#said evil dark side pops out at the last minute to the public before they get game ended themselves

[leblancc]

not to be controversial but goro akechi kinda has the same vibe as light yagami

[s-brant]

Cherry Bowl (3/8)

(gif: @kiekiecarrera) (PART TWO) (PART FOUR) (SERIES MASTERLIST)

Summary: When Kie cancels their plans together, Y/N asks JJ on a date to the Cherry Bowl Drive-In. Unsure of how to navigate his first ever date, JJ seeks out advice. Unfortunately, the night doesn’t go as planned, and both parties are left shaken by miscommunication.

Word Count: 10.6k

Warnings: Smut, public sex/exhibitionism, sexual choking, angst, depictions of mental illness, post-traumatic stress disorder, and implied/referenced abuse.

A/N: Welcome back to Tokens! Slight trouble in paradise is brewing for these two lovers, so buckle up and read because it’s gonna be a rollercoster for a little while after what happens in this chapter. I hope you all like it, and if you did, feedback is very appreciated. Have fun!

"I'm just saying that oatmeal raisin is superior to chocolate chip, why is that such an egregious crime, Kie?"

The lunch room is filled to the brim with students going to town on questionably cooked frozen foods, soggy tater tots, and sugary drinks from the vending machines despite the Obama-era posters on the walls advocating for healthier school lunches that never seemed to make their way to Kildare County High. The extent of their healthy lunches extended to a serving of overcooked canned green beans served with the worst slice of doughy pizza known to human kind, so it was sort of contradictory.

Y/N sits across the table from Pope and JJ, the latter of which being the one who launched into a full-fledged debate with Kiara about which type of cookie was better.

The clear cling wrap sits, unfolded, on the table with one of her stickers neatly placed on the back of it. As consolation for his epic loss yesterday at the beach, she paid an extra .75 cents to get him it when she arrived first to their shared lunch period—one of only two class periods they have together, the other being gym. He was still in line when she peeled a surfboard sticker off of her sheet and placed it at the center of the wrapped up cookie as if to remind him of her triumph over him in the waves.

"Thanks, hot stuff," he said, voice somewhat quieter despite the fact that hardly anyone was in the cafeteria with them. Then his smile dropped into an deadpan expression as soon as he saw her choice of sticker and looked back up at her. "You're never gonna let me live that one down, are you?"

"Never in a million years. I'll be gloating about it until I'm elderly."

"That's my girl."

The sound of the constant chatter surrounding them from at least two hundred other people drowns out the memories of yesterday that threaten to haunt her when she watches him debate with Kie. The mere recollection of their night in the back of the van has her reaching to pull the collar of her cropped tee up to assure that the hickeys remain hidden on instinct, and he catches the action out of the corner of his eye. It has him fighting a smile.

Kie quips, "Maybe on another planet, but, here, I think we can all agree chocolate chip is better, right Y/N?"

Y/N's eyes widen around a forkful of mushy "green beans" at the sound of her name being said bringing her from the depths of her memories.

Usually, she's quick to jump in and give her two cents on whatever stupid back and forth they're all having, but her mind was elsewhere. Unbeknownst to Kie and Pope, she was mentally reliving every second of getting fucked in the van last night, so her attention to detail when it comes to the Chocolate Chip vs Oatmeal Raisin case isn't all too sharp.

"Uhhh," she stops for a second, looking at the half eaten chocolate chip cookie in Kie's hand, "If I say chocolate chip is better, can I get a piece of it?"

Kie's face lights up at her words, and she's already pulling off a generous chunk of the baked good to hand off to her. The sound of a certain someone whose lap Y/N's legs are outstretched onto from beneath the table scoffing distracts her from the first bite.

"I know you prefer oatmeal raisin, you traitor," JJ says.

Their brunette friend's brows scrunch.

"Why is she a traitor?"

They try to keep from making any faces or giving anything away, but Y/N has to stifle the sound of her choking on her mouthful of cookie at the question. You'd think one of them came out and asked if they were dating or something with how she reacts, and she feels JJ squeeze her ankle in a non-verbal way of telling her to hold it together. It was her idea in the first place, yet he's a lot smoother with keeping it under the radar.

Under it all, the aspect of keeping it a secret does unnerve him to a degree. He doesn't think he'd be brave enough to communicate it, especially not when their relationship remains undefined, but the darker side of his mind wonders...

He shrugs, saying, "Cause we were friends first. Duh. Other than John B, I've known her the longest."

None of them stop to acknowledge the identical aches in their hearts at the mentioning of his name. They skip right over it like it never happened. After the funeral a few days ago, they've filled their quota on mushy-gushy sad talk for the next week and a half.

The real reason is something far more complicated than him having a claim staked on her loyalty through having the longest friendship. It's something tied up in days of slowly getting pulled into one another's worlds like the tug of gravity itself, in how he has to refrain from slipping his arm around her waist in the hallway or kissing her goodbye after a sleepover at the Chateau. But until she gives him the go-ahead, he won't let it slip to anyone.

Pope speaks up from beside him, "You literally met her twenty minutes before we did."

"Still counts. Technically, I did meet her first, so her betraying Team Oatmeal Raisin is enough to be tried for treason in Pogue Court."

"Pogue Court isn't a thing."

He crosses his arms after he pops the rest of the cookie into his mouth.

"It is now. You can be tried for treason for breaking the rules. Rule number one is that all Pogues have to admit oatmeal raisin is superior."

He's about to ball up the cling wrap to throw away later when the surfboard sticker catches his attention again. It's the same color as his board, which he'd like to think is a result of her being an evil mastermind that went out to get this sticker sheet for the sole purpose of teasing him, but he's the one who got her the sheet as a gift for her birthday, so he knows it was pure coincidence.

Last second, he peels the sticker away from the cling wrap and looks down to place it over the top of her yellow converse that were once a vibrant, paler color when Big John got them for her, but have since turned into an ugly mustard/dirt-dusted color they heckle her over.

"What are the other rules?" Y/N asks.

One of the hands holding onto where her feet are casually planted in his lap, something that they've done long enough that their friends won't see it as anything odd, slides down to caress the stretch of skin beneath the frayed hem of her dark jeans. Something she didn't know about him before whatever it is they have together started was that he constantly needs to be touching her. She can't say she doesn't love it though.

Pope answers, "The oatmeal raisin rule is not official"—a pointed glance at JJ—"But I'd assume the rest of the rules of Pogue Court would be no lying and no macking."

"So, basically you two break almost every rule except the oatmeal raisin one, and I lie," JJ says and turns to look at her, "How does it feel to be better than everyone, Y/N?"

"Pretty good, not gonna lie."

He keeps caressing little circles and tracing up and down her skin beneath the flared out pant leg of her jeans while he swipes his phone off of the table top without attracting the attention of their friends, who continue on to a new topic. She isn't too focused on what it is. She only picks up that it has something to do with a class they're in that's more advanced that hers, so she promptly checks out of the conversation.

Ever since John B died, she hasn't been performing too well in school. She tries, truly tries, but her mind outright refuses to absorb any of the information. When she reads her assigned reading, she hovers over the same paragraphs over and over until she shuts the book in a huff and hides it in her backpack again. Losing someone you love has a surprising amount of side effects.

Her phone buzzing in her hand brings her away from the impending cloud of doom that often accompanies any thoughts of John B, and when she taps in her passcode, her brother's birthday, a message bubble appears with a banner displaying JJ's contact name.

JJ (Derogatory) ur a good liar. prob could've fooled me if i weren't the one macking on u

Their eyes meet for a second across the table, then he watches her thumbs move to type a response.

Kief Princess Little do they know I break every rule now that I've switched sides on the cookie debate. Kinda impressive ngl.

JJ (Derogatory) triple threat, baby

JJ (Derogatory) thanks for the cookie btw

She smiles to herself, so wrapped up in their own world that she doesn't notice everyone in the room starting to pack up their stuff in anticipation of the bell that is due to ring any second now.

Kief Princess Had to repay you for last night somehow ;)

When she glances up to see his reaction, she watches his chest rise with a particularly large inhale, and he chews on the inside of his lip in thought.

JJ (Derogatory) strategically bringing up last night so i'm turned on in physics? ur an evil mastermind

Kief Princess I try.

Kief Princess Apparently whooping your sorry ass at surfing isn't the only thing I'm good at.

She hears him scoff.

JJ (Derogatory) first of all, ouch. second, u barely beat me

Kief Princess I'm happy to challenge you to a rematch. I have plans with Kie tonight, so I can't till this weekend. All it'll prove is that I am the rightful winner, but we knew that already.

JJ (Derogatory) what r the stakes this time

Kief Princess No sexual favors. If you beat me (fat chance) I'll formally rejoin team oatmeal raisin.

JJ (Derogatory) :( sex makes it more fun but i still accept those conditions

JJ (Derogatory) team oatmeal raisin needs u, even if ur a traitor

Kief Princess Why bet sexual favors if you're just gonna fuck me after anyway?

JJ (Derogatory) good point

The sound of the bell ringing echoes through the cafeteria, and they both pop their heads up from their phone screens to see everyone, including Pope and Kie, already packed up and raising from their seats to scurry off in the direction of their next classes. Meanwhile, their stuff is all bestrewn across the table, particularly JJ's belongings.

The sight of Kie walking away makes Y/N ask after her, "We're still on for tonight, right?

She stops with Pope's hand interwoven in hers. The look on her face when she turns would make you think she got caught doing something she wasn't meant to. Something like forgetting about the plans they made last week to watch Fear Street together. The Cherry Bowl Drive-In is premiering the first two movies as a double feature for the horror movie buffs of Kildare, so they decided to get tickets. Kiara shares a fondness of horror movies with her. Since gory movies make the boys squirm, though JJ pretends they don't, it's their own thing.

"Actually, Pope and I were gonna go to the beach. I'm sorry."

JJ knows she's more upset about it than she lets on, but Y/N simply gives the pair a smile that doesn't reach the eyes.

The sound of JJ behind her makes them laugh on their way out, diffusing the minor tension lingering in the air from the awkward encounter, "Use protection!"

After their friends offer them a goodbye, they gather their stuff quite leisurely, not really caring about being late.

It's something they've talked about before here or there: her feelings surrounding Kiara and Pope's sudden relationship. It's not as if she harbors any ill feelings for them, she doesn't, but the ripple effects of their pairing on the group, and more importantly the girls' own friendship, couldn't be clearer from her perspective. Between the missed hangouts, forgotten plans, and the convenient way she never seems to have time to hang out with her and JJ unless Pope is there too, it's been building up for a month now.

What makes it sting the most is how close her and Kie used to be. They didn't hit it off immediately the way she and JJ did as children until her thirteenth birthday when no one she invited showed up to the party Big John helped her set up in the yard of the Chateau.

She was the one who rallied the boys together to walk to ask their school friends from the year above to come hang out for an hour or two, promising a slice of the wonky-looking but delicious strawberry cake her and John B spent the morning crafting together. She can remember the sound of their high-pitched laughs and the cloud of flour that hung in the kitchen when they high-fived over the finished product like it was yesterday. In her heart, it was yesterday.

That night was when she fell in love with her friends, and that was when she first knew Kiara was her best friend. They wove friendship bracelets on each other that night and wore them for years until they withered away. No one had ever done something like that for her before. Not even JJ.

"You okay?"

Feeling his hand on her arm, slipping down to take her hand for a moment in the seclusion of the empty cafeteria, makes her glance up at him with a distinct sorrow washed over her features.

You know what? Screw this. Why should she be torn up over Kie and let it ruin her excitement for the double feature tonight? There's no way in hell she's letting her best friend ditching her for her boyfriend get in the way of her plans.

"Do you wanna go on a date tonight?" she asks him abruptly, then adds, "To the Cherry Bowl with me instead of Kie?"

The question sparks a pause in his mind, a halt of hesitation in which he worries about her avoiding having to answer what he asked, but he attempts to play it cool and not fuss over her outwardly. There have been times where being treated like that has made her feel suffocated, so he doesn't want to risk it. When she's ready, she'll talk about it, and if she takes too long and buries her feelings, then he'll intervene. For now, he tries to keep his face neutral despite the frown tempting his lips at her disappointment.

JJ looks around once more before throwing his arm around her shoulder to walk her out.

"You bet your ass I do."

What is a person supposed to act like on their first date that's not actually a date cause everything between them is the same, but kinda is a date because they called it one? If you ever find out, please find JJ and tell him because he has no clue.

Pope wasn't too much help in the Instagram group chat he made for it seeing as his and Kie's relationship is too fresh, John B isn't even alive, so he's out of service for advice unless there's Ouija Board he can borrow, and, thankfully, Kiara was his savior.

Their phones began blowing up as soon as he reached his class after lunch period ended. He couldn't under any circumstances let it be known that this mystery girl he had a date with was their friend, but thankfully Y/N already had the alibi of going to the Drive-In alone. All he had to do was make up a fake date scenario and get basic advice.

danknugstickiestickies added kiara-c and popeheyward to the groupchat

danknugstickiestickies named the group HELP ME

danknugstickiestickies i have a date with this chick i met on the beach when i was out with y/n last week. i need ur advice

His phone screen lit up with the notification that both of his friends were typing, signified with the three dot symbol bouncing in the bottom left corner as he thought it through. They couldn't possibly figure it out, right? They'd been careful, he'd been respectful of her wishes, and they'd been too busy together to notice anything new with them. He figured it would work. It was a risk, sure, but it was worth it to him. He didn't want to fuck this up with her.

Knowing her, she probably wouldn’t even treat it differently than any of their other hang outs. It's not like they haven't been romantic or sexual with each other. They've done everything but go out on an actual date, so why was he nervous?

kiara-c ummmm

popeheyward Yeah, I'm gonna need you to ELABORATE!!

kiara-c did hell freeze over? since when does jj maybank go out on dates??

danknugstickiestickies renamed the group hell froze over

kiara-c very funny, I'm laughing so hard 😐

popeheyward Do we know her?

danknugstickiestickies don't think u do. she moved here last week and hasn't enrolled in school yet. her name's steph

popeheyward What about Y/N though?

kiara-c ^^

JJ's chest muscles tightened with the question prompting a rush of anxiety that made his breathing feel slightly harder. He glanced up at his Physics teacher, who was essentially dozing off behind his desk with his hand in a bag of chips and an educational video on the projector as an excuse to not teach, and looked back down at his phone without the added stress of possibly getting his phone confiscated.

Pope's message might as well have been a sucker punch. Forget butterflies, he set a wasp’s nest loose inside of his stomach to tie it into knots and flip it every which way. His neglected textbook served as a prop for his phone to lean on as he set it down to think.

Did they know? As far as he was aware, they were getting away with it. No evidence, concrete or circumstantial, was there to prove it. At least the stress of the situation killed any chance of him being turned on by her reminder of last night in their messages. This shit was boner repellant of the highest degree.

He played stupid. Better to let them volunteer whatever information they had before he went in saying anything incriminating that they didn't already know. If anything would sour the experience of their first date, it would be him accidentally making their strange in-between relationship public behind her back.

danknugstickiestickies ?? what do u mean

Three dots bounced in the bottom left corner of his slightly cracked phone screen.

popeheyward ...

kiara-c I mean, you don't see it?

danknugstickiestickies see what

popeheyward I guess we were wrong, but all of us always thought you two had some feelings going on.

"You don't say?" JJ murmured sarcastically to himself under his breath. "Never crossed my mind, Pope."

danknugstickiestickies bro that's jb's little sister

kiara-c so?

danknugstickiestickies forbidden fruit? making john b roll over in his grave? do those ring a bell or am i speaking in tongues

He was already a proficient liar in real life, but, fuck, it was easy in text messages. There's no chance at deciphering facial expression or tone, just a plain message with no room to budge. Thank God he didn't do this in person with them. He could've survived, but it wouldn't have been as quick and painless as the group chat was.

kiara-c jeez, sorry

Pope didn't voice it, but he noticed something.

He looked up from his phone and stared off at the wall in thought in his AP European History class. It piqued his interest that JJ simply said she was off limits, forbidden fruit as he put it, but did not outright deny having feelings for her. In fact, he didn't even address the question. He made excuses for why he shouldn't have feelings for her, but he never said he didn't have feelings for her.

Kie did not notice. Not because she wasn't smart enough to either, but because she was too busy hiding her phone behind her backpack to think too deeply about it. Her teacher was one of those teachers that would flip shit if they saw a cell phone turned off and faced down on the desk, let alone being used by a student during a lesson.

In his classroom across the hallway, JJ bounced his leg up and down beneath his desk in an absentminded urge to release the built up energy the anxiety produced in an over abundance.

popeheyward Our bad then. Even John B thought y'all were sus lmao.

Since when was that a known fact? Could he tell? Did he talk to Pope about him and Y/N before he died? Either way, it wasn't the time to pry about it.

kiara-c yeah you guys honestly could've fooled me if you wanted to

danknugstickiestickies well thank u, glad ur invested in our friendship but

danknugstickiestickies please help, i have no fucking clue how to act on a date and this girl is too cool for me to screw this up

That was when they finally dropped the interrogation session and started offering up tips. The best ones came from Kie, which made sense to him since women are more likely to know what other women like than two dudes who share one collective brain cell and never had real relationships.

Rule One: Be ready to pick her up five minutes early.

He wasn't ready to pick her up five minutes early. His bike broke down by the time he made it halfway down his street, so he had to push it back up the road and into the yard before setting off on foot to reach the Chateau quickly enough. And by quickly enough, it means he got there five minutes late, not early.

Rule Two: Compliment her after you get in the car.

She tossed him the keys to the Twinkie from across the hood, not giving him the chance to open the door for her, and it wasn't until they were setting off down the road that he remembered the next piece of advice he was given.

Side-eyeing her in his peripheral vision, he tried to find something to compliment her on specifically rather than the general compliments about her being pretty that she never fully believes when he says them. He was intending to say something about the skirt she had on, but when he chanced a glance over at her, she caught him and asked—

"What is it?"

Sent into panic mode, JJ blurted out instead, "I like your shoes."

He could've bashed his face against the steering wheel twenty times right then and there at the utter absence of reaction on her part for the next few uncomfortable seconds. It wasn't that it was a bad compliment. She appreciates any compliments at all...but her shoes were hidden from his view. Not to mention, they were the dirty, mustard yellow converse that the Pogues bash on a daily basis.

She laughed, lifting her leg to expose the sneaker on her right foot, and asked, "These? Dude, you roast me for these all the time. You and John B said they look like Big Bird shit on them."

The skin on the apples of his cheeks scorched hot with embarrassment, and he was never so glad that the overhead lights in the van were burnt out until that moment. He would've died on the spot if she saw him blush like that, face flushed pinker than sunburn. All he could do to save himself was murmur something about the color growing on him and keep driving in the direction of the theater with his hands white-knuckling the steering wheel he fantasized about banging his face into.

Rule Three: Insist on picking up the check.

In this case, it meant insist on buying the popcorn and drinks, and he miraculously managed to drop his wallet somewhere along the way when he ran over to the Chateau, so when he stepped up to the makeshift concession stand with her standing at his side, he felt around for his wallet in his jeans to no avail.

His thoughts echoed back to him, You gotta be fucking kidding me. Seriously? Is this actually happening right now?

"JJ, it's honestly fine," she said softly as he leaned over to search back of the Twinkie for the wallet. "We can look for it on your street right now if you want. It has your ID and stuff, you don't want a stranger to have that. We don't need to stay—"

It took all of his control to not shout it in reaction when he said, "No way. You've been waiting for this, and Kie ditched you, so I ain't ditching you too. We're staying."

His wallet could go kick rocks.

He came too far to be dragged down by the old leathery piece of shit anyway. Would he go out and search for it tirelessly the second the date ended? Hell yeah, that fucker had twenty dollars and his debit card in it, but he couldn't bear the thought of abandoning her or ruining her anticipated movie night by taking her out to search the streets with their phone flashlights for a wallet they might not find. He'd wait till the movies ended, take her home, then haul ass around the Cut searching for it after.

Thankfully, he found a couple bucks crumbled up in his front pocket while she scavenged for coins in the glove compartment, and they came up with enough to buy a water bottle and small popcorn to share together.

Rule Four: Don't have sex on the first date.

And it may sound easy enough to not act like a complete Neanderthal for the length of two movies, but the girl makes it pretty damn difficult if he's to say so himself.

That's what led him here, laying in the back of the sideways-parked Twinkie in the farthest corner of the outdoor theater with her practically on top of him. In any other instance, he wouldn't be opposed in the slightest, but with the cursed fourth rule in mind, he isn't too thrilled with the feeling of her hand rubbing up and down his thigh.

It isn't even meant to be sexual. They're constantly touching one another this way. She'll even slip her hands up under his shirt just to feel the warmth of his skin or when he asks her if she can get an itch on a part of his back he can't reach, but for some reason his brain is short circuiting right now.

The thing is, when Kie and Pope said he shouldn't do it on the first date, they meant it for his and Steph's made up circumstances, not his and Y/N's full-blown relationship without labels. When you've had sex with someone as many times as they have with each other, the hesitancy on the "first date" is nonexistent. It doesn't matter. But JJ, trying to follow the advice given to him to the letter for the sake of being the date she deserves, doesn't think about it that way.

It shouldn't be this nerve-wracking. They've been best friends since they were children, they've been flirting since they found out what basic attraction was in the first place, and they've been forming this relationship ever since John B died. Why can't he relax? Why is this so different compared to how easy it felt between them yesterday on the beach or today at lunch?

Rule Five: Be yourself.

It takes him another few moments of laying here with her before he realizes quite abruptly what went wrong in a quick flash of a thought that brings the fifth rule back to him. The problem wasn't the bike, or the weird compliment about her Big Bird sneakers, or the lost wallet.

The problem is him. The problem is that he's trying way too hard to make this something it isn't. The part about them that he adores so dearly is how they never have to try when they're together. With any other girl or guy, they'd have to fake something or act a certain way, yet when they're together, they can simply exist and everything is runs smoothly. That's not to say they don't disagree or bump heads, they do, but short of those outlier moments, it's easier than anything else they do in life.

His eyes flicker away from the screen for the first time since the movie began, which, by the way, is gruesome enough at times that he had to divert his eyes to prevent himself from seeing it happen. They land on where she lays, completely content with the night in spite of its mishaps, with her head propped up on the pillows they brought from the Chateau.

He wonders if she can tell he's acting differently. Surely she must notice. She's the type of person that typically never misses a thing, perfect for the gold hunt they went on in the summer with picking up the clues and helping her brother unravel the mystery, so maybe she noticed how flustered this date has him. Does it bother her? Does he bother her?

With a confirming glance back up at the movie to see nothing important happening, he can't fight the urge to speak anymore.

"Can I tell you something?"

His voice appearing through the darkness of the shut off van after spending the past half hour in complete silence makes her jolt at first before realizing who it was. Though she loves horror movies, she can't claim to not be affected by them. The night she falls asleep after watching one, she often finds herself compelled to turn a light on and keep her feet from dangling off the edge of the bed. It's worth the fear, though.

When she turns to look at JJ, there's a warm smile on her face. She's cuddled into his side with a hand placed casually atop his thigh, caressing with no purpose or intent, and her movement halts when the light from the movie on the projector allows her to see the expression on his face.

Anxiety has become an increasingly significant presence in his life with the recent events in mind; John B and Sarah, the four-hundred million dollars they lost out on, and dodging his father whenever he sneaks home to switch out the backpack of clothes and personal belongings he keeps at the Routledge house.

It manifests itself in jittery nerves, stomach pains, shortness of breath, and, at worst, panic attacks striking either at random or in response to a specific trigger. It's one of the few things he still tries to hide from her, and she tries not to push him too hard with opening up about it.

She abandons the movie for the time being and rolls onto her side to face him, upper body propped up on her elbow as she examines his face with downturned features.

"Of course," she says.

The words left unsaid are, "You can tell me anything. Whenever you need someone to listen, or to talk to about shit, you can tell me." He's heard her say it enough that he doesn't need to hear it now to know it's true.

There's a pause, then—

"I feel like I fucked this entire date up," he starts to ramble and cuts her off before she can think about saying what she wants to, "and I know it's okay to you. You have way too high of a tolerance for my bullshit, and I've been trying so hard to make this perfect, but all that did was screw it up."

She's left quiet for a second, taking it all in.

Maybe if he hadn't been so anxious about it, he would've realized what was wrong with his bike when he rode it home from school, or he would've noticed his wallet fall out of his pocket. The point is, he wishes he hadn't let the label attached to this freak him out so much. He isn't sure why it does, but it does.

But she doesn't do what he expects. She isn't drowning him in reassurances and, "It's okay's" because she knows he doesn't care for them much. When he, the most stubborn person she knows, apologizes for something he did, he doesn't want it to turn into the person accepting the apology coddling him.

Y/N sighs.

"Is that why you've been acting so different all night? I scared you with the whole ‘date’ thing, didn't I? It doesn't have to be a date if you don't want it to be."

What she doesn't know is that he wants it to be a date. He wants it to be a date so badly, he risked Pope and Kie finding them out for the sake of getting some proper advice on it, and now he's caught up in the same game of tug and war in his mind that always occurs when he wants to tell her the truth about his feelings for her.

Part of him doesn't understand why he doesn't outright say it. With every other girl he once showed interest in, he had no issues in letting them know he wanted them, but this is different. This isn't simply wanting someone, he thinks he's fallen for her. But whenever he says he's gonna grow a pair and tell her after all this time, he chokes. Involuntarily, he's reminded of his parents. Other than his friends saying it platonically, the only people to tell him they loved him were them, and with how they treated him, he sure as hell doesn't think that is love.

From his dad's brutal physical abuse to his mom's abandonment, he's too timid to tell her he loves her because of what could happen if she loves him back. Everyone else that has said that to him has either hurt him, died like John B did, or abandoned him.

He won't let that happen with him and Y/N. What they have, albeit undefined and codependent, is safe. It's the only thing he has left. Maybe it isn't right, and maybe he should open up about it to communicate the correct way, but somewhere in the misshapen logic of his mind, he correlates love to abandonment. And he doesn't want that to happen with her.

There are two sides of him at battle inside his mind. One side, the side that wants to do right by their relationship and actually communicate his feelings for once in his life, wants him to tell her everything. The other side, the side that responds based on the history of his past, wants him to hide it all.

"Will you be mad at me if we don't call it a date?" he asks.

She shakes her head.

The heavy sensation inside of JJ's chest nears a point of vitriolic violence against him as he starts to realize what he's doing to her, clearly letting her down, but he can't stop himself. Like a passive witness watching himself from outside of his body, the instantaneous trauma response to the sudden confrontation of his true feelings for her guides his actions without his permission. It shuts down any protest he has.

The sound of the movie fills the gap of silence between them the entire time. It’s a variety of bloodcurdling screams and disgusting sounds that would've made him gag if he weren't as distracted.

They can make out each other's faces through the darkness, but barely. It takes a flash of bright color from the film or a nearby car's lights turning on for them to fully see one another. Without the other knowing, they both put masks of calm and collected coolness on their faces despite the feelings raging beneath the surface—more so on his part than hers.

"Maybe," he says, pausing, "we should just keep things the way they've been."

As soon as the words leave his mouth, a soul-crushing amount of disappointment weighs her down. She said it was fine if he doesn't want it to be a date—and it is, she would never hold it against him—but that doesn't mean it can't hurt her. Things have been going so well, she almost thought...If tonight went well, she was thinking about no longer keeping it a secret, but if he said he wants things to stay the same, then maybe he isn't as ready for it as she is?

Meanwhile, JJ is on another page entirely.

She's embarrassed of being with you, a familiar voice in the back of his head croons. She's gonna leave just like everyone else does. If she doesn't even wanna tell your friends, why should you pretend you're dating?

The internal comments are the type that cause him to physically grimace when he's alone. Intrusive thoughts are just that: intrusive.

Sneaking into the guarded sanctuary of a person's mind, they set out to convince them the opposite of their reality. The only thing is, where most people's minds are guarded sanctuaries with walls of impregnable defense, his mind is the equivalent of a fortress blown to smithereens. The castle walls lay in rubble, the guards no where to be seen, and the path for these thoughts to slip past and straight to the vulnerability of his mind is left wide open.

In the privacy of his room, these thoughts attack him the most at night when he tries to fall asleep—when things get too quiet. With nobody around, when they get this bad there's nothing he can do except break down. It builds from the mere anxiety of attempting to force the thoughts away to full-blown panic attack mode. The more he resists them, the more aggressive they become. He'll gasp for air with tears streaming down his face, hitting his head with the heel of his hand as if that'd do something to stop his relentless mind.

But he can't afford to react in front of her, so the extent of his reaction is a subtle twitch of his face that she cannot see in the momentary darkness before the movie switches to another scene a second later. In a way, it does make the thoughts go away to have her here preventing him from spiraling alone. Having to focus on her keeps his mind away for moments at a time until the thoughts ease their grip on him.

When she hasn't answered for a while, he asks, terrified that he did something bad, "Are we good?"

The question seems to wake her up, snapping her out of the lonely direction her thoughts went into when he "rejected" her. It takes every bit of common sense she has left to force herself to understand that this doesn't mean he doesn't want her. He does, and not calling this a date doesn't mean they won't be together in the way they have been since John B's death, but she isn't perfect. She gets as unsure and insecure as he does.

As if the cloud of doom was lifted off of her, she makes her face lighten where she lays on her side next to him. Seeing this expression makes his chest feel less heavy, and he could let out a sigh of relief at the realization that he didn't break her heart and stomp on it. He should've known. Y/N is the sweetest person he knows, so she never would've flipped shit over him not wanting to label this as a date. That's not how she is.

And he's partly right. It isn't how she is. She would never hold it against him if he didn't want something further with her since she got herself into this position by pursuing him with his reputation with girls in mind, but she can't ignore it. Whether she wants it to or not, it had its affect on her as soon as he said it.

She leans in to kiss him, their lips meeting in the middle with the faint taste of popcorn salt mingling at the soft peck.

When she pulls away, she brushes the hair back from his face and says, "Don't worry. Nothing can change how I feel about you."

She has no clue what it feels like to hear that from her.

Despite the turmoil they unknowingly share beneath the surface due to this conversation, he could cry hearing her say it. It doesn't feel real to him that she feels the same way he does about her, because nothing could change how he feels about her either. That’s why he manages to work up the courage to repeat it back to her, and, for now, this is the closest he's physically capable of coming to telling her the truth.

"Ditto," he says.

It isn't what she wanted, but it's close enough, and if she dwells on this any longer, she might start getting too emotional and let the urge to tear up become too strong. Why does she have to be this sensitive? It's no secret that it's remarkably easy to make her cry, but this is insane to her. When all of this began with him, she didn't give a shit about him not wanting a label. She understood him, and she understood that he doesn't do this kind of thing, so why has it changed? Why doesn't she want to keep it a secret anymore? Why does she want this to be a date when she knows he doesn't want it to be?

Pulled by an invisible string back to him to silence her mind, she leans in to kiss him again with a hand cupping the back of his neck to guide him the rest of the way to her.

It shouldn't be laced with any sexual intention. She should be kissing him simply because she wants to, and, in a way, she is. Their kisses and touches are never lacking the motivation that is their underlying connection and mutual feelings for one another, but this is not the same. As he kisses her back with as much confidence and passion as always, she is reeling from the conversation that reminded her too much of a breakup.

It takes another minute of this for the kiss to heat up, their breathing becoming shallower in the moments they part to inhale, and she is undeniably the one instigating when she officially crosses the line between casual and sexual by crawling onto his lap. It's not hard for him to pick up on when their innocent moments take a turn. She's easy to read in that regard, and this has happened a multitude of times with them, so the shift of a mini make out session turning into something more is nothing out of the ordinary for them.

If he knew how shaken she is on the inside, he'd never want this. And the same would go for her if she knew what he was thinking before this. Neither of them wants to admit what they're feeling.

With her legs seated on either side of his hips, she kisses him like it's the last time she'll ever get the opportunity to. Her hands wander wherever they can, pulling at his shirt and feeling him up as his hands guide her hips to move against his in a steady grinding that she has no issue partaking in. It's an eagerness he hasn't seen from her in weeks. She's never un-excited when it comes to being physical with him either, but this is another level. The last time a girl was all over him like this, it was desperate touron at a party a few months ago.

In the span of time it takes her to glance over her shoulder to see if anyone could see them and reach to pull her skirt up until it bunches around her hips—no one can see them, by the way, since they got here late and were forced to cram the van into the back corner of the lot with no street lights illuminating the path—his brows raise at her presumptuous behavior. Not that he's one to complain, however, seeing as he's typically the one doing what she is.

Their next kiss clashes their teeth hard enough to make them wince, but he loves it. It makes him smirk into her parted mouth, alive with both the feeling her reassurance provided and the fuzzy-headed high that often finds him when they're together in this way. Incomparable to past flings or the high related to any drugs, she is the peak of everything to him. It's no contest.

His chest stutters against hers with a bout of amused laughter, asking within a brief pause in what feels like the most JJ thing he's said this awkward night, "Two for two in the Twinkie. What's gotten into you?"

Y/N's hand dips between where their bodies move together to unclasp the closed buckle of his belt in one smooth motion that has it falling apart with a clinking noise.

Her features are set with a look that tells him she means business. Whatever it is that sparked this, he wonders how the fuck to make it happen again another time. She's begged for it before, but never taken control so dominantly, and he can't deny what the role reversal does to him. The evidence is obvious in the distinct hardness she feels pressing up against the hand undoing his jeans.

"I was hoping it'd be you," she says, voice breathless and airy from the constant contact in a way that makes it ten times hotter for him.

If there were any chance of him not being in the mood prior to this, which wasn't the case anyway, it's gone now. He never wants to hear her say she doesn't deliberately try to tease him ever again.

He doesn't need to be told twice.

JJ surges forward to capture her mouth with his, this time with no intention of pulling away to breathe or speak again. No, he'll let himself get lightheaded and dizzy if it means he can stay with her for as long as possible.

With the circumstances of it all, them being visible to someone if they happened to pass by the open door of the van, they move at a pace quicker than usual. She's immediately helping him shimmy his jeans and underwear far enough down his hips to free his dick from the confines of his clothes, making him sigh out a breath of relief when her hand brushes against him in the process.

There's no opportunity to slow down, it has exploded into a full-throttle speed race that neither of them can halt.

His hand blindly flies out beside him to grope the floor of the van for the set of keys he tossed carelessly to the side once the movie started, eyes shut in the midst of the hot, messy kiss they share. His fingers find the fabric of one of the blankets they brought in case they got cold, then drifts again and lands on her Big Bird sneakers until he feels the sharp metal of her keys meet his calloused palm.

After the events of last summer, she bought a switch blade to keep on her key ring alongside the keys to the van, HMS Pogue, and Chateau. She may not like violence or weapons, seeing as she was a skeptic of JJ keeping the gun alongside her friends, but she saw it necessary. Between Rafe, Topper, and Kelce, how could she leave the safety of her and her friends up to chance knowing what some of the kooks did to them not long ago? What happened to Pope on the golf course alone was enough to make her skin crawl.

Right now, though, the knife flips out from the pressure of his thumb pushing the button to release it. He holds it out away from her at first to assure it doesn't nick her in the process, then uses his other hand to tug the side of her panties that hugs her hip far out enough to press the sharp side of the blade onto the inside of it.

She can hardly believe what she's watching as JJ cuts the delicate maroon underthings from her body as if he were doing something so normal, like it's something he's done before. Her forehead is pressed against his, her mouth parted both in shock and in a need to pant for oxygen, and she watches the knife ruin her favorite panties. The stitches come apart with a satisfying ripping noise that can hardly be heard over the sound of people reacting to the movie in the background.

Other customers of the Cherry Bowl Drive-In are too glued to the screen as a beloved character is chased down, reacting in shouts when she's seized by the killer and shoved onto the table of an industrial bread slicer, so they remain wholly unnoticed.

The lace, now ripped in half, dangles on the tip of the knife when he lifts it away from her, tosses it aside, and presses the button once more to retract the blade. It clatters to the floor, but is in no way forgotten with them resuming in a desperation to keep going until they both satisfy the need clawing at them from the inside. But her sense of need is different from his, and even with the fresh memory of him with the switch blade in mind, she's still somewhere else the whole time.

Her mind is faraway, muted through layers of sadness, anger, and disappointment as he reaches between them to line himself up to her entrance. The sensation of him running his cock, hard and messy with a few drops of precome, through her dripping pussy to coat it in her slick arousal is enough to make her moan pathetically. Yet when he's about to guide himself inside of her, she stops him.

"Wait, wait, wait," she breathes out rapidly, heart pounding so hard she can feel herself pulsating between her thighs, "Condom."

They were so antsy to get to it, they almost forgot.

"Fuck," he curses under his breath, and his eyes flicker from where they were trained between their bodies to glance back and forth around the van before it hits him. "I lost my wallet..."

But right when he thinks their public rendezvous in the back of the Drive-In is over due to his unfortunate mistake, she shakes her head and slips away from her perch astride his lap to crawl over to her bag.

She fumbles with the old tote bag and plunges her arm in to sift through the hodge podge of things that are purely Y/N in nature—stickers, glitter pens, a half-eaten bag of candy, etc—for the square foil package she decided to toss in before she left just in case. She usually doesn't keep them on her because he never fails to have one, but, thankfully, she had the random instinct to bring it tonight.

The only thing to bring her out of her cloudy, malevolent storm of feelings when she settles back onto his lap with the condom wrapper ripped open for him is him saying, "So you planned this, huh?" with his mouth tipped in a familiar self-satisfied grin.

She didn't plan it. In fact, she threw herself at him the second she sensed him withdrawing from her and can't stop herself despite the fact that she constantly feels two seconds away from letting a tear slip down her cheek. If that counts as "planning it", then sure.

"Maybe so," she answers, cool, calm, and collected—the antithesis of the truth.

They usually don't lie to each other.

They're thrown right back into it without any other hiccups once he rolls the condom on, and he takes in a shaky breath at her hand wrapping around him to align their bodies up. Before she can do anything, though, he takes chance to swipe the blanket he found a moment ago and wrap it around her back to keep her covered in case they get caught.

Y/N sinks down onto his cock with her lip caught between her teeth to stifle the sound that threatens to escape. JJ, on the other hand, doesn't bother concealing the sound of the groan he makes at the sensation of having her wrapped around him like this. The tension in her entire body from the anticipation and the looming threat of being seen by someone has her squeezing him so tightly, he can't help but be a little louder than he should.

Her soft palm slaps over his mouth with enough pressure to force his groan to quiet itself, and she watches his pretty blue eyes widen in reaction to the dominant action. Who is this girl and what has she done with his sweet, submissive Y/N? Don't get him wrong, he is very turned on by it, but it's unlike her to take the lead this way. He can't figure it out.

"What's wrong, angel?" she asks in a whisper into his ear, her hand over his mouth and her hips starting to slowly rock against him, "Watch the movie."

Once the words leave her mouth, she drops her hand, just in case he wants to stop and can't say anything because she had his mouth covered, and JJ is pretty sure he's died and gone to heaven.

He doesn't watch the movie, not at all, because he's too busy watching her. For someone losing their mind internally, she does not let it show, nor does she let it distract her from what's happening. If anything, the distraction in this situation is the sex, not what's going on inside of her head.

There's a moment of adjustment and going as slowly and gently as possible while waiting for the dull pressure of feeling him inside of her to fade away, but, for the most part, she doesn't waste any time. As soon as she feels comfortable enough with the ache between her thighs giving way to a spark of pleasure when she grinds her clit down on his pubic bone, she starts to ride him at a better pace than the initial slow movements of her hips.

She raises herself up and takes him again inch by inch, enjoying the sense of fullness she gets from having to fit him in spite of the slight discomfort at first, and she could swear that he'll leave bruises in the shape of his handprints with how tightly he clutches her hips. It's all he can do to prevent himself from moaning or saying something, ever the vocal lover she's come to know.

Unless his mouth is preoccupied like it was on the beach yesterday afternoon, JJ is usually impossible to shut up, especially in this context. With him always whispering dirty things to her, whether it be praises, pet names, or plans on what he wants to do to her, she has come to find it breathtakingly hot. He could likely get away with saying something if he wanted to, but he isn't sure he wants to risk it. If he opens his mouth to spew something filthy to her, he won't trust himself not to make a louder, different kind of noise that won't fit in the with background audio the other moviegoers are listening to.

The wet sound of their bodies colliding that fills the space of the van is drowned out by the loud and violent sequence occurring on the screen far ahead of them, and hearing it makes her bounce herself on him a little harder. She's fueled on by it all, and, strangely, what happened before she practically pounced on him is the main contributor.

Similarly to the nature of his intrusive thoughts, the harder she resists the memory of how it felt when he told her he didn't want this to be a date, the more forceful it is in its return. Her eyes trail down to watch where they connect with her forehead pressed to his, then she's thrown back into the feeling of helpless disappointment and insecurity. His head tips back against the window with his bottom lip dropped open and his brows furrowed just enough to create a crease on his forehead, and she's bombarded with the look of relief on his face when he realized he didn't have to be tied down to her with a label.

It makes her want to get rougher, harder, and she doesn't even care if it'll make her sore later on. She presses herself down so far every time she slides down on his cock, her teeth draw blood on her lip with how hard she must bite it to remain quiet. The pain of her hipbones rubbing against his doesn't even matter to either of them at this point. They're both too lost in the pleasure that has begun to take control of them to care about something as minuscule as that, or the burn in her thighs from the repetitive physical strain.

She grabs his wrist and brings his hand between them, flattening hers overtop of it and pressing down on the base of her abdomen in the midst of the increasingly feverish thrusts.

"Feel you here," she murmurs to him through a quiet moan, hoping he can hear it over the movie, and pushes down on his hand for emphasis. And if the way he reacts by cursing under his breath tells her anything, it's that he picked up on it. "JJ..."

He reaches out to grab her by the throat with his free hand and tug her forward to kiss him, as if something inside of him snapped in response to her doing that. The motions of her jolting up and down throws the already messy and uncoordinated kiss off-kilter, but they don't mind. It has them separating every time she lifts up, producing this heady little head rush from from them breathing in each other's air without actually letting their mouths meet in the middle.

Though they're trying their hardest not to alert anyone outside of what's happening, it didn't occur to him until now, when his eyes catch John B's old bandana swinging back and forth where it's secured around the rear view mirror.

They're worried about moaning while the entire fucking Twinkie is rocking with their movements. Well, at least it makes good use of the corny sticker he gifted John B last year as a gag gift. He tried to peel it off after JJ snuck it onto the side window to no avail. So, now Y/N is stuck with a sticker on her car reading, "If the van's a-rockin', come on in, we like orgies," rather than the more common phrase.

It almost makes him start laughing, and he prays no one takes that shit seriously, 'cause he is never intent on sharing this breathtaking girl. Ever.

Y/N isn't anywhere near laughing like he is, in fact, she's finding it difficult to keep herself together. She feels her eyes sting with the promise of tears, and she's never felt so pathetic before. Is she seriously about to cry during sex? Is she really that girl that is so ill-equipped to handle rejection, she can't get through it without tears?

She won't cry. Perhaps if he sees how glossy her eyes have become in a rare moment of good lighting, she can blame it on the hand around her throat putting pressure on the sides of her neck.

The worst part about her being near to crying is the timing of it.

The emotion of what she feels mentally mixes with the swirling, building sensation she feels in the pit of her stomach that tells her she's close to going over the edge, and it's so overwhelming. Was she imagining that their friendship had changed? More importantly, is this all she'll ever be to him? Sex is the only thing she's sure of with him, it's the only thing that doesn't require deeper emotions, and when the ground beneath their fragile relationship felt shaky...

He can feel her starting to unravel, and he knows that he'll come before she does if he doesn't do anything now, so he decides to take control.

JJ pulls the hand he had resting on her abdomen away as though he were burned by it, wrapping his arm around her waist to steady her body against his and using the hand around her neck for leverage to thrust up into her, effectively reducing her to a teary-eyed, moaning mess atop him. They both stopped caring about making noise the second he began to fuck her like this.

She cries out in ecstasy at the sudden change in pace and depth that has him hitting all the right places. Every time he thrusts up into her, just as rough as she wished for, the tip of his cock nudges into that perfect spot inside of her that makes her incapable of silencing her moans. This time, it's JJ that puts his hand over her mouth, letting the one he had around her neck move away to keep her from alerting everyone around them of what's happening.

There's nothing she can do to stop her climax as it barrels through her in its initial sweeping wave of bliss to contrast the venomous doubts in her mind. She's never felt such conflicting, yet powerful feelings before—the intensity of the physical pleasure that makes her whine into the palm of his hand, then the part of her mind replaying every word he said in their conversation before this.

Her body is rigid and tense through it all, squeezing down around his cock with the involuntary spasms of her orgasm, and he can't help himself anymore. All it takes are a few more frantic thrusts for him to bury himself inside of her one last time and spill into the condom, uncovering her mouth so he can drown out his own groans into a kiss.

Their skin sticks to their clothes on the inside with sweat from the exertion of their actions, and he can feel her stomach tremble where it presses up against his with each undulation of her hips that meet his as he rides it out.

But even with the added distraction of the sex, she can't rid herself of the feeling that started plaguing her as soon as things went awry. That was why he was acting weird all night. He must have been so worried about her thinking this was anything more than their typical hangouts that he couldn't bring himself to act normally.

She forces herself to look happy when they pull away from the kiss, panting, and JJ, unaware of what she's been thinking, doesn't notice the small deception.

Tag list: @gabiatthedisco

[zukoszukhoes]

Don’t Speak- Zuko x Reader

// Soulmate au- Zuko x reader

// summary: In the Fire Nation, when you turn 16, the first words your soulmate will say to you appear on your wrist. Just after y/n’s 17th birthday, they don’t think they’ll ever find their soulmate. Until a certain prince, back from his banishment, comes to stay at their family’s estate on holiday. Suddenly, y/n is faced with a complicated problem; after all, what do you do when your soulmate is the crown prince of the nation you hate?

//part 2 here

//warnings: none, just some angst and a little threatening

// (Y/M/N)= your mother’s name

“(Y/n), the royal procession is here! Come quickly!” The head maid, Lotty, cried into your room.

Shit! You thought, lurching up from your bed. You’d gotten so engrossed in your book you’d forgetting to keep track of time. And now your hair was a mess, your clothes were wrinkled, and you still couldn’t find your shoes. Your father was going to kill you when he saw you.

“Lotty, have you seen my shoes? The ones we got last week for the procession?” You shouted, throwing on your banquet wear as fast as you could.

“It’s in the closet!” Lotty called back from the other room, her voice panicked. Having visitors always put Lotty on edge.

“No, they’re not!”

Lotty rushed in your room, face scrunched up with stress and hair resembling a bird’s nest. “What do you mean they’re not in the closet?” She screeched.

“I checked the closet and I’m telling you they’re not there!”

“Spirits, child! Could you at least try and be organized?!” Lotty cried, digging into the closet. She emerged a minute later with the shoes held triumphantly in her hands and shoved them into your chest. “Now, go, quickly! The prince will be here any minute!”

The prince. The words echoed bitterly in your mind. Despite being the child of a powerful Fire Nation government official, living in the Fire Nation brought you no joy.

Growing up, you’d watched as the Fire Nation conquered the rest of the world. You’d been taught that it was the right thing to do, that you were sharing your success to create a better world. But when your father told you of the lives lost-on both sides- you couldn’t help but hate the war, and the Fire Nation. To you, it was all senseless killing, poorly disguised under the name “progress.”

When you heard about the prince’s banishment for speaking out against the Firelord’s war plans, you’d hoped it meant that he was a fair, wise, and just person. And, that maybe, one day, he would come back and be the Firelord the world needed him to be. However, when you learned he’d killed the avatar in Ba Sing Se, you knew in your heart that he was just as evil as the rest of his family.

Still, your reservations about the royal family did not deter your own family from idolizing them. After all, the Firelord had given your father a respectable job, a good home, and a steady living. Being a high-ranking government official had opened all kinds of doors for your family. So when the Firelord asked your father to host his son, Prince Zuko, while he was meeting with his war generals, how could he say no?

“You’re late.” Your father grumbled as you fell into line in between him and your mother. “Why, on today of all days, did you choose to be late?”

“I’m sorry, father.” You replied, fixing your shirt surreptitiously. “I lost track of time.”

A horrified gasp escaped your mother’s lips. “(Y/N)! Your mark!” She whispered, grabbing your wrist.

In the Fire Nation, everyone had the first words their soulmate would every say to them imprinted on their wrist. However, it was considered improper to display your mark in public. Anything having to do with soulmates was considered private, intimate, and extremely personal. To show your mark to the public, when you haven’t met your soulmate yet, would be considered betraying your soulmate’s trust before you’d even met them. Your parents seemed to believe in this idea more than most. They’d gone to extreme lengths to make sure no one other than themselves, Lotty, and yourself had seen the mark.

You glanced down, reading the words you’d read a hundred times over: “Your shoe is untied.”

“Here,” your mother huffed, handing you her own wrist cuffs. Her mark was gone, disappeared the first day she had met your father. You slipped on the cuffs, watching the words disappear under the bronze metal. “And next time, be more careful!” Your mother scolded you.

You rolled your eyes. But before you could respond, the front gates opened. A palanquin, painted blood red with regal gold detailing, appeared through the gates. Held up by four exhausted-looking palanquin bearers and flanked by guards, it was a statement of royalty that could not be ignored. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the pomp of it all.

“It’s a bit excessive, don’t you think?” You snorted. Your father glared at you, but cracked a smile nonetheless.

Gauzy white curtains fluttered in the wind as the palanquin bearers strode their way up to the house. In between the curtains you caught a glimpse of a high ebony ponytail, a flaming crimson scar, and two golden, piercing eyes. Eyes widening with surprise, you quickly averted your gaze, a shiver racing down your spine. What was that? After what seemed like an eternity of waiting, the palanquin finally stopped in front of your family.

“Please bow for Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation!” One of the guards barked, dropping to one knee. Immediately all of the other guards followed. You slipped into a low bow, watching out of the corner of your eye as the palanquin bearers parted the curtains for the prince to descend.

You’d expected to find the prince revolting. When you imagined meeting him before, his image only conjured anger over the war, anger over all of the injustices you’d heard of over the years. But when the prince emerged from the palanquin, you didn’t feel anger; instead, you felt your heart skip a beat.

Tall and regal, Prince Zuko had a commanding presence that seemed to wrap around your heart and squeeze. You’d always heard that the royal family was cold and calculated- but the prince reeked of raw emotion. He did not smile- or show any expression at all- but his presence emanated raw angst. And those eyes. Once again, the flash of molten amber met yours, one eye haloed in dark red, and sent a jolt down your spine. Looking into his eyes, you felt as if you could watch the gears in his head turn and twist as he studied you. All of his turmoil, rage, and sorrow swirled in those pools of amber, shaking you to your core. He narrowed his eyes, his gaze of liquid gold seeming to find something interesting in you.

You knew it was improper to hold his gaze for so long, but you couldn’t look away. He was incredible, yet turbulent; beautiful, but terrifying. Part of your brain saw him and thought he was nothing more than a teenage boy. The other part screamed that he was nothing but another killer.

“Prince Zuko, it is an honor to have you with us,” your father greeted in a booming voice. He clasped his hands behind his back and stood to attention, looking very much like the important official he was. “I am Executive (L/N). This is my wife, (Y/M/N), and my child, (Y/N).”

“Thank you for hosting me. It is a pleasure to meet all of you.” Zuko replied, his voice quieter than you expected.

“We hope the home is to your liking. If you need anything at all during your stay, feel free to take full advantage of the staff,” your mother said with a gracious smile.

The prince dipped his head in a subtle nod. “I appreciate your hospitality.” He paused, gaze sliding to yours once again. His eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly. “You’re (Y/N)?”

You simply nodded. It seemed better not to speak than to speak and say something out of turn (which, as your mother liked to complain, was a frequent and annoying habit of yours).

The prince walked forward until he was standing just a few paces away. He continued to study you up and down, face devoid of emotion. Finally, he remarked in a flat tone, “Your shoe is untied.”

Immediately all of the blood drained from your face. Underneath your cuff, your wrist burned. Your mother let out a small gasp, her excitement palpable. But you felt nothing but dread.

This is impossible. It has to be! Your thoughts raced frantically. Your heart began to thump loudly in your chest, fueled by panic-induced adrenaline. It had to be fake. It had to be.

Because if it wasn’t, than that meant that the crown prince- heir to the throne- of the nation you hated was your soulmate.

You glanced to the side and caught Lotty’s eye. She was practically jumping up and down with excitement, coaxing you to say something. Of course, she, your mother, and your father all knew your words. They knew that Prince Zuko’s first words to you were the first words your soulmate would say to you. No doubt they thought this was a good thing, a cause for celebration. How could they not realize Prince Zuko being your soulmate was the last thing you wanted?

A bead of sweat traveled down the back of your neck. Your father nudged you inconspicuously, prodding you to say something. But you couldn’t. Because those words would cement you as the crown prince’s soulmate.

Suddenly, an idea popped into your head. If speaking would make you Prince Zuko’s soulmate, then you just wouldn’t speak at all.

You clamped your mouth shut, choosing to nod again instead of replying. The prince raised an eyebrow, tension thickening in the air as he waited for a response.

“Excuse my (Y/N).” Your mother laughed suddenly, breaking the tension. She placed a hand on your shoulder in a seemingly harmless gesture, but her nails dug into your skin. “They can be so forgetful sometimes!”

The Prince’s eyes never left yours. “I understand.” He said flatly. His gaze lingered on you a moment longer before he turned away, towards your father.

“You must be tired after your journey. Let me show you to your quarters.” Your father said, lowering himself into a bow.

“Thank you.” The prince replied. He nodded to the palanquin bearers to bring his luggage forward.

“Come, right this way.” Your father directed him towards the entrance. They walked inside, thankfully releasing you from the prince’s presence.

You exhaled slowly, feeling some of your anxiety melt away that the prince was gone. However, your mother’s tension was clearly rising.

“What were you thinking?” She hissed, nails digging deep into your shoulder. “Refusing to speak to a royal! Spirits, (Y/N), I knew you could be headstrong but- but- this!”

Quickly, you looked around for the prince before turning back to your mother. “You heard what he said to me. It matches.”

“I know!” She squealed. “All the more reason to speak to him! You don’t want to insult your future husband more than you already have, do you?”

“Future husband?!” Heat rushed to your cheeks. “Spirits, mother, I just met him!”

“Darling, he’s your soulmate.” Your mother’s voice softened along with her grip on your shoulder. She smiled gently, her other hand raising to caress your cheek. “You two will be together, whether you want to or not.”

You swatted your mother’s hand away, a furious blush scorching your cheeks. “We don’t know that he’s my soulmate. After all, I haven’t even spoken to him yet.”

Your mother’s eyes narrowed and she leaned back, crossing her arms. “So that’s why you refuse to speak to the prince?”

You simply looked away. Lotty caught your gaze, concern swimming in her eyes.

Your mother scoffed. “Don’t be a coward, (Y/N). You have a great opportunity here. You could rule alongside the Firelord, and bring glory to our family!”

You turned away, anger simmering inside of you. “I’m not a coward. And I don’t want to rule beside the Firelord.”

Your mother opened her mouth to reply, face red with rage, but before she could, a servant came out of the front doors and rang the dinner bell.

“This is not over.” Your mother glowered, sweeping past you towards the dining hall. You sighed, about to follow, but stopped for a moment. Glancing down, you groaned. Your shoe really was untied.

~~~

The night was cool and clear. A breeze drifted lazily through your open window, bringing sounds of toad-crickets and beetle-sparrows with it. The last embers of a dying fire crackled in the fireplace. Under your mountain of blankets, you should have been fast asleep. Instead, you were wide awake, the day’s events replaying over and over again in your head. Having a soulmate was terrifying enough, but having the prince of the Fire Nation as a soulmate? That was something else entirely.

Throwing back your covers, you slipped out of bed, abandoning your futile attempts at sleep. You lit a candle and silently left your room, making your way towards your favorite spot in the house. It was a small balcony situated just off of the hallway leading to the servants quarters. Small and hidden from outside view thanks to some nearby trees, it was the perfect place to hide and think. You often found yourself seated there on nights you couldn’t sleep, listening to the cicada-frogs until you were tired enough to go back to your room.

You quietly opened the door to the balcony, looking forward to the solitude, but that night it seemed you had company.

Prince Zuko sat on the weathered stone, staring up at the stars with a dying candle next to him. His head turned as you opened the door.

Panic flared in your chest and you immediately receded, but before you could retreat fully, the prince’s voice called out to you, “Wait!”

You paused, your heart hammering in your chest. Your mind screamed at you to ran back to your room and forget the interaction had ever occurred, but something compelled you forward. Slowly, you opened the door and stepped out onto the balcony.

Zuko was staring at you inquisitively, like you were a puzzle he was trying to piece together. A slight blush colored his cheeks. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to take your spot. I couldn’t sleep.”

You didn’t respond.

The prince’s face suddenly soured and his hand curled into a fist. “Why won’t you speak to me?” He yelled, features scrunched in rage.

Your eyes widened, a jolt of fear electrifying your heart, until you remembered who you were. Yes, you were technically one of Prince Zuko’s future subjects. But you were also not one to be bullied.

Crossing your arms, you glared at the prince, daring him to yell at you again.

It seemed to work. The rage melted into annoyance. Zuko huffed, blowing a stray lock of hair out of his eyes, and turned his attention back to the stars. “You’re very frustrating.”

You cracked a smile and slowly relaxed a bit.

“You have a nice house. Do you like it here?” Zuko asked, doing his best to appear nonchalant.

You grinned and shook your head, as if to say, Your tricks won’t work on me.

Instantly, Zuko’s demeanor changed. He become more guarded, more shrouded in angst. “Do you want to know the real reason I’m here?” He started suddenly. He waited for your slow nod before continuing. “My father thinks there’s a spy here.”

Shock sliced through your chest despite your attempts to appear indifferent. A spy? At your house? You shook your head. It was impossible.

Zuko turned to you again, his gaze suspicious. “Maybe I should be looking at you more closely. Maybe you won’t speak to me because you’re the traitor.”

A laugh burst out of your mouth. You, a spy? You certainly had your qualms with the Fire Nation, but your town was tiny and your father barely let you talk to anyone outside of his own circle.

“I know you hate me!” Zuko snarled. “Everyone knows you hate the Fire Nation and the royal family. Who else would betray their country but you?”

You stayed silent, unsure whether to be afraid of Zuko or laugh at him. His anger was impressive to be sure, but it was all bark, no bite. It was a facade to protect himself from his true feelings. You could see that it in his eyes.

Finally, Zuko looked away, a frustrated groan escaping his lips. He leaned against his knee, his other leg sprawled out on the cobblestone. He radiated nonchalance, but there was an uneasiness in his stature that betrayed the turmoil raging beyond his perfectly-measured exterior. Slowly, you reached out with your hand and placed your palm on his shoulder, trying to convey as much compassion as you could in the touch. You knew Zuko didn’t really think you were the spy; if he did, you would have already been in a Fire Nation prison.

The prince shrugged your hand off, still refusing to look at you, but you could see some of the anger dissipate from his frame. Cautiously, you sat down against the opposite railing, keeping your gaze on Zuko. For a minute, the two of you simply sat in silence, you waiting for Zuko to say something and Zuko too proud to do so.

Finally, Zuko broke the tension with a sigh. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. Things are just a bit... complicated, at the moment.”

You found yourself nodding in agreement.

Zuko glanced at you from the corner of his eye. “You can talk, can’t you?”

You smirked teasingly. Zuko grunted and looked away, running a hand through his unkempt raven hair.

“Good. Glad to know I didn’t just yell at a mute person for not being able to speak.”

A quiet laugh escaped your lips. Zuko whipped his head to you in surprise, his blush deepening. Despite your determination to hate the prince, a blush of your own warmed your cheeks. 

“I’m... glad I was able to talk to you tonight. Even if you didn’t talk back. Lotty said you’d probably come out here, but I wasn’t sure if you'd be here,” Zuko said.

You frowned. Of course Lotty had told him where to find you. She may not have been your parents, but she definitely thought highly of the royal family and would be thrilled if the prince was indeed your soulmate. 

“Don’t blame her. I asked her to tell me,” Zuko reassured you quickly, seeing your frown.

You nodded; of course you didn't blame her. Suddenly, you yawned, a wave of fatigue washing over you.

“You’re tired.” Zuko stated, regaining the calm, princely demeanor he wore earlier in the day. You nodded again, crossing your arms to keep yourself warm in the cool night air. “Let me walk you back to your room.” He offered, standing up and holding out his hand. Quickly, you shook your head, launching to your feet. If one of the servants saw, rumors would no doubt spread like wildfire. Besides, you were trying your best to dislike Prince Zuko, and every second you spent with him was waning away your hatred. It was better to stay away.

Zuko’s outstretched hand fell to his side. His face settled into a steely glare and he raised his chin slightly, trying his best (but failing) to appear unaffected. “Fine. Until tomorrow, then.”

You paused, part of you wanting to stay back. Instead, you bowed hastily and retreated from the deck, quickly walking back to the safety of your room. When you were safely nestled under your blankets, heart racing from the encounter, you finally allowed yourself to breathe fully.

In the matter of a few hours, your life had become more complicated than it had ever been before. There could be a spy in your midst, you may have found your soulmate, and that soulmate may have been the crown prince of the Fire Nation. Despite the thoughts running through your head, however, you found yourself yawning. Burying yourself deeper into your pillows, sleep slowly tugged at your brain, sinking you deeper and deeper into darkness. But your thoughts of Prince Zuko spiraled with you, until, when you finally tumbled into sleep’s warm embrace, it was Zuko’s amber eyes that watched you fall.

~~~

The next morning, you decided you needed to do whatever possible to avoid the prince. You couldn’t risk another meeting with him, especially after your meeting from the night before, which had left you with certain... sympathetic thoughts towards Zuko. So when Lotty came into your room that morning, you proclaimed sudden illness and told her to leave you for the rest of the day. “To prevent the sickness from spreading to the prince,” you had claimed. Lotty, thankfully, had obediently left you alone and promised no one would come to see you. However, you still felt defenseless in your room, susceptible to a visit from Zuko. Thus, you found yourself following a path towards the back of the gardens, searching for seclusion. The gardens, lush, green, and sprawling across a whole acre, provided plenty of solitary clearings and hidden grottos to hide in. As you walked through a tunnel of trees towards the back edge of the gardens, you felt the tension from the past day melt from your shoulders. Vines spilled from trees and onto the path, dotted with Fire Lilies in bloom. The intoxicating smell worked its way into your muscles and dissipated the stress. Finally, as you reached the end of the path, you pushed through one last wall of leaves, feeling the last of your anxiousness fade away with the promise of solitude-

You gasped and immediately withdrew, your heart beginning to thump in your chest. Where you were sure you would find solitude, a moment of peace and quiet, you found something else entirely- Lotty. And, to make matters worse, she was speaking with Prince Zuko. 

Luckily, the pair didn’t notice your presence. They were too busy arguing to notice you behind the wall of vines. 

“Please, your Highness, have mercy!” Lotty was saying, a tremble in her voice. Peeking between the vines, you watched her sink to her knees in front of the Prince, her head bowed and hands clasped together.

Zuko’s face was scrunched up in anger, cheeks red. Faint wisps of steam curled outwards from his clenched fists. “You are a traitor to your country. How dare you ask for mercy, after all you’ve done?!” He shouted.

“I know I don’t deserve it. I know I don’t deserve your kindness. But, please, your Highness... for the sake of the girl... for the family... spare me!” Lotty whispered, face wide-open and terrified.

“When I was thirteen, my father permanently scarred me for speaking out of turn. If I didn’t receive mercy, you won’t either,” Zuko snarled. “Espionage is a far worse crime than foolishness.”

Your eyes widened. The spy. Lotty was the spy!

Lotty, the woman who had practically raised you. Lotty, the woman who had cooked for you, cleaned for you, and taken care of you your whole life. Lotty, who loved the Fire Nation so ardently- had betrayed your family to the rebels.

You sagged against the tree, shock paralyzing your limbs. She had betrayed you. And now, she was going to receive her punishment.

You forced yourself to look back through the curtain of vines, hands shaking. 

“I’m sorry, Prince Zuko-” Lotty gasped, shielding her face. Zuko had a blazing fireball poised in his hand.

“Apologies won’t save you now.” Zuko growled. Raising his arm to strike, the fire cast monstrous shadows over the scene, highlighting Lotty’s terrified expression. You watched as her eyes widened, fraught with the knowledge that she was about to meet her doom- and before you knew what you were doing, you were running towards her, screaming at Zuko to stop.

“Don’t you touch her!” You cried, skidding in front of Lotty just as Zuko prepared to strike.

Zuko’s fireball disappeared.

Chest heaving, you glared daggers at Zuko. “If you want to get to her, you’ll have to go through me.”

Zuko’s mouth dropped open in horror, his face becoming pale. “No,” he whispered, a look of horrible realization dawning over his face. He ripped off the cuff on his right wrist, exposing his pale skin and the black words inked into his flesh:

“Don’t you touch her.”

His eyes met yours, panic filling his gaze. “What does yours say?” He whispered, his voice eager yet terrified.

You slipped your cuff off and your own words came to light. The words on yours and Zuko’s wrists began to turn golden from the inside, shining brighter and brighter until the words vanished from your wrists in a blaze of light, confirming the worst.

You and Prince Zuko really were soulmates.

Except, after seeing what he was capable of, you knew you'd never love him.

[mandoalorian]

People Can See [Maxwell Lord x F! Reader] SMUT

Request by @luvzoria​: hey sweetpea! i have a req! you obviously don't have to do this but it's my birthday today and it gave me the idea of surprise sex? with any pedro character (personal favs tho : max lord, pero tovar, frankie, marcus moreno, and javier peña)surprise birthday sex 👀 in a risky public place maybe? public teasing? if you're okay with that!! again thanks hun!!

Rating: 18+

Warnings: SMUT— unprotected p in v, public sex, exhibitionism, creampie, Max has a daddy kink, a lot of teasing, fingering, and also mention of food.

Word count: 2.6k words

Authors note: Happy birthday lovey!​ Michelle, I'm sorry this is a few days late but this is for you angel! I hope it's okay and I hope you had a fab day all things considered. I send you all my love. Xx 

Masterlist

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you," the guests at your annual birthday gala hummed in unison as your favourite chef brought over your cake. Courtesy of your boyfriend Maxwell, it was a three tier chocolate cake with vanilla frosting and your name delicately placed on top in intricately detailed fondant.

"Maxie," you whispered, tears pooling in your eyes. You placed your hand on your boyfriend's thigh, rubbing it under the table. "This is too much. You shouldn't have." 

"Anything for you, my princess," he whispered, his warm breath fanning over the shell of your ear. Leaning in further, he pressed a kiss into your lobe, before giving it a small and teasing kitten lick. You grabbed his thigh even harder, your fingernails digging into his skin and giggled at your gesture. When he pulled away, he quirked an inquisitive eyebrow, as if to ask why are you giggling? He knew fine well. "Make a wish." he mumbled as he interlocked his fingers with yours.

There was no way you could possibly wish for anything. Dating Maxwell Lord meant that you could never want for nothing. He provided you with a beautiful home, lavish and luxurious clothes and jewellery, but most importantly he provided you with his love and warmth. You closed your eyes and wished that this happiness would last forever. There was no place you'd rather be, surrounded by your family and friends on your birthday— but most importantly, with Maxwell, the love of your life.

"You kept teasing me at the table." you muttered with a joking roll of your eyes. You and Maxwell were walking along the table filled with little bites to eat. Picking at the finger food, you both filled up your plates.

"Now sweetheart, you know that wasn't teasing," he chastised with a smirk. You nodded, knowing that he could do much worse. "Teasing could be you rubbing my thigh all night, huh? Did you think about that?"

As a matter of fact you had. Maxwell looked so handsome in his three piece tuxedo. The black pants and matching Armani jacket with the white button down suited him so well, but it didn't change the fact you desperately wanted to peel off that bow tie and have him gag you with it. You supposed it could wait until you got back to your hotel suite. You didn't answer, picking up a small item of food and shoving it into his mouth. He took it willingly, but stopped to wrap his lips around your finger, sucking teasingly.

"Maxie," you groaned wantonly. "People might see." He pulled off you with a pop.

"Let them watch." he shrugged casually before picking up another piece of food to go onto his plate.

Your birthday gala was a massive success, but you had no doubt it would be. Maxwell was always the best at hosting events. Your favourite part of the night was when he held you in your arms and you slow-danced to Can't Help Falling In Love by Elvis, which was one of Max's all time favourites. You rested your head into your boyfriend's chest as his arms held your waist, swinging your hips in time with the music.

"You look absolutely stunning in that dress," Maxwell growled in your ear. You recognised that lilt in his voice immediately. Leaning back, you caught a glimpse of that primal look on his face, as well as a glint of lust in his already darkened eyes. "So glad to call you mine."

His hand maneuvered round to the curve of your ass and you felt your cheeks begin to heat up as you slowly looked around the ballroom, hoping nobody had noticed Maxwell's sudden onset affection. Thankfully, they hadn't. Other couples were too busy gazing into one another's eyes, or feasting upon the buffet on the other side of the room. In a crowded room, all Maxwell could focus on was you, his drop-dead gorgeous girlfriend.

"I love you." you confessed with a happy hum.

"I love you too darling." 

The night was still young but it seemed most people had taken a break from dancing, filing back to their tables to chat some more. You were making your way around all the different tables, wanting to make sure to speak to everyone and thank them for coming and bringing gifts. You slid into an unoccupied seat at the Black Gold Cooperative table, a huge smile on your face as you began talking to your old colleagues, and Max's employees.

Max approached you, holding a tired Alistair in his arms. Alistair, his son, was hugging one of your balloons tight to his chest as he fell in and out of sleep. "I'm gonna take Alistair back to our hotel room, he's exhausted," Maxwell announced and you nodded in affirmation before gently pressing a kiss into Alistair's forehead. "I won't be long." he promised before walking away.

"Mr Lord is so sweet for doing all of this for you," Raquel, Maxwell's assistant gushed.

"You know you can call him Max when he's not here." you giggled and Raquel blushed.

"Well I remember when Mr Lor- I mean Max first met you. He changed almost instantaneously. Less miserable, more polite. We all think you made him into a better person." Raquel revealed.

"Really?" you questioned, your eyes going wide at her revelation. The rest of the table nodded their heads in unison, confirming your question.

When Maxwell returned, his bow tie was slightly wonky and his hair had fallen out of it's style. You tucked a loose strand back into place. "You okay?" you pouted, letting your fingers trace the buttons on his shirt. You pulled out a chair next to you so he could sit down at the table.

"Yeah, Alistair couldn't settle so I had to sing to him," he frowned. "You should've been there," he chastised you teasingly. "You're usually the one who sings him lullabies."

You giggled, resting your head on Maxwell's shoulder. "You're such a good daddy."

Daddy— it was the word that set a fire in Maxwell's stomach and you knew it. Everytime you said it, you said it deliberately. You said it to gain a reaction out of him. You felt his body stiffen up and you watched as his hand slowly glide over his crotch, covering his hardening cock. It was crazy how just one word spoken by you could get him going. The rest of the table cooed and awed in delight at how sweet you both were, but even Max knew that your intentions were far beyond sweet. He'd been teasing you all night at your own birthday party, but two can play at that game.

Maxwell stayed silent for the next few minutes as you laughed and joked with your friends, telling them about how brilliant your birthday had been. He fidgeted awkwardly, his dark eyes watching you intently as you took small sips of your champagne and fumbled with the gold rings adorning your fingers. You were truly the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He didn't know how he had gotten so lucky.

When you were deep enough into conversation with Raquel about the brand new 1984 Polaroid camera Maxwell had gotten you, he took his chance to slide his hand up the hem of your dress. He peeled back the thin glittering sheath and drew small circles into the inside of your thigh. His actions almost took your breath away but you kept your cool, acting unfazed, like it wasn't even bothering you.

It would be okay. His hand was under the table cloth and nobody could see anyway. If he just wanted to stroke the soft skin of your legs, that was fine too. As long as you acted normal, pretending like your boyfriend wasn't touching you in front of all these people. You were doing a good job of seeming unbothered, it actually irked Max. He was doing all of this to see your reaction. He maneuvered his large, ring clad hand to the apex of your thigh, rolling the pads of his middle finger and index finger along your slick wet folds. You were evil for not wearing panties tonight. He couldn't believe how soaked you already were from just the slightest of touches, but, to be fair, you two had been teasing each other all night. His finger inched up to your clit and he began to swirl it around in tight circles.

The gasp you let out was almost inhumane and you felt your cheeks heat up. Maxwell kept working at you, trying to hide the smirk that graced his lips.

"Are you okay?" Raquel asked inquisitively.

Before you could even reply, Maxwell slid one thick finger into your aching core, doubling down until you felt his knuckles against your skin. "Y-yes," you choked out, reaching for your glass of champagne. "Think I just need a drink."

Your boyfriend continued to pump his finger in and out of you whilst sitting at the same table as his own employees. You kept taking sips of your drink to try and hide the longing moans that escaped your lips as he stretched you out. You felt wonderful around him, and he couldn't help but slip a second finger in. You made a fist, bunching up the material of your dress in your hand. When you began to feel your walls flutter around him, you knew your orgasm was approaching and that you wouldn't be able to stay quiet for him. You grabbed his wrist and shot him a knowing look. Slowly, he removed his finger from your core and you groaned at the loss of his fullness.

"Want more?" he whispered into your ear. You nodded quickly and he took your hand, whisking you away from the table and into a dark corner.

You began to palm at him through his pants, already eagerly trying to tug off his tuxedo jacket and pull off his bow tie. "C-can we go to the hotel room?" you asked, giving him your best puppy dog eyes. You pushed your body against his as his hands stroked your bare arms, relishing the moment.

"Oh honey, but Alistair's up there sleeping," Max cooed, shaking his head. You furrowed your eyebrows together in disdain.

"Maxieee," you groaned, pressing your thighs together. "But I need you."

The three words made Maxwell's cock twitch. He needed you too. He could already feel his precum begin to leak out from the tip of his manhood, staining his underwear. He looked around the ballroom. Everyone was too busy dancing and talking to notice you and Max had even left the scene. "Do you think they can see us?" he asked quizzically, his voice low as he brought his hand to your breast. He began to massage it through the thin material of your dress, giving it the occasional squeeze.

You contemplated his words. You were under a canopy, in the shadows. They probably wouldn't be able to see you from where they were standing, but if anyone approached this area, you'd soon become visible. "Right now? No, I don't think so." you hummed, weighing the scenario out in your mind. Max nodded his head in agreement before bringing his hand to your face. Under the dim light, his fingers still shone with your arousal, from when he had fingered you under the table earlier.

He brought his index finger to your lips, tracing them gently before pushing it into your mouth. You whimpered, sucking on his finger (just like he'd done to you earlier), and lapping up all your juices. Your bodies were pressed together and you began to run your knee over his erection, earning a few strangled moans from Max. "Now now Maxie, what are we going to do about this?" you hummed around his finger before he eventually pulled it away from you.

He looked around the ballroom once more, astonished that it had been a few minutes and no one had yet to see you both. He placed his hands on your hips and pressed you against the wall, unzipping his pants and pulling them down to his knees, along with his black pair of boxers. Your eyes widened when you saw how hard he already was for you, how desperate his thick cock was for your pretty little cunt. You dropped your hands to the base of his manhood and gave it a small stroke.

"Ngh— no," Max shook his head as he choked out a groan. "Just need to be inside of you." he confessed.

He pulled up your dress so it was bunched around your waist and propped up one of your legs, wrapping it around him. He pressed the blunt head of his cock against your entrance and you gasped wantonly, spreading yourself as open as you could and running your fingers through his hair.

"People might see." you whispered, grinding your pussy along his cock in desperation. He kept nudging himself against you, teasing, as always.

"You're so fucking hot," Maxwell whispered, gently pushing himself into you. His hand snapped up to your mouth, trying to silence your moans of pleasure as his thickness stretched you open. "You're so tight for me, aren't you princess?"

You couldn't even reply, and instead just nodded as the lust clouded your every thought. He doubled back before pushing himself completely into you, enjoying the way felt around his manhood. He couldn't believe how lucky he was, having you all to himself, not having to share you with anyway. He couldn't believe was fucking you in front of hundreds of guests at your own birthday gala— and you were letting him. "You- fuck, you take me so well." he praised.

"Oh Max, I don't think I'm gonna last long." you admitted, digging your fingernails into his dress shirt as he increased his speed. He was hitting that sweet spot inside of you everytime. 

"I'm gonna make you cum at your own birthday party," he announced with a low, gravely chuckle. "Gonna cum around daddy's cock, aren't you princess?"

"Mm, yes daddy. Please let me cum on your cock— ah!"

You bit down on his shoulder as his hips snapped into yours and you felt your climax undo, nothing but pure satisfaction washing over you. As Max felt you quiver around him, it spurred him over the edge and he spilt ropes of his seed inside of you, painting your pretty walls.

You stayed there for a few moments, against the wall, both heaving and panting, until Max's cock eventually softened and fell out of you. He sighed, carefully dropping you back to the ground and tucking himself back into his pants. You smoothed out his hair and he used his thumb to swipe away any of your smudged makeup.

"Happy birthday princess," he mumbled, pressing a sweet kiss into your lips. "Are you ready to go back to the party?"

You nodded happily, kissing him back. "I am. I love you so much."

Maxwell took your hand and held you close, the both of you heading back into the light and walking over to the dance floor. "I love you too." he revealed as he wrapped his hands around your waist and began to slow dance with you again.

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Max Lord: @mrschiltoncat​

[devotion]

shittin' it → t.h

summary: haunted houses aren't your thing and you regret ever stepping into one. but tom tries his best, eventually, to put your heart at ease.

warnings: making out, a bit steamy?, suggestive behaviour, swears here and there but all round fluff.

requested: yes

notes: i don't know how haunted houses work so let's just say you enter whenever you feel like it. @fallinfortom beta read the beginning 🖤 thank you, hun! x

word count: 1.5k+ | masterlist

───✦

tagging along with tom and his fellow cast members for filming spider-man 3, in your mind, was the best plan your boyfriend had for you. and adding to that, obviously, by seeing this movie's secrets and revelations before the rest of the public possessed a thrill you thoroughly enjoyed. until the big surprise tom had said he arranged for you let slip out of your mind.

unfortunately.

probably everyone that knew you was aware of the fact that you hated ─ loathed even ─ horror movies. since many had asked you for a night out to the cinema to watch one. in which you always reasoned against them: why bother scaring yourself? it honestly didn't make any sense to you.

though, unknowingly being dragged to a warehouse, far too vast for your vision to perceive, was a total contrast to what was said as an 'evening at a restaurant'.

"where are we exactly, tom?" you questioned, walking alongside him to this yet-to-be-revealed building; zendaya and jacob in tow. when he gave you no answer, you glanced to your side and the look on his face was solely a pure smirk.

your jaw dropped as he took out a mask that appeared to be the infamous killer clown. you grimaced as you stared at it, the prospect of what was about to come dawned on you. realising this, after you gave him a slight push, you pulled him back to yourself, your head finding it's way into his neck as you whimpered.

"awh, babe," tom cooed, bringing his hand to stroke your hair, "you'll be fine. there's nothing to worry about. i've been here before and even i survived."

you looked at him, eyebrows raised and whilst mimicking the same stance he does when he's getting ready to punch someone, you said: "you call that being fine?"

tom's smug face dropped into a deadpan, "no, darling-"

"-don't call me anything. you're paying for this."

you felt a smack on your bum just as you try to walk a little faster than him, making you stop in your tracks whilst he rubs your ass a little more, "we'll see about that, babe."

you flare your nose in annoyance, pushing away the slightly inappropriate thoughts invading your mind at his actions.

fuck tom and his antics. fuck him.

your trail of thought was summoned not long after upon entering. and it was a giggling zendaya who took your hand to bring your hesitant self forward. then instantly, a scream emitted your lips as a baby doll's head popped out of the wall into your view. jacob bent over, cackling, at your reaction.

you sighed, a hand over your chest in an attempt to slow down your heartbeat. but to no avail. you were scared shitless already and in no way prepared for what was to come.

the room went dark all of a sudden as you stood against the wall, your friends' laughs coming to an abrupt end.

"now that's for laughing at me," you piped up.

of what you recognised was zendaya's voice, you heard, "nah, we knew that was happening. we're excited to show you what's next."

out of nowhere, your ears pick up the sound of an evil laugh - or dare you say, many evil laughs - all coming from every direction where you were standing. and all you can do is slap your hands over your ears and squeeze your eyes shut. but before you can even do that, torches are turned on and all of them are held by your wonderful friends.

another scream from you.

"for fuck's sake!" you shout, scurrying away from them into the nearest hallway.

bad idea.

it was dark. and in many places, there were led lights in the shape of eyes covering the wall. you felt a chill against your spine as you ventured further.

"you think we've gone too far?" tom asked jacob and zendaya, his gaze directed where you were heading, "it's only been 5 minutes."

"nope," was zendaya's abrupt response to that, fetching a mask that resembled the ghost from scream.

deciding it was best to look at the floor and focus on where you were going, you had found out that the same creepy eyes were on the floor too.

you breathed out. your mind chanted that they were indeed fake- fake- fake-

and yet you let out another high-pitched screech as you felt the presence of another figure close by, scaring them away. but all you did was glare at them when you felt no harm done, as they came towards you, realising that the owner of the mask was just tom.

immediately, he took it off as he noticed he was still wearing it. given that there was no way getting away from this hell hole, you put your arms around yourself in an effort to calm yourself, ignoring your boyfriend. you progressed onwards without him.

as soon as you've reached the door at the end of the passageway, you're pulled back into tom's embrace. though, you stiffened to show no emotion. but his hands began to massage the base of your back and he whispered, "sorry, baby."

you decided to lay your head onto his shoulders, giving up on being mad at him. obviously, not entirely.

tom went on to open the door, but paused as the two of you heard a chuckle from afar. you dismissed it quickly. then, he gestured his hand to signal that you get in first.

"nope. not this time, buddy," you spoke up, "ladies first doesn't work at all right now."

without thinking any further, you get ahold of tom's bicep and push him in the almost pitch-black room. with all the strength you owned to make that hefty man fucking move.

you didn't hear him say anything for a while until he finally informed that there was nothing to worry about there.

to convince you to come closer, he added, "honestly, hand on heart, last time we came here, nothing happened. it's just a little break from the beginning."

still uncertain and tentative, you step forward and you wait a few moments to wait for anything to pop out. and tom was right.

now registering that you were both alone, tom beamed at you. but you weren't having any of it. you might have been a little pissed at him for bringing you here.

you were already standing near a wall and because of this, tom had plans racing through his mind. he decided to draw nearer to you.

with him now within arm's reach, undeterred, you seized tom's hip with your thigh, bringing him closer to you and pressed him to the wall behind.

he felt like the wind got knocked out of him, and before he could think straight again, your lips met his. almost forcefully. he never knew how electrifying it felt for you to kiss him so deeply as you did.

even though you appreciated the fact that kissing tom stole away your worries, you swatted his hands away as they tried to find your waist. at this, he pulled back as he suppressed a moan at the dominance you were emanating.

tom panted as he tried to get out in clear words, "come on, y/n. please don't be like that."

the light in the room was still dim. so, when you caught sight of the two real spiders making it's way to tom's head, you knew you were in for a good treat. but because you picked up a few tricks from tom's acting, instead, you looked at him with batting eyelashes. and tom was losing it at how innocent you looked.

it was your turn to laugh as tom finally let out a gasp when he felt something tickling the back of his neck.

"shit!"

he was flailing his arms everywhere, almost tripped over nothing, and rolled on the floor whilst he tried to 'free' himself from the spider.

minutes later and reassured that there was nothing crawling in his shirt or boxers, tom came to you. he felt better now that you looked much at peace. except you had stitches from all the laughing.

"really not cool, love," tom said, sliding down next to you on the wall you leant on, "you know I have arachnopho-"

"-it was rather funny if you ask me," you intervene and send a smile his way.

tom pouted, in which you gave him a confused look in return because of how close he was becoming towards you. befote you knew it, his sudden grip on your shoulders forced you to the ground.

on the spur of the moment, you were lying on the cold floor, tom somehow already on his knees and inbetween your legs. you didn't know why you giggled as he started to come down, a mischievous smile playing on his face as he laid a hand on the wall for support in order to kiss you.

but he was interrupted as he shouted at the same time you screamed. near your head, a bloody hand had punched the wall in swift motion, startling you greatly.

the hand slowly retreated, and in place shortly after, zendaya's head appeared from the hole.

"go fuck afterwards, we're tryna have fun here."

───✦

@fallinfortom @duskholland @amorhollands @t-lostinworlds @alydawson @theamazingtomholland @musicalkeys @satanswitchings 🖤🖤

[ghostmartyr]

SnK 132 Thoughts

This month, more people scream and die.

Exactly as keikaku.

Unlike certain keikakus, however, this keikaku is still missing the essential element of a keikaku in that there is no actual keikaku there’s just a lot of people running around screaming while they try not to die and then the screaming only stops when they die.

People also die when they are killed.

...Maybe.

Before we approach the obvious, the most interesting part of this chapter to me is that once again, Eren is presented with the option of stopping. While he’s in the planning stages of his assault, it is explained quite plainly that strategic strikes will completely undo any country’s attack on Paradis.

Hizuru favors a limited test run of the rumbling. Yelena provides a tactic that uses only a bit of the outer wall. She explains the reasoning. She isn’t wrong.

We’ve already had plentiful examples of what the Wall Titans can do. They can swim. They’re easy to spot from the distance, but there is no ammunition or strategy that can deal with them. Running is the best option, and even that is a risk.

Systematically destroying every single port would have bought Paradis all the time in the world. Yelena has this discussion with Eren back when she is wanting Eldians to die out, so they have different view of what counts as a win, but if Eren had wanted to, he could have easily wielded his massive power to keep every nation’s military from fucking with them.

He doesn’t do that. Instead of a small portion of the walls, he wakes up the entire part. Instead of targeted strikes, he goes for armageddon.

Eren has options. Hange can say that Eren has no solutions, hope, or future, but the lack of hope is all that comes close to the truth. There is a solution right here. Fight anyone who would oppose you, and win. Make it clear that the assaults only happen because they made the mistake of declaring war on Paradis.

Eldians might be treated like crap everywhere, but Eren’s murdered plenty of Eldians with this plan. If his only care is the island, he could have worked to protect it.

Instead, even in the most generous of reads, he's deconstructed Paradis’ government in a time of incredible strife, sowing the seeds for an ugly civil war that has already had its beginning skirmishes.

Eren’s actions are destructive in every single category. When he first activates the walls, Armin still has that flash of hope that Eren is only using the amount of force he needs to put an end to this assault.

He doesn’t. He wakes up every single titan, sends them marching, killing people on this island he’s supposed to care for so much, and now his closest friends are stuck in a world where to prevent genocide, they are probably condemning their own people to an even worse future than they already had.

The thing about this level of power is that you can do what you want. No one can stop you. If this starts with people forcing Historia into a breeding farm, Eren can just murder anyone who’s in favor of that.

(Sidebar: I still am annoyed that no one came up with the obvious solution for that problem. If they need someone with royal blood to still be around in fifty years, just turn Historia into a mindless titan and ditch her underground with specific instructions each new Founder can follow. Titans are functionally immortal when left alone. They’re much less fragile than humans. Any dedicated person could easily kill off all the royal heirs, so might as well simplify the process, keep one royal heir around and relatively invulnerable. Then each Founder has easy access to their power if they just go to the right place. Obviously there are risks, but honestly it’s more straightforward than having a bunch of free-minded little kids be your backup plan.)

Eren can destroy an entire country before even the most knowledgeable titan experts can work out a reliable plan.

Paradis was never in danger. They had this. The rest of the world had a hundred years to forget, but a handful of public demonstrations illustrates the point very, very clearly. Yelena’s strategy was meant to serve Zeke’s plan, but if what Eren wants is Paradis to thrive, it works. He doesn’t have much time left, but he doesn’t need it to destroy other countries’ options of attacking Paradis.

Hizuru is interested in allying with Paradis because of this power. They’re the first. They would not be the last.

At the very least, this would give Paradis more time, which they’ve all seen the need for.

Instead, Eren chooses to destroy everything that might even consider being a threat to Paradis. There is no diplomacy. There is no measured use of force. There is no plan. There is the monsters he’s always hated, and falling so far into the darkness that the freedom he claims to want is destroyed by his own hands.

There were countless threads Eren could have followed, being a demigod. He very honestly could have done whatever he wanted.

So he did.

I feel like we’re still missing why. By the time his head has gotten blasted off, he’s encouraging his dad to murder the Reiss family, and he’s hallucinating himself as a child, I think it’s more than fair to say this war has won against Eren. He’s broken, and this is the path he’s on.

Maybe it’s as simple as thinking in such stark black and white terms that he needs a future with a guarantee, and death is the strongest guarantee he can come up with.

Except going back to just last chapter, this is not what Eren wants. It is not something he is approaching with the passionate conviction of being in the right. He’s in tears over it. He’s horrified by the future he causes, but chained to it because he knows he causes it.

It’s a difficult problem to explain. From a plot perspective, I’m frustrated because there are so many ways this didn’t have to happen. I’ve said before that tragedy should feel inevitable, and with each reveal of what Eren got up to in the shadows, this tragedy feels entirely avoidable.

However, from a character perspective, it does make sense that once Eren’s course of action has been decided, he doesn’t see the other options. The inevitability is a trick of his mind, but it’s a trick that he’s bought into completely, so the tragedy is found in how truly unnecessary this all is. The tragedy is that the most powerful person on the planet is a slave to his own mind.

Here’s where that stops working for me:

We see that character arc play out better elsewhere.

That’s Floch’s role.

Floch is an unlikable, divisive zealot who will happily kill civilians and throw children out of airships. He joins the Survey Corps when it’s the hip and happening thing to do, and has none of the conviction to back up their ideals.

He is the sole survivor of a suicide charge. Everyone around him dies in the space of a few minutes, and he’s left alone to make sense of it.

The only sense he finds is that this has to be necessary.

This is how they win.

The world is chaotic and vicious, and the only way to answer that evil is with evil. This world that hates them is not allowed to wipe them out, and anyone who tries will feel their wrath.

Floch doesn’t bother with mercy or kindness. He doesn’t mind that the rest of the world has to die for them to live.

This is how his world operates. Kill or be killed. Those are clearly the rules. Those have been the rules for a hundred years, more clear than ever when they step outside and are eaten on contact.

If the rest of the world lives, Paradis dies.

Paradis is home.

For as long as it’s existed, it’s been hated. Never mind that the current people living there are also victims of the Eldian Empire. They’ve lived in a bubble, and forces keep showing up to pop that bubble, leaving nothing but bodies in their wake.

It is cruel and appalling.

But Paradis is still alive.

Because Erwin murders all these new recruits, Paradis lives.

Floch is the only one left alive to know that so intimately.

It is not a kind assessment.

It is one he redefines his life by.

Answer devils with devils. Their enemy is the entire world. There can be no rest. There can be no sympathy. As long as the outside world exists, Paradis will be a target for its hatred, and that hatred will eventually succeed in killing them.

Floch believes this. Genocide is not something he has a problem with. He’s been living in a world where it’s Us or Them, and has repeatedly made it clear that he will choose Us.

Floch is a teenage boy who survives brutality he’s not prepared for, and reconstructs his entire worldview around the tactic that tries to kill him. He’s a dick, and he does terrible things.

He believes in what he is doing.

He believes that if he doesn’t stop the plane, Paradis will die. He believes that our little ragtag group of heroes are the final, greatest threat to his home. He believes that Eren’s evil is the only thing that will keep them all safe.

At the end of the day, his only hope is that the Devil is on their side.

Floch dies believing in that hope, and he dies to the people hellbent on destroying it.

It’s tragic and sad, because he could never see anything better.

Our first real introduction to him is him on a rooftop, arguing that a boy whose eyes sparkle at thoughts of the ocean is not a good contribution to the war effort.

On that same rooftop, his devil argues that that is exactly why that boy needs to stay alive.

I understand that Eren’s somewhere that we can’t really reach right now, but I don’t feel like the story has shared the thread of how things got this bad. I can point to a dozen different factors that finally broke the camel’s back, but I wouldn’t say any of those are the reasons canon is operating under. We know that Eren came completely undone when the memories of the future were unlocked, but as late in the game as Marley, he’s still devastated by what he’s about to do.

So why does he do it? Why this choice? Why this way?

I think I spent most of last month’s post arguing that, so I won’t belabor it much more, but... I really feel like something’s being overlooked, and I don’t understand it. It’s hard to say if the story simply has a much different vibe than I expected, so my mind is rejecting all this, or if it’s intentionally weird. I’d like to think it’s intentionally weird, because in my opinion that’s a much better story, but either way, right now everything Eren’s doing feels like an incredibly pointless detour.

...Sure, that will end the world, but who cares about that, give me my character work.

How did hope become an impossibility for Eren?

To less painful things, I suppose.

No one suffers like Mikasa suffers.

I like Annie. She has always, very emphatically, wanted nothing to do with this. She has pride in her skills, but she spends years of her life undercover for a government that hates her, planning the deaths of people she respects. I like her opting out. This has never been her war, really, and she’s finally among people who will respect that she’s done with it.

It adds to the sweetness that Reiner is one of those people, now. As her self-appointed leader, he drives Annie into things she can’t stand, clearly favors Bertolt, and is generally just a pain who’s trying too hard in all the wrong areas.

Reiner gets that, and instead of bullying her into participating when she doesn’t want to, he lets her go.

Annie finally gets to pick her battles without anyone negging her.

It’s not a resolution I expected, but it’s one I’m glad for. It follows the trend of our leftover cast being completely past done with violence.

Who knows if that will turn out well for them, but I like the story taking the gentler approach. The world’s ending, so they might as well take the time to be kind to each other. It’s the opposite path of what ultimately destroys Floch, and I love to see it.

The Survey Corps is represented by their yearning for knowledge. Understanding. For a hundred years, that yearning has been paired with war, and the dead bodies have piled up.

Now, the remaining bodies left who call themselves Scouts are kind of. done with that. They’ve seen too many friends die. They’ve built trains. They’ve seen the ocean. They’ve tried foods from other countries they didn’t even know existed.

Surveying the outside world required weapons because otherwise you’d die, but there’s a reason why Levi keeps on missing the promotion to Commander. Levi is a defender of humanity. When he dedicates his heart, he does it to protect people. Learning more about the world is a side effect.

To match the Survey Corps’ ideals, violence is the side effect. It’s not what they’re meant to be about. Yet somehow they’re all soldiers with huge body counts, guilty even of killing their countrymen.

Levi lets Erwin go on that roof because he rejects Floch’s desire to condemn one of them to being a devil for the rest.

That results in letting a boy who dreams of the ocean live.

Hange becomes the Commander and gets to see their world expand. New friends are made, new technologies discovered. New civilization. New, new, new.

Aaaaaaand it’s still all trying to kill them.

Hange begins as a recruit who hates titans. What saves Hange from that hate is curiosity. At the end, that curiosity and awe is still alive. Even heading into death, we return to that beginning spark of salvation.

“Titans really are... incredible.”

No one else in the world looks at these monsters and sees something amazing. Hange is enamored with them. The world is burning, these things are responsible, yet still. There is wonder to be had in looking at them. They are an incredible, impossible creation, and Hange gets to see them up close.

A world like that has to be called incredible.

That’s why Armin gets to be Commander. Jean’s there to help. Mikasa’s there to help. Connie’s there to help.

But the Survey Corps exists to go out into the world and understand it. If something is hidden under a rock, you lift the rock. If you don’t know why someone’s doing something, you talk to them.

The world is fucking beautiful.

If the person in charge doesn’t remember that, they’re all doomed.

(This is why Levi is not allowed to be in charge.)

It’s a good sendoff for Hange. Time spent with Levi, getting to be a chaotically cool genius who saves everyone... yeah. It’s a good finish.

But this better not be fucking going where I think it’s going.

Let me politely frame my issues with dream sequences and time travel in fiction. I feel that I have done it before, but let us revisit, briefly.

There’s this show called Supernatural.

A thing that happens enough time to warrant its use as an example is that characters see or go into the future, and find that everything is fucked beyond belief. It is all bad, everything is wrong, see how you must avoid this so it never gets this bad.

The frustrating part is that hey, these characters in the future should have the same degree of agency as this guest from the past. Except they don’t. Because the past character is the main character. Future crew is just an extended what-if, and soon the entire plot will be devoted to making sure this what-if never happens. They are not real main characters, so they don’t get to do cool stuff. They’re forever doomed to failure.

The ghosts of the Survey Corps watching the progress of their living comrades isn’t a new concept. Every veteran has been haunted by them. Seeing them at the end of the story, doing exactly what we’ve been told they’re doing... fine, okay.

I just am starting to feel like the story’s quaking for a reset button.

Everything is bad. The world is fucked up beyond repair. There is no plan to deal with it, except to try to keep the global genocide from living its dream. In a world where they succeed in that, Eldians will be more hated and feared than ever before, Paradis being wiped off the map will probably be an international priority, there will be no Founding Titan to protect them, and there’s no path to recovery.

Then we’ve got a shot of ghosts all looking over the current happenings.

We know from Paths magic that all of Ymir’s people are connected. This doesn’t use that imagery; it’s based much more simply in the oath all these soldiers swore. But the point is, we see dead people. At a point in the story where many, many dead people are being produced.

I don’t mind a character being welcomed to an afterlife. A lot of stories go there.

But I am a suspicious, terrible person, and getting a glimpse at sentient dead people at this time makes me wonder if we’re allowed the privilege because they’re going to be newly present in the story.

And I am fine if we go the way of a Madoka ending. It’s better than a Lelouch option, and I like Madoka.

The only thing is, if we are going to hit a reset button, I become very, very cross at some of the choices made. Because sure, the characters might have still made those decisions, but the author knows that things are free to go as badly as whimsy will take them, because it won’t last. And with how my primary objection to the current plot is that it feels unnecessary, and like the choice to go here was made without enough reason to back it up...

It hasn’t happened yet, there’s nothing more than a suspicion that it might happen, but there are some specific kernels of “this needs more canon explanation” that I think the story should have, and if we’re stepping into the afterlife, magic solutions don’t seem far off, and if we get a magical solution without first establishing the non-magical ways we first ended up here, I will have a problem.

But hopefully none of that will even be an issue, and I’ll look back and feel silly for bringing it up.

...It’s just that our main character is not only threatening, but committing global genocide, and as of right now, the win condition is a moral win where everyone lives to oppress Eldians another day.

-tosses charred confetti-

And I feel like that is an incredibly pointless and boring story, so maybe it is not the story we’re being told, so.

So.

To next month.

[paenling]

Psychosomatic

On Ao3.

Danny huffed against his forearm, chin pressed to the scratched-up surface of his desk. Lancer continued to ramble in his periphery—and he tried to pay attention, he really did, but the words floated in one ear and out the other, meaningless noise. He thumbed along the corner of his textbook, quietly flicking the pages with his left hand while his right took down sparse notes. 

Sam and Tucker had both placed above him into a slightly more advanced section, so they could help if he asked, but it was still a pain to be without ready-made notes to borrow. It kind of really sucked.

“Turn to section five," said Mr. Lancer. “Page two-hundred sixty-one."

Lowering his pen, Danny moved to do as he was told, but found himself interrupted by a sudden slit of pain across the pad of his thumb. It was small, but a fresh paper cut stung on the most sensitive part of his dominant hand. He sighed. Just his luck, wasn’t it?

Lancer cast a wary eye towards Danny's noisy hiss of discomfort. He pressed his thumb against his lips, sucking briefly on the cut, before shaking his hand out with a sheepish grin. After a moment's examination, the teacher dipped his head and resumed whatever he was writing on the whiteboard. Danny swallowed.

Ectoplasm had a very distinct taste and texture. It was thick and syrupy and congealed easily into something like soft gelatin. Even as a liquid it was freezing to humans, mildly corrosive and sick-sour like rot. For Danny the taste was like sucking on a penny soaked in embalming honey. Dense and filling and refreshing and light. Coppery and bitter but giving way to stagnant sweetness, staticky like pop rocks but also luxuriously smooth and filling citrus-sharp ambrosia—

It made him feel like an odious, vulgar, wicked dead thing to have thoughts like that. But ghosts weren’t monsters and he really wasn’t a ghost. It was fine. He was fine.

Some shadowy echo of that alien bliss passed over his tongue when he swallowed, thrillingly cool as it slid down his throat. Faint, masked by heavy rust, diminished, but fresh. It must have been a mistake, but he knew it. His mouth grew immediately slick with desire, teeth seeming to throb with his pulse.

He glanced surreptitiously around and pressed a palm to his chest. His core hummed, frigid and dormant opposite his sluggish heart, but also weightless and prickling with muzzy excitement. Uneasily, he tamped it back down, shrugging to shake the eagerness from his back. It must have been nothing. Danny slowly, carefully picked up his pencil to resume jotting down notes. He just needed to last through class— 

Ectoplasm, or something like it, dripped sluggishly down over the lead, fragrant and heady. Just a drop coaxed free of the seam, but his wet mouth flooded. Drool slipped past his lips to crawl down from the corner of his mouth, and he hastily tugged at the front of his shirt to wipe his face. His heart leapt up to his throat as he turned his hand over to examine his injury: virescent sludge oozed from the papercut on Danny’s thumb. It was black. He almost choked, but glanced up to find shaggy dark hair hung over his brows. He was human, but this wasn’t his blood. This had to be a mistake.

It didn’t glow like raw ectoplasm, but it wasn’t red either. It was too thick. He had no way to explain the oily dark green-grey stuff leaking from his skin. Danny closed his fist around it with a grimace. The not-blood beaded beneath the pressure of his fingers, but did not escape. He wiped it on the waistband of his jeans instead, where his baggy shirt would hide the stain. Shaking, Danny raised his uninjured hand.

“Yes, Daniel?" The teacher's sharp grey eyes passed him over once, then again, and his sleepy brow furrowed with just the slightest hint of worry.  How many other eyes were on him? Everyone was staring. “You look pale. Are you feeling unwell?"

Danny wanted to answer, but his teeth were too big and his tongue felt thick and clumsy. His syrinx squeaked. This was a mistake. It was wrong. He was still drooling, but he couldn’t swallow. He must have been doing a worse job controlling his breathing than he'd thought, because Mr. Lancer was at his side in an instant. All the hair on his arms stood on end; his neck prickled, lips itching, ears burning. 

When had he started to tremble? It was so loud in the classroom—a score and change of syncopated human heartbeats like drums pounding booming crashing constantly in the air. Pencils scratched and feet tapped and keychains clattered. It was loud like war. His core screamed beneath his ribs, drowning out his sluggish heart. Was he even breathing at all? 

Mr. Lancer moved to help him up. “Do you need an escort to the nurse?"

He shook his head vigorously, fisting his hands in his shirt. “Bathr’m,” he managed to slur. He rose to his full height and wobbled that way. His skin was too tight. Vertigo pressed down on him, and he bent over with arms wrapped tightly around his middle. He was going to burst out of himself. Danny’s mouth was dripping; he hoped it could be passed off as symptomatic of the nausea. “G’nna throw’p.”

Danny started towards the door before Lancer even finished nodding. Distantly, he registered the teacher giving instructions to the rest of his class: do odd numbered problems on page two-eighty-seven, you can collaborate, finish the rest as homework—

The empty hallway stretched on forever. Wasn’t the bathroom only a few doors down? Danny swayed, vision swimming in watercolor smears. The cut on his hand was shallow and it hardly even bled at all. It didn’t even hurt. It was a paper cut. There was no reason for him to feel this way—this sickness. Suffering. A craving for something he couldn’t quite grasp. He’d swallowed a full ecto-filtration cell on Wednesday, so he couldn’t be Hungry. Besides, he’d never reacted to his own blood before at all, let alone so soon after feeding his ghost half.

This was a mistake. Was he really this paranoid? This weak?

What was wrong with him? He wasn’t Hungry, he was Full. Just the thought of Eating made him feel sick with guilt; his guts twisted at the sheer ugly selfishness of it. He could go without for weeks more, if he didn’t waste his energy—there was no reason to want to take so badly, to be so gluttonous, and yet here he was, drooling buckets in public at the mere suggestion of ghost-blood like some kind of starving animal. He was ugly and it was evil, bristling through his insides, sticking him full of shame.

His core was heavy in his chest, leaking cold into his bones like reverse-heartburn. The bathroom tile felt tacky and hot under his knees. When had he gotten there? He lunged over the bowl and coughed up a wet slurry of ectoplasmic slime. Ropes of mucous slobber swung from his parted jaws as he dry-heaved into the toilet—he had nothing to throw up but bile, briny and sour. Hot tears stung at his eyes and Danny choked on a wretched sob.

The bathroom door clicked shut. “Daniel?” Mr. Lancer’s nervous heart was very close behind him. “Do you need me to call your parents?”

Danny growled. His syrinx popped in his throat, issuing a low whine of ghostly static that he fought to swallow and suppress. “No,” he croaked, breathing hard enough to ruffle the water in the basin. He choked on his tongue. “No, no, no—J’zz—?”

“Jasmine?” Lancer ventured. His voice shook, panic spoken of in the rabbit’s pace of his heart. It filled the space where Danny’s own chest throbbed so quiet and sluggish, sticky, faltering—if he focused he could pretend it was his own. “Do you want me to get your sister?”

Danny nodded through his swimming vision, still slavering even as he retreated from the basin. It wasn’t going to stop. He wanted to ask for it to be over, but the English language was starting to become blurry. A ragged noise escaped him, broken and pathetic. Clear globs of slime fell from his mouth and hit the tile with faint wet smacks. He hoped Lancer couldn’t see that.

Could he see? What color were Danny’s eyes? How long were his teeth? Did he know?

Mr. Lancer’s warm hand burned through his shirt, a hot human print stamped between his shoulder blades—but then it was gone. “Strange Weather!” he swore. “You’re shaking—I’ll be right back,” he assured, and then his rapid, panicked steps clattered out of the bathroom.

Danny leaned back from the toilet, pressing his head against the graffitied side of the stall. He reached clumsily up to swipe lines of bilious drool from his chin, but succeeded only in smearing green-tinted slime onto his nose. Sour film thickened his mouth, and pressure throbbed steadily behind his eyes. He wanted to shed his skin and fly away, but his body betrayed any such plans. Jittery and sick, it was all he could do to fold his heavy limbs into a ball and shake as the walls collapsed around him.

Time dilated. He trembled on the bathroom floor for what felt like a long time. It could have been minutes, or just as easily hours. It made no difference to him.

He closed his eyes, but then Jazz was there. Her velvet flats scuffed quietly on the tile and her gentle hands flew to smooth down his sweaty bangs. “What happened?” She asked. The warm living body pressed against him made Danny feel sick, not Hungry, and that was a mercy.

“Can’t wanna eat,” he moaned, voice splintered and small. “Hate it!”

“Oh, Danny. He’s having a panic attack, Mr. Lancer.” A delicate grip wrapped around his arm and hauled him shakily to his feet, trembling with fear or effort or both. Jazz stroked his hair, pressing her knuckles against his sweaty forehead. “Running warm, too.” She patted his cheek to get his attention, and he allowed his head to loll towards her. “When’d you last—um, take your medicine?”

Danny swooned, dribbling all over the front of his shirt. “Wez’day.”

“That’s not right. You should be fine until next week,” said Jazz, and her face was a vague peach-colored smear in his periphery, but Danny could sense her frowning. 

“M’sure,” he insisted through a hitching breath. Was he crying? When had he started?

She turned to Mr. Lancer. “You were there when this happened, right? Did you notice anything at all that could have triggered it?”

“No—or,” Lancer stammered. “He raised his hand and I thought—well, I thought he was making excuses again, but…”

“S’kay,” said Danny. “I geddit.” He did that a lot, didn’t he? And he could hardly remember the last time he was actually sick. An undead microbiome was bad for regular pathogens, probably. He heaved.

“Shouldn’t we be getting the nurse?” Lancer hovered behind them, wringing his hands over his belly.

“Won’t do much good at this point. Help me clean him up a little, please.”

Mr. Lancer’s heartbeat was very, very loud—enough to make Danny whine and cringe, pawing miserably at his ears. Somewhere in the walls, pipes rattled, and the vent above the door seemed to wheeze. Jazz’s faint perfume was nauseating. Everything was loud. 

“Jasmine—is this something that happens often? Why was the school never notified?” 

Danny could feel the older man’s wild heartbeat pounding through the hands on his shoulders, pounding booming crashing into his very bones. Some ugly instinct made him—part of him, anyway—want to give chase to such a beautiful prey-blood pulse, but the fleeting desire crashed against his wrenching sickness in a shower of inner sparks. His legs felt like rubber, and he coughed harsh and wet into one clumsy hand to mask his growl. Mr. Lancer patted him gently on the back and Danny hissed over the sink, choking and drivelling into the drain.

“It’s…” The tap turned on, washing away the slime, and suddenly there was a wet paper towel on his brow. “Do you remember his accident last year?”

“With your parents’ portal?”

“Yeah.” Jazz moved behind him, and there was another napkin pressed to his mouth, gently dabbing at his messy, trembling lips. “It had side effects,” she said, voice small and brittle. “There’s no cure, but it’s never gotten this bad since… well. Probably since around the actual Accident.”

“Your parents can’t do anything at all?” Lancer sounded dismayed.

“No,” Danny spat into the sink. “Can’t.” 

He cringed as Jazz dumped a handful of water over his face, but it helped to clear his vision somewhat, and he grunted his thanks. It took some guidance, but Danny craned his neck to lap bitter spray straight from the faucet. Lukewarm and mixed as it was with slippery ectoplasmic bile, he had to force the first revolting mouthful down by sheer force of will alone, but after that Danny found himself drinking greedily.

“Slow down,” Jazz chastised, but she made no move to stop him. “You’ll make yourself sick again.”

Reluctantly, Danny did as he was told. His hair got soaked and he nearly brained himself on the faucet in the process, but he managed to withdraw, panting hard. From there, he slumped upright against the wall and lowered his head, letting excess water roll down his nose to pool in the grout between his sneakers.

“You don’t need more, do you?” She wasn’t talking about the water. “Mr. Lancer, can we have a minute?”

Hesitation. Fear? No, only concern. Talking sounds, heard through molasses. Low urgency, reticent agreement. The bathroom door creaked and clicked shut like a thunder-crash, but the heartbeat lingered outside. Jazz said something else. She repeated her question.

He tried to—pay attention—shake his head. He really did, but the—words—the motion fell beyond his reach, meaningless twitching. Danny slavered anew. Did he need more? Did he need it? He didn’t want it, but he was desperate. His stomach was Full but it wanted more, didn’t it? It really did, didn’t it? His fingers curled of their own accord against the cheap shiny surface of the tiles—did the off-white linoleum crack under his nails? Were they too sharp right now? Jazz’s hands were on his wrists. He growled low in his chest.

She was saying his name, but she was little. She was small. Danny was—what was he? Shaking. Drooling. Rumbling. He had to be Hungry. He screwed his eyes shut, shivering, and ground his sharp teeth together. The pipes groaned in the walls. Somebody said something, but it just floated in one ear and out the other, meaningless noise.

Jazz reached out and slapped him. Hard. His head whipped to the side with the force of it, and he almost fell—would have fallen, had she not caught him.

Danny swatted at her out of reflex, but quickly faltered, sagging instead into her imploring arms. “Fuck,” he gasped. How long had he been holding his breath? She held him just a little too tight to be purely supportive, and he tried not to feel too hurt by the knowledge that she didn’t trust him. He wouldn’t, in her position. “Shit, thanks, Jazz.”

“Are you going to flip out if I let go of you?”

He shook his head and the room spun. “Lemme sit.” His stomach felt heavy and cold.

“I didn’t hit you too hard, did I?” There was guilt in her voice as she helped him slide down against the cool surface of the wall. “You were getting… uh.” Her sea-green eyes flicked towards the door, then back again. “The way you do. I didn’t know how else to snap you out of it.”

Danny shrugged. “S’kay,” he mumbled, then realized. “Crud, I’m sorry.” At her questioning look, he elaborated. “I made you run out of class.”

She laughed at him, short and strained. “I’d run out of a Harvard interview for you. You know that.”

Thick ghost-drool, still fresh, came away from his chin in syrupy ropes strung between his fingers. “Ew. I’ll try to refrain from having unplanned… emergencies while you’re shooting your shot.” He took the paper towel she offered him and scrubbed at the remaining mess. There was no way he could even think about Eating right now. “Where’re we at with Lancer, again? Er—where is he, anyway?”

“I asked him to step out when you started getting riled up,” explained Jazz, very patiently. “He thinks it’s a side effect of the portal accident.”

Danny groaned. “Yeah, that works. Why’d I wait a year to puke my guts up, though?”

Jazz rolled her eyes, but her voice was gentle. “You’re more likely to get sick if you’re stressed. We can tell him that you’ve been stressed out and that must have caused the flare-up.”

That made sense, he thought. “Do I get to go home?” Ancients, he was exhausted.

“I’ll drive you.” Danny opened his mouth to protest, but she bulldozed him with practiced ease. “It’s only one period we’re missing, and I wanna make sure you rest.” Her expression hardened, if only minutely, when she added, “And you’re sure you ate on Wednesday? This Wednesday?”

“Yes,” he insisted. “When I emptied the filtrator.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You hate the filtered stuff.”

“It’s piss, Jazz, but I’d take it over the alternative.” He grimaced and ran his tongue over his teeth. “Going feral and biting Skulker in half during a fight would be kinda shitty for my PR.”

“Don’t dodge the question,” scolded Jazz. “You know it doesn’t work on me. I just mean, did you have enough?”

“The whole cell,” promised Danny, with any luck sharply enough to brook no argument—maybe a little too sharply, if her skeptical frown was any indication. “Chugged it, and my activity’s normal. I don’t need more. My—I don’t know. These impulses don’t change that I’m Full.” He turned his eyes to the floor, cowing beneath her scrutiny. “Can we just go? Please? I wanna go home. I could sleep for a week and I miss my fucking blanket nest.”

Jazz nodded, but her expression was pinched, mouth set thin and unhappy. “It’s bad for you to repress this stuff,” she warned even as she pulled him to his feet. “Do it long enough and you’ll get… confused.”

“Not now,” he growled. Danny’s legs wobbled beneath him, knees knocking together, and a flush of anxious heat crawled up his neck. He hoped Mr. Lancer would be charitable in letting them go and asking few questions.

And he was, more or less. Mr. Lancer said he’d tell the attendance people that they were excused, and he also said something to Danny about hoping he’d feel better. It was probably a nice, tender moment of concern, but Danny wasn’t feeling it. 

Nausea churned in his guts, and it took an embarrassing amount of support to stagger out of the bathroom and into the hall. His belly was full and soothingly cold as though he had never been sick or starving at all. It made him feel—what? Like a doll, maybe. As though all his inside parts had been scooped out and he was just feeling afterimages. Jazz would probably have a field day if he told her about that, so he didn’t.

This wasn’t all in his head. It wasn’t. It couldn’t have been fake, imaginary, made up. His feelings were real. They were real because ghosts weren’t monsters and he wasn’t a ghost. He was human and alive.

Wasn’t he?

[gothamdad]

THE DARK KNIGHT RETURNS PART ONE: CINEMATIC WRONGS AND ANALYSIS COMMENTARY

DO NOT REBLOG.

This is going to be a bullet point list of incidents that occur in the movie, and will either have my general commentary or an analysis of what makes the scene terrible (or in some rare cases, good). TRIGGERS FOR SUICIDE, MENTAL HEALTH, AND DYSMORPHIA 

-bruce trying to kill himself in the beginning of the movie. 

Hes reckless, and willing to risk his life, but not suicidal. But he just purposefully gets into a wreck at 2 minutes into the movie?? for no reason??? theres literally no reason for it other than it being angsty bc they COULDVE started the movie with the mutants doing crime, as the next scene cuts right into it and the following news reports 

-"This reporter hopes that wherever he is, hes enjoying a toast with good friends" said when its the anniversary of batman’s disappearance 

this is stupid I hate this movie. You're telling me Gotham forgives Batman for just disappearing on them? DID THAT NOT HAPPEN IN NML AND EVERYONE GOT PISSED??? Like everyone in this movie seems to have forgot he abandoned the city. Not to mention, and I'm gonna go off on a tangent here, bruce will be batman for as long as he lives. He calls himself batman in his mind even when hes retired. He believes that Bruce wayne is the mask. His whole identity is batman. Saying that hed quit because of jason is not only stupid because it implies Jason's death isnt just as important as his parents, but shows that any tragedy is enough to permanently knock him down. And as if the league, or the family, would have let him give up. Anyway the whole reason the retirement in batman beyond works is because it shows bruce was going to fight until he literally died on the spot, but instead he pointed a gun, didn't even use it, just pointed it, and he realized he wasnt fit to HONOR batman anymore. He broke the rule. And he doesnt deserve to wear the mantle. This is so good because 1) bruce still wants to be batman and 2) it doesnt imply that he gave up at all, and at this point with his decreasing wellness his family WOULD be telling him to stop

-Gordon toasts with Bruce on the anniversary

FBKSBSOANSISSB OH MY GOD IT JUST SHOWED HIM SHARING A TOAST WITH GORDON. this is the anniversary of the last time batman is sighted and gordon. JIM FUCKING GORDON. Is celebrating. When they were literally partners and hed shine the batsignal each night TELL ME WHERE THE LOGIC IS!!! I CANT FIND THE LOGIC!!!!! I'm literally 3 minutes into this movie..... and already this is how its going...

-Gordon and Bruce talk

"You're not worried about me, are you?" Asked when hes in clear danger of being attacked by mutants "noT MorE tHAn i aM tHe ReST oF tHis CItY" ah yes. I forgot that Bruce hated gotham and jim Gordon. My mistake. Common misconception.

-the mutants are introduced

Ugh and it's the worst kind of villains too, jim just described the mutants as "the worst kind of criminals. They are only after violence, with no humanity at all" GIVE! VILLAINS! REASONING! I hate these joker wannabes Joker was already enough we dont need a million more "lol I'm just evil deal with it" villains

"Talk to Dick lately?"asks Gordon "You know I havent" Bruce responds

THIS CONVERSATION IS GETTING W O R S E BC I KNOW HOW THIS MOVIE GOES AND HE JUST INSTANTLY HAS CARRIE BE THE NEW ROBIN- WHICH, IS N O T BRUCE'S TO GIVE. ITS ALWAYS BEEN DICK'S MANTLE TO PASS DOWN- WHEN HE HASNT BEEN SPEAKING TO DICK????

-tangent on how it’s overlooked that Dick Grayson was the one to make Robin, not Batman

This is a sin that not just the movie, but the batman franchise in general seems to always make. Robin was made as a tribute to the flying graysons, and is meant to be colorful and aerodynamic for acrobatic tricks. it should always be dick’s to pass down, or the next robin after. 

-Bruce begins having trouble with holding back his urge to be Batman

His whole wanting to be batman again thing started because of a newspaper with a family's death and pearls being sold. On the same front cover. I'm. THATS WHEN HE REMEMBERS HIS PARENTS? NOT EVERY FUCKING TIME HE HEARS A GUNSHOT? OR CLOSES HIS EYES? OR SEES BLOOD? HE READS A NEWSPAPER THATS FLOATING IN THE WIND??????NOT EVERY TIME HE LOOKS AT JASONS COSTUME? OR THE OTHER CRIMES COMMITTED??????LOGIC!!!!!!!!!! I NEED !!!! TO KNOW!!!!! WHERE IT IS!!!!!!!! ARE U KIDDING ME NOW THE MARK OF ZORRO, WHICH IS WHO THE FUCK KNOWS HOW OLD NOW, IS ON TV??????????? AND HE JUST HAPPENS TO FLIP TO THE CHANNEL.. Batman telling bruce "you've tried to hold me back. But you're weak. Ypu know it in your soul. You're nothing but a hollow shell." Is so STUPID!! WHY HAS HE BEEN FIGHTING BEING BATMAN!!!!!!!!!! BRUCE SHOULD WANT TO BE BATMAN!!!! AND HATE HAVING TO NOT BE!!!! AND A BAT FLYING INTO HIS WINDOW AGAIN???? STOP THE FUCKING CLICHES IM SICK OF THIS . UR NOT BEING NEXT LEVEL, MOVIE. ITS JUST DUMB. ITS DUMB!!!

-Carrie Kelly

her first ??? Appearance??? Is her going into KNOWN MUTANT GANG TERRITORY instead of going through the rain. And scolding her friend for not having backbone WHEN THEY COULD LITERALLY DIE and saying, and I quote, "its better than out there." then when interviewed about the incident her friend says  "It was a flying monster! With wings and fangs!" and she replies with "Reality check, Michelle, it was definitely a man, but he had to be like 12 feet tall" OH YEAH THATS VERY REALISTIC CARRIE. Shes an asshole to her friend and we're supposed to like her.  Oh and Carrie's reason for wanting to be robin? She saw the bat signal while her parents were talking about public marches. That's it. That's her reason. Not because she was attacked by mutants and almost died.

-Giving the movie credit

Okay but if theres another thing I'll give credit for, and I'm sure its unintentional, is that Harvey is the first criminal he wants to take down. Because Harvey is always going to be Bruce's priority. He didnt go after the mutants, but Two-Face. And the way that confrontation goes when it’s revealed harvey thinks both sides of his face are scarred. the Arkham staff fixed his scars before he was ready for treatment, and his mental health wasn’t priority. he was going to have dysmorphia either way, but not treating mental illness worsened it.  kinda? good writing? But I think it was unintentional to have the idea that Arkham didnt know what they were doing and the belief that scars are important before trauma, and how trauma has to be helped first. I dont believe for an instant that's what's meant. 

-Carrie Kelly part two

She gets a Robin costume and goes out onto the roof and is like.... almost dies. THEN THE NEXT SCENE WE SEE HER SHES LIKE COMPLETELY ACROBATIC? WHY IS SHE SO ACROBATIC NOW!!! THIS TAKES PRACTICE!!!

-Batman confronting the man who supplied the mutant gang with guns

Oh, this scene...He hands a guy a gun, knowing full well that he was depressed because his wife was dying and he had to make more money to save her by supplying the mutants with weapons, and just walks away as he kills himself. (input from a friend which i like:  think about everything bruce did to help mr freeze and his wife now think about this scene )

Batman vs Mutants 

oh, and the "batmobile". Aka his tank. Rubber bullets. Ok fine, whatever, but RUNNING THEM OVER AND SHOOTING MISSCLES ISNT LETHAL? AND HOW IS CARRIE KELLY GOOD AT FIGHTING ALL OF THEM WHEN SHE COULDNT HANDLE HERSELF WITH ONE LIKE A WEEK AGO.  hate that the mutant leader is just a ripoff of bane with long pointed nipples I hate this. I hate that batman cant take him down, but carrie kelly can. AND THE MUTANT LEADRER TOTALLY DIED WHEN BRUCE THREW ADHESIVE ON HIS FACE AND HE WAS SUFFOCATED BUT LATER ON IT SHOWS HE LIVES ??

Bruce talks to Carrie 

"What is this thing?" -carrie "Dick called it the batmobile" -bruce "SIR!!" -alfred over the radio There are no words. Then she pops his arm into place and creates a makeshift cast And he says "where'd you learn to do that?” and because she’s a mary sue she says nothing, because miller doesnt know why she should, so he cuts to "what's your name?" and she says "Carrie. Carrie Kelly. robin" and HE FUCKING GOES "MINES BRUCE." and then immediately tells Alfred hes bringing "robin" to the cave. I hate it here I hate that he forgets what happened to Jason aFTER ITS HIS LITERAL REASON FOR QUITTING. WHAT IS THE POINT IF HE’S GOING TO ACCEPT THIS GIRL HE DOESNT EVEN KNOW AS ROBIN?

-Bruce talks about Jason

OH BRUCE'S FUCKING LINE. HIS LINE. IM FURIOUS Alfred asks "have you forgotten what happened to Jason?" And he says "I'll never forget. he was a good soldier. He honored me" I AM !!!! SHAKING!!!! WITH HOW MAD !!!! I AM!!! Bruce would NOT say that shit. Implying that jason wasnt his son, or that jason was only a casualty in a war, or that HE FUCKING HONORED HIM AND NOT THE CITY, OR THE TITLE OF ROBIN "He honored me" shut the fuck up I hate this and dont even get me started on the misconceptions of Robin in the first place. i dont want to go into the debate on whether or not they’re soldiers, which I personally don’t believe. but its just stupid because Jason considered being Robin the best thing that’s ever happened to him, and he was THE BEST. it wasnt his fault he was killed, either. 

-The ending

So the mutant escapes his cell by going through a VENT. A . V E N T. AND ENDS UP IN THE SEWER. I hate that these mutants are just an army of evil people and have no motivation and the leader is just a brute I fucking hate Bruce calling him "son" And the mutants become the sons of batman who fight crime......??? because their leader is gone?? werent they supposed to be evil criminals with no humanity in them?

-Joker

Okay but Joker being absent the entire first part , only to show up in the end hearing news reports about batman, and then smiling as he stands up and just fucking creepily says "darling" holy shit that gave me goosebumps. another credit i have to give. 

[ourquicksilvered]

Fake Love

Bucky x Black!Reader 

warnings: Smut

Bucky still isn’t trusted by civilians and the media also paints him out to be an unforgivable villain. Luckily Tony has a solution. 

"No, I can't just ask her that. It's awkward and I'm not completely sure if I want to do this myself." I hear Bucky say as I walk into the lounge.

He, Steve and Sam were sitting in the common area couch in the middle of the room with Tony. On the television in front of them was yet another stupid tv host talking about Avenger gossip and how Bucky is apparently evil itself. Honestly it drove me crazy how they'd just drag his name through the mud like they knew him or as though he was in his right mind as the Winter Soldier.

"Why're y'all watching this shit?" I roll my eyes, walking into the connecting kitchen to fix myself a glass of minute maid lemonade.

"I was just explaining to Bucky that people really believe this bullshit and that it wouldn't hurt if we created some good PR for him." Tony explained.

While Sam and Steve looked like they completely disagreed with Tony, Bucky looked on the fence about it. But Tony did have a point. It's worked somewhat for Clint and Natasha as far as people accepting the fact that they were formerly assassins.

"I agree. I mean it's helped Clint and Nat. And since Wanda started going to school, people look at her as a normal-ish teen." I shrugged and took a seat next to Sam.

"But wait til he tells you how he wants to create good PR." Steve says crossing his arms.

"I was thinking you two could fake date. Or at least spend a lot more time together so the people can see that it's not just his childhood best friend that likes and trusts him." Tony says casually and I look at him like he’s grown a third head and laugh.

"That is the most cliché thing I've ever heard. Like sum' out of a cheesy rom com.  Why can’t Nat do it? She's the "sexiest female avenger".”

To be honest it did bother me a little that Natasha was declared the sexiest because even though I'm very confident in myself, I realize that Natasha with her flawless white skin, curves, and thickness, she fits America's fucked up beauty standards and not me with my brown skin, locs and lean frame.

"Y/n it was just Cosmo that said that and plus Nat hasn't entirely redeemed herself in the people's eyes. Then Wanda is too young, which leaves you." Tony says and I roll my eyes.

"But not only are you incredibly beautiful, but you're the most followed on social media and the 'bad girl' on the team according to Allure. Which all makes you perfect for this. You could make Bucky likable." Tony explains trying to save his ass while still finding a way to subtly insult Bucky. 

I know he was only doing this for the sake of the team and hasn’t really forgiven Bucky himself. 

"Don't pressure her Stark," Bucky rolls his eyes, "Y/N you don't have to do this."

"Whatever. I'm single, could use a few free meals." I shrug, ignoring the butterflies in my stomach. 

"I'll have to think about it some more." Bucky shrugs and I nod.

"I can't believe you guys are agreeing to this." Sam shakes his head laughing.

———————————-

I grip the sheets tighter and my back arches as my lover sends me to my climax. Once a slight moan escapes my mouth, he covers my mouth.

"You gotta be a good girl and stay quiet for me." He whispers with a devilish smirk.

I pull him up to my level by his hair and purr into ear, "But you and I both know I'm not a good girl."

This gets him even more turned on, causing him to roughly throw my leg over his shoulder go rougher.

"I do know that. Just like I know that this belongs to me and me only." He whispers, thrusting with each word.

It takes everything in me to hold in my moans, especially after he flips me over and takes me from behind, gripping my shoulder tightly. He then grabs my neck, choking me a bit as he pushes it down into the pillow. He relentlessly pounds into me, quickly bringing us almost to our climax but pulls out, laying on his back.

"Bring it on home." My lover says, pulling me onto his lap.

I ride him like a bat out of hell, determined to get us both off.

"Shit." He grips my waist while he hits his climax, me following suit.

I roll off of Bucky slightly panting and lay on my side after yet another night of our mind blowing sex. I put some distance between us, needing to cool down. Unbeknownst to the rest of our team -except maybe Steve- Bucky and I have been sleeping with each other for months. 

We decided that it’d work out perfectly considering that he doesn't feel like he's mentally ready or himself enough to be in a relationship, and I myself am afraid of commitment. The perfect match...I guess. Of course, with Bucky being the charming, sweet guy that he is, and with me truly enjoying conversation with him, I've gained feelings that I'm not even sure are reciprocated. 

I could actually imagine being committed to him, but I’m tired of his reserved nature outside the bedroom. You wouldn't really guess that Bucky was remotely interested in me other than a few sneaky glances at me and slight conversation in front of others when he has to, like this afternoon. But in bed, he's the sweetest person and we’ve shared secrets that no one on the team even knows. 

While I do have my other secret affairs with other men, there’s something about Bucky that’s just different. I know that I could commit to him in a monogamous relationship but considering that that’s not even what he wants right now, I guess there’s nothing to worry about. I guess my fear is him getting tired of me. I'm slowly getting frustrated with this little game of hot and cold, that part of me is hoping that with this 'fake' dating, he'd finally become consistent in his feelings for me.

"So Buck, what do you really think about this whole publicity stunt?" I innocently ask, running my fingers down his chest.

He takes a deep breath, while I hold mine dreading his answer.

"I don't really think it's a good idea. Someone might gain feelings." Bucky sighs, bringing his hand up to his forehead. 

Maybe I’m just being sensitive but I felt like that was him insinuating that I would be the one to gain feelings for him that wouldn’t be returned. I hold back the tears forming in my eyes at the rejection and thank the darkness for masking it.

"Buck, if it's you being afraid that I'll gain feelings, I can assure you that I won't. I mean the sex with you is great-- mind-blowing even. But I do still see other men that can do it just as well." I slightly lie. I mean I do have other lovers which is no secret to him but the sex isn’t nearly as great with any of them. 

Moving to get out of bed so I could look for my clothes, I suddenly stop as he holds onto my wrist.

"They can give you the same? Even though you tell me how your body is mine? Or how loud you moan for me and how wet you get for me?" He asks, moving closer to me and placing a hand on the small of my back.

"Yeah, in bed you're incredible. But outside of it, it's different--we're different. We don't fit and that's okay cos there’s no worry of things getting complicated." I choose my words wisely, as I look up at him pulling away from him and putting my underwear on.

"I'm pretty sure you know how well I fit in you." He looks down at me and smirks but then pauses for a second, thinking.

"You know what, let's do it. If you think you won’t gain feelings. But no more sex after tonight." He says seriously reaching out to shake on it.

"I could say the same for you Barnes." I smirk shaking his hand and letting him pull me back into bed for the last time.

———————

Today is day one of Tony's masterplan. He believed that in order to make this whole thing believable, Bucky and I can't seem like we're suddenly in a relationship.

1) Phase one be seen with each other casually hanging out and slight flirting.

2) Phase two start posting mysterious videos and photos on social media of just the two of us.

3) Only after it's speculated that we’re together, be a bit touchier in public and neither confirm nor deny it until Tony gets me an interview with a major pop culture news outlet.

It seemed simple enough. Bucky thought this whole thing was being taken way too seriously but he also didn't know about today's pop culture.

"You ready, Y/n?" Bucky asks in a bored tone from the other side of my door, breaking me from my thoughts.

He didn't seem too enthused about being seen together out in public acting cutesy. Of course it kinda stung, because this was something that I expect of my other flings. I thought of all people, Bucky wouldn’t be ashamed of me. But at least this shows me that I really couldn't have anything deeper with Bucky. I deserve a man that would proudly show me off. It's funny how that after we start the fake dating is when slowly but surely I'm getting over him.

"One sec!" I call out, slipping on my black ankle boots and then straightening my outfit.

I was getting ready for our first outing and wasn't sure what to wear because I didn't want to look like I was trying too hard. I finally decided on a black, lace bralette with a red flannel shirt tied over it and tucked into a pair of black jeans.

"Ready." I say walking out into the hallway.

Bucky was leaning against the opposite wall, looking me up and down before smirking. The man looked like a tall glass of water in his black jeans, Timberland boots, and simple white T. Once Sam and I showed Bucky and Steve how men from Brooklyn dress today, Bucky feel in love with the typical Brooklyn style. I look down, feeling my face heat up. I hate that he had this effect on me, without even having to use words...Of course he was only smirking at me and undressing me with his eyes because it was just us two in the hall. I pull myself together and put on my sunglasses, trying to hide the fact that I was drooling over the man.

"So, what did Stark plan for us today?" He asks pushing off the wall.

"He suggested that you maybe give me a tour of Coney Island, you buy me ice cream, I laugh at your jokes and we subtly flirt." I say, holding my hand out to him.

"Sounds good to me, I guess." He shrugs and holds onto my hand with his flesh one so that I could teleport the two of us to Brooklyn.

Upon arrival, we immediately let go of each other and I fake shyly look away, but really scoping out our surroundings.

"There's a teen video taping us on his phone." I say lowly to Bucky, holding onto his metal arm flirtatiously.

He nods, looking down at me and biting his lip.

I'd be lying if I told you that that small action didn't make my heart hammer in my chest. Rather than looking for the teen, he takes my word for it and moves closer to me as we walk around, looking for something to do. He begins to show me around, telling me some of the things that he and Steve used to do back in the day and the places where Steve often got beaten up.

"Is that the Cyclone? It's still here?" Bucky asks incredulously, looking at the massive roller coaster in front of him.

"Yeah, Steve told me about your Cyclone misadventure where he threw up on your shoes." I say laughing slightly.

I loved when Steve told me stories about him and Bucky, it seemed to be when he was happiest.

"I remember that! Poor punk couldn't handle all the dips," He pauses, "Have you ever ridden it?"

"Hell no! That thing is ancient!" I exclaim pointing at the ride, causing people to stare.

"C'mon, is the badass avenger scared of heights?" Bucky teases.

I wish I could take a picture of this moment. Where he's smirking down at me with his eyes full of mischief.

I sigh heavily looking into his lively blue eyes, "Okay, I'll do it."

He practically drags me to the line.

--------

"I still can't believe the Cyclone still exists." Bucky shakes his head smiling.

"I still can't believe you talked me into going on it." I say shivering at the idea that I actually went on a roller coaster from the early 1900s.

"You looked so--" Bucky begins but gets cut off by a crowd of paparazzi that just seemed to appear out of thin air.

"Y/n! Are you and the Winter Soldier dating?" One pap asks, intruding my personal space.

Bucky instinctively puts his arm around me and pulls me close.

"Y/n are you not scared to be dating a former assassin?" Another one asks, getting a little too close as well.

"Hey, Buck? Wanna jus' continue this at the compound?" I ask not so subtly, letting the paparazzi to assume we're dating.

I could tell the questions hit a nerve with him, so the second he nodded I teleported is back to the compound. He pulls away as soon as we get there, causing me to frown but I quickly recover. Slowly but surely I know I will be getting over Bucky and his wishy washy behavior.

I didn't even bother to ask if he was alright as I walk back to my room. I flopped down onto my bed wondering why in the hell did I agree to do this thinking that he'd miraculously fall for me. 

------------------------------

I realized by the second week of this fake dating that our relationship wasn't going to be the same. He was so afraid of me gaining feelings that he touched me a lot less unless we were in front of a camera, and then he started talking to me less. I constantly found myself questioning why I was still playing along with this fake dating when all it does is create heartbreak and now I have to go do my interview tomorrow morning, pretending that everything is fine and I'm head over heels for him.

Which reminds me that I have to post this obviously staged photo that Tony took of me and Bucky passed out on the couch together. If it weren't so fake, it'd be the cutest moment.

————���—————

Steve Rogers was always observant. He was always the first to notice if someone did something different with their hair, if something wasn't in its usual spot or if someone was acting out of character. So it came as no surprise that Steve was able to notice that something wasn't right between you and Bucky. Of course he knew you two had been sleeping together which is why he disagreed with the whole plan, not wanting either of you to get hurt. He also knew that Bucky really and truly liked you and sometimes wouldn't even shut up about you although he'd never reveal that to you. Bucky was afraid that he wasn't good for you and was trying to push you away but Steve decided that he's not going to let his best friend ruin what might be his only shot at love with an incredible woman like you.

He marched right up to Bucky's door, pausing when he heard something being thrown against the room.

"You okay pal?" Steve asks, after knocking on the door.

In seconds, it was opened showing a disheveled looking Bucky. Bucky sighs, opening his door for Steve and letting him in.

"I'm fine, Steve." Bucky runs his hands through his hair, flopping into his bed but Steve rolls his eyes knowing obviously something was up.

"It's whatever's going on between you and Y/n isn't it? This is why I didn't want you guys doing this in the first place." Steve says after closing the door behind him.

"I only agreed to it because I wanted to sort of test out if I really could be with her. If she’d want to be with me." Bucky explains, flopping onto his bed, dejected.

"And?" Steve crosses his arms.

"I'm not good enough for her Steve. She's even said how 'we're not good for each other'. And she's right deserves someone that people aren’t afraid of. The past two weeks people have constantly asked how she isn't afraid of hurt her and—" Bucky continues but Steve cuts him off.

"Obviously it doesn't matter what they say or think. And you and I both know that the reason you two don't 'fit' is because you push her away and give her the cold shoulder. Everyone sees that Buck." Steve says taking a seat on the edge of Bucky's bed.

"So what do I do now? After this interview, she's free to dump me and move on. Which may be for the best." Bucky sighs, mentally getting angry with himself for being so emotional.

"Buck you know you won't be able to get over her just like that. The second she starts seeing other people what will you do then?" Steve asks, looking at his pitiful looking friend.

"You're right, I'll talk to her tomorrow."

------------------------------

So far the interview was going great, we'd danced, played charades, talked a bit about what it's like to be an Avenger and a Mutant and now we were onto Never Have I Ever.

"Okay never have I ever slept with another Avenger." The interviewwe smirks as the crowd cheers.

I embarrassingly look down knowing all of my relatives watch this show and turned my sign over to 'I Have'.

The crowd cheers even louder and I shake my head laughing.

"Oooh who was it? Does he or she have a name that starts with B and rhymes with Tucky?"

"Um.... more like it was Thor." I said with a completely serious look on my face and shocking the audience before cracking.

"Okay, yes it was Bucky. Sorry love." I say looking into the camera with a smirk.

"How was it?" She asks with a smirk while I hide my face in my hands.

I deserve an Oscar for my acting. You’d never tell that I was up all night crying over Bucky’s punk ass the night before. 

"I'll have to tell you sometime when I know my mom isn't watching." I laugh, shaking my head.

"But all joking aside, are you two really dating?" She asks, showing paparazzi pictures on the screen.

I was getting ready to answer when I felt a presence behind me. Before I could even answer, the presence behind me yelled 'boo' and started tickling me in places not many people knew I was ticklish. I embarrassingly spazz out and fall out of my chair with tears in my eyes to see that it was Bucky who was tickling me with his flesh hand but held a bouquet of flowers in the metal one.

"Bucky! I hate you!" I tease, hopping up and playfully punching him as he nervously laughs.

"We both know that you don't." He says quietly to where only I could hear and then gives me the flowers.  

I look at him in brief confusion as I take the flowers from him and the audience aws.

"We need to talk after the show." He mutters very low, placing his metal hand in the small of my back and kissing my cheek.

"So I guess that answers my question." Ellen says, as I sit back down.

"Yeah we'd been dating a little over a month actually."  I smile, crossing my legs.

"Well give us the details! How'd you start dating? What is it like dating the Winter Soldier?" She asks all at once.

"I'm gonna cut you off right there. I'm dating Bucky Barnes, not the Winter Soldier. When he was the Winter Soldier he was tortured, brainwashed and unable to make his own decisions and now that he's better and tryin’ to find himself again there's all these shitty people around judgin' him and not allowing him to move the hell on." I rant crossing my arms and rolling my eyes.

"I'm really sorry that he has to go through that." Ellen said after a moment of silence.

"Yeah me too. Bucky is a little rough around the edges but he can really be sweet and super loyal. Funny too." I say a bit chuckling to myself thinking about his cracks on Sam.

-----------

After the show, I walk offstage and my smile is immediately gone from my face and replaced with worry. What could Bucky possibly have to say to me?

I walk into my dressing room and there he is on the couch, running his hands through his hair.

“Buck, you okay?” I put my flowers on the dresser and lean against it to keep distance between us.

“No, it isn’t. I fucked up.” He replies, looking up at me and seeing the confusion on my face, he continues,“I was never afraid of you gaining feelings. Hell, I thought that after all this, maybe you’d finally feel the same about me. But I’ve done nothing but push you away because I was scared.”

“Bucky, I don’t know what to say. I mean I did feel the same but now I don’t know. I can’t play this game of hot and cold anymore. I’m not sure if my feelings will change but for now, I think the best solution is to just be friends.” I answer honestly, giving him a hug. 

[is-it-art-tho]

Summary: After a truly crappy week, Bats and Jim decide they could both use a breather.

Jim Gordon sighed as he leaned back heavily against the brick wall, slick with freezing rain that had just begun to fall. He popped his collar as a bitter wind sliced through his duster to cut straight to the bone. His old joints ached in protest against the cold and he hissed a cursed, rubbing his eyes under his glasses.

It had been an exceptionally rough week, the kind that made him long for the early days, back when the worst things he had to worry about were petty drug dealers and domestic assault cases. Back then, most officers didn’t even wear Kevlar half the time. They walked the streets armed with a badge and a rarely used gun and felt invincible, wholly confident in their ability to stand between the public and those who meant to do harm. Back then, the uniform and the badge had been enough – more than enough to discourage most crime, and where the uniform and badge failed, it didn’t take much more to straighten things out.

But now as he watched as a dozen officers struggled to drag Killer Croc’s unconscious body out of the harbor, he couldn’t help but scoff at the hellish circus the city had become. Now most officers didn’t wear Kevlar, not out of a sense of safety, but rather a sense of futility. Standing against Croc or Bane or even Freeze, Kevlar would only slow the inevitable.

Some time not too long ago, a new darkness had spilled over the city like rain, and a wicked breed of evil had crept up from the sewers in its wake, ushering a new, horrible era that even now he couldn’t begin to explain, let alone accept. It was the stuff of nightmares; the sort of horrors that now plagued the city on a near constant basis used to be considered “once in a lifetime.”

But this week - this godforsaken week - had been one for the books, even in Gotham.

Jim’s phone chimed and he spared a glance from the scene in front of him to peek at the notification. It was a confirmation message letting him know that Harley and the Penguin had been safely returned to Arkham. Croc was basically as good as done at this point, which left only Ivy to worry about. Last he’d heard, his guys had her cornered in a plant nursery at the natural sciences museum. It was by no means an ideal location for a standoff with her, but Batman was there too, which just about evened the odds as much as anything anyone could hope for. It was the only reason he wasn’t on his way there now. That, and the fact that he was fairly certain that even if he left now and blew through every stop on the way there, he’d get there long after the fight was over, for better or worse. Fights with Ivy were fierce, but rarely very long.

Jim sighed again and tapped a cigarette free from the pack. The gentle thump and scuff of boots on damp pavement behind him only proved his point, and he said without turning around, “Ivy?”

“Neutralized.” Batman stepped forward so that they were side by side, coughing slightly, his eyes on Croc.

The officers had been trying to work by sheer manpower alone for nearly twenty minutes before Bullock, sweating an irritated, finally shouted, “For the love of– just rig ‘im up to one of the trucks already!” Now a few chains were looped onto Croc’s pants, the other ends hooked onto the back of a fire engine, and they were slowly backing him out of the water.

Jim noticed Batman’s arm wrapped around his torso, clutching his side. He assumed the gesture was meant to be inconspicuous, hidden almost entirely under the thick cape, and knowing Batman, it could mean anything from a simple bruise to a punctured lung. Or worse.

Without another word, he shook free a second cigarette and held it out.

“I don’t smoke,” Batman said.

“Humor me.”

To Jