might be slow!

[raleighcarrera]

limits

the wayhaven chronicles | mason x mc (kira langford)

mason has a realization.

m tag list: @raleighcarrera @choicesarehard @tkyoon @zigtheeortega 💕

~5.6k words | M (18+)

the thing about fucking her is that one time is supposed to be enough.

it’s not like he’s got a rule or anything -- he doesn’t. sure, most of his flings are just that: one night stands he can fade away from gracefully, who understand what he’s about and take what they can get.

necessity or scarcity means that he’ll occasionally come back for seconds or thirds, and maybe he can convince himself that’s the case, here. wayhaven is a small town, with few prospects, and he spends so much time with kira anyway. maybe it’s just the reality of the situation -- the assignment -- that has him double-dipping.

it’s not, though.

it’s her. usually, even a spectacular fuck only lingers in his mind for so long. there’s no use dwelling when there’s always the next partner, a new chase or some other way to spend his time on the horizon.

but the detective stays in his memories after he sleeps with her. he finds himself thinking about it a lot more than he usually would, replaying the way she’d felt under his hands and the sounds she’d made in an almost absentminded way, so that he’s remembering it even when he’s not jerking off. even when he’s not trying to get back into her pants again. 

nothing much changes, after they start sleeping together. he continues to hit on her in an overt way and everyone around them starts to catch on to the fact that what’s between them is more than just words. 

kira lets him touch her in the woods, in her car, at the carnival, in her bedroom, at the warehouse. even in the common spaces. even in the kitchen.

surely if once wasn’t enough, then twelve times should be, right?

but it’s not. she remains a persistent distraction in meetings, on patrols and just about any time he’s supposed to be doing something other than fucking her speechless. which gets to be kind of annoying.

and he doesn’t pursue anyone else. but that’s not new, either.

so -- the warehouse feels a little different when he knows she’s on her way over. he can’t quite pinpoint exactly what it is, but there’s suddenly purpose in the day when kira’s coming by for a briefing or a meeting -- something he never felt on any of the other assignments he had.

“what’s got you so excited?” felix asks, looking pointedly at his tapping foot, a grin spreading across his face. 

mason stares blankly back at him. “i look excited to you?”

“well, you’re not scowling, which is about as close to happy as you get.”

his lip curls with a sneer, but felix just laughs at him. nate turns around, looking equally as amused. “do i need to separate you two?”

mason’s already diverted his attention to something else -- the sound of footsteps in the hallway, the familiar subtleties of kira’s heartbeat. as nonchalantly as he can manage, he slips from his seat on the couch to the arm of it, freeing up the space he’d been sitting in.

she smiles at all of them and the room feels a little brighter for it. felix waves her over from the other end of the couch, but when she sits down, it’s at mason’s end instead of toward the center. her shoulder bumps into his leg as she drops into the seat he’d been occupying just moments ago.

mason bumps her deliberately back. “watch it.”

the detective turns her smile on him. “hi,” she says, her proximity softening some of the tension he’d been holding in his shoulders.

everything that had felt so annoying before her arrival slowly starts to fade into nothing. not a minor annoyance -- nothing. his brow furrows with deep confusion; since when had she become so relaxing? “hey.”

agent langford clears her throat and starts passing out folders. mason startles, reaching for his more roughly than is strictly necessary. he hadn’t even realized she was there.

“here are the details on your new case. there’s been a series of kidnappings and robberies in town we want you to investigate. so far there’s no discernible pattern -- victims range in age from fourteen to eighty.”

kira hums, her eyes scanning the brief inside the folder. when she opens her mouth to speak he can tell she’s just had a coffee. “what makes you think our perp is supernatural?”

“all victims we were able to make contact with were injected with a very specific paralytic. our lab analyzed blood samples and discovered traces of fae venom in the toxins. those that were kidnapped turned up similar results at the crime scenes.”

kira grins. “like pixie dust?”

rebecca’s lips twitch with a barely suppressed smile. “something like that. i want you to split up and visit each of the crime scenes today. try to find something to link them together so we can predict the next target. let me know what you turn up.”

adam stands in front of them all as she departs, frowning down at the file in his hands. “i’ll take the office building. nate, you and felix visit the high school. mason, you and kira can take the church.”

felix laughs. “is mason even allowed inside a church?”

“come on,” nate grins, already heading for the door, “as much as i’d love to see him handle the high school...”

when he looks back at kira, her lips are pursed to stifle a smile. he sighs at her, shifting to stand. “don’t take their side.”

“hey, they have a point.” she squints into the sun as they step outside, then asks, “are you alright with walking? it’s not that far from here.”

“sure.” for once, it isn’t freezing in this useless town, and it might be nice to take their time. plus, “we won’t have to risk getting stuck somewhere in that trash heap you call a car.”

the detective laughs. “you wish we’d get stuck in my car together.”

“well, i can definitely think of one way to pass the time if we did,” he smirks, tapping his fingers on the sides of his jeans as they itch for a cigarette. she shakes her head at him.

his eyes drift down to her ass as she leads the way down the street. the jeans she’s wearing seem like an unfair tease, even though they’re more or less the same thing she wears every day. but they do make him suddenly aware of the fact that it’s been a couple days since they’ve had time to sneak off together.

mason clears his throat. “been awhile since you spent the night at the warehouse,” he says casually, “you could stay over tonight.”

the ghost of a smile appears on her face, the look in her eyes making it obvious she knows what he’s talking about, even though she plays dumb. “why? it’ll be early enough when we get done here.”

he licks his lips. “you know why.”

her footsteps slow to a stop, and he blinks as he realizes they’re already at the church. there’s crime scene tape in front of the steps, and kira reaches out to hold it up for him to duck under with an expectant nod. “come on.”

he waits for her to stand next to him before they walk inside, in tandem, closer together than they probably need to be. immediately, the smell of dust and incense permeate his senses and he wrinkles his nose, sighing as he starts to glance around for anything amiss. “remind me what we’re looking for, again?”

“clues,” kira says obnoxiously, grinning over her shoulder at him. she moves away to walk down the left aisle of pews and the annoying church smell worsens, giving him a headache. he changes course to follow her instead of walking down the right side on his own.

it looks like... a church. he’d had a hunch this visit was going to be a waste of time before they’d even left to come here, but now that he’s seen what they’re working with he’s pretty positive he’d been right. “there’s nothing here.”

“do you always have to be so negative?” she asks, her voice hushed. it’s then that he realizes he’s close enough to hear her perfectly, anyway, and backs off a little, maintaining a more respectful distance behind her. though he does find his eyes glued to her ass again.

“it’s part of my charm.” the little scoff she gives in return makes his lips twitch, and he leans back against the pew in the front row as she steps up to the alter, her eyes narrowed on the artifacts -- props? -- strewn across the table.

he’s content just to watch her work. kira’s methodical as she walks slowly across the church, her brow furrowed and her lips frowning. it only takes her a few minutes before she sighs and admits, “i don’t see anything.”

“i told you.” she crosses the room to be closer to him again, and he can feel his grin return once she’s within reaching distance. his fingers find the belt loops of her jeans and tug her hips forward. “doesn’t mean we have to let this empty room go to waste, though.”

her eyebrows arch. “this is a church.”

“so?” his gaze is heated as it slides down her body pointedly. he maneuvers her into the pew, then drops to his knees in front of her. “maybe i’m taking up praying.”

she laughs, but when he looks up at her she’s biting her bottom lip, and he can read desire in the way her pupils dilate -- in the way the lightest flush spreads out across her face.

“okay,” she grins, “go for it.”

he’s never been religious, but there’s something about the sounds she makes when he eats her out that make her seem like a goddess he’d have no trouble worshipping. she threads her fingers into his hair and pulls, and he isn’t satisfied until she’s had too much and starts pushing his face away with a whine.

the sun’s low in the sky when he stands, and though his dick is straining at the front of his jeans, begging for relief, he knows they’re expected back at the warehouse. they’ll be the last to arrive as it is.

he grabs kira’s hand when she reaches for his zipper and helps her up, too. “later,” he says, shaking his head. his free hand travels up to his mouth, swiping his thumb across his bottom lip and sucking it into his mouth to clean it off. the way she shivers makes his smirk widen dangerously. “stay over.”

“sure,” she agrees, reaching up to smooth down her hair. he knows she’s probably hoping to keep what happens between them private, but there’s no way the rest of the team won’t know exactly what they’d been caught up doing as soon as they get back to the warehouse, especially with that look on her face.

as expected, she shifts back and forth on her feet obviously when they convene in the meeting room and adam says, “so you searched the church... for three hours. and didn’t find anything?” his voice is slow, like he’s working up to an explosion.

mason shrugs. “yep.”

even nate is eyeing them with disapproval, but behind him, felix is grinning like a kid on christmas morning. mason glares at him.

the detective clears her throat. “did you guys find anything?”

adam’s jaw clenches before he responds. “no. the rest of the employees had already cleaned up the office building.”

nate pulls his pinched look of disappointment away and confirms, “the high school was empty as well.”

kira nods like everyone in the room isn’t staring at her. “tomorrow we should speak with some of the surviving victims. i’ll stay over tonight so we can be ready to go first thing in the morning.”

six eyes snap to mason to stare at him instead. “sounds good to me,” he answers, unfazed, “later.”

he turns and leaves without a backward glance, though he can hear felix teasing kira even when he rounds the corner and heads down the hallway to his room. the sound of her voice is unusually loud to him, until he shuts the door and makes a point of ignoring it. he’s sure he doesn’t want to hear whatever stupid shit they’re talking about anyway.

it’s over an hour before her familiar heartbeat tap dances back into his ears. he’s just starting to get annoyed, waiting for her, when she opens the door and slips inside without knocking, her steps purposefully light. she doesn’t want anyone else to know she’s here.

he lifts his head from the pillows where he’d been laying in bed and smirks at her. “you sure took your time.”

“i was talking to nate about the case,” she answers, taking a few measured strides closer. “why, did you miss me?”

“i miss being inside of you,” he says, standing so he can have the physical advantage over her, using the full breadth of his body to back her into the wall, “or did you forget you left me with blue balls back there?”

kira tilts her head back against the wall, smiling at him. “i don’t think you’d ever let me forget that.”

he’s already unbuttoning her jeans, eager to get to her bare skin. “you’re right about that one. but there’s a few other things i’d be happy to make you forget.”

they only get undressed halfway; she’s seemingly just as eager as he is to get to the good part, and even after they’re done and she’s shifting her clothes back into place, her moans still rattle around inside his ears, the sound of her voice when she’d said his name echoing through his head.

mason reaches up to swipe his hair out of his eyes, grinning at the way kira wobbles a little unsteadily on her feet when he steps away. “need me to carry you back to your room, sweetheart?”

she’d been eyeing his bed, but turns back to him, then. her mouth twists into a frown that’s all wrong on her face. “i think i can manage.”

she straightens up and moves toward the door. something seems to have shifted in the air between them, the mood from before suddenly gone in favor of something colder. his brow furrows at her back, and he opens his mouth to call out to her before thinking better of it, only letting his gaze linger on the line of her spine.

kira hesitates, but when he doesn’t speak up, she opens the door and leaves.

so much for the afterglow. an annoyance he can’t place fills him abruptly, made worse by the fact that her room isn’t far enough away for him to tune out the sound of her -- he’s hyperaware of her as she gets changed, paces around in her room, does something on her phone and then ultimately gets into bed.

a cigarette would dull his senses. she’s not here now to complain, so he could have one, but then he’d miss out on the sound of her breathing as it slowly evens out and she eventually falls asleep.

and he doesn’t want that.

mason loses track of time once there’s complete silence surrounding him. late at night, there’s hardly any activity in this part of the warehouse, and knowing that kira is around -- hearing her heartbeat whenever he wants -- is comforting in some weird, unidentifiable way, despite how fucking loud it seems. 

except that at some point her even breathing turns ragged, quickening like she’s panicked. he slowly sits up in bed as he hears her gasp, squinting into the darkness of his room suspiciously. she still sounds like she’s alone, but she’s undeniably afraid, tossing and turning and whimpering --

it all stops abruptly, and he realizes what it is when her door opens and then slams shut. he stands, walking to the door and listening silently. he can picture her out there as her back hits the door and slides down, a shaky exhale trailing off into deep breaths that are a little calmer, now. 

he should leave her alone.

except his fingers twist the door knob before he can stop them, and he steps out into the hallway to look at her. she’s exactly where he’d imagined her, slumped on the floor against the door of her bedroom with her head in her hands, her chest rising and falling rapidly with every breath.

“hey.” her head jerks up and she startles, like she’s surprised to see him there. that’s fair. he’s surprised, too. mason leans against the doorjamb, folding his arms across his bare chest. “another nightmare?”

she swallows, averting her eyes. he watches her push her fingers through her long, dark hair, and then she nods, staring off down the hallway. “yeah.”

nate or felix would know the right thing to say to her. he does not. “haven’t you gotten used to those by now?”

kira turns her cheek and her eyes find his in the dim light of the hallway. he can tell instantly that he’s said something stupid, and frowns at her when he notices just how tired she looks. she scrambles to her feet and snaps, “forget it.”

the detective storms off down the hallway and disappears out of sight before he can say another word. annoyance spikes once he’s alone in the hallway, and he sighs heavily when the door to one of the common areas opens and then slams shut.

something within him feels drawn to following her. there’s an instinct he doesn’t recognize telling him to go to the lounge and sit with her until she feels as calm as he does when she sits with him. 

his fists clench as the door to nate’s room opens and he pokes his head out into the hallway, too. nate stares at him, and then quietly asks, “are you alright?”

“why wouldn’t i be?” he growls, quickly ducking back into his own room and slamming his door closed, too. 

he stares at the ceiling for hours waiting for the sound of her footsteps to come back down the hallway again. at dawn, he finally hears the hinges of her door creak, and something tight in his chest loosens slowly, letting him relax.

kira still looks exhausted when they all reconvene an hour later. she and felix are together on the couch again, though he’s sitting closer to her this time, concern in his eyes as they talk quietly, their heads bowed together. 

he sits on the arm of the sofa and pretends not to notice the way they stop talking as soon as he does so. “morning,” felix smiles at him, though he barely nods back, staring at the way kira’s gone tense where she’s sitting. 

she only waits a minute before getting up, crossing the room to get herself a cup of coffee. she stands there stirring it for a long time before slowly sitting down in one of the empty armchairs next to nate. 

mason stares at her from across the room. there’s an empty chair on the other side of her, but it’s not like he can get up now, without a reason. annoyance fills him as he watches her pretend not to notice the way he’s staring at her; kira sips her coffee and chats with nate and looks at her fingernails and her shoes. she acts like he isn’t even there.

adam and agent langford walk in together, but he misses most of what they say, inexplicable displeasure settling inside him. he only snaps back to attention when he hears the detective say, “adam, you’re with me,” and watches, in surprise, as they leave the lounge together, something unpleasant twisting in his stomach.

there’s a long stretch of silence before agent langford says, “the three of you should go question some of the high schoolers. the rest of the debate team was around when sarah was kidnapped. maybe one of them saw something.”

working with nate and felix should be easy. it’s familiar enough to him. 

except that he’s spent most of the last few months alone with kira, and it’s odd to know that adam’s with her, now, working the angle he’d usually occupy.

“stop sulking,” felix directs, nudging him with his shoulder, “just because we’re not as pretty as kira --”

“i’m not sulking,” he bites back, “i don’t give a shit who she investigates with.”

“uh huh,” felix says, his disbelief obvious, “right.”

“i don’t,” he insists, “so shut up before i --”

“please,” nate sighs, “can we save it for later? it’s taxing enough talking to high schoolers as it is.”

he falls silent, glowering at nothing. everything is heightened in an unwelcome way and even his irritation feels dialed up to a new level. he pulls a cigarette out as soon as they stop on the sidewalk outside of the school, and pointedly turns his back on nate and felix when they head inside without him.

mason leans against a street sign and stares out at nothing, scuffing the toes of his boots against the curb. no one’s checking up on him like kira would be if she were here, and the silence is strange. time drags on at a glacial pace without her to check out or whistle at or snipe back and forth with. 

he isn’t exactly great at reading her, but he’s pretty sure she’s pissed off at him. that’s not new -- he’s annoyed her plenty since they first met, and probably said a lot worse than whatever had made her so upset this time -- but the way it unsettles him is. if he had to explain it, something just doesn’t feel... right. 

shaking the odd feeling out of his head, he smokes the rest of the cigarettes in his pocket waiting for nate and felix to return. they don’t look particularly happy when they do.

“find anything?” he asks, because he’s probably supposed to care about that.

“sarah’s teammates recall seeing a blue light when she was kidnapped,” nate answers, frowning. “but the way they described it...”

felix shrugs. “wouldn’t make sense for it to be fae. so either the lab got something wrong, or we have no idea what we’re dealing with.”

“great.” his thoughts drift to adam and kira without conscious effort. 

“hopefully kira had better luck,” nate sighs. “we’ll wait for them at the warehouse.”

except that it takes hours for them to return. the minutes continue to tick by agonizingly slowly, until he’s pacing in the lounge, fidgety and tense. 

“seriously?” felix asks as he lights up yet another cigarette, pulled from the emergency stash under his bed, “i’m sure they’re fine.”

“what?” his voice is a growl, his eyes set into a glare. he’s not worried about them. he’s annoyed they’re wasting so much of his time. the sooner they debrief on their progress for the day, the sooner he can get out of here.

“leave him alone,” nate directs to felix over his shoulder, “they had some kind of fight.”

“we didn’t have a fight,” he snarls, his annoyance building further, “and i don’t know what you’re talking about. i’m not doing anything.”

they exchange a glance right in front of him. fortunately, the sound of footsteps reaches his ears before he can argue with them further, though he’s forced to frown when her heartbeat follows the squeak of her shoes on the tile, a little faster than it should be. he puts out his cigarette and tosses it into the trash.

she looks normal enough when they enter the room. that it’s not immediately identifiable why her pulse is racing deepens his scowl. his gaze shifts to adam uneasily.

he seems to misread why mason’s looking at him. “we didn’t get much of a lead. our victim doesn’t remember anything that happened to him.”

kira sits down in one of the chairs across the room from him again and actually pays attention to whatever nate and felix are saying, doubtlessly filling her in on what they’d found out at the school. he skulks silently in the dark corner of the room, tuning them all out in favor of waiting for her heartbeat to return to normal.

it doesn’t, though, even when she stands to leave, grabbing her purse. he shifts to his feet in turn before he even realizes he’s doing it, and though kira looks surprised, she meets his eyes and asks, “walk me to my car?”

mason smirks at her, licking his lips. he nods, and doesn’t look at the rest of the team as they leave the warehouse, stepping outside. “it’s been a minute since we made use of that backseat,” he grins, the persistent, low-level hum of annoyance and unease he’d felt all day starting to fade away into nothing. 

he doesn’t even notice how quiet she’s being until they reach her car and she stops him when he moves to grab the door handle to the backseat, curling her fingers around his wrist. “actually --” he turns, and finds her staring out into the woods beyond his shoulder, looking at nothing. “about that.”

kira’s heartbeat is still too fast. her hand drops from his wrist and his falls back to his side, away from the car door. she finally turns and catches his eye. “when we started doing this you said it’d be fun for both of us. but it’s not fun for both of us anymore.”

mason stares at her in confusion as she rocks back on her heels, putting some space between them. “what?”

“i just --”

“it sure seemed like you were having fun yesterday.” what the fuck is she talking about?

“i was,” she agrees gently, “it’s not about that. of course i enjoy that. it’s everything else.”

“there isn’t anything else,” he bites out, voice filled with obvious frustration. 

“right. that’s what i’m saying.” she’s looking at him like he’s supposed to know what she’s talking about. he stares back at her in silence for a long time.

mason shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans, dragging his tongue along his teeth. he sure hadn’t expected this when he’d followed her out here. “well, when you change your mind you know where to find me, sweetheart.” 

he walks back inside without looking at her, trying to put a name to the strange feeling swelling inside him. if he’s ever felt it before, he can’t recall when or why, but that it might be something new seems even more unsettling.

the rest of the team is waiting for him in the lounge when he returns. “what?” he demands, glaring at each of them in turn. “why are you looking at me like that?”

“i told you i didn’t want to have to clean up your mess,” adam sighs, his face pinched. mason bristles.

“there’s no mess. it’s not a big deal.”

nate glances at adam and then looks over at him. “it’s just that kira seemed -- upset. adam said she wasn’t like herself today.”

“well, we’re officially not fucking anymore, so i guess you don’t have to worry about it,” he bites out, reaching for his cigarettes where he’d left them on the table. it’s not like anyone’s around to tell him no.

“woah,” felix says, frowning over at him, “what? are you okay?”

he snorts. “like i care.” smoke billows in front of his face, obscuring the rest of the team from his view. when it clears, he sees that they’re all staring at him again. “what?”

“you know you can talk to us if you want to, right?” nate’s eyes look concerned. “we’re here for you no matter what.”

mason glances off with a shrug. “i know. but there’s nothing to talk about.” he pauses, inhaling deeply. smoke fills his lungs slowly, and that irritatingly unwelcome feeling starts to dissipate. “come get me if there’s any updates with the case.”

he goes up to the roof because his room still kind of smells like her, if he concentrates, and he doesn’t want to be tempted into concentrating. 

alone, he finally lets himself consider something he’s been putting off thinking about. the complicated parts.

she’d wanted those. and he said no.

that strange feeling starts to twist his stomach again. as he stares off into the sky, unseeing, it eventually starts to take a recognizable shape.

those two months they’d spent setting up the warehouse, when he hadn’t seen her at all -- he’d felt like this then. he remembers it and its strange ache with stunning clarity. 

he misses her. that’s what it is. he fucking misses her.

that’s never happened before.

he blinks, stunned by the revelation. “huh.”

slowly, it all starts to make sense. the way he feels better when they’re near each other -- how he’s always looking for her in any room, whenever he can -- 

unbelievable. he likes her. 

numbly, he finishes his cigarette and ducks back inside. his feet carry him back to the lounge like he’s sleep walking.

“oh, good,” nate says when he sees him, sounding pleased. mason can feel the way the expression on his face is still puzzled, his brows drawn together in complete confusion. “you figured it out.”

his head snaps up. “what?”

“the detective,” nate prompts, looking at him expectantly. “right?”

mason pushes a hand through his hair. it’s difficult to place -- almost impossible. he’s a hundred years old and he’s never felt like this before. “maybe there’s something else,” he admits begrudgingly, the words stilted. “besides the obvious.”

felix is practically vibrating from his position on the couch. “okay, you need to go over there,” he exclaims, his eyes wide, his smile stretching his face. “and tell her right away! seriously.”

he cringes. “just show up at her apartment?”

“yes,” felix insists emphatically, “you have to tell her right now.”

ugh. but he’s already told everyone here -- isn’t that enough? he looks at nate.

“i think she’d like that,” he says, which is the opposite of what mason was hoping for. he sighs, running his fingers through his hair again.

“are you sure?” 

felix opens his mouth, but nate leans in first. “only if you want to.”

well. he does miss her. he knows that now. 

still, he hesitates. there’s silence in the room until felix makes a strangled sound of impatience, and they all turn to glare at him again. “stop it,” nate scolds, “be patient with him, he’s having a crisis.”

“okay -- i’m going,” he announces decisively. from the couch, felix crows with victory, clutching his chest when he falls back against the cushions.

“love,” he sighs dramatically, “it’s so beautiful.”

mason looks at nate. “make sure he’s not doing that when i get back.”

“no promises,” nate answers, and he can hear them bickering distantly as he heads for the door and then kira’s apartment, as quickly as he can -- before he has time to change his mind.

he feels strange again when he knocks on her door and waits for her to open up. almost like he’s injured, somehow, a little weak and confused. well -- he is knocking. that on its own is strange.

she’s already in her pajamas when she opens the door and frowns at him. “mason?” she steps aside to let him in, seemingly unaware of how frantic and panicked he is. mostly it seems like she, too, is confused by the knocking. “what’re you doing here? is everything alright?”

“uhhhhh.” great. he’s a moron. how is he supposed to start? “well -- i was thinking.”

“dangerous, for you,” she quips, doing something funny to his stomach again. oh, holy fucking christ. he knows what that is. that’s fondness. he’s fond of her.

he turns his head and holds her gaze steady, ignoring, for the first time ever, the heat that forms between them. that’s not what he’s after. “i was thinking about the complicated parts.”

kira doesn’t say a word, but his eyes zero in on the straight line of her teeth where they bite at her full bottom lip. her body language is otherwise frustratingly difficult to read.

“maybe i want them -- out there. with you.”

anyone else wouldn’t be able to hear the tiny hitch in her breath when she inhales, but he does.

“do you?” 

he nods. there’s silence again, but just for a moment -- he only has a split second to figure he’s just fucked up in a major way before her face transforms with a beautiful smile.

“i want that, too.” the softness he used to turn away from is back in her eyes, again, but this time, he holds her gaze. “i care about you. a lot.”

there’s something about hearing her confirm, out loud, what he’d already sort of known. a million little things click into place at once, unlocking something inside of him. it feels like he’s had dozens of puzzle pieces waiting around for this moment -- pieces he’s only now able to put together. “yeah. me, too. i just didn’t know what it was. but now i do.”

her smile turns a little more private, and it’s all the more beautiful for that. “just like that?”

he shrugs. “you leaving today flipped a switch. i hated it.”

worse than that -- felix and nate were right. she’s obviously unbelievably pleased to have him in her apartment, saying shit like that to her. her whole face is lit up with joy.

“you could’ve just talked to me about it.” he arches an eyebrow at her and is rewarded with her laughter. “yeah -- i heard it as i was saying it. okay, fair enough.”

“look.” further delight blooms across her expression as he steps closer, closing the distance between them. “you’re going to have to get used to all of this, okay?”

“oh, yeah?” 

he loves the way she has to tilt her head all the way back to look at him when he gets too close. 

how could he ever think that any amount of time spent together would ever be enough?

“yeah,” he confirms, leaning down to close the distance their height difference creates between them, “because now -- i’m not going anywhere, sweetheart.”

[vln-vibes]

Unwanted, Unreliable, Unstoppable

Yeah so this thing is crazy long so I’m dividing it into three parts. Anyways this is very self indulgent but I hope you like the content.

Summary: They were tired, they were so so tired. This fight has been going on long enough, this war was getting harder and harder to fight as the years went on but no one ever helped; Not the citizens of Paris, not the French government and certainly not the Justice League. But what is they received help from a man that was practically a myth himself; the Batman.  Is this exactly what the Miraculous Team needs or will this lead to their falling from grace?

🔴⚫🔴⚫🔴⚫🔴⚫🔴⚫🔴⚫

“I’m so tired of this!” Ladybug scratched at her head feverishly. Currently she was standing at the second most top of the Eiffel Tower with her team: Chat Noir, Ryuuko and Viperion.

“I know m’lady” Chat sighed, letting his cheerful mask take a break as he stood next to her, leaning into the railings.

“Those— Those assholes that call themselves the Justice League just keep ignoring us; it's like they just don’t give a shit about us” Viperion rolled his eyes. They had tried, time and time again, to get help from older, more experienced heroes with their situation in Paris; they were fucking teenagers thrust into an adult’s war. One they didn’t even care for anymore.

“They don’t care for Paris… Why should we?” Ryuuko spoke up, cold fury clear in her eyes. “If they cannot find the need to handle the Paris situation themselves then why must we be the ones to? No one even appreciates out efforts, its like they just want us to have everything handled”

It was true.

At first the Parisians praised the Dynamic Duo, Ladybug and Chat Noir, for stepping up and saving the city from the terrifying Akumas they had no way of handling. They even got the heroes to help out with things not in their jurisdiction; suddenly any crime, as minor or major as it could get, required their attention, any fire could not be handled by the fire department alone, schools needed the heroes to make guest appearances, they were wanted in television interviews, everyone needed to know everything about them. It was fine, for a while, they didn’t mind helping out.

Then Heroes’ Day happened.

Suddenly they were pathetic.

If they were supposed to be so strong then how come other heroes had to come to help? It had never occurred to them that they were chosen by Ladybug and Chat Noir, all they knew was that the duo was not as strong as they once believed.

After all it was just one criminal,

How hard could it be?

Sometimes, Ladybug wishes, she had just let Alya keep the stupid earrings. She was sure the girl would have taken them immediately at the time but, given her brashness and temperamental nature, she would have already lost to Hawkmoth.

Plus she didn’t blame the small kwami or even Master Fu all that much: She resented the man but still respected him very much and knew he went through the same thing as she did at an even younger age with absolutely no way out. She was aware that if she truly wanted to all she could do was just give the earrings to someone else or even hand them over. But Ladybug was stubborn and the earrings were her’s now, just like the ring was Chat’s, the choker was Ryuuko’s and the bangle was Viperion’s.

That didn’t mean this battle was theirs to fight.

“... Why don’t we leave?” Viperion asked, disturbing their silence. The trio looked at him curiously, as though he broke an unspoken rule.

“Why would we?” Ladybug responded, knowing fully well that Viperion didn’t tend to speak up unless he was certain of his words.

“Because they’re running us dry, this city is killing us” Viperion raised his voice, aware that they could already, “Adrien and Kagami are living shitty home lives with abusive assholes that want to call themselves parents. Mari, you’re being burdened with too much responsibility by that bitch Bustier and that class full of sheep! I hate seeing you all kill yourselves for people that will never appreciate it because they think they’re above it!”

At the end of his rant Viperion’s eyes were nearly glowing, his breathing a bit more rough than normal, looking away from his teammates knowing he stepped too far. “Sorry, but I don’t want my friends to die on me when I can do something to stop it”

Ryuuko, Chat Noir and Ladybug understood where he was coming from but it was like a slap on the face, a reminder of what civilian life was like for them. Ryuuko could feel the sting coming from her leg, where mother had hit with her shinai after failing to be in proper form. Chat Noir still felt the ache of having to do photoshoots all day and then staying up at night to have to do his make-up work; not that his father cared with his disregard of child labor laws. Ladybug still had some redness from bruises Alya had caused by tripping her on her way to class.

“... Okay so these are the sad gang hours” the group turned back seeing Roter Fochs land, Roi Singe and Pegasus landing behind them. The Parisians were really only aware of ‘The Core Four’ as they’d rather have some aces up their sleeves; not that the three were ready to confront the Parisian backlash just yet. They didn’t want to deal with anymore bullshit than they had to in their civilian lives.

“Is everything alright? Or is it just Life™?” Roi Singe asked, leaning onto his bo-staff next to Viperion.

“It takes 60 euroes to go to therapy but no money to say it just be like that sometimes” Roter Fochs shrugged, much to the dismay of Viperion, Roi Singe and Pegasus.

“Can you please stop joking about your mental health” Pegasus found himself groaning. A small hovering screen appeared next to him, a cowboy hat firmly attached to the top with an antenna sticking out.

“Yes studies show that LGBT youth have a higher percentage to suffer from depression, some even to the point that they𑁋”

“Thanks for the concern CowBot but, really, I’m fine; let me have my fun” Roter softly tapped the little robot. It was nice having people, well sentient beings, still concerned with his well being.

Suddenly the group tensed, their artificial ears and enhanced senses picking up a light clink, the sound of something quickly winding up followed. Two male figures landed in front of them, quickly surrounded by the Parisians. The taller one of the two quipped:

“Well aren’t you a merry bunch”

“Who are you and why are you here?” Chat Noir kept an icy cold edge to his voice, emulating how his father would talk to employees that weren’t Natalie.

“They’re not Akumas, no magic radiating off of them” Ladybug analyzed, looking closely at the duo but she couldn’t recognize them at all. The male that had spoken had a lean and relatively tall body, he couldn’t be more than four years older than her team, so around his late teens early twenties. He had long raven hair, his bangs framing his face perfectly, even in the moonlight she could tell he had a pale complexion though the black domino mask he sported helped hide most of it and his eyes. His uniform wasn’t one she recognized from any superhero from the League; black kevlar, if she had to guess, made up nearly the entirety of his suit, from his boots, pants and even gauntlets, heck she wouldn’t be surprised if his cape was bulletproof. One of the only things to bring color was his crimson chest piece, with two belts across it holding up a golden bird symbol, the same one on his canary utility belt.

“Tt, we just came here to talk” the smaller male scoffed, his posture not looking any more tense or relaxed, just attentive. His build was also lean like his taller partner though she could tell his body would be able to build more muscles with his broader shoulders. She assumed they were around the same age, his jawline defined but not to the same extent an adult’s would be. His hair seemed almost darker than that of his partner’s and was slicked back though maintaining most of its volume, a naturally tan skin was found beneath a green domino mask, much like his companion’s. His uniform was definitely more colorful, almost as if he was meant to garner attention(and boy wasn’t that concerning); black seemed to be the main color in his suit with the outer cape, pants and sleeves being that color, ruby red tunic that went beyond his belt with dandelion accents on its edges and a golden R over his heart, pine boots and gauntlets matching the shade of his mask with dandelion yellow covering the inside of his cape and hood as well as his own utility belt.

She had no clue who they were.

“And why should we trust you?”

“Because we don’t like the Justice League any more than you do”

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One Week Ago

“Hey B, we found something interesting while reading the League’s data” Barbara Gordon’s voice echoed in the BatCave. Currently she and Tim were doing the weekly check-in on the League, something those heroes never seemed to notice. Not that they were surprised.

“What did you find?” Bruce asked, telling Duke and Damian to take a break from combat training while he did.

“There’s an alarming amount of distress calls from France, specifically Paris, that the League has been either ignoring or not receiving” Tim showed him the graph of all the history, going back at least three years closer. It was small at first, once every two months at the beginning, once a month when the second year began, every two weeks bordering on weekly near the end of it, by the start of the third it was daily until some time three months ago they just stopped.

Well wasn’t that cause for concern?

“Can we get any audio of the calls?” Bruce’s detective side coming up as Barbara was able to bring up a few that hadn’t been automatically deleted by the Justice League’s system. The first one was the very first from three years ago, a video call.

“Uh hello!” the girl on the video said awkwardly, clearly nervous but determined to get her message out, “My name is Ladybug”

Her costume looked like it was simply made by spandex, a rather plain design of red with black spots around, a domino mask with open lenses was the only thing really concealing her identity.

“Paris has a supervillain, his name is Hawkmoth and he feeds off of negative emotions. His power can turn anyone into his enslaved champion and we- my partner and I are the only ones really fighting this. I- I know you’re all really busy saving the world and all that but- but we’re just kids! We have no experience and well, we were hoping you can send someone to help? We’ve only confronted him three times now but well, we were just pushed into this”

Bruce could feel his blood growing cold, she couldn’t have been older than thirteen when this was recorded. He knew no Leaguers went on missions to Paris for the past five years… He told them to play the next video, from two years ago.

“Hello Justice League” Ladybug still wore her simple spandex though now standing tall next to a boy with a black cat leather outfit. Behind them was a girl with a bee themed outfit, a girl with a fox themed outfit and a boy with a turtle theme.

“We just came out of this Heroes Day disaster”

“No thanks to their help” the bee girl snapped before looking away.

“Look, Hawkmoth is getting more and more dangerous. He was able to transform half of Paris into his minions, they took over Paris and nearly won”

“What is it going to take you for you guys to finally help?” the cat boy growled much to the surprise of the others.

“Chat Noir!”

“Oh please we can totally handle Hawkmoth without them; you two should be enough already. With us three helping you, defeating him should be easy, power of teamwork and all that” the fox girl waved off, much to the surprise of the turtle.

“Rena did you seriously not remember what just happened. We were compromised, we nearly let Paris fall. We’re not trained for this, not even LB and Chat, and they’ve been doing this for the past year”

“Whatever”

“What was the last transmission?” Bruce found himself asking as the cave suddenly grew silent, all eyes on the monitor as their last transmission played.

“Why are we even bothering with this?” a new male voice asked, the video was shaky before finally pointing at the Parisian streets. If you could even call what was essentially a river of water, reaching to the top of most rooftops streets anymore. Items were floating about, bodies littered around them.

“They’ll never listen, they never did” another female voice agreed, they assumed it was the girl at the corner of the screen, looking down on the streets in what could be described as pity.

“I know” Ladybug’s voice sighed from behind the camera. “But they should at least see the consequences of their actions”

“If they even bother watching these, I wouldn’t be surprised if they just delete these as soon as we send them” Chat Noir entered the screen, eyes cold and calculating.

“Paris should be thankful that Lucky Charm is able to bring them back” the male with the snake themed outfit shook his head. “This is probably the 1,000 time most of Paris died with an akuma, second with Syren”

“Super lucky” the dragon female rolled her eyes “It’s not even worth trying to save citizens since all they do is cretique us”

“And the officers; Apparently we should be able to deal with city-destroying being and protect the people at the same time while officers just stand behind the lines waiting for us to do both” Chat Noir hissed

“What's done is done. This will be our last call for the Justice League; I hope you’re all happy, knowing that you’ve forced children to grow up and fight in a man’s war. Bug Out”

“There are no records of these videos even being played, or even of these events happening as far as Parisian government records say. But there’s clearly a lot of cover up going on, most of Paris’ emergency broadcasting doesn’t make it out of its borders, heavy encouragement of tourism even though there have been complaints by the people about… akumas?” Tim reported as soon as the video finished playing.

“There’s even records of a city-funded statue being made for Ladybug and Chat Noir yet no indication of where it is or what its for” Barbara continued “This blog keeps coming up, it used to be called the Ladyblog before it switched to Fox Tea. Look at these videos”

The screens were suddenly filled with shots of these Akuma; one that froze the city over, one who controlled the weather, one who began dropping adults from the sky, Syren, Heroes’ Day… All of them had to be handled by scared children. 

“These look too real to be edited” Duke said in awe. He was very aware of his children all surrounding the screens, looking at the countless destruction of one of the major cities in the world.

And none of them had ever heard of them or these children who were forced to deal with it.

Ones who seeked out help and were never given the time of day.

“Red Robin, Robin” his two sons standing in attention “I want you to investigate the matter and offer our help; convince them that we’re on their side on not aligned with the League”

“We’re on it, Batman”

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“So you just want us to believe you found out about us and suddenly want to help?” Roter Fochs looked at the duo skeptically. 

“We wish to assist you with this whole… situation. No one has heard of Akumas or of Parisian heroes before, we concluded that it may be the government attempting to keep tourism up” the shorter male, Robin, they later learned, spoke up while keeping his hands in the air.

“Though that doesn’t excuse the League, who we know you personally sent distress messages” Red Robin echoed the message “We understand the incompetence of the League better than anyone else. Did you know they never bothered to even open most of those messages?”

Red Robin was surprised by the sudden animalistic growling coming from the group, some of their eyes glowing while others looked disappointed.

Ladybug looked hurt.

“Who do you work for?” Ryuuko  asked, curious but not letting her sword lower from its position.

“We’re Robin and Red Robin”

“Like the food chain?”

“.... Yes. Anyway we’re vigilantes sanctioned in Gotham, New Jersey in the United States; we’re both proteges of the Batman” Red Robin held back the need to roll his eyes at the monkey boy’s statement.

“Never heard of him” the French heroes turned to each other, trying to see if the name rang any bells.

“According to the internet the Batman is almost a folklore for Gotham; people claim to see him and his array of birds and bats but none could ever get clear photos” CowBot replied after a quick search.

“If the League never saw our messages then how do you know about them?” Chat Noir stared right at them, as though he’d know they were lying, which he couldn’t but Roter Fochs could and would.

“Because we’re better than the League” Robin said with the same certainty one would say the grass was green.

“Why should we believe you?” Ladybug asked skeptically, if they were so good then why didn’t they handle what the League wouldn’t? Why didn’t they just try to take over the Hawkmoth situation without their input? Why didn’t they just take down the League by themselves?

“You shouldn’t, “ Robin shrugged once more “But we’ll actually help where the League wouldn’t”

Ladybug stole a look from Chat Noir, both turning to Roter Fochs, who shook his head softly indicating the duo wasn’t lying.

“If you really want us to talk then give us the coordinates to meet with the Batman” Ladybug demanded, Robin looked outraged at the implication while Red Robin nodded.

“Alright, but how will you know if we’re lying to you?” he asked curiously, typing something in his communicator, the center of his utility belt, before handing it over to her.

“Trust me, we know when you’re lying plus we’d know when we get there” Viperion smirked, “Also you can stand down now Bunnix, MultiMouse”

The duo were not surprised to see two figures standing behind them, one male with a mouse theme and rope wrapped around his hands, and a petite girl with a bunny theme and a sharp looking umbrella pointing straight at their backs. They were just surprised that they hadn't sensed them before.

“Did you get those coordinates, Pegasus?” 

“Yes Ladybug, waiting for your signal”

“Well then birdies, we better hope you weren’t lying or you’ll find Hawkmoth won’t be your biggest problem”

“Voyage!”

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“Why don’t you guys like the League?” 

The meeting between the Bats and Team Miraculous had gone much better than any of them had expected; it had certainly helped when they found out one of their own, Agent A as they called him, was once a wielder.

They had both been surprised by the amount of members each team had: The Bats had expected Ladybug, Chat Noir, Ryuuko and Viperion; Roter Fochs, Pegasus, Roi Singe, Bunnix and MultiMouse had been a surprise.

Meanwhile Team Miraculous had only heard of whispers of Batman and many Robins, even a theory on a bat girl of sorts from their brief research; having Batman, Robin (V), Nightwing, Red Hood, Red Robin, Signal, Batgirl, Batwoman, and Black Bat not to mention Oracle and Agent A; they had almost thought it was an ambush.

They supposed they each knew how to keep certain secrets tight.

“The Justice League, though still consisting of some of the most powerful people in this Earth, are too high and mighty; none of them really consider the consequences of their actions and are too reliant on their powers to be able to resolve all their problems. None of them have any contingency plans if their enemies find out their weaknesses and exploit them. Not a single member is a ‘normal human’”

He pulled up a hologram in the middle of the meeting table, every person who's worked with  Justice League showing up, each showing their array of powers and abilities before showing their membership status.

Batman, Green Arrow, Speedy, Robin, Artemis; Non-Members

Two Green Lanterns, Captain Marvel, Black Canary, Bumblebee, Rocket, the Atom, Blue Beetle (II), Superboy; Reserve members with clearance.

“That does seem pretty discriminatory” Viperion hummed as he thought of the people on the list, those on the Non-member list had no power or enhancement at all while those on the reserve, with the exception of Captain Marvel and Superboy, had powers or suits but the vulnerability of humans.

They weren’t considered strong enough, or maybe even reliable enough.

“We’d probably be considered in the same capacity as a Green Lantern” Pegasus concluded “Take away their ring and their powers go away”

“Which brings us to the next question” Batgirl chimed cheerfully “What is it exactly that you’re facing off against?”

“The Miraculous are ancient artifacts that lend you the powers of certain godlings named Kwami. Kwamis are the essence of concepts and ideas: The Ladybug who represents Luck and Creation, the Black Cat who represents Misfortune and Destruction and Horse who represents Transportation and Innovation are just some examples” Ryuuko explained for them

“Hawkmoth is in possession of the Butterfly Miraculous of Metamorphosis and Desire along with the Peacock of Emotion and Will” Ladybug paused briefly as she saw the look of surprise on Agent A’s face, wondering if she’d feel that way if she found out Tikki was being used for evil in the future. “Both were thought to be missing, possibly destroyed, when the last Master of the Order was able to salvage them from the attack to the Temple of Miracles. He was only a child when the Temple was attacked, thus he was able to escape without being detected by the enemy”

“If I remember correctly,” Chat Noir interrupted “I believe Master Fu said their name was “The Shadows” or I think he said they now go by𑁋”

“The League of Shadows” Nightwing softly added, the air tensing immediately.

“You know of them?” MultiMouse was weary considering the Shadows were very keen on keeping to, well, shadows. That had to mean that the Bats had confronted them.

“Intimately so” Batman growled out.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bunnix’s brows furrowed underneath her mask, feeling as though they wouldn’t like the answer.

“The Shadows have been a pain in Gotham’s ass in the past” Batgirl explained before turning to Batman “Especially since the Demon’s Head was interested in having Batman as a Son-in Law, though his daughter is sometimes an ally”

“Batgirl!” Red Robin admonished

“Don’t forget the little demon over here” Red Hood joked, missing the look of shock in the Parisian heroes.

“Or the fact that it sometimes seems like he wants to get on Red Robin’s dick and have his babies”

“Batgirl, Red Hood that’s enough” Batwoman sternly looked at the duo.

“You’re saying Robin is related to the Shadows” the Parisian heroes in the Reserve Team looked at them suspiciously while the Core Four just patiently waited to see what the Bats would say.

“That’s in the past” Nightwing steely stated “He was born into that lifestyle, but his mother let him chose to leave and live a different life”

“We had no choice of who our parents were” Black Bat reinforced, the team taking a mental note that she was once a shadow as well.

“Noted” Chat Noir said cooly “Though you must understand our reluctance when hearing the Shadows; like we said the Shadows destroyed the temple that was meant to safeguard the Miraculous and killed off every Guardian in the process”

“It would be foolish of us to not be on guard when hearing of them being so close to us again” Ryuuko explained “Though we will give the benefit of the doubt”

And so was the beginning of their partnership.

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“You’re all skilled fighters for not having any proper training” Oracle commended, looking at the statistics of the spars they all had, by far the Core Four had the strongest stats but it wasn’t because of the others’ lack of skill.

“Thank you, Oracle” Ryuuko bowed after finishing her match with Robin, an intense sword fight having just finished. If she had truly wanted to she could have ended it by cutting Robin’s katana but she found it both dishonorable and the easy way out considering they were testing skill sets. On the other side of the room was Red Robin and Roi Singe’s fight, bo-staff against bo-staff, being monitored by Black Bat.

“Oh kwami” Ladybug whispered as she and Chat Noir were called for the next match… against Batman and Batwoman.

“This is where we die Noir”

“It’s been an honor m’lady”

The fight had been entertaining, each side coming in with an array of attacks. At first the Bats had played offensive with the Miraculous duo playing defensive, dodging Batarangs and all their little gadgets. The Bats hadn’t expected just how durable the simple looking yo-yo and staff would be or any of its features.

At some point there had been a flash bomb, Chat Noir blocking it from Ladybug and getting temporarily blinded, Batwoman had planned on attacking while he was disoriented however the attack amplified his enhanced hearing, extending his staff and tripping her in the process.

In the end the Bats had won but it had been a close victory considering the Miraculous Team had not bothered to use their special abilities during any of the fights.

As they were taking a breather, resting and getting drinks, Robin spoke up.

“How are you allowing your city to step all over you?” Team Miraculous looked at him briskly before Red Hood, of all people, continued for him.

“We’ve seen the reports and the Parisian news, they’re relying on your team of four, considering they aren’t aware of the others, to be there to solve all their problems”

“It’s okay for your people to put so much trust in you but it's gotten to the point where they expect it of you” Robin concluded.

“I’ve tried telling them” Viperion sighed, facing his group “We really should be leaving Paris to handle their own problems, we’re busy enough in civilian life and akuma fights as it is”

“How do you suppose we do that when we already face scrutiny for not dealing with Akumas fast enough?” Chat Noir asked, his tail flickering behind him.

“You could always stop patrolling in broad daylight if you don’t want to leave the city altogether” Red Robin suggested, “Hiding in the night is easier to avoid any authority or anyone trying to get interviews. Plus this way it's less predictable where you’ll be certain hours of the day”

“He does make a good point” Ladybug said, mostly to herself, before nodding “I think it's a good idea”

“You heard her team,” Chat Noir turned to face the others “All for stopping daylight patrol?”

All of them nodded in agreement, the beginning of a long list of necessary changes in their lives.

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“My father is planning a press conference to talk about his ‘concerns’ with the lack of your appearances” Chloe rolled her eyes. A year ago, after the Heroes’ Day Disaster, she and Carapace had chosen to stand down while Rena was ultimately retired. She’d found out about Adrien when she went for a visit only for him to jump in through the window.

It was awkward between the two of them before they called for Ladybug.

She gave her neutral face of disappointment first before making a plan.

They were all aware that Lila must have been the one to start the disaster, being Volpina was the only explanation, as Ladybug confessed that Lila had a vendetta against her. Chloe also figured she must have been lying, something she had already suspected before, about being in another country considering Hawkmoth’s attacks only stayed in Paris.

Due to Chloe’s secret identity being out in the open they realized Hawkmoth wouldn’t be above targeting her family again. Thus Chloe became Ladybug’s spy.

Meanwhile in civilian life Nino was getting tired of Alya and Lila’s antics, especially the ones against his bros Adrien and Marinette. Well more against Marinette and more sexual harassment/getting together with Adrien. That’s not even touching on their newest content on the blog which was just criticizing the Miraculous Team for all their weaknesses and shortcomings, in the guise of offering “suggestions” on how to get better. 

They thought it’d be good to have an inside man, someone who could warn them of anything Lila and Alya might come up to.

They were both the secret members of Team Miraculous.

“Holy shit are you serious?” Nino exclaimed in Chloe’s room. They’d all come in secretly and by different entries to meet up in case certain nosy classmates had spotted them.

“Yep, I may or may not have threatened my father with a lawsuit against his violation of child labor laws and me not receiving my paychecks” Adrien said excitedly.

Chat Noir had made an off-hand comment on how his father had tired him out with a packed work schedule. This resulted in prodding from the mother hen known as Nightwing asking for details which ended in Chat Noir confessing that he works for his father’s company, had been homeschooled most of his life and often had a packed schedule full of extracurriculars, including up to around 12-hour work days sometimes. Turns out with that brief information Oracle informed them that his father was violating child labor laws due to the fact that he had worked more than thirty five hours a week since he was fourteen.

“Holy shit” he’d say in awe at the moment “My father is rich though… who knows if this would even go through with his influence”

“No man is truly above the law” Nightwing had given him a reassuring pat on the shoulder, “But… is everything alright in your home life?”

“I- I shouldn’t say anything that reveals my identity… '' the usually chaotic boy said solemnly, his cat ears downcast.

“Chat Noir,” the group turned to Ladybug, the one who’d help introduce her team to the life of masks and magic “Your own safety is much more important than keeping your identity safe. We both know the kind of person your father is… I’d rather you have the best options possible to face this”

“How come you’re so fast to trust us?” Robin asked, surprised but keeping a stern face.

“You do realize that she has the coordinates to this place, right?” Viperion smirked “She’s known who you are for a while and never mentioned anything. We just expect you to return the courtesy”

“That seems about right” Red Robin sighed before taking off his mask, the others of the Bat Clan following suit. Team Miraculous gave Ladybug one last look before dropping their own transformations, some of them looking familiar to the Gothamites.

“Marcus is that you my boy?” Agent A, otherwise known as the family butler, Alfred Pennyworth made his way to MultiMouse who nodded shyly. 

“I actually go by Marc now great-uncle Alfred”

“Wait what, Al has siblings?” Stephanie exclaimed, Jason was whispering for Tim to write it down in The Book.

“Yes, an older half-sister” he said with an impeccable raised brow “I would have never thought you’d follow after my footsteps Marc”

“I guess it does run in the family”

“Adrien Agreste! Like son of the fashion mongul Gabriel and late actress Emellie Grande de Venily?!” Stephanie exclaimed as soon as she focused on the blonde teen.

“Yep” was all he could find himself saying, taking comfort in Marinette’s presence next to him.

“Don’t worry Adrien,” the boy looked up to the slightly intimidating looming figure of Bruce Wayne “We’ll help you deal with your father”

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“Boys” Bruce had said as soon as he entered the living room, where the group had devolved into a video game competition. “Remember tomorrow is your monthly therapy session”

“Already?” Damian groaned, his brothers, with the exception of Dick, looking like they would rather not go.

“Timmy isn’t prepared to face his inner demons” 

“And it seems Timmy hasn’t slept in some time again, hasn’t he?” Luka teased, continuing to run his hand through Tim’s hair, the boy practically purring in response.

“You have a therapist?” Marinette asked Bruce skeptically.

“We’ve all… gone through things growing up. Alfred made me realize that we were all in need of some help”

“And do you umm… talk about your nightly activities?”

“They’re trustworthy and confidential, yes”

“Do you think you could give me their information?”

That’s how Team Miraculous found themselves on the day after another akuma attack, in a private room within Wayne Tower, each waiting their turn to see the doctor.

“You’ve been through alot Luka” the teen was lying on his back, facing the ceiling as the psychologist who worked with Bruce talked. “Losing what you’ve come to accept as your family, watching your friends die, even though you knew you could change the outcome. Doing it over and over again in order to save the city… It's not something anyone could be expected to handle, let alone a child your age”

“I… I know Dr.Quinzel. But I can’t allow myself to feel guilty over everything or even get overly emotional. If Hawkmoth found out it’d be a disaster, especially because Marinette trusted me with the miraculous… the first for her to assign full time as the Guardian…. I can’t let her down” Luka gave her a lost look, one rarely seen on the charming boy before.

“Keeping all of that inside… It could fester up and explode if you’re not careful Luka”

“So you’re telling me that you are perfectly fine with how your life at home is going, Nathaniel? Even after everything we’ve discussed”

“Look I’ve tried telling my parents they were wrong but they just keep saying I’m confused, not to mention think my art is a joke… and maybe they’re right”

“Those are important parts to who you are. Saying that would be like considering yourself a mistake… Do you feel that way Nathaniel?”

“I…”

“I think I have pretty bad taste in girls, though my friends usually call me a himbo for not really thinking things through. Maybe I should think before acting more?”

“I’ve known I was going to become Bunnix ever since I was fourteen, it was always just a matter of when. So when I was finally called to action I was so excited but… I can’t help but wonder if I’m cut out for this”

“My mother has groomed and taught me to be perfect at all I do. It was something ingrained to me since I was a child; It wasn’t until recently that I learned that is impossible to achieve. Why was mother so pertained to me being it?”

“I know I’m the smart guy but I shouldn’t be expected to have all the answers, especially for my classmates who refuse to look at evidence as it is. Seriously, if I had known they would have taken my comment about how dangerous a napkin can be as pure fact then I would have not said anything that day”

“Sometimes I feel like I’m not enough for my grandmother. She’s getting older, she’s starting to forget a lot. I help by telling her things like stories but I’m not sure how long that will last… She’s the only family I have left in Paris, I don’t want to leave my friends or boyfriend behind”

“My father has always been a distant man but ever since my mother… I’m not sure if he even sees me as his son at this point. There are some days I’m treated as nothing more than a trophy boy or a regular employee. I wonder if this would have happened regardless of my mother’s passing”

“I am Ladybug, I am also the last Guardian. But I’m just a teenager! I have a life I want to live outside of Paris… I want to be a designer, start my own brand, find love and have my own family… But Hawkmoth is in the way of all that”

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“Are you sure about this LB?” Nino asked from the terrace of Chloe’s penthouse. They’d been talking strategy when an Akuma attacked, given the chaos displayed by the news via LadyBugOut livestream, they could only assume it was another Volpina attack.

Unfortunately Volpina had a Sentimonster to help, Reality Check. A glorified 3D printer who could temporarily make Volpina’s illusions tangible and real.

It had proven to be a difficult battle, especially since Luka and Adrien had been caught up as civilians and couldn’t help Ryuuko and Ladybug. The others still had to wait for Ladybug to give the signal before they’d consider going out to help in broad daylight lest their hidden cards be revealed too soon.

In the middle of the fight the two heroines had made a strategic retreat, one the Fox Tea blogger did not hesitate to call the coward’s way out. Suddenly the two appeared at Chloe’s along with Roter Fochs. The scarlet hero had taken out two familiar boxes with extremely familiar jewelry inside. 

“I’m certain of it” she said with a determined smile, “Besides this could finally get Hawkmoth and maybe even Alya off your backs if I introduce new heroes; Of course your costumes will have to be different, as will your codenames, but I trust that you’ll know what to do”

“Hello my queen!”

“What’s up dude”

Paris was in uproar when they heard of the new heroes; Abeille and Anselm.

Abeille’s costume was much more armored than that of Queen Bee’s; the whole suit had a honey yellow bodysuit with black armor pieces, her chest piece in the shape of a bee’s face, black elbow length gloves with some honey stripes, thigh high black boots with honey kneepads. Her own mask was different from her former as it changed her eyes to royal blue like Pollen’s while being honey colored with black v shaped lines. The golden gauntlets on top of her gloves would be able to send out small shocks, capable of stunning enemies for small intervals at the time, nowhere near as potent as Venom.

Anselm’s own attire was not so different from Carapace; Anselm still kept the hoodie his predecessor did though beneath it is where the differences began. Anselm wore a pine green helmet, yellow tinted goggles on top of his red eyes, with pale thin daffodile lines going from the top to the bottom of his hood. The hoodie and his undersuit was sacramento green, bordering on black, though the majority of the suit was also armored with pine pieces like the hexagonal chest piece, shoulder, thigh, shin, knee and elbow pads. He also had much thicker gauntlets than Abeille’s along with armored gloves and reinforced sneakers.

Of course, Chloe Bourgeois and Nino Lahiffe were quickly off of the suspect list when the two were spotted separately looking for shelter amongst the Akuma attack during Fox Tea’s livestream.

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“So you’re part of the OG Team huh?” Stephanie asked as she gave a once over to the two newcomers.

“Deep undercover missions, you know how they go” Abeille scoffed, her honey blonde hair swaying along with her five black streaks around it.

“What she said. We couldn’t help as Queen Bee and Carapace anymore, compromised identities, so we helped as civilians before covering our tracks and coming back” Anselm tried to keep back Chloe’s prickly personality.

“Like what?” Cass’ appearance startled the two, though both looked like they were about to draw out their weapons.

“Well I get them intel from what’s happening in the mayor’s office that Max and Markov can’t get out from the computers, daddy is a bit of a pushover and squeals pretty easily”

“While I get intel from Fox Tea’s disastrous dude duo. I’m usually among the first to find out about anything their plotting… though I’ve had to drop that. It was getting too much for me to continue being with Alya so we broke up”

“So you kept dating Cesaire just to gather intel? Doesn’t that seem manipulative?” Duke asked from his seat on the monitor, the two Parisians looked at one another before beginning to laugh.

“Not compared to what those two are capable of”

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“Are you sure about this?”

Currently Viperion, Ladybug and Bunnix were on the Gotham rooftops, shadowing the Bats for the night. The three were honored to be trusted with the responsibility but still felt foreign in the much darker environment, literally and metaphorically.

“It’ll be a good experience” Oracle said in their ears, their comms being synced to those of the Bats “And you won’t be alone, I’ll be here and so will your partners”

Right on cue Robin, Red Robin and Black Bat landed on the same rooftop. The plan was for the six to cover the patrol for the night, the others would be getting rest or doing specialty training with their abilities. It was a surprise for the Miraculous gang when it was revealed that Signal and Red Hood would be joining them as fellow trainees. Alfred and Black Canary, a metahuman who often worked together with Green Arrow in Central City, would be in charge of the training while Bruce also oversaw their progress.

Honestly they hadn’t known what surprised them more: the fact that Batman had metas on his team or that he trusted other heroes with the training of his children.

“It should be a regular night; standard mugging, gang fights and possible robberies should be all that happen tonight”

Of course that was not what happened.

As it turned out Riddler had escaped Arkham, no surprise, and had gone too long without his medication. Edward Nygma was usually a pretty tame man, if a little eccentric with his love of riddles and his brilliant mind.

He decided to hold Gotham Grand Terminal hostage.

Ladybug was decidedly trying not to panic as she saw the very obvious bombs spread across different sections of the terminal. There were too many for them to deactivate in less than three minutes and there were probably more hidden around.

“Riddle me this; What is Joan of Arc made of ?” Ladybug and Robin were the first to arrive at the scene, Viperion and Red Robin being the closest to coming as back up. Robin seemed as confused as she felt but decided to really think about it…

This was so stupid.

“Maid of Orleans” the look Robin gave her, like she just made the most foolish decision of her life, was seen spread across the faces of hostages before Riddler began to laugh.

“Why you are correct, little red” he wiped a tear from his eye “Bats would never think of something so punny like that!”

“Yeah well I’ve had a lot of experience with annoying puns”

“What’s colorful, loud and is a mess to clean up?” Ladybug’s eyes widened as he pressed the big red button on the remote control, Robin bringing Ladybug down and shielding her as the hostages began to scream.

BOOM!

“...Confetti cannons” Ladybug muttered, her whole body covered in the colorful paper pieces with glitter in the mix.

That son of a bitch!

It was April 1st.

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“So what is it that we’ll be doing?” Bunnix asked as Black Bat silently leaped through the Gotham rooftops, camouflaging effortlessly with the shadows unlike her because of the white and baby blue costume she had on.

“You two will be checking up on Red Hood’s sector for the night, Crime Alley” Oracle’s voice responded for her.

“Right, so is this just a standard patrol?”

“Something like that”

Bunnix was admittedly a bit nervous about being with Black Bat, Cass didn’t really talk much and was kinda hot. Bunnix had just dutifully shadowed her, staying as quiet as she could even if she did more parkour than necessary, when they stumbled upon a drug deal. Bunnix was about to go down to smack some people around with her umbrella when Black Bat shook her head.

“One of Red Hood’s men, let’s wait to see the deal go through”

Bunnix wasn’t sure what to think as she watched the deal go down. Weren’t they supposed to be the ones to stop this from happening and not helping them? It was a bit confusing and against her moral code…

“We do this to keep the kids out of the involvement” Oracle seemed to read her mind, explaining their reasoning “Before Red Hood decided to get involved with drug trafficking Crime Alley was full of children who would be taken advantage of by dealers; whether it meant getting them addicted or becoming their messengers and delivery boys. He made it very clear to his ‘allies’ that no child from Crime Alley was getting involved in their plans again or else the deals were off. Those who tried going above him… well they’re no longer around to try and take him down”

Still that did not help ease Alix’s worries as the night continued on. Black Bat came to a sudden stop on top of a warehouse, gesturing for Bunnix to follow behind her, and climbing in through a shattered window. Inside were dozens of wooden crates, each with cameras pointed at them and only one with an open lid. Black Bat walked towards the open crate with ease, going inside and taking out three duffle bags from inside. She placed two on her, criss-crossing each other before handing the other one to a reluctant Bunnix.

The tow then headed to a hidden tunnel underneath one of the empty crates, making their way in a closed (?) Gotham sewer. It didn’t smell as disgusting as Alix imagined it would be, musky at best, though she thought that it may be due to the fact that there was no dirty sewage water there. They walked in relative ease, essentially walking for what had to be at least 15 minutes in numerous twists and turns before reaching a ladder. The two got out, Bunnix recognizing it as part of Crime Alley with how run down the area looked.

Black Bat knocked on a rusting steel door, three times, five, once and then a tap with her palm.

The door opened up, a boy no older than 12 being the ones to greet them.

“Where’s R.H?” he questioned, he looked disappointed but not alarmed, clearly he had met Black Bat before.

“Was busy. This is Bunnix, she’s helping for the night” The boy was clearly unimpressed with her but he closed the door and led them down the long hallway. She noticed the few scattered toys along the way, with some open doors showing mountains of writing supplies and even a little library.

What was this place?

“This is Red Hood’s sanctuary for the kids of Crime Alley” Black Bat whispered next to her “Batgirl and Red Hood are usually the ones to come here though all of us have come at some point.” they entered the large room showing children of all ages, some as young as infants and others looking close to early adulthood. They dropped the duffle bags in front of what she thought was the leader of the pack when Red Hood wasn’t around.

They were filled with non-perishable food, wads of money that will probably be used to provide for the group of 30 or even more for the next month, toys, books and some new clothes.

As the children gathered around, each a little dirtier than Alix remembered ever being as a child, lining up to get a new something that Red Hood got for them she couldn’t help but think;

… Maybe things were never so black and white.

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“I know it may seem frightening, even unnerving, to let go of your control but if you keep your powers bottled up it may prove to be disastrous in the future” Black Canary told the group of teens.

“With abilities bestowed to you like those of the Miraculous are left untrained then it may prove to lead to your downfall” Alfred nodded along to Dinah’s words.

“As capable as Ms.Lance and I are, we have realized that we would need further assistance to properly be able to train each of your abilities”

From one of the Batcave’s entrances they could hear the screech of tires before a slick black car parked next to the Batmobile and Hoodcycle.

“Sorry, we’re late” a red headed woman said as she stepped out of the car, her pale freckled skin slowly gaining a green tint to it as she removed her lab coat and glasses, “Selina here thought she could make a quick steal on our way here”

“Oh c’mon Pam, you know you love the rush as much as I do” a tanned woman laughed, twirling around a golden necklace with one of the biggest rubies they had ever seen in its center.

“Now, ladies; Pam-a-lamb has a class of powered kids to teach” they recognized Dr.Quinzel belatedly as she was missing her glasses and uniform. She was now wearing a much more colorful array of clothes with the consistent theme of red,black, and white. Her skin seemed paler than they remembered and her blonde hair had red tips on one side and blue on the other.

“Hey girls” Barbara came down the elevator at the same time as Stephanie and Cass, seemingly cutting their conversation when she saw the newcomers”

“Babs!” Dr.Quinzel exclaimed, making her way to the other girls after giving a quick kiss to the green skinned woman.

“Well you’re right on time Pam” Dinah sighed, cocking her hip before pointing at the newcomers “These are Dr.Pamela Isley otherwise known as the Gotham Rogue Poison Ivy, Selina Kyle a more vigilante type thief Catwoman, and, of course, you know Dr.Harleen Quinzel or as she prefers to go by Harley Quinn”

“Hey kittens” Selina waved at the group “By the way it's been too long since we girls have hung out; how’s about a Birds of Prey raid? You in?”

“Only if Oracle agrees” 

“Oh pleasepleasepleaseplease!” Stephanie and Harley’s persistent pleading could be heard immediately afterwards. A polite cough interrupted the chaos.

“As enthusiastic as you ladies are for your plans, may I remind you that we have prior plans to care for first. Namely the training”

“Sorry Alfie” Harley said, chastised, “We’ll get out of your hair. C’mon ladies!”

“...So training?” Marc asked

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“What happened to you?” was the first thing Kim laughed out as the duo stepped into the cave, leaving a trail of confetti and glitter behind. Marinette looked back at her team, unimpressed, in their own state of disarray.

Chloe, Max, Marc and Nathaniel seemed to be nursing their own cases of migraines; most likely having pushed the limits of their own new abilities which relied on mental fortitude. Chloe and Jason’s powers were the most similar to Alfred’s which involved manipulating and projecting thoughts and ideas to the people around them or to specific targets. Nathaniel was developing the power to create illusions that only his target would be allowed to see. Marc could create intangible clones of himself but could still project what they were seeing and hearing to him. Max could teleport objects a few meters away from or towards him.

Kagami, Kim, Adrien and Nino seemed the most physically exhausted. Kagami was beginning to have slight control of fire, wind and water but not yet conjuring it; given her slight burn marks, wet clothes and messy hair Marinette would guess that she still hadn’t fully grasped the manipulation aspect outside of being Ryuuko. Kim’s own face was dirty and slightly bruised and matched that of Adrien’s. Kim had begun to use his chaotic energy to make the wackiest things happen but to have the outcome he wanted while Adrien could suck the luck out of people for small intervals lest he want to have the misfortune backlash cling on him. Nino’s was more tame though he now had to focus on two things since he could now use his energy to both heal and to create a shield that encompased his body like armor.

“Oh god you guys look like messes!” Alix laughed along with Luka, the only two that looked fine as they had a fairly tame patrol with Cass and Tim.

“Next time I see Riddler remind me to throw a glitter bomb” Marinette grumbled as she made her way to the showers.

“Not before I stab him with his stupid cane” Damian growled heading for the male showers.

“So how long till Daminette guys?” Adrien asked

“Definitely before the end of the year” Duke concluded, the others not being sure if he used his power or not.

“I’ll take you up on that. I’ll bet we make more money than with Red Scales” Stephanie laughed.

“Red Scales?” Luka asked curiously before the others yelled out.

“Nothing!” 

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“Okay how come no one warned me about that!” Jason yelled as he came out of the Cave’s entrance. The group either gave questioning or amused looks.

“Oh, so you saw that too?” Alix asked, perched from one of the sofa’s armrests.

“You assholes could have given me a heads up” he complained before groaning into a sofa “God, someone get me some bleach”

“What’s Jaybird talking about?” Dick asked, coming in from the kitchen with an array of snacks for the rowdy bunch of teeneagers.

“Oh just Timbers getting some with the big bad snake boi” Stephanie sang, causing Jason to groan and Dick to choke on his own spit.

“More like trying to eat each other’s tongue out” Nathaniel responded in disgust.

“Timmy, no!” were the words the oldest yelled out before heading into the Batcave in record time.

“Anyway,” Stephanie began “It’s time to pay up bitches. Marinette and Cass get the loot”

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“Hmm, so I guess that’s what fresh blood splatters looks like” Chat Noir said in morbid interest.

“Well it's certainly more noticeable than dried blood” Viperion nodded along, watching as Red Robin and Red Hood carried out the interrogation from a one-way mirror. There was a new gang who specialized in child trafficking, most of the kids coming from Crime Alley and therefore not getting reported to the police; luckily they had Red Hood looking out for them.

“Yes, well we are here to see how they carry out their investigation and get used to all the squeamish things” Ladybug gave a calculated look, as though she herself were in there and what she would do to get the information out of the man they captured earlier that night.

“Do you guys think this sort of thing is going too far?” MultiMouse asked curiously, he was beginning to grow a bit uncomfortable with the amount of blood the man had begun to lose. 

“I mean this asshole deserves it” Roter Fochs glared “I don’t think it's too much if it means saving all those kids”

“Standing on the edge of what is seen as a hero𑁋”

BANG

“Let’s you see all the things you can’t from the center” Ryuuko watched as the man was forcibly being held back up by Red Robin after Red Hood slammed his face on the interrogation table. 

“World is not black and white” Black Bat spoke from next to them “Many shades of gray in between; We are in the gray”

Ko-Fi

[blaineandersonsub]

Your Song | Seblaine

Who: Sebastian Smythe & Blaine Anderson @switchseb

When: Saturday, 2/13/21

Where: Music Practice Room

What: First kiss, then pain.

Blaine D. Anderson

Blaine took a deep breath as he watched his fingers gracefully move across the keys of the piano he was sat at, to the tune of Teenage Dream, that was in a practice room he'd managed to grab for the afternoon. Singing and playing music in any capacity helped him relax in more ways than he could describe, and it was when he was at his most comfortable, so it just made sense to be doing so while mentally preparing for Sebastian to arrive. Because of course he had to go develop a crush on a straight guy, something he'd promised himself he'd never do again when it happened the first time. He was about mid-song when he heard the door open behind him, and he jumped and quickly turned on the stool, running a hand over his gelled hair to reassure himself that he looked okay. "Hey, Sir. I was... just warming up. It's nice to see you, you look... great. As usual," He said, offering the taller man a small smile as he played with his fingers in his lap.

Sebastian Smythe

Sebastian knew it was dangerous to spend more time with Blaine so soon after their scene on Thursday, but he couldn't deny himself the joy he felt when he was around him. But Sebastian convinced himself that if he was able to maintain self control then, he would be able to do so now. Even if he didn't know which room he was meeting Blaine, he would have followed the sound of the music coming from a well tuned piano. He could carry a tune on it, but nothing like what Blaine was doing. Sebastian didn't knock, he just peered through the glass window in the middle of the door and let himself in. "It's nice to see you too. But you don't have to stop on my account," he assured him, taking a seat against the wall. It gave him the perfect view of Blaine on the piano. Sebastian crossed his legs and offered a small smile. "Please, continue."

Blaine D. Anderson

Blaine let out a nervous, soft laugh as he glanced back at the piano over his shoulder, biting the inside of his lower lip. "I... right. Sure," He said, turning on the stool once more before taking a deep breath. Of course he had to choose this song to warm up with, when the one person that came to mind while singing the majority of it was less than ten feet away. He started the song over, but kept his eyes glued to the piano this time as he both sang and played. He didn't trust himself to look over there, not when he knew just how expressive his eyes could be. A few moments later, he played the final note and sang the last word, then pressed a combination of keys to indicate that he was finished. "So, uh... was it okay?" He asked, analyzing each and every action, each and every word he sang in the process. He could hear a few parts where he could have controlled his breathing a little better, but not even he could fault himself for that in this particular situation.

Sebastian Smythe

This was an easy exchange for Sebastian. All he really needed to do was show up and listen. So it was unclear to him why he was so tense. He didn’t recognize the song when he first stepped in, but when Blaine restarted it did and he listened to every word, his mind wandering. While he played, Sebastian didn’t take his eyes off of him. There was so much passion in his voice and he wished he could see his face. But it was probably better this way. This way Sebastian could keep his gaze on the other man without feeling like he had to pull away. This way Sebastian could memorize Blaine’s profile and the curve of his back and legs. Sebastian have a soft clap at the conclusion of the song and placed the smile back on his face when Blaine turned to face him. “It was more than okay,” he confirmed truthfully. “Is that a go to song for you? I can tell that it’s well practiced, it was flawless even.”

Blaine D. Anderson

Blaine blushed and looked down at his lap when Sebastian started clapping, laughing softly and nodding once. "I... yeah, it is. I've been playing and singing that song for years now. Katy Perry is a personal favorite, but also Pink and other top 40s artists. Not totally about the musicals. I also have a few Freddie Mercury's under my belt. I can also play guitar and violin. All self taught," He explained, a proud glint in his eye as he moved his gaze back up to meet Sebastian's. He had quite the repertoire of music styles he could both sing and play, and he was incredibly proud of it. "Do you play at all? Piano, I mean," He asked, offering the other man a small smile.

Sebastian Smythe

There it was again, the passion that was sparked when Blaine was confronted with something he loved. Except this time Sebastian got to see it in person. His lips quirked up into a subtle smile as he listened to Blaine go on and on about his repertoire. "Self taught, huh? Impressive." When the conversation was brought back to him, he simply nodded and moved from where he was sitting to sit next to Blaine on the piano bench. "I'm not as skilled as you but I can play enough to stay in tune when I'm singing." Sebastian played a C scale, then a D♭ scale and finally a D scale before pulling his fingers back from the piano and placing his clasped hands in his lap. "Now enough about me, I'm sure I was promised a particular song," Sebastian reminded, moving his gaze from the piano to the man right next to him.

Blaine D. Anderson

Blaine watched the other's hands closely, with both surprise and intrigue, as Sebastian began to play the three scales. He knew he shouldn't be this stunned, because he wasn't the only piano player in the world, but this was just another thing he and the Switch had in common. Something they could share and talk about, maybe even do together. God, why do you have to be hetero? He smiled, his gaze moving up to meet the taller man's, who he was now realizing was much closer than he thought. He didn't mind it though, he got a better view of each and every one of those beautiful features the other possessed. When Sebastian looked over at him, he quickly looked around the room in an attempt to play it off, chewing on his lip for a moment before nodding. "That's true. We should also practice that duet, I believe. I promised you Your Eyes, right?" He tried, turning his attention back to the piano and playing a few scales of his own just because he could.

Sebastian Smythe

Sebastian also underestimated how close they were until Blaine turned to look at him. So close he could feel the other man's breath on his face. He tried not to let it show how it affected him, keeping a stead breath and his hands put. If he just leaned a little closer... Sebastian stood up, keeping his composure as he smoothed down the front of his clothes. "I wouldn't be opposed to a little practice as well. But yes, first you did promise me a rendition of Your Eyes." Sebastian moved to the spot he previously held, sitting with his legs crossed. "Don't want to crowd you." He explained. "Plus this is the best seat in the house. It allows me to see everything."

Blaine D. Anderson

Blaine let out a soft breath when Sebastian got up to move, he just wasn't sure if it was in protest or relief. Having Sebastian close felt good, but on the flip side, it was dangerous. He was already having feelings he shouldn't have for a guy he literally couldn't have, he didn't need to make that any more obvious than it was. His gaze followed Sebastian as he sat, and he simply nodded and offered him a small smile before turning and starting to play the song. He didn't feel he could trust himself to speak. It was easy enough to get through though, and well within his vocal range, so getting the song out was no problem. The problem he was having was avoiding looking over there, but eventually he just gave in and smiled over at Sebastian as he sang and played in tandem. It would be rude not to when playing a song the other man had specifically requested anyway, he felt. After he played the last note, he rubbed his hands together in his lap. "And how did the guy in the best seat in the house like that little number?" He grinned.

Sebastian Smythe

From the first note to the last, Sebastian was enthralled. Blaine's voice hit him in the chest like a ton of bricks cracking his heart and causing it to spread out into his limbs. He couldn't remember the last time he was moved by a song like this. But Sebastian maintained control, even when he looked over and made eye contact. He was in awe, watching as the song was delivered in such a flawless manner, it was absolutely impossible to keep his eyes off of Blaine. When it ended, Sebastian wanted nothing more than to ask Blaine to keep singing. He clapped once more and returned the submissive's grin. "It was remarkable." As someone who didn't do big displays of emotion, that was plenty for him. Sebastian stood once more, this time because there was too much space between them and he took a seat next to Blaine once more. "Teach me."

Blaine D. Anderson

Blaine blushed and laughed softly, looking back down at the keys to try and conceal just how red his cheeks were getting when Sebastian complimented him. "Yeah? Remarkable?" He asked, glancing up when he heard the sound of footsteps. It took him back to their first meeting, when he'd been standing next to the piano in the choir room and he could hear footsteps approaching from behind. The thought made him smile even more as his gaze followed the other man, who moved to sit next to him. "Yeah, okay," He said in a softer tone, hesitating before carefully taking Sebastian's wrist on his left hand. He carefully placed the Switch's finger on middle C and smiled up at him. "This is like... your home key. It's middle C, aka a quaint little town between treble clef land and bass clef land. Now," He paused, starting to rearrange Sebastian's fingers on both hands, carefully placing them on the keys he'd need for the opening notes to the song. "Play each key from left to right, starting with your left pinky."

Sebastian Smythe

Sebastian was more than ready to take Blaine's lead and didn't protest when Blaine took his hand. He just hoped Blaine didn't feel the way his pulse quickened when he did so or the way he held his breath until his wrist was released. It wasn't the direction he was expecting them to go in but he didn't stop them until he realized exactly what was happening. There was a soft chuckle and a gentle touch to Blaine's back to get his attention. He was amused, but there was nothing but affection in his eyes as he looked down at Blaine. "No, sweetheart. I know how to play the piano. I meant teach me how to play that song in particular." It was easy to see how his request was misconstrued. He wasn't very clear with what he asked. "Or just a part of it. Let's start with the chorus."

Blaine D. Anderson

Blaine blinked and his face pretty much turned bright red, a nervous laugh erupting from his mouth. "Oh God," He huffed out, then hid his face in both hands as he shook his head. "Right, okay. I... should have guessed that, because hello... you knew those three scales. I just... oops," He murmured, peeking out from his hands after a moment before looking back down at the keys, wrinkling his nose up for a moment. "Yeah, okay," He said, then moved to start playing the first part of the chorus slowly, making sure to tell Sebastian each note as he played it. After the first , he then pulled his hands back, glancing up at the other man. "Your turn."

Sebastian Smythe

Sebastian's immediate reaction was to sooth the submissive. He continued to rub Blaine's back and shush him as he had his moment. "No," he chuckled. "It's okay. I wasn't very clear with what I meant." It was hard not to focus on how adorable he looked in his current state and if it wasn't the result of Blaine being embarrassed he would want to see it more often. Sebastian was so focused on the notes Blaine was playing and following suit that he kept his hand on the other man's back. Not only that, but it just felt the most comfortable on the small piano bench. Gracefully, he placed his fingers on the keys and tried to use what he knew about the different scales and his memory to play the melody. The rhythm was a little off but the notes were all right. "That was easy enough. I'm going to be a regular ol' Elton John by the time you're done with me," he joked with a bright smile.

Blaine D. Anderson

Blaine should have been watching Sebastian's hands as he played, but he was more focused on his features. The way his eyes bounced around the piano as he focused on the keys, that stunning smile that had formed while he was playing, the way his hair stayed perfectly styled, even while looking down, the light freckles that littered the other man's cheeks. He was certain he hadn't run into someone this pretty in far too long, and even still, he could feel Sebastian's comforting touch against his back, and the fingers in his hair just a few days prior, and even the hand against his cheek as he fell asleep. When the song started coming to a close he was forced to push those thoughts aside, instead taking a breath and dropping his eyes down to watch Sebastian play the last few notes. He couldn't help but furrow his eyebrows a little at the Elton John reference, biting his lip hard as he glanced up at the other man. "Elton John, huh?" He asked, playfully elbowing the other man. You might want to rethink getting married then. But he wouldn't ever say that out loud.

Sebastian Smythe

When Sebastian would look back at this moment, he would curse himself for making an Elton John reference. There was just something about Blaine that was so comforting, so much so that Sebastian felt as though he could really be himself around him. It was something he hadn't felt in a very long time. "He's the piano man right?" Sebastian tried to play it off. "Oh no, that's Billy Joel. You'll make me a regular ol' Billy Joel." Sebastian laughed as he scratched the back of his head, but he couldn't take his eyes off Blaine. He was so close again, even closer than he was before and this time Sebastian didn't want to pull away or move. It was like an outside force took over his body forcing him to do what he's wanted to do since the first time he met Blaine after Glee practice that day. He leaned forward, the hand on Blaine's back moving up to cup his cheek while the other followed suit on the other side. "You have hazel specs in your eyes, did you know that?" Sebastian whispered before closing the space between them and capturing Blaine's lips with his own.

Blaine D. Anderson

Blaine's didn't quite know what to do with himself when he felt Sebastian's hand moving up his back, then his neck before both of the Switch's hands were resting on his cheeks. He stayed as still as he could, a brief look of pure affection just radiating off of him as he took in how close they were, how beautiful Sebastian was, how stunning his eyes were and how soft his hands are. The comment about his eyes had a soft smile forming on his lips, but before he could even say anything in response, Sebastian's lips were on his and his entire body tensed. A million questions raced around his head. Do I kiss back? I thought he was straight? What about Miss Frannie? Is this even right? Where do I put my hands? Should I pull back? God, this feels good. Give into urges. He found himself revisiting Max's advice several times a day now, and this situation was no different. He could deal with any consequences later. Pressing himself closer, he finally closed his eyes and moved one of his own hands up to rest at the back of Sebastian's neck, the other on his cheek as he tilted his head slightly to deepen the kiss further.

Sebastian Smythe

If Sebastian was thinking straight, he would have reminded himself that this was a bad idea. Fucking around with other men was one thing, but when feelings were involved, that's when things started getting tricky. It's why he had been so wary of spending time with Blaine, why he kept him at a distance, told him he was straight and that they would only be friends. But Sebastian let himself get carried away and before he knew it, he was invested and he lost control. His head was screaming at him to stop, but he didn't listen. All he knew was that this felt right and in this moment, nothing else mattered. When Blaine returned the kiss, it was as if Sebastian couldn't get close enough. One hand dropped to his back and he tugged him impossibly close, nearly pulling the smaller man into his lap. At the turn of Blaine's head, Sebastian pressed his tongue forward so he could taste he inside of Blaine's mouth. Sebastian moaned as their tongues swirled and teeth clanked and for a fraction of a second he felt complete. He moved his hand to grip at Blaine's thigh and when he did his elbow hit the piano, resulting in a painful crash of notes that snapped Sebastian out of it and finally forced him to pull away. His heart was racing and while he wanted nothing more than to pick back up where they left off, his brain wouldn't let him. There was an internal struggle. A fight that his fear won. His situation meant he could fuck any guy he wanted, but developing real feelings for one? He couldn't do that. So Sebastian decided that this needed to stop. Right now. He stood up and without so much as a word or an explanation, walked out of the practice room. Sebastian needed to reevaluate what his purpose was and what he was doing here. He couldn't let anything interrupt that, even if there was nothing he wanted more.

Blaine D. Anderson

The kiss was absolutely intoxicating, and all Blaine could keep thinking was 'more, more, more,' his entire body seeming to go into autopilot in an effort to chase what felt right. As he was pulled closer, practically on Sebastian's lap, he moved both hands up to thread his fingers into the back of the other man's hair, offering light tugs and gentle nails on his scalp as their tongues moved and teeth clanked. His heart was pounding so hard he thought it would break right through his ribcage, and he could feel Sebastian's doing the same. The intensity and the passion behind what was occurring had him physically responding more than he could recall ever doing in any other situation. His arms were covered in goosebumps, the hair at the base of his neck was on edge, it felt like every inch of skin had been ignited. And just as he was about to take it just that much further, there was a loud crash of the piano keys that had Sebastian pulling away, Blaine left with flushed cheeks, heavy breathing and wide eyes as he tried to comprehend what had just occurred, and why. There was an awkward silence between them, and he darted his tongue out to run it over his lower lip as he withdrew and glanced down toward the piano. Shit. After a moment, he finally said, "Hey, Sebastian, we-" But he was cut off by the other man abruptly standing and turning to leave without so much as another glance or sound. "Sebastian, wait, I-" He tried to get out, but then the door to the practice room closed, and he was left with nothing but an extreme amount of regret, confusion, and maybe even a little hurt.

[hilo--keahi]

UNGAINLY CIVILITIES || plot drop .o1

Monday 17 August 2020; Afternoon. A servant delivers a letter to you, looking rather displeased with the heat of the forge and the stink of the blacksmiths inside. Without waiting for your reply he practically sprints away once the cream envelope is in your hands. You have been hired by a King of Hearts to forge a specialized sword as a birthday gift for a bacchanal next week. Enclosed in the envelope is a promise to pay you handsomely for your work as well as a plethora of measurements for the sword recipient. 

Hilo watched the hasty retreat of the servant with a glimmer of amusement in hazel-green eyes, one of his fellow smiths catching the exchange and chortling behind him. He silenced her with a grin and a shake of his head, then turned his attention back to what’d been delivered.

The embossed request was almost comically small in Hilo’s broad paws, and already he was leaving thick, smudged fingerprints on the fine texture of the stationary as his eyes scanned the lines. An unnecessarily flowery request, considering the recipient, but Hilo had learned nothing over the decades if not that other factions loved their overly flowery requests.

He was already constructing the sword in his mind as his eyes scanned the refreshingly thorough breakdown -- no vague ‘a gilded weapon of fire and snow, suitable for the love of my women and the fear of mine enemies’ that left Hilo to puzzle out what in the flaming hells the bureaucrat actually wanted, when they’d likely never seen a weapon before in their soft, lavish lives.

Hilo tucked the folded paper haphazardly into the back of his belt to refer to later, and almost immediately got to work. This was the easy part.

The hard part came later, as Hilo sat with chin in hand peering out the narrow slit of a window in his modest flat, a sheet of paper spread in front of him with nothing on it but a simple greeting so far. The response always tended to perplex him. Hilo had learned early on in his tenure that an uncomplicated ‘yes’ was, for some reason, perceived a slight by many. He’d always thought he was simply being forthright. Too many people in this city didn’t appreciate a good forthrightness. So even after decades of commissions from the higher-ups, Hilo still tended to struggle over the acceptance.

It wasn't that Hilo lacked the intellect; analyzing his opponent’s moves in the space between split-seconds had become second nature. He could dress down the way a woman strode towards him so as to tell you which was her off-hand, and in which sleeve she kept the knife. Whether her confidence was genuine, backed by skill, or a thick, sticky veneer of unearned brashness.

It wasn't that Hilo lacked the poetry; his movements in the ring had always been steeped in a brutal poeticism, written in blood and bruises and returned in kind. Economy of muscle and movement nothing like a dance and everything like a finely composed and orchestrated barbarity, Hilo could disarm and dispatch an opponent in fewer than seven moves. What was that if not poetic?

No, his methods of intellect and poetry were simply and starkly out of place in this facet of polite society. Even if the specifics of the highranker parties he attended nearly half his lifetime ago were hazy, the memory of how Hilo had felt stood out: he’d almost always felt too big, like he took up too much space. Not clumsy, but the fluidity of his movements the wrong kind. It’d always felt like he was trying to be something he wasn’t. In the privacy of his room and in the solitude of these late hours, Hilo frequently wondered if it was a far better thing he’d never stepped into the highest rank. The skill and the charisma had come easy; the political machinations and comfort in high society had been more akin to a joke. Maybe whoever laid the groundwork for the curse knew him better than he’d known himself, back then.

Hilo quieted the thoughts by taking up his pen. Less than ten minutes later, he left the letter sitting on top of the pile meant to go out with the rest in the morning. By some miracle, not a single smudge of ash marred the smoothness of the envelope.

Esteemed sir,

Many thanks for your generous offer. I am happy to accept. The sword will be ready for first viewing at the front of the Forge four days in advance of the event, should you wish to make additional adjustments.

Respectfully,

Keahi Hilo; the Forge.

[miller-day]

hi everyone!!

during the semi-hiatus i took from tumblr i became obsessed with psych (people who follow me on twitter know) and i even started writing about it. i thought it would be so funny to see how a crossover between shawn/gus and sherlock/watson would go, so i took it upon myself to make it happen. i’ve only written 6 pages of it but i’m thinking about going forward and writing more, but firstly i wanted to know if it’s actually worth it so i’m posting what i wrote on here and i hope that if ANYONE actually reads it and enjoys it, then let me know <3

(none of the characters are mine)

“Shawn Spencer. Psychic detective.” Watson shifts his glance from the open newspaper on the coffee table to Sherlock, who’s standing in the kitchen and looking like a misplaced giant, his 6 feet of flesh and bones (or just bones) still forming a comical comparison with the small-dimensioned furniture of their apartment, most of it bought by equally small-dimensioned Mrs. Hudson. “I see you’re now interested in the supernatural?”

 Sherlock scoffs. “Please. You know my demon-hunting days are long past.”

 Watson waits for Sherlock to develop his last statement, even though he’s not sure he actually wants to hear more of it, but his roommate’s attention seems to have been captured by the stirring sounds he’s making with the teaspoon against the glass of his mug. “What’s this doing here, then?”

 Sherlock doesn’t look at him to know what he was referring to. He goes about as though Watson’s presence in the room is as dispensable as a fly on a summer day, something you dismiss with a single hand motion and move on, and sits on his usual red sofa. Watson rolls his eyes, not yet immune to Sherlock’s peculiar way of being even after almost two years of friendship, and throws the newspaper onto his lap rather angrily, to which Sherlock replies, “Hey!”

 “Shawn Spencer,” Watson says, pointing at the bold black letters on the top of the page that’s facing Sherlock, the phrase PSYCHIC DETECTIVE SHAWN SPENCER SAVES THE CITY OF SANTA BARBARA FROM ANOTHER KILLING SPREE making its loud announcement above a picture of two guys proudly smiling in front of a police station. “You were reading this.”

 “How observant,” Sherlock replies, rolling his eyes. “Maybe you should be the one solving the crimes and I should be the one writing about it on my blog.”

 Watson exhales angrily. “Why are you avoiding this topic?”

 “It’s not so much avoiding this specific topic as much as it is me avoiding you,” Sherlock stops to take a sip of his tea. “I’m busy.”

 Watson rubs his left temple in an attempt to soothe the vein he’s foreseeing popping in a couple of seconds. “If you say so.”

 He ends up sitting dramatically on the opposing couch. They’re both silent for a while, Watson with his eyes closed and his head resting against the cushion, Sherlock noticing the rhythm of his best friend’s chest rising and falling as he approaches, slowly, the realm of sleep.

 “Alright, fine. Do you want to discuss this?” Watson opens his eyes in surprise at Sherlock’s sudden rupture of the room’s previous quietness. “I think the guy is obviously a con-man.”

 Watson blinks, noticeably distressed. “What makes you so sure?”

 “Oh, come on. Please don’t tell me you believe this bullshit.” Sherlock says, his sarcastic laugh creating an itch on his roommate’s skin, then places his mug on a table nearby. “You’ve believed worse, though, so I’m not exactly shocked.”

 “I just asked a question. I think the guy deserves the benefit of the doubt.”

 Sherlock’s expression is void of any inclination towards an agreement with Watson and giving the psychic even the tiniest bit of credibility. Crime-solving, as far as he is concerned, is an art, a study of the human brain, a test of one’s skills in terms of impulse-control and harmony of the senses, a practice no one can ever master in its entirety, and for someone to taint its name with something so low and idiot as an alleged psychic ability only makes him furious. The worst part, he thinks, is that people aren’t contesting it at all — the guy managed to make his name go from Santa Barbara to London after all, and from the looks of it, he has the entire local police department on his side.

 “Oh, don’t start,” he says, a tone of annoyance dripping from the edge of his words.

 “With what?” Watson asks, a little amused.

 “With your whole thing,” Sherlock gestures vaguely with his hands. “You’re free to think what you choose—”

 “How kind of you.”

 “—but I won’t let you waste my time with arguments in his defense. He either has someone on the inside or he actually solves the crimes, but I won’t acknowledge any talent on his part if he’s doing something so stupid as hiding under the pretense of ‘communications with the supernatural’,” he does the air-quotes mockingly, “or whatever term he uses to call it.”

 “Are you jealous because the spirits like him better than you do?” Watson asks, a smile of mockery slowly taking form on his lips. “I’m sure if you’re kinder to people they might just come around to talk. Y’know, if you’re a good bloke and all that.”

 “You’re thinking about Santa Claus, Watson, but given that he’s not any more real than whatever powers your little Shawn Spencer claims to possess, I suppose it’s a valid assumption.”

 “He has a partner. You know that, right?”

 “Who? Spencer or Santa?”

 “Shawn Spencer, obviously,” Watson replies. “You said you think he has someone on the inside, and he’s not alone in that picture. He works with someone.”

 “Oh, but I meant inside the police department, to give him information and such. The man on the picture is his...” Sherlock sighs. “Best friend, I guess. As if they couldn’t get more embarrassing.”

 Watson throws his head back in laughter and Sherlock stares blankly at him. “What?”

 “Nothing! It’s just...” He puts his hand over his mouth, then itches the back of his head, still smiling. “If you think about it, they’re kind of like us.”

 Sherlock’s face has an expression about it that makes him look as though he’s taken a bite out of a lemon. “What do you mean?”

 Watson hasn’t stopped giggling, and Sherlock looks at him with puzzlement, expecting an answer.

 “I mean, they’re two friends who solve crimes together.” Watson replies, his tone an indication of how obvious the comparison is.

 “I don’t suppose you’re suggesting I’m the Spencer in this scenario?”

 “Well, you’re the one who’s always going on with the ‘you see, but you don’t observe’ bullshit. I always thought you meant it literally, but perhaps you meant something more... metaphysical? Seeing like a psychic, maybe?”

 Sherlock stands up abruptly. “This isn’t funny, Watson.”

 Watson chuckles. “Agree to disagree.”

 “You know, I’m positive I could expose that Spencer within seconds of meeting him,” Sherlock says, and starts pacing around the room like his thoughts are too fast in his mind for him to be still. “His partner, for instance—”

 “I think you meant his best friend.” The smile of mischief is still there.

 “Is a pharmaceutical salesman. What does this tell you?”

 Watson furrows his brows in confusion. “That he has a discount on paracetamol?”

 “You’re useless. Utterly, completely useless,” Sherlock replies. “How did you even manage to get a medical degree?”

 “Oh, well, they just give it around these days,” Watson rests his elbows on his thighs and places his face on his hands, a Little-Mermaid-like position that weirdly fits him. “Showing up is pretty much the only requirement.”

 Sherlock ignores his roommate’s response and continues, this time more to himself than as a contribution to their conversation. “Shawn Spencer’s partner having another job is an indication that their whole business isn’t as solid as they make it seem. It might be to help with the money for rent and transportation and such, but it could also be that the financial guarantee he’s seeking is preparation for the moment when Shawn is inevitably exposed for being a fake.” Sherlock stops and scans Watson for an indication of him having been convinced. “Or he just had that job before this scam started and doesn’t trust Spencer to keep it for much longer, at least not enough to make him quit.”

 Watson rests his back against the cushion again. “I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish with this bit, make me hate the guys?”

 “No, of course not. I just want to show you the other side of things, the real side. But you can choose to live in this delusion as much as you want. I mean, go ahead. Keep thinking the supernatural actually exists! I’m sure it helps you sleep at night.”

 Watson rolls his eyes and angrily grabs the newspaper, which, at this point, is on the floor, having been stepped on by Sherlock at least five times, and his eyes immediately fall on the picture. The one whom he reads is Shawn is on the left, plaid shirt and cocky grin giving him the appearance of an average guy you wouldn’t be surprised to see eating chicken wings or making obscure references to movies from the 80s. His hand is up as though he’s waving to the crowd in front of him, not even a little bit worried about his unconventional methods being an easy target of judgment. He looks like he belongs there, Watson realizes, and for a second he almost wishes he knew those guys. The best friend/partner, Burton Guster, is on the right, his hand placed on his chest in a gesture that would suggest humbleness if it weren’t for his facial expression, a look about him that seems equally receptive of the recognition and praise as Shawn is. He’s wearing a buttoned shirt that’s tucked under his pants with a belt, and the two of them form such a distinct contrast to each other that Watson finds it rather amusing. He can’t help but think about the many pictures of him and Sherlock that have appeared on the newspaper over the years, and he wonders if people have analyzed them the way he’s analyzing Shawn and Guster at this moment. They can undoubtedly notice Sherlock’s arrogance and Watson’s shyness from the capture of a lens, but can they also see his excitement, Sherlock’s determination, the deep and unspoken connection the two of them share but hardly ever acknowledge? Can they understand what motivates them from within, the drive for justice, the thrill of the chase pumping in their veins?

 “I think you’re being too harsh with them,” Watson says simply, putting the newspaper on the couch next to him.

 “How come?” Sherlock replies. “I think I’m being perfectly adequate.”

 “I don’t know,” he crosses his arms. “It’s just... Okay. Let’s suppose he is indeed faking his powers.”

 Sherlock points a finger at him. “Which he totally is.”

 Watson ignores him and continues, “Does that inherently mean he’s a bad person?” Sherlock stares at him, silent. “He has put a lot of bad people in jail, and no doubt has saved a lot of lives in the process... Doesn’t that give him a little bit of credit?”

 Sherlock takes a deep breath. He doesn’t respond immediately; instead, he walks to the window and gazes at the street below, strangers passing by with shopping bags and dogs on leashes and briefcases on hand, the sounds of London fading away as background noise as he concentrates on details of the everyday life. He notices the mark of a ring on the girl with the dog’s finger, the dust on the shoe of the guy with the briefcase, the small tear on the shopping bag carried by the woman. He absorbs all of it in, knowing none of this information is relevant to his existence, and takes a deep breath.

 He’s reminded of a babysitter he used to have back in the day. Susan Carter. She was, in theory, hired to take care of both him and Mycroft, but Sherlock’s brother, even in his youth, acted like someone older than his age, someone who could take plenty of care of himself even though he was still sleeping with a night light on and occasionally peeing his pants. Sherlock didn’t like Susan very much — he actually felt that way about pretty much everyone at that time, but with her it was especially intense because she’d spend the entire day checking in on him. He couldn’t just simply tune her out diving into the depths of his mind castle, because it was a guarantee she’d be there too, her high-pitched auntie voice asking him questions like, “Do you want some tea, Lockie?” or “Want me to read you a story?” Never mind the fact that she was merely doing her job, one which he was aware she was being paid for incredibly well (it wasn’t easy to find someone willing to accept employment in the Holmes residence those days): he wanted her out of his sacred place, expelled out of his house like a virus after an antibody attack.

 His will ended up being his way, in the end. Susan decided to quit after Mycroft put laxatives in her tea one day, and all of this happened because she had entered his room, without knocking, and caught him during one of his private costume sessions. Mycroft would sometimes spend hours alone in his room doing this — one day he’d be a king from the Victorian times, ordering the toys in his room to attend to his commands, and the other he’d be Britain’s first astronaut setting foot on the moon. Sherlock was never allowed in, even though he’d usually want to, much to his own dismay, and when his nanny caught Mycroft dressed up as Shakespeare in the middle of a reenactment of his own play, Mycroft decided it was best to put matters into his own hands. Or, really, the poor lady’s digestive system, which got torn to shreds after that tea. Sherlock was glad to see her gone, but it sadly wasn’t much long before another nanny stepped in to take her post, and the others after her blended together to create one amorphous being in his mind, all identities a dense cloud of memories he, to this day, associates with despair and annoyance.

 What made Susan stand out amongst them was the fact that she liked tarot cards. Sherlock always thought of it all as rather stupid and tried to avoid her “sessions” as much as possible, but sometimes she managed to catch him in the sofa, staring at the ceiling or memorizing the patterns of the paintings on the wall, and she’d say “let’s have a reading, Lockie! You’re not really doing anything much now, aren’t you?”, to which he’d have no reply. He’d sometimes run away to the garden, but other times he’d admit defeat and sit next to her on the dinner table, and she’d spread the cards and explain the meaning of every one of them, even the ones which weren’t chosen by Sherlock. Surprisingly, he’d sometimes find himself enjoying those moments, especially when Susan’s eyes would sparkle with excitement and he’d wonder if one day he’d ever feel that way about anything. She’d maneuver the cards with the utmost gentleness, like they were thin pieces of glass she could drop and break at any moment, and he’d almost let himself smile. He never would, though, because he was still a Holmes, therefore still genetically indisposed for such an act.

 Sherlock later in his life learned that Susan had died not long after she quit her job as his nanny. She was murdered by an ex-boyfriend who needed some money and was leeching off of her and the tiny, almost inexistent amount she had. She was stabbed eight times in her own living room, the very same Susan who would put an extra spoonful of sugar in his afternoon tea even though his mother’s orders were of strictly one. Sherlock hated himself the day he found out. When his mother told him over the phone, bile crawled up to the back of his throat and left in it a bitter taste that lasted until the next morning. Sherlock wanted to punch someone, punch himself. The murderer had already been caught by that point, but Sherlock wanted badly to be the one who had found him, perhaps because he felt like he owed something to Susan. He couldn’t catch his own eyes in the mirror for a while after that discovery.

 “I think I’m going to bed.”

 Watson blinks in surprise. “It’s five in the afternoon.”

 Sherlock wraps the belt of his robe on his stomach. “I am very tired.” He gives the reply as though it was an act of courtesy on his part, unneeded.

 “You said you were busy about three minutes ago.”

 He slumps his shoulders in a dramatic gesture like there’s a sudden weight on them he can’t bother to carry, and then straightens his posture again. “Haven’t you heard of procrastination, Watson? My being tired at this very moment doesn’t exclude my desire to sleep.”

 Watson narrows his eyes, bites his lower lip. “You’re planning something.”

 Sherlock fakes an appalled look. “I am going to bed. Think of that what you will.”

 He starts making his way across the living room and Watson says, “Tell me what you’re thinking!”

 “Ask your friend Spencer to tell you that! He’s a psychic, he’ll figure it out!” He’s halfway through the hallway by now, his screams reverberating against the walls.

 “You’re forgetting your tea!”

 “You can have it, it’s too sweet for me anyway!” is the reply before Sherlock closes the door and creates a vacuum in the room from the instant end of the conversation.

 Watson groans in frustration. “I could kill him. And I think I could get away with it. Except he’d solve the bloody thing in the afterlife. Oh, Watson, you were such a fool, left the clues right there for everyone to see!” He mimics Sherlock’s posh way of speaking.

 He picks up the mug Sherlock left on the table and takes a sip. “A perfectly good tea, also. That bastard.” Watson’s tone of voice is annoyed, but as he takes another sip, there’s a smile on his face.

[livsinpjs]

Believe in the Green Light (pt 2) the pursuing

“There are only the pursued, the pursuing, the busy and the tired.” - F. Scott. Fitzgerald

The BAU team is called into Pasadena, California after the deaths of three lead to an investigation revolving around Gatsby, a new drug that hit the market at a dead sprint. When a raid on a house reveals the creator of the drug, a young man no one even knew was missing, Jason Gideon and co. find themselves involved in a case bigger than they originally thought.

It was cold. It was always cold though, so that was no surprise. His arms ached in their position raised above his head. His wrists were rubbed raw from his attempts at freedom from his shackles he had long since abandoned, his forearms crusted with old blood. If he closed his eyes, he could picture he was in a dungeon from one of the books his mother had read to him as a child. But the not so pleasant fantasy fell away every time his eyes settled on the lab equipment strewn throughout his concrete prison.

He had long since figured out Their intentions with him. He was a student at CalTech with a doctorate in chemistry already tucked under his belt among other degrees. He had no family to look for him and he was an easy target when it came to physically apprehending victims, so there was no use wallowing and questioning ‘why me?’ He knew why. They wanted drugs. More specifically, they wanted him to make drugs. Obviously, he knew right away when he awoke and his eyes first landed on the lab equipment 6 weeks 2 days and 14 hours ago. That didn’t mean he was eager to cooperate.

The first time he refused, They denied him food and water. After a couple days, he relented. Desperate to survive, he caved and created the first batch of Gatsby. After that, every time he refused, two big and  burly men came down into his prison to beat him within an inch of his life, leaving him bruised and bleeding with a “We’ll let you rethink your answer.” A few more days with no food and water and he would relent yet again. After going through that cycle a few times, he stopped refusing. He felt sick with himself for giving in so easily. He wanted to become an FBI agent, yet here he was, aiding Them.

He wondered, dejectedly, what the Academy thought when he didn’t show up. Probably that he had chickened out. He was sure he wasn’t the first person to enroll and then never show. He thought about Agent Gideon. He and Agent Gideon had become close in a fairly brief time. He had encouraged him and his ambitions. What did he think about him now? Was he worried? Disappointed? If only he knew where he was...

He shifted his position on the cold, hard floor trying to sit comfortably even though he knew it was useless. His chains clinked against the wall, his head throbbed and spun along with the little movement that he made. He knew he was in a dangerous position. Being this uncoordinated and forced to make drugs without proper care spelled loads of trouble. Mostly for himself.

One wrong move and he could kill himself in the process. Not that the thought hadn’t crossed his mind. On several occasions the dark thoughts he naively assumed he had gotten rid of long ago would pop up again while he was working. He never let himself dwell on them for long though, he would push the thoughts to the back of his mind like he used to and think of his mother. Who would be there for her if he was gone? (Though he couldn’t be of much help to her from where he was currently.) He thought of the stories he and his mother would read together, and then his mind would helpfully wander through the many things his eidetic memory stored for him. Before he knew it They would thrust a cup of water and food at him, (which he would devour quickly and greedily) and he would be roughly escorted back to the wall and chained up yet again. They would leave him in the cold while they did who knows what with the monster he created.

Another thing to add to the ever growing list of awfulness that was his current circumstance, would be the fact that ever since he had been brought here, he had been on the verge of a meltdown. It’s not easy to calm yourself when you’re being held against your will, or stim when you’re chained to a wall. Everything was either too much or too little. He could do nothing to ease the ache in his chest. Even the stimming he could do was quickly shut down by Them. The frantic tapping of his foot or the insistent keen that would every once in a while escape his lips was deemed annoying by Them. He found himself forcing everything down; It was exhausting. He was surprised that he had been able to keep masking for so long.

In his haze, though, he had been hit with an idea so abruptly that he inhaled and choked on his own saliva. Yet once he was finished hacking and had caught his breath, a smile had been drawn to his face. If he had been thinking clearly, he would have quickly deduced that the idea was a stupid one. So many things could go wrong, or innocent people could get hurt, and really, if it did work, it wouldn’t help him in the slightest. But all he was focused on was the fact that he was in control of making the drug, and he was the only one there to make it for Them.

It was during this time, when he was rethinking what he had done, that They walked in.

He referred to them as Them because, well, he knew absolutely nothing about them. Well, that wasn’t true. He knew Maria from his philosophy class. He didn’t know if she was the reason he was here or if it was just a coincidence that her family was a part of some kind of drug cartel. But he also didn’t know Maria that well. The only thing he knew was that she went to the same school as him and they shared a class together. So he just found himself referring to them as, well, Them.

Two men, Maria’s father and brother, (he presumed by the similarities in their features) and Maria entered the room. The father gave him a disappointed look and for a brief moment, he felt ashamed of himself for disappointing the man. He quickly shoved the feeling off though. The brother looked like he wanted to rip his throat out, and he shrunk in on himself a bit at the glare he received. Maria’s face was expressionless.

“Ya got guts, I’ll grant you that much.” The father spoke to him as if reprimanding a child, instead of a captive. “Poisonin’ the latest batch of Gatsby like that.” He shook his head. “What I don’t get is how you thought doin’ so would help. You have no idea what we’re doin’ with it, or if we’re takin’ it ourselves. Even still, if we had taken it and had died, how would you escape? You would more quickly die of dehydration than be found by the athourites. And what would you accomplish by killin’ our clientele, eh? Other than puttin’ an even bigger target on your back for my men to aim at as they teach you once again, what happens when you defy us. Luckily for us, we have, erhm.. drug testers, if you will, who make sure the batch is clean before sending it out. Unluckily for you, my son’s friend happened to be testing the drug this time and has, unfortunately, passed away.”

The brother seemed to grow even angrier at the mention of his friend and stepped forward menacingly. The only thing keeping him from carrying out his wishes was Maria, holding his arm.

“So,” The father bent down to get on his level. “Would you care to explain to me just what exactly you thought you were goin’ to accomplish?”

He was terrified. He mentally cursed himself for making such an error in judgment. He registered, vaguely, that he had actually killed one of them. He couldn’t identify the feeling that engulfed him. The only thing on his mind at the time had been revenge. How stupid did he have to be to go through with something so idiotic? His eyes immediately snapped to the side, avoiding the man’s powerful gaze. He gulped painfully. The father sighed after a moment of silence, the only thing he could think of as his head spun was that the man’s breath smelled horrible; garlic and tobacco.

“Very well” The man stood, and his knees gave audible pops, “Go ahead and bring ‘em in.” The brother quickly exited the room and was soon being accompanied by two familiar men. They looked at him a little too eagerly as Maria and her father went for the door. “Make sure you keep him alive, we still need him after all.”

With that, Spencer Reid was left alone with three men who had only one thing on their minds. To cause him unimaginable pain.

~CRIMINAL MINDS~

The team was gathered together on the jet; even Penelope Garcia was on their video feed, streaming from Quantico, Virginia. The technical analyst and the rest of their team had just finished going through their files one last time together before their Unit Chief, Aaron Hotchner gave them their assignments.

“All right, once we land, Gideon and Morgan, you go to the crime scene and see if they’ve turned up any new information, then meet up with the M.E. Garcia, look into McCarthy’s background and criminal record, see if our Unsub could be someone he has bad blood with, and JJ, you’re with me at the precinct. We’ve got a long flight ahead of us, so go ahead and get comfortable.”

The team split off from one another, Garcia logging out and the rest going to separate areas of the jet.

Gideon sat alone, gazing out the window before pulling out his PDA. No recent emails. He returned the device to his pocket and shut his eyes, wanting to relax as much as possible before this case inevitably took up all of their time.

~CRIMINAL MINDS~

Agents Gideon and Morgan arrived at the crime scene at around 5:00 p.m. There, they were greeted by local LEOs; Gideon went straight to analyzing the scene, leaving Derek to speak with them.

“I’m SSA Derek Morgan, and, that over there,” He pauses, indicating to the older man, “Is SSA Jason Gideon.”

“Detective Sanders, glad you could make it out here.” The men shook hands before Sanders continued. “My men and I received the call early this morning ‘round 7:00 a.m. CSI should be finished processing the crime scene by tomorrow.” Derek nodded, turning to see Gideon talk absently to an agent as his eyes expertly scanned the abandoned playground.

“What happened with the mugging four years ago? It says that they caught the guy, Gillian Murphy, and he’s still serving time."

“Well, the Arnold’s were visitin’ the park after Mr. Arnold had gotten off of work, Murphy attempted to mug the family and, after not getting the reaction he wanted, shot and killed them. He fled the scene and was found shortly after trying to sell the victims’ belongings at a local pawn shop.”

“What makes you think the two crimes are related?”

“Honestly, I don’t see any connection, but the mayor’s sister lives ‘round here and he insisted that we bring in the FBI ‘cause the crimes were both committed at this here park.”

Morgan nodded, shifting his stance to look over the detective’s shoulder to see that Gideon had moved to talk with CSI agents. “All right, let us know if you uncover any connections.”

Gideon had begun to walk back the way they had come, so Morgan matched his stride beside him as they moved towards their FBI sanctioned SUV.

“Find out anything new?” Morgan asked the older man as they stepped up to the car, Morgan taking the driver’s seat with Gideon in the passenger seat.

Gideon shook his head, “CSI found nothing out of the ordinary, a few beer cans and marijuana by the play structure. Looks like the victims were confronted by our Unsub. McCarthy met the Unsub a few feet away, leaving the Nooks next to the structure. What about you?”

“Nothing that points in the direction of these cases being linked. Sounds to me like it was more of an excuse to get us down here in the first place.” Morgan spoke dryly as he drove toward the Coronors’ office.

“Well, we’re here now, no use in gripping about it.” Gideon said wisely. Derek watched Gideon pull out his PDA, look at it, and then put it away, from the corner of his eye.

“You expecting something?”

“..Hmm? Ah.. no I was just checking my email..” Gideon said vaguely as he watched the road in front of him as they made their way to the Coroner's Office.

~CRIMINAL MINDS~

At the precinct, Unit Chief SSA Aaron Hotchner sat in front of his third possible witness since he had arrived at the precinct with JJ.

While JJ set up the room Pasadena P.D. had indicated to her, (setting up their evidence board and attempting to start a preliminary profile) Aaron got to work on interviewing people who had been in contact with Gatsby. The witness in front of him, Abigail Cooper, a disgruntled teenager with blonde hair and an obvious distaste for law enforcement, leaned back in her chair, arms across her chest and an attempt at an intimidating glare strewn across her face.  

Aaron quickly profiled the young girl. A look of distrust in her eyes and a defensive posture hidden by an attempt at nonchalance. A negative past with law enforcement, or men, or both. Her eyes glanced quickly over to the window and she had sat herself closest to the door. Aaron had to show this girl that he meant her no harm and that she would not be punished anymore than the charges she faced for possession of drugs and alcohol underage.

“My name is Aaron Hotchner, I’m with the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI.” He began in a calm voice, looking her in the eye.

“FBI? Why’s the FBI here? I didn’t do anything that serious!” Abigail spoke incredulously, sitting up slightly with a questioning look on her face.

“I am here to ask you a few questions. Nothing more.” Aaron assured her, “Last night, there was a murder. Three men were killed and it seems that the crime may have a connection to a drug. A drug that you were found in possession of. Gatsby.”

“So? I didn’t kill nobody! Just because I had some with me doesn’t mean I’m a killer.” She tightened her crossed arms, which had been slowly falling due to the shock of being in the presence of an agent of the FBI.

“I never said you were.” Aaron said placating, “I am here because you may be able to help us find the person who did kill them.” He watched her shoulders relax slightly at that, her eyes softening slightly.

“Uh.. well.. all right..” She sat up, letting her arms fall to her sides. “What do you want to know?”

“I need to know any information you have on the person who sold Gatsby to you. A name, a phone number, an address that you met at, anything could be of help.”

A look of disappointment flashed across Abigail’s face. “I don’t know. No one does, really. People say that they find you. I was.. Uh.. drinking with some friends.. when he came up to us. Told us about this cool new drug. We’d heard about it around school and thought ‘why not’ Ya know? We paid him and he left and that was it.”

Aaron frowned but didn’t voice his disappointment. “Where was this?”

“Oh! Uh.. we were behind the Denny’s downtown, lots of people go there to dick around.”

Aaron nodded at her. “Thank you for your time.” He got up and went to leave the room to inform JJ when Abigail spoke up.

“Agent Hotchner?” Aaron turned around to face her, giving her his attention once more. “I.. um.. I hope you get the guy..” She said hesitantly.

“You were a big help Abigail.” He said, then he left to find JJ.

~CRIMINAL MINDS~

Hotchner had just finished filling Jennifer in when the phone on the table in their conference room went off.

“It’s Garcia. Hotchner, you’ve got me and JJ. What do you have?”

“Hello my pretties! All right, so, James McCarthy, 21, single and lives alone. He was arrested and sent to a juvenile detention center when he was 16 for shoplifting and possession of drugs and alcohol.” Garcia reported.

“Did he have any grievances with any of the other kids?” JJ asked, looking at the evidence board.

“No, actually he was very well behaved. He didn’t get into any trouble and it looks like he was even helpful when others were upset or angry. The workers there were really proud with the progress he made.”

“All right, thanks Garcia.” Hotch said with his arms crossed, looking down at the receiver.

“Of course! Garcia Out!” The line cut out.

A few minutes later, Gideon and Morgan walked in from the Coroners’ Office looking glum.

“Looks like all our victims had ingested Gatsby in the last 24 hours.” Gideon began, “Other than that, nothing new. All the victims died from their gunshot wounds and then were shot again post-mortem, some more than once.”

Morgan continued. “Also, there doesn’t look to be any correlation to these murders and the murders from four years ago.”

JJ sighed, still looking over the board. “It looks like we’ve got less to work with than we started with.”

“But it seems that this drug, Gatsby, is in the center of it.” Morgan said. “Multiple Gatsby related deaths, and now three murders involving the drug? Doesn’t sound like much of a coincidence to me.”

“It seems that the people dealing these drugs go out of their way to find people to sell it to, instead of having people go to them.” Hotch informed the rest of the team on his interview with Abigail Cooper.

“All right, so how do we find them?” JJ asked.

The team sat in thought for a moment. Hotch looked at JJ and she could see the idea pop into his head.

“I know exactly how.”

~CRIMINAL MINDS~

He was enraged.

He stood by the corner store, shoulders hunched and arms crossed. His foot tapping erratically. Her funeral was tomorrow. Her funeral . He stood and he tapped his foot. And he waited. And he waited..

~CRIMINAL MINDS~

That night, a man walked up to another, jittery man. He proposed something to him and beckoned him into the alley next to where they were standing.

Later, 10 shots rang out loud into the night.

pt 1 | pt 2 | pt 3| pt 4|

[n-shinsou]

8th.

October @v-aizawa

After sending that last message, Shinsou(?) stays put where he is. He sits at the corner of the street, tucked away into the building of the closest wall just enough to not be trodden over, head ducked to not disturb the people around him. Everyone around him is so put together, neat and clean. Shame fills him at his own disarray. Quietly, he curls up, hugging his knees and hiding his face so no one would have to see his injuries or the humiliating bindings he's always been forced to wear. He waits...

Eraser passes among the crowds exiting the bullet train with ease before taking to the rooftops, the blurred picture of his destination already analyzed and location targeted on the way over.  The dark haired man drops into an isolated alley quietly, slipping back to the main flow of traffic and expected pedestrian crossings a couple streets away from his goal.

Black eyes widen as the villain spots a huddled figure accented in purple.  His pace picks up subconsciously, uncaringly pushing through anyone in his way before dropping to his knees by the familiar but very different form. Rough hands gently tilt the boy's face up towards himself, fingers spasming reflexively at the sight of the muzzle cutting into pale skin even as the scent of copper reaches him.

Eraser hesitates, fighting off the urge to lean into old instincts and simply rip apart what he despises. "May I remove this, or would you like to keep it? Off or stay."

Instinctively, he tries to jerk his head away when he's touched, a small growl in the back of his throat. It cuts off with a little gurgle though the second his red eyes catch sight of him. Slowly, his eyes widen and his breath hitches, a sound that rattles wetly in his chest.

"..."

He inhales again, another horribly wet sound leaving him, then swallows. There's one last little noise he emits, the muffled sound of a little puff of air, before Eraser's voice is croaked back to him.

"Off." The man’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, the sensation of hearing his own voice through his once-student’s mouth decidedly.... strange.  His mind immediately twists and turns, thoughts flickering rapid fire. He’d kill the ones who did this to the boy, if he could. How dare they how dare they how dare they how dare they.  Perhaps he could find the Shinsou of this world so that the boy could copy his voice.... would a recording work.... how long do the affects last.... can he switch voices at will.....

Eraser blinks and comes back to himself in that moment, immediately trailing along metal bindings to pry at clasps and weak spots.  It comes apart with a dull screech of corroded metal and soft click.  The dark-haired man withdraws it carefully, clenching his teeth at how it sticks to the skin and the marks it leaves behind.

He sits back slightly once it’s removed, nearly letting it fall to the ground before changing his mind and stuffing it a large pouch he lets hang from his belt and then turning back to the other. “First. Anything else to remove? Any injuries that need immediate attention?”

Shinsou(?) winces. He hates the feeling of his muzzle coming off almost as much as he hates wearing it. It leaves marks, far too many of them, all along his skin where the muzzle seemed to be designed to specifically sink a blade into the skin, something that seems more a torture device than anything else. He bleeds gently as it's removed, though he doesn't seem phased, just staring at Eraser with wide, unbelieving eyes.

He opens his mouth, then hiccups, then covers it with both hands. Slowly, black fluid starts to seep through his gnarled fingers, steaming as it hits the air and oozes onto the ground. There's a brief moment where he looks ashamed, then he ducks his head, hiding his expression under long, mussed hair.

"... I..." Eraser's voice repeats in the same way he'd said the word. With his mouth covered, it's clear that the words aren't actually coming from there. "Need..." He pauses, like he's thinking, swallowing to himself again, the stream of ooze stopping just a moment before flowing again. "... Injuries," he finishes, then lifts a blackened hand to gesture over his mouth. "To remove... this." Then, he slowly opens his mouth to show...

... Well. It's a little hard to describe. Another strange sort of torture device that was stuffed into his mouth as a gag of sorts, barbed and horrible, drowning in inky black. Quietly, he pulls it out and offers it to him, looking sheepish.

"..." Eraser takes the device silently, wrapping it in a small scarf he pulls from a pocket before tucking it into the pouch as well. He wants... to kill.  So, so badly.  From what the other had hinted at, this boy had been.... his.  His student, in some way.  It might not have been his own self, the two on the side of the fools and the corrupt, but... Aizawa has always been possessive, and he knows the other of this world at least is the same. For one an alternate of him had accepted to reach this point...

There are far too many questions at the moment, such as what the black and steaming fluid is - blood? Other? - how he is speaking without his mouth, more and more that fill his head and overflow as hissing whispers in his ears.

The man sighs deeply, taking in the blood and ominous liquid that covers the other while he huddles behind his knees. Eraser shrugs off his black suit jacket and leaving him in a dress shirt of the same color.  The villain carefully wraps it around the purple haired boy’s shoulders before drawing out a soft white cloth, gently wiping the other’s face clean, though there isn’t much else he can do at the moment for the marks and liquid that continues to seep.  That cloth joins the others in the now bloody and near full pouch as Aizawa tilts his head to observe the other.

“Better? Is that the last thing, or is there anything else we should address immediately? Additionally, why did they have you wear those?” He looks at him in shock, then seems to shrink, like he's trying to become so small the jacket would no longer hang on his dirtied shoulders. There's not much he could do while Eraser attempts to clean him, though he wishes he wouldn't. It's too late.

He searches his face, mournful and longing, like he's only really noticed him for the first time, though the expression suddenly closes off as he's asked... a number of things. He grimaces like he's in pain, his hand now snapping to his throat, still wrapped in the same bandages that cover him.

"... Better..." It's his own voice that gurgles out this time, though with a difference, a slight, metallic rattle. "There is a third thing, here. Nothing else." Obediently, he tugs at the bandages enough to show a strange sort of... device. Crude and modern at the same time, it looks to be almost a speaker that juts from his throat. He vaguely gestures that it can be removed, then shakes his head to indicate that it... shouldn't.

"Because it keeps my quirk in control," he finishes answering. The black finally seems to stop pouring and he wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, staring at him warily for his reaction. “I see....” Eraser’s hand drifts up as though to touch it before stilling. The man lets his hand drop, fiddling with his belt as he speaks, eyes distant in thought.  “I’ll let you choose what to do about it, then.  When you can, it should be looked at and cleaned, at least. Is that acceptable?”  He falls silent afterwards, brow furrowed in thought.  He can’t exactly let the other walk around in dirtied and loosened bandages without drawing unnecessary attention, and... the boy needs help, needs something, more than he can give him at the moment.

The villain reaches into a pocket, flicking out a knife with a silent apology towards the other for pulling a weapon without warning. He slices open a set on thick stitches on the belt, revealing a small corner of grey cloth. A firm flick of his wrist, a familiar action that he hasn’t done in.... so long.... and a coil of long unused capture tape slides out of the material to settle around the man’s arm.

“We’ll need to cover that up for now in order to avoid unnecessary attention.  I... don’t use capture tape anymore, but it should still be of use as a scarf.” With that, the man slowly and carefully reaches up to drape the cloth around the other’s neck in coils, covering his throat from view and settling around slender shoulders.  “Is this suitable for now? What do you need and/or want to do next?” Shinsou(?) tilts his head in confusion. "Yes," he says, then opens his mouth to set the gag right back into place. The action doesn't seem to bother him at all, though he can't help but wince a little as he closes his mouth again, another spurt of black appearing to pour from his lips. He stares warily at the knife, eyebrows raising at the sight of the capture tape, so familiar his chest seems to ache.

"... Yes." He looks down at it, lifting his hands to touch it delicately, exploring the feeling of it with his fingertips. Then, he brings the end of it to his cheek, gently nuzzling against it.

"I want further confirmation of the alternate universes. I want to go to UA." He glances up at Eraser, almost pouting at him through his gaze. "..." Sharp dark eyes soften slightly as the boy presses his face against the capture tape, even if the sight of it fills his mind with memories of blood and the twisted bodies of children. (His children. His students. His.) Of hacked reports with images of a bloody and broken form, accented in purple and coils of grey.  Perhaps if he’d never involved himself with his world’s Shinsou, he’d never have died as a tool for the corrupt leaders that broke him.

...He’d do better, this time.

The dark-haired man nods sharply, giving into sentiment for a moment to run a hand through purple hair before rising to his feet and reaching a hand out to the boy as a silent offer.  “Then I’ll take you there.  The other Eraserhead is... aware of my existence.  We’ll need to be careful, but it should be simple enough.  I can always... convince him, if needed. Do you wish to go by Shinsou, or is there another name I should call you? Anything else to say?” Shinsou(?) blinks. He doesn't know the answer to that question, thinking about it as he takes Eraser's hand, though he doesn't make any attempt to rise to his feet yet. "I don't know," he says in his voice, then, in Eraser's. "Is... it... better... to go by Shinsou?"

He wonders about it. Wonders when he'd gotten so used to be referred to by anything else.

Eraser's last question urges quietly at him. His lips purse, ignoring the next wave of drooling tar as a result as he just nods. "Thank you." Surprise flits across Eraser’s face as more tar leaks from the other, reaching down to wipe it away with his sleeve. The other hadn’t wanted to answer and this is what happened... “I’m sorry. I’ll try to be more careful in the future.”

The villain crouches down, willing to wait for the other to show signs of wanting to move before pulling him along.  The scent of copper is still heavy in the air, a reminder of what the boy has been through and that there may be injuries he could aggravate.  As for the name... “Whatever you go by should be your own decision. Whether its “better” or not depends on you. Do you want to go by Shin as a compromise until you decide, or do you have something else in mind? If you don’t like it, we’ll think of something else to use in the meantime and you can just answer no. If Shin is acceptable, yes will work, and “other” would be fine for something else.  Whatever is safest or easiest for you.” He blinks at him, nose wrinkling as the tar is wiped away. He then makes a clear show of rolling his eyes at him, patting his hand like he was trying to comfort him as he continues on and on. "Yes," he replies impatiently, barely listening. The name thing doesn't matter much to him. He just wants to get to the school.

With that, he starts to head off, ambling forward on all fours, though he still doesn't really know what direction he's going in. He just wants out of the conversation, suddenly uncomfortable with the very real concept that Eraser might be pitying him. Of course he would be, considering what he is now, but he hates to see it... Eraser tilts his head as the other starts crawling away on all fours before sighing and following after at an even pace, glaring with flashes of red at anyone who seems like they might get in the way.  “Walking on two feet might be faster, if you can. Or a taxi. Or train.” Despite saying so, he only shrugs. If it functions, it functions.  Just because he’d cleaned up his act a bit in terms of his own presentation didn’t mean his mindset had changed so far.

If that’s how he wanted to travel and it worked, then that’s fine too.  But it did hurt, in a way, being so reminded of the differences between him and him, Shin versus the Shinsou in his memories.  The man wasn’t sure what he felt, exactly, a tangled mess of sorrow and rage and hate that burned behind his eyes and choked him.

Nothing he wasn’t used to, of course. The comment makes Shin stop short, however, despite how throwaway the comment was. He looks up at the man, then back down at himself like he's only just noticed what he was doing, a flush of humiliation suddenly rushing over his face. He hates how wrong he is. He hates how used to it he is. Every second of being alive like this, in this form, he fucking hates...

Slowly, he reaches up, careful to make sure the jacket doesn't slip off from his shoulders, and clutches onto Eraser's sleeve with both messy hands. He grimaces, an expression born of concentration and pain. There's a few loud, violent cracking sounds from under the cloak he's wearing, the one that blocks most of his body from view, and then a brief gush of black pours to the floor. He makes a small sound to himself, gritting his teeth before he straightens up slowly, wobbling as he stands up straight for the first time in... he can't even remember how long.

"...Two feet," he repeats in Eraser's voice, a determined look in his eyes adding to the storm of emotions already at home in his features.

He wobbles, attempts a step, and nearly collapses, his grip on his former teacher the only thing keeping him up. "..." His jaw clenches again as he straightens and tries again with similar results, a frustrated growl cooking up in the back of his throat as he keeps trying and trying. Eraser glances down as thin but strong fingers clench onto his arm, staining the cloth. He mentally shrugs off the by now ruined garment - it was already black, anyway - and watches as the younger staggers upright.  A flash of red accompanies the sound of splintering and the splash and hiss of black liquid meeting pavement, his tenuous control slipping in a surge of guilt and rage before that too is washed away.

The urge to protest, to offer more assistance, rises within the experienced villain before he hears the other's words, sees a light within his eyes that suddenly shifts him into an echo of the past.  The differences in injuries, in the hints of an obscured and altered form, the fluctuating quirk(s?) lose all importance.  None of it matters compared to the mind, and this is someone he would have (did) call student (and more -).

He refrains from catching the other as he stumbles, shifting his arm just slightly to barely support the other, his arm under the boy's. "Two feet it is." It's difficult to speak around the emotions and memories blocking the breath from his longs, but the worlds slide out as smoothly as ever, neutral but firm.  Eraser waits patiently for Shin to find his footing, shifting easily to match his pace.  It certainly will take longer this way, which is annoying... especially since they could just... call a taxi... but this is something the other needs, and from the determination in red eyes (that blur into dark purple in the space between blinks -), Aizawa doesn't mind waiting.

No, he doesn't mind at all. Shin nods, clutching tighter as he shambles forward. It gets easier by the moment, the pain of his quick and rather sloppily done transformation starting to subside as he gets used to the movements, staggering wobble slowly becoming a slow limp, one that tracks cooling tar with every step.

"Can. Not. Avoid unnecessary attention. On. Train," he starts to say after a few minutes of their walking, as he gets comfortable enough to only hold onto Eraser with one hand, using the other to gesture towards the tar he leaves. "Have..." He easily signs out the word, many, then waves his arms to indicate a large amount, unsure if Eraser really knows sign language or not. It's something he's always used to bypass his condition. "... Injuries..." he finishes.

He pauses a moment, thinking. "... Is. Other. Shinsou. Aware of -- existence?" Eraser follows along with the boy, observing his progress discretely.  A rate of improvement expected from one of his... yes, this one could be quite interesting.  He tilts his head a the words, black hair shifting as he nods in understanding and agreement. Personally, he'd rather prioritize the other's health and their speed of travel at this point, but the logic is certainly sound enough to be acceptable.

His free arm lifts as Eraser taps his own chest twice and then drags the hand downwards for good measure, signing "Understand" in both its JSL forms even as he speaks. "Understood." Languages were an important resource in all of his... careers, but its in moments like these that he realizes all over again how much he appreciates them and their uses.

Aizawa hums slightly at Shin's question as he thinks. "He probably does not know of my or your existence, no. Not unless the Eraserhead of this world told him, which I find... incredibly doubtful." He hesitates, unsure if he should ask a question to ensure the other can continue before internally shrugging and falling silent.  If the younger needs a prompt, he can always simply sign for the man to do so. He nods quietly at that. It makes sense, but that's a new area to be frustrated about. Is his other self even aware of these alternate universes that apparently exist? Is he okay? What were the differences? This seems to be a universe where everything had gone right, in some way or another, but then - the jailbreak, the clear danger everyone was in. What was being done to stop it? Could it be stopped? ... Why was he here?

The thing that is clear, however, is where he's aligned. This man beside him may wear his former teacher's face, but apparently he's just as evil as the rest of them. He needs to get in contact with the Aizawa of this world and see what he can do, where he can be put, how he can be put to use... Maybe he can actually work towards being a hero again.

He stays silent, staring hard ahead of him as he continues to walk. The villain observes Shin as they walk, absorbing every microexpression as he tries to figure out what the other is thinking.  The silence stretches on. And on. And on.

Eraser doesn't mind it. He's never been one for mindless chatter.  Yet for once, he finds himself wishing that the other would speak, reveal something of his thoughts and feelings.  What life did the other live in his original world? What turned him into this (-who, and how could Aizawa reach through dimensions to rend them limb from limb, feel their lifeblood warm against his skin -) and how the limitations and quirk interacted.   So many questions, and each one with the possibility of becoming an accidental weapon against the one he's trying to help, possibly even himself.

But puzzles have never been able to hold his interest for long. He needs some answers, at least, new pieces to twist and turn amidst the buzz inside his head.

"Shin." He doesn't slow or turn to look at the other as he speaks, continuing casually onwards with hands tucked into pockets and back slouched slightly.  "Why do you want to go to UA? What and who are you looking for, and why?" His eyes widen slightly at the questions. Paranoia, distrust and fear all clammor forward, twisting his thoughts, making him suspect the man at his side. What is he planning? Why would he ask that? Did he know? Did he- read his thoughts somehow, find out what he'd come to realize? Did he want to hurt him? Did he want to hurt him?

A small choking sound leaves him. In an instant, he misses being muzzled. Silenced. He hates speaking. He hates... being made to speak... he'd rather be hurt... he'd rather he hurt him.

Quietly, like he barely even notices, he brings a finger to his mouth, biting hard around the knuckle. His teeth seem to grow sharper in that very instant as they bear down, piercing skin, oozing a few drops of red before it becomes black just like all the rest.

"... Because..." his speaker emits out, his own stolen voice peetering out. He bites harder, resisting. Pointless. He can never manage to stop himself. "I want to see this universe's version of... us." He stops short, shaking as tar dribbles down the skin of his hand. "I want to start over, find where I fit. Sensei... My sensei..." His eyes fill with frustrated tears. "Always helped me. I want help. I want to help people again. Be a hero. That's why. If I was back at UA where it all started--"

"..." When the sound finally peeters out, he brings his free hand to his throat. He wants to rip it out. He can't. Physically can't. ... He bites down harder, tears streaming down his cheeks to join the mess. Eraser sighs as the younger finishes speaking, taking in the tears that carve a path through the agony and frustration in his expression as black seeps from fresh wounds.  The man stops and turns to Shin, drying his tears with the fabric of his sleeve.  "There's no need for this."

He grimaces at the the torn flesh of the other's hand.  Well, that certainly won't do.  But if he removes the limb and the other keeps biting, he'll only hurt himself more.  And this is his fault, in the end, he'd known the boy may very well be resistant to answering (and likely for good reason, whisper the crimson-tinted shadows that lurk within his mind and creep along the corners of his vision).

Aizawa grips the black smeared skin of the younger's jaw, forcing his mouth open and removing teeth from flesh and flesh from mouth before replacing it with the edge of his own hand, ignoring the horrified and pitying murmus of people as they pass. (Pathetic...) He considers making a comment about not permanently damaging him, but in the end that's what underground contacts and doctors are for  If it's what helps ground Shin, then he doesn't mind temporarily losing half a hand.  It would hardly be the first time he'd bled and lost for his own.

"The heroes can't be trusted with you.  If they let you down, if the government even tries to take you away, then I'll steal you back myself." Eraser pulls the boy's hand away from his throat with his free arm, clasping their fingers together in a hold instead.  He doesn't want to risk Shin attacking him or himself, and hopefully this will help the other calm and listen to what he's saying.  "But if that's what you want, then that's what you'll get.  Just because I'm like... this... doesn't mean I've ever stopped caring for my students, regardless of form.  If you want to see what could have been and here is, to be with this world's version of myself, then you will. I'll ensure it." Shinsou flinches when he's reached for, trying to jerk his head away as Aizawa grips him in his hand. For all intents and purposes, he should be strong enough to easily move away, but he could never stand to access that part of him. He doesn't want to hurt him or anybody, even if it means he has to suffer more for it. And suffer he does, a sudden and painful horror hitting him as his teacher crams his own hand into his mouth and he feels his teeth immediately clamp down into the flesh.

"...!!" At the first gush of red, red blood filling his mouth, he feels the whites of his eyes turn black with a violent, pulsing twitch. Hearing his words through the roar of sudden and violent bloodlust is nigh impossible, the black mess of his mouth starting to froth as  another row of teeth come to join the first, bearing down hard. Tastes -- it tastes --

"..." Desperate, he clutches onto Eraser's hand, squeezing as tightly as he could to keep his jaw from doing the same. All he wants to do is rip and tear and ruin, the urge so strong, wiping his humanity away so easily. A growl builds in the back of his throat.

"..."

He stands there, rigid and staring, teeth slowly, slowly, continuing to slice through. Eraser grits his teeth and winces at rows of jagged points ripping apart flesh and pressing into bone.  The pain surges through him, flaring his vision red as his quirk activates instinctively and dark hair flutters up around him.  Great, that's not what he needed... hopefully there aren't any nosy Eraserhead fans in the area.

The villain shuffles closer to the feral beast boy before him, murmuring quietly, calmly, hoping the tone will get through if nothing else does.  "It's alright, it's okay.  You already answered, you don't need to keep talking.  I'm not going to hurt you.  I'm going to protect you."

Aizawa frowns, wishing he had a hand free less for his own sake but more to help calm his twisted student, to soothe the growls and lockjaw tension straining the other's body. He sighs, tilting his head downward to press his forehead against Shin's, ignoring how the floating strands of black hair tangle in purple as he maintains his grip against black smeared fingers and holds his injured hand still, not resisting or struggling against the continued grind through muscle and against bone.

"You need to calm down." His voice remains calm and smooth, only a hint of the agony that builds beyond his walls, creeping over the top to blind him in flashes of red and screech so loudly his brain falls silent. Nothing he isn't used to. Nothing he can't handle. "If you keep biting, you'll go right through and just end up hurting yourself again.  Calm down.  You'll be with your sensei soon."

He fallas silent as the final words slip past, unable to continue.  Aizawa doesn't even know if Shin can understand him as it is.  But still the words ache and rip more than the ripped flesh that drips red to stain and contrast against inky black.  Shinsou was his student, Eraser's student, just as much as Eraserhead's. And yet Shin wants to go to the other, to the lesser, the young fool who couldn't protect what was his.

Compared to that, the agony of slowly separating skin and cracking bone is nothing. "..."

Calm down. He can't. Keep biting. It's easier. Right through. He wants to.. Hurting yourself again. Hurting yourself. Hurting.

His creator, his master, had done such a good job crafting him. He supposed it was easy to. He had all this grief and rage at the world that was easy to twist, easy to get lost in, easy to weaponize. Sometimes, even before all this, he hated being human. Hated feeling torn between two sides, dark and light, good and evil, black and white. Hated feeling the weight of predestination constantly, urging him closer, closer and closer to his fate.

There was never stopping any of it. Sometimes, he hated that he even tried.

He hated what he was now. But, sometimes, it's almost a comfort. Sinking into the constant pull of instinct, existing only in the sides between hurt and hurting. It was familiar. It was easy.

He kept biting down, red pouring to the ground as his teeth continued to grind and mash at what was in his mouth, his growl only growing louder. A pained grunt escapes his mouth before Eraser can bite it back, gritting his teeth as he can feel the bones spit and separate, stabbing into muscle and nerves as crimson and black leaks from Shin's mouth.  Pain is an old friend and one that he barely registers, but this is certainly... uncomfortable.

He can probably force the other's mouth open, even knock him out, but... whatever is going on in the other's head, he needs to stop this on his own.  Eventually either Aizawa will pass out from blood loss or Shin will let go. It was just a matter of which came first.

"Biting my hand off is not going to help anything in the long run.  I'll just temporarily have a harder time typing and you might split your lip." The low voice is strained but still the patient and exasperated tone hasn't changed.  "Do you want to show up at UA with a hand hanging out of your mouth? Of course not. That's not you."

He sighs, pulling away from the other before pressing a gentle kiss to the boy's bloody forehead and looking down at the other until two pairs of red eyes meet. "Come now. Fulfill some of that potential your sensei must have seen in you.  Your instincts are a part of you, not the whole. We both know you're more than this, so I'll wait as long as you need in order to remember." That's not you.

Shinsou blinks. Tears suddenly stream down over his cheeks, a softness lingering on his skin. He meets Eraser's gaze with his eyes widening in slow, horrified recognition.

Quietly, achingly slowly, the tension in his jaw starts to release. His dripping teeth pull free from mangled flesh. He parts from him, leaning back, an animal guilt forming on his expression. For a moment, he can't move.

...What have I done?

He retreats back a step from him, shaking his head slowly.

What have I done--!?

His heart ramps up. If it weren't for the powerful red flare of Eraser's eyes, he'd be bolting, transforming as he ran. Without that ability, though, he just stands there, watching in horror.

"Welcome back..." Aizawa murmurs as tears slip from Shin's eyes and leave behind pale streaks across crimson and black skin.  He bites back a choked gasp as the fangs retract from his ruined hand, letting out only a soft hiss of air between clenched teeth.

Blazing red watches as the boy's expression transforms into regret, eyes wide with shock and terror, a familiar edge to the expression that Eraser recognizes from years of seeing it each time he glanced in a mirror.  As soon as Shin retreats he takes a step forward, filling the empty space between them and reaching out with his usable hand, gently sinking it into purple hair and pulling the younger into himself.

"It's alright."  The villain gently wraps his other arm around the stained figure, carefully avoiding pressing his mangled flesh against the other.  It's... awkward... to hold another like this. It's been... so, so long. "I can see your potential quite clearly, now.  Not many can resist such strong quirk instincts.  I'm sure my hero self will still see the same." Shinsou jerks once as Eraser suddenly brings him closer, suddenly fearful and confused. It takes him a long moment, fighting through sudden claustrophobia, feeling trapped against a body and far too small and weak to free himself, until he can really register what's happening.

He's being embraced. It isn't painful or smothering or violating in the least. It's... nice.

It's really nice.

A low, pained noise leaves Shinsou's throat. Shakily, he reaches up with clawed fingers and clutches at the villain, holding onto him hard. A fresh wave of tears leaves him as he chokes down a sob.

"Sorry," he warbles out in Aizawa's voice, another choking sound leaving him as he buries his face into his shoulder. "I'm sorry..." Eraser leans slightly into the other as Shin reaches out to him, being careful not to hold too tightly for both their sakes.  He's caught up in... not pity, certainly, but sorrow, some emotion he can't quite recall the name of, for the trembling and crying boy in his grasp when an echo of his own voice crashes into him.

The villain stiffens, eyes wide and sightless even as his vision is filled with empty seats and stacks of forms, rows of graves for children and martyrs, crying families and broken students, a beaming bloody grin against a backdrop of sunflowers and quiet afternoons and he can't think, can't breathe -

He can't -

He can't -

Aizawa's breath leaves him in a rush.  He's suddenly so much more tired than before, so much less... present. But he has to be. There are much more important matters at hand than ghosts.

"It's alright," he repeats. If there's a slight tremble to the man's usual smooth baritone that hadn't been there before, it's gone by the time he continues. "It's alright. I forgive you, not that I blamed you in the first place. Instincts are powerful, and I knew the risk quite well." The villain hangs his head, a curtain of black hair finally dropping as he closes his eyes and leans his head against tangled purple. "I'm just glad you weren't injured further." "..."

Shinsou allows the man to lean against him, suddenly finding himself past the point of exhaustion. Forgiveness... He wants to repeat the word over and over until he couldn't anymore, until the blood filling his throat choked the mantra away. He wants to be able to hold it in his hands somehow, look at it, touch it, watch the feeble wings of it flit between his fingers. That way, it'd feel real instead of, well.

Like a lie.

... He's tired. He wishes he could just tell him that. Instead, he just settles as the last of his tears run out and he's just left with the persistant shudder of his last few sobs before those finally settle away too, leaving him feeling empty and worn down.

"..."

Carefully, he tries to pull away from the embrace, sheepishly and reluctant in a way that suggests he's almost afraid Eraser would try and suddenly restrain him again. "... UA," he echoes out in a little reminder, fidgetting as he stares at the ground. "Want to go to UA..." Eraser sighs and takes an even step back, retreating with an awkward shoulder pat as the purple haired boy pulls away.  That went... better than expected, in all honestly.  He’s glad in the way that lends itself to bone-deep exhaustion and dizzy relief that the other hasn’t hurt himself anymore, that Shin was able to... restabilize.  He’s sure that there’s more below the surface, hidden in the shadows behind red eyes and twisted into spider web strands of black tar, but for the moment...

For the moment, it’s enough.

“If you want to continue to UA immediately, we can. However...” the villain grimaces slightly, lips twisting and curling into something that can almost be considered a wry smirk as he gestures to the two of them with his good hand.  There’s crimson splashed across Shin’s mouth and face even as it continues to drip drip drip from Aizawa’s hand.  The sticky black of congealed blood and tar alike clings to pale skin and rumpled clothes. “I am not sure this is the... best first impression possible.  If you would prefer, we could detour to get cleaned up and then continue to UA.”

The dark haired man falls silent, humming contemplatively as his eyes flick up in thought before glancing back to Shin.  “You’ll likely need a place to stay outside of UA at some point, anyway.  We could also use this opportunity to get you set up with your own apartment.  I know a place that won’t ask questions.” No questions asked.

The irony of it all.

Shinsou simply nods, trying to keep most of the shame outof his expression. The dripping sound keeps pulling at his attention, begging him for another bite, urging him to devour further... But, instead, he keeps his mouth shut, teeth grinding slightly together as he stares everywhere but the growing pool of blood collecting between them. "Clean," he agrees shortly, desperate to rid them both of the smell and sight of blood. He glances one last time at the damage, wincing, hoping he had a way to get healed or at least a way to get some sort of good prosthesis... He watches the other carefully, taking in the flickers of emotions and eyes on the familiarly unfamiliar face.  “Clean it is, then.  My apartment is fairly near here.  We can head there, clean up, find you new clothes, get you an apartment, and then go to UA if that’s still your intent.” Eraser watches for a response from the corner of his eyes as he fishes out a roll of bandages and padding from his pouches, deftly wrapping his hand in gauze over the padding, pressed down to stop the bleeding.  Hardly a permanent solution, but it’ll do for a quick fix.

“...There really is no need to concern yourself over the hand.  I knew an underground doctor in my world who can heal this quite easily.  I’ve heard rumors of his existence here, and as long as money is involved, he’s trustworthy enough.  Might not be a bad contact for you, either, if there is ever anything Recovery Girl can’t deal with...”

Eraser trails off, sighing as he finishes the pins and shoves his bad hand in a pocket, half turning to leave but reluctant to let the other out of his sight or reach.  He’d rather keep Shin with him, away from heroes that can’t be trusted due to the corruption of their superiors.  But he’ll go along with the others plans as long as he desires them.  (It’s the least he can do, to support this Shin when he can still see the corpse of his own reaching out behind his eyes - ) He doesn't give him much of one. Shinsou simply nods, unable to draw his eyes away as he watches the sight of gore disappear under fresh bandages that immediately seep through with a dark red. He nods slowly, relieved that his crimes against him will at least not have a permanent effect.

Though he loathes the next comment. Having a contact that's a villain... Revolting.

The man in front of him didn't count.

The man in front of him...

His eyes lower to the ground. He reaches out, fingers grabbing hold of Eraser's clothes, dutifully allowing him to lead the way as he clings and sinks into this smallest speck of comfort.

He would have followed him to the ends of the earth.

He really would have.

[fyeahwonderbat]

Keywords #3

Theme: Passion Rating: PG / T Word Count: 2,620 words NOTE: As this is set in the DCEU, I imagined Zatanna as Lyndsy Fonseca, but feel free to imagine whomever you choose!

“I had no idea you knew someone who was well versed in magic.” Wonder Woman remarked, lurking in the shadows of the balcony of the Bewitched Club. At her side, Batman frowned at the spectacle that was being performed on the stage down below. The audience was enamored with the floating lights and the levitating man being presented to them as some kind of inconceivable phenomenon.

In his eyes, Bruce saw magic as nothing more than child’s play.

Grumbling low enough for only the two of them to hear, he said, “There are many different kinds of people in Gotham.” He hoped that by the roughness of his tone of voice that Diana would know to leave the matter there.

Unwilling to comply with his wishes, she chose to address the matter while they witnessed the floating patron descend to the floor and the standing ovation that followed. “And you don’t trust any of them?”

“Not explicitly.” Was his blunt answer.

“Why?” Her curiosity was palpable, even as he turned away from her and walked towards the fire escape. They needed to reach the dressing rooms without being seen, meaning that exiting the club was more important to him than divulging his inner workings to her. He slipped through the open window without any intention of responding to her, which was why he wasn’t surprised that she probed the matter further the moment he felt her boots rattle the iron staircase. “You trust the people you gathered for the League.”

“Heh.” He released a single cackle, admittedly amused.

Diana, unimpressed with his behaviour, challenged him. “For a man who claims to love his solitude, you have a habit of reaching out to others more often than most.”

“I know who to contact when I need an ace up my sleeve.” Bruce explained as delicately as possible. He knew that he could run the risk of offending her again as he had on the plane trip back from Russia if he wasn’t careful with his words; she had already expressed her disdain for the way he made use of the Justice League, herself in particular, and if she thought that he considered her a tool more than a comrade, he wouldn’t have her at his side when they descended.

And he knew he’d need someone who accepted magic as a vital possibility while he groaned internally at the concept.

When Bruce reached the rooftop of the club, he apologetically turned around to offer a hand to Diana. But once again, the thundering of her boots landing behind him proved that she would forever be hot on his trail if he didn’t smarten up. Under the bleak shade of a dark and stormy night in Gotham, he stared at Wonder Woman through the lenses of his cowl, taking in the smug tilt to her grin. Proudly, she proclaimed, “From the moment I stole that flashdrive from you at Luthor’s party, I’ve never been your ace. If anything, Bruce, you’ve been mine.” 

The thundering he felt next came from the building, as it rattled when the storm overhead threatened to come crashing down on them. He quietly cleared his throat before finding his footing to say, “I’ll take that as a compliment, Wonder Woman.”

His sarcasm amused her for the first time ever. “As you should, Batman.”

“Emoc ot em, sredurtni.”

A familiar, feminine voice whispered in Bruce’s ear without warning. He witnessed the panicked look in Diana’s big brown eyes, however, he wasn’t able to warn her of what was about to happen as it all occurred too quickly. He recognized the style of the spell he heard a fraction of a second before they were snatched off of the rooftop and teleported into a compact dressing room. Lush in its decor, reminiscent of old Hollywood glamour, he knew they ended up in the right place even if he wasn’t a fan of how they arrived.

“I thought I saw you lurking in the background during my show.” 

Bruce steeled himself before he faced the magician in question. “Zatanna.” 

Standing with her arms crossed in the middle of the room was none other than the woman he’d been looking for, and then one he scowled at for using her spell to relocate him against his wishes. Still dressed in her corset and fishnets and her sparkly blazer, she looked like she stepped off the cover of a pin-up magazine from the fifties, with her top hat punctuating the look even while she held it in her left hand. It even sounded as if she was continuing her act when she faced Wonder Woman and interrogated her with her showman voice, “And what’s your name?”

“You may call me Diana. Bruce brought us here because he believes you’re the only one who can help us.” admitted Wonder Woman, offering a hearty handshake to the magician as a goodwill gesture.

Zatanna eagerly accepted the gesture the second she learned that he had put an ounce of faith in her. “Did he now?”

“I’ve been looking into a horde of monsters,” Bruce began to clarify immediately. “No matter how we analyze the sample I collected, I can’t pinpoint their origin.”

“We were hoping you might be able to tell us something about it.” Diana implored.

Despite their request, Zatanna refused to say a word while she studied the two of them. Her signature blue eyes hopped back and forth between the two of them, as if they were asking her to decipher something found in their auras or some other magical nonsense. Bruce was not amused by her scrutiny in the slightest, gritting his teeth for as long as he could in order to keep himself silent.

When that failed, he asserted, “We wouldn’t have come if--”

Zatanna cut him off with a toss of her hand through the air. “If you had any other possible option. I know you aren’t a fan of what I do, Bruce, so you’re lucky that I’m even considering this. Though I suppose the people of Gotham say cruel things about you all the time and you still keep them safe, so...” Her disinterest in his civility was made abundantly clear when she placed her top hat on her vanity’s table. Once it was out of her hands, it began to rattle ferociously in place and even started to hiss.

“What is in there, Zatanna?” Bruce demanded as he bent his knees ever so slightly in case her captive suddenly became free.

Sighing, the magician refused to reveal her secrets to them. Instead, she held out her hands and urged them both, “Give me the sample you brought, quickly.” 

With his hands already near his belt, Bruce removed the thin glass case from one of the compartments along his backside and placed it in her open palms. Bruce felt Diana move closer to him as they awaited for their own private magic show to begin. He could have sworn he felt an almost excited energy coming from her despite how foolish that seemed.

Bruce ignored his hunch so that he could lend all of his attention to Zatanna as she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her brows knitted together over the bridge of her nose as she spoke her spell aloud, “Wohs em erehw uoy emoc morf.” Her voice was powerful, commanding for the cooperation of the darkened jagged rock formation he presented to her.

Then, the world went silent.

After that, there was nothing but chaos.

Zatanna returned to them when she threw her eyes open and gasped as though she had been suffocated by her astral trip. So startled by whatever it was she saw, she nearly toppled into Diana’s arms. 

“Are you all right?” Diana panicked at the sight of her evident fright.

“What did you see?” Bruce tried to remain calm for Zatanna’s sake, all while the fear inside of him grew. Every other trial had brought them nowhere near a possible answer as to who could be in control of the army of monsters, but when the source was located through magical means, it appeared to be a force strong enough to push the most powerful magician he knew off of her feet. 

“Y-You’re not going to believe me.” whimpered Zatanna. 

“Try me.” challenged Bruce, ready to face the truth of his hunt.

Diana decided to lead Zatanna to her vanity’s seat, helping her sit down as the desperation for an answer to his statement hung in the air of the dressing room. Bruce felt very much like whatever wild entity was hiding inside of her spinning hat, failing to remain patient when trapped in some way or another by magical restraints.

Thankfully, Diana’s calm composure was the key to getting the answers they needed. “So they are born from magic then?”

Zatanna nodded once, twice, then spoke firmly so they had no room to question her. “Not only are they magic-based, but they’re being created by gods.” 

An extreme case required an extreme reaction from him. “What the hell are you talking about?”

A white gloved hand slammed down on the spinning top hat before Zatanna glared at Bruce and fired her answer at him. “I’m saying that the monsters you are after are being made by the hands gods. Two, specifically, and their base of operation? The one you’re looking for that you can’t seem to find? Well, it’s hard to find what you’re looking for on Earth when you’re actually looking for hell.”

“Hell…?” Diana’s voice collapsed as she breathed the word. 

Zatanna did not show her the same amount of concern as she pushed onward, “I didn’t see them being made, but when I went looking for your answers, I encountered this woman.”

“Who was it!?” bellowed Bruce so loudly, it earned him a pair of matching leers from the two women in the room.

And a rather aggressive knock at the door.

“Miss Zatara? Is everything all right in there?” asked an inexperienced security guard from the other side of the door. Zatanna didn’t acknowledge him in the slightest. However, she did maintain her furious connection with Bruce through her gaze and quickened her retelling of what she witnessed in her search. “There was a woman being held captive in a cell deep underground. She’s very gifted in magic - she found me while I was searching and pulled me into her. Her mind guided me beyond her cell and showed me that the monsters you’re after are being made in the pits of hell, being shaped by… a higher ranking demon? Some type of evil figurehead down there?” “No,” Diana spoke with a grave tone of voice, with nothing but certainty cementing her words. “It’s Hades.”

As if their search hadn’t taken enough turns, it took all of the Batman’s strength to avoid recoiling at the mention of such a fictitious name. Despite the fact that an Amazon from the same mythos stood by his side for the past year, it was nearly impossible for him to accept that the lord of the Underworld that he read about as a child was preparing to wreak havoc on Earth. Being a founding member of a team that compiled some of the strongest people of the planet meant that he had to digest the reality of their gifts despite how improbable it would have seemed to him once upon a time. If he was forced to accept the truth about extraterrestrial life, he knew that he’d need to leap over his disbelief and accept what Zatanna was saying along with Diana’s confirmation. 

Still, he dared himself to ask, “Why him?” 

Diana seemed to reflexively reach for the hilt of her sword as she divulged her thought process. “There’s no one else it could be. Think about it, Bruce: gods in hell, making a demonic army? It has to be Hades. He must have coerced another god to help him create these creatures and he plans to unleash them on mankind for some malicious purpose. Whatever he’s planning, he’s gone so far as to invite others into his domain and most likely punished the woman in the cage for refusing to help him achieve his goal.”

Another round of banging on the dressing room door cut off Diana’s speech. A rather panicked cry from the hallway replaced her voice, “Miss Zatara?!”

“I have no idea what he plans are,” Zatanna fretted openly. “But I can do is take advantage of this blind spot I’ve found and send you to her.” 

Bruce concealed his worry behind his cowl. “If you transport us into this witch’s cell, how are we supposed to get back?”

Louder and louder the banging grew, but Diana had become so frightened by the enemy they were about to face that she had lost all interest in mortal matters. Instead of being bothered by the harsh sounds, she faced their magical messenger and said, “Contact Bruce’s butler Alfred and let him know where you’re sending us.”

“All right.” Zatanna swore to complete the task with a nod of her head. 

When she faced him then, Bruce saw Wonder Woman. He saw the heroine that he’d come to admire standing in the dressing room with him, the very same woman who saved him from Doomsday with nothing more than her brute strength. The intensity in her eyes made him believe that she had already convinced herself that the battle with the lord of the Underworld was imminent, and she would be ready for it. With an obstinacy he’d be privately yearning to see from her, Diana dictated their next step with the charge of a warrior, “Let’s go.”

He knew in that exact moment that he had no right to seek out the logistics of their situation, that he should have checked his supposedly rational hangups at the door. If Wonder Woman was certain enough to take charge of the mission, then Batman knew where he needed to be.

“You going to be okay to handle this on your own?” Bruce wondered as he tossed his thumb over his shoulder, referring to the man who was insistently assaulting the dressing room door. 

“Who do you think you’re talking to?” Zatanna scoffed at his faux worry as she rose up out of her seat. She turned her back to him and held up her thumbs and index fingers in a square-like shape. As she pulled her hands apart, a glowing yellow rectangle materialized in the room that was filled with a dark, foreboding fog inside. “Go. That will take you right to her.”

“Thank you, Zatanna.” Diana softened her battle-ready demeanor to offer her genuine gratitude to the magician. 

“I’ll contact Alfred once I’m done here.” She informed them, materializing her wand in one hand while the other kept a firm grasp on her rowdy hat. 

Respectfully, Bruce added a quick, “Thanks.” 

“Now, go!” Zatanna shouted at the top of her lungs just as the dressing room door finally caved under the force of the punches being delivered to it. The wood splintered so hard, broken pieces of different sizes slammed into his elongated cloak. Bruce had to ignore every instinct he’d honed over the last thirty years of his life in order to charge through that portal. Whether he trusted Zatanna’s magic or not, he would never intentionally leave her to fend for herself if he could help. 

But Diana was waving him into the portal, disappearing into the fog that looked as menacing as he imagined the gates of hell possibly could be.

Leave it to the Amazon to rope him into the Underworld without any precaution, any escape route or signal to the League if needed.

[neo-culture-mafia]

Just Saying (P.JS) Pt. 1

For the little bean's birthday...well...not so little bean lol. I had an awesome time writing this. Great music to inspire me.

With Love,

~J.

Jisung knew he wasn't perfect. Or in fact anywhere good enough to be with someone as perfect as you. He made that clear to himself and made sure he never went across the line on most things. Yet...you got a boyfriend...and he has some thoughts about how you're treated in the relationship.

"So...since you aren't apart of the single crowd anymore...are we still going to do stuff like this?" Jisung asked while looking up at the starry night sky while you laid next to him. "Of course dummy. You're my best friend. All of the guys too." You said sitting up a little bit; Jisung subconsciously brushing the grass off of your back. "Just making sure." He sighed quietly.

"Just know that if anything were to happen to you-" "You have 21 big brothers to kick his ass." You both chorused. He laughed at how much they've drilled the thought into your mind that you don't need them to finish the sentence.

"Good job." Jisung chuckled. He just stared at the distant stars though. They probably love one another freely. He shook the thought quickly from his mind before he would get pissed off more than he was last night.

No one approved of your boyfriend Minhyuck. He wasn't a mafia member like the rest of you were. Minhyuck was a stuck up snobby kid that lived in the hills in a huge house and had people waiting on him hand and foot; every single hour of the day when he wasn't with you of course. All the boys knew they would have to pick up the pieces of your broken heart eventually. Sadly, you were thinking of fairytales...when this world wasn't a fairytale granting place to begin with.

"Jisungie. Can you please give me a ride to the ice cream shop?" You asked looking down at the lost in thought boy. He sighed, "why?" leaving his pink lips.

"Because...Minhyuck wanted to meet up." You said checking your phone again. "It's Friday, and Friday is for the family." Jisung said sitting up with his arms supporting his weight. You understood it was Family Friday, and that you haven't missed a single Friday night stargazing with Jisung since the creation of Family Friday. "...but..." was all you could muster.

"...please?..." You asked gently, knowing Jisung would give in eventually. "No. He's not family. Today is for family." Jisung shook his head, laying back down with his hands under his head.

"But I think of him as family." Was your only argument at a time like this. Well, he's not, honey. "I understand that. But there will come a time where you will probably get married and we can't stargaze together anymore." He replaced his thought with something more gentle; afraid to get you upset and pouty.

"I'll always stargaze with you, Jisung. I always have...so that's why I'm asking...just this one time, please." You said and he knew you had a point...but he was specifically told to not let you run around with that boy if you had a chance. He wanted to see you happy though -- even if it meant hurting himself.

He sighed shallowly and looked at your wishing figure illuminated by the moon and stars. Your big y/e/c eyes resembling a dog's as it's awaiting for a treat.

"Which ice cream shop?"

___________________

Jisung pulled up to the shop with you in the passenger seat. He spotted Minhyuck waiting for you outside of the shop. He was yelling in his phone. His father probably bought him the wrong pony. Jisung chuckled to himself at the thought of the other man's anger being caused by the made-up tale.

"What's funny?" You asked as you got your purse ready. "Nothing. Was thinking of a joke Mark told me earlier." He shrugged it off. You nodded and tried to open the door. Jisung stopped you by pressing the lock. "Hoodie. Now." He said and you groaned. "Jisung." You said and he just cocked an eyebrow at your sudden outburst of sass.

"I have my foot on the brake. I can just hit the gas and drive you home right now if you want...Just Saying." He said and you quickly shook your head no. You fished around in the backseat for one of the boys' hoodie's. You finally found one and brought it on your lap. You quickly pulled it over your head and realised it was one of Renjun's...that he stole from Jisung.

Minhyuck hit his wrist with his finger, signalling that you both were taking up his time. "Your boyfriend is calling for you." Jisung said and you nodded, unlocking the door and hopping out. "Call me if anything." Jisung calls and you nod as the door shut and your hand waved as a form of goodbye.

He watched you scurry over to the asshole who just gave you a half-ass side hug and went inside. You held the door open for him. "Not even decent manners. Ha." Jisung scoffed to himself in the privacy of his own car.

Why can't you just tell her that you like her?

Jisung just drove around for awhile until he got your call that you both had finished up. "Why are you sniffling so much?" Jisung questioned as he got on the highway. "It's cold you dumba*s." You giggled and he felt his heart tinge at the sound.

"Alright I'm almost there. Stay put." He said as he drove down the highway. The gas meter signalling he would need to stop and get some on the way home. He felt his pocket and groaned. Forgot it at home.

He turned down the street and was met with you standing outside of the ice cream shop...alone...hoodieless. He took a breath before he let his anger get the best of him without knowing what happened. You waddled to the car and got in. You put on the seat belt and just sat in the cool leather seats that were warming up quickly.

"Where's the hoodie?" Jisung questioned, while also looking around for the white Mercedes Benz that Minhyuck always drives around. "Oh...that." You nodded. "Yeah...that. Where is it?" He repeated the question.

"In the ice cream shop...in the trash can." You nodded, your eyes focused on the strings of your jeans. "What? Why?" Jisung yelped a little at the answer. "Minhyuck brought up a good point. I shouldn't be walking around in other boys' clothes." You stated matter-of-factly.

Jisung just didn't say anything as he put his forehead against the steering wheel. "I'm sorry. I'll buy you a new one." You said and he just hit his forehead softly with the cool material of the steering wheel.

I don't care about the fucking hoodie. "Okay."

He started driving down the road and was remembered by the gas meter. "Can I borrow a 20? I need gas to get home." Jisung said and all you could do was bite your tongue.

"I'm kinda out of money." You said and he slammed on the breaks. "WHAT." Was the only word that left his mouth. "He forgot his wallet and wanted ice cream! I paid!" You defended yourself. Jisung gripped the steering wheel hardly as his knuckled turned and opaque and stark white color.

He has his fucking wallet. He has a fucking credit card with him. He made you pay because he's using you. But you're too nice that you don't fucking see that you-oh my god. Fuck it. Whatever.

"Okay." Was all that Jisung said as he nodded and continued driving. The tension was thick as he counted the miles he was losing on the ride home, praying he had enough to get you both home.

Luckily, by some greater force -- you made it home safely and securely. He turned the car off and just sat there for a second. He looked over to see you passed out in your seat, curling up to the seat for warmth.

Jisung hopped out of the car and went to your side. He slipped his own sweatshirt off and quickly put it on you. He maneuvered you so you were resting on his back comfortingly. He walked the distance from the turn around to the house that many of the members called home.

Forgot his wallet. Makes you pay. Leaves you in the freezing cold without a dam hoodie. Makes you run on his time.

"Pathetic." Jisung mumbled to himself once the door was opened by Renjun who held a banana in one hand and his phone in the other. "Hey...you good?" Was all he asked as Jisung rolled his eyes and carried you in. "We'll talk when I come back down." Jisung said as he walked up the stairs effortlessly with you koala'd on his back for warmth.

He took you to your room. It wasn't weird for he had done it a million times -- but he changed you from your jeans into some sweatpants and just left his sweatshirt on your body. He tucked you in and walked back out and down the stairs to the kitchen where most of the Junior Forces lounged around.

"And here he is now." Renjun said throwing a banana peel away. "Hop off my back, old man." Jisung joked as he grabbed a water bottle. Chenle and Hyuck laughed at their older being harassed by the youngest.

He took a sip from his water and set it down on the counter. His good was up and he ran a hand through his hair again to get it out of his eyes. "I don't ask for this type of treatment." Renjun shook his head and Jisung laughed, throwing an arm around his hyung's sea wide shoulders.

"I'm kidding." Jisung ruffles Renjun's hair quickly and was met with swats of hands from the unflattered older.

"Yeah yeah whatever...but what was up with you a couple minutes ago?" Renjun asked and reopened an old wound. "Oh...yeah." Jisung went back to his water. "Hyung! He was in a perfectly fine mood until you talked!" Chenle said and Renjun rolled his eyes.

"Better to talk about it than internalize it, panini head." Renjun said, growing slightly angry himself. "Guys. Not now...let Jisung explain why he's upset in the first place." Jaemin reasoned out of all the chaos.

"It can't be that bad. You're probably just over analyzing the situation or problem. Just spill and we'll help." Jaemin nudged Jisung's shoulder as he grabbed a water for himself.

"Minhyuck-" and Jisung was cut off from 5 loud groans coming from the various boys spread throughout the kitchen.

Then he heard more groans echo from down the hall where the offices were located. He chuckled to himself. "Okay what did he do now?" Jeno asked as he sat on the counter next to Renjun.

"So y/n wanted to go get ice cream because Minhyuck wanted ice cream. So I drive her and give her a hoodie so she'll stay warm. I drive around for a little bit, come to get her...and she's standing outside, alone, and without the damn hoodie." Jisung explains and at least 4 other members have made their way from the offices and into the kitchen for story time. "So I stay calm and ask where the hoodie was. She said he threw it away because 'Minhyuck said it wasn't right for me to wear other boys' clothe's'." Jisung said and they all shook their heads or rolled their eyes in annoyance.

"That's not even the worst part! Okay, so I was driving around and I was running out of gas. I forgot my wallet here and needed to get us home. So after the hoodie conversation, I ask to borrow 20 dollars...just to get us home safe and sound. I ask to borrow money from y/n, already planning to pay her back when we got home. Then she goes, 'I don't have any money.' So I ask what she meant." Jisung said and everybody was at the edge of their seats.

"Guys. He made her pay because he 'forgot his wallet'." Jisung used air quotes for the highlighted purpose of the story. They all groaned and called bullshit. "Exactly." Jisung said running a hand through his hair.

"This relationship isn't gonna last long." Johnny shook his head. "Yeah. I know. We just have to be there to pick up the pieces when it all goes to hell." Jisung rolled his eyes for the umpteenth time for the night.

"So when are you gonna tell her you like her?" Jungwoo asked as he munched on some random food that the Junior Forces made.

"Why would I do that now? She's in a relationship." Jisung shrugged. "Not a healthy one." Mark butted in. "I know that. But I can't just be like, 'Hey. Leave him for me.' It wouldn't work out that good." Jisung finished his water.

Mark shrugged at the younger boys point. "I don't know. I need to talk to her soon. Something seems...fishy. Like, domestic issues fishy." Jisung shook his head. "Woah woah woah...like...he hits her?" Renjun getting off the counter, his protectiveness showing clearly. "I don't know. She's just...very uneasy about certain situations if she's put in them." Jisung said leaning on the counter with his hands supporting his weight. They stood in silence for a moment.

"I don't know. I'll talk to her soon." Jisung said excusing himself to go to bed himself. His moods were shifting too quickly today and now he was just tired.

He ascended the steps with slow movements. Passing your room, he entered his own and stripped himself of his day clothes, opting for his comfy clothes he cherished close to him.

He laid down and just looked straight up as he met the tacky glow in the dark stars you put on his ceiling. He saw the constellations you messily put up there and his heart jumped again.

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You sat in your bed with your knees on your chest and sheets pulled around you. It was 6 am and you couldn't sleep. You were conflicted...and out of money.

You hopped out of bed and scurried next to door. You threw open the door silently and was met with the lump of blankets that concealed your best friend. You walked over and body slammed yourself onto the blankets. A low groan was heard and there was minimal shifting in the blankets. "What time is it?" He asked not even bothering looking at the clock next to his bed. "6."

He groaned again. "Go back to your room." He whined like a little kid. "No. It's too cold." You countered back.

Like a wormhole-his blankets opened up and sucked you into the dark abyss. It was warm and dark in the blankets; making you understand why he liked sleeping so much.

He just hugged you and you both drifted off into a deep sleep again.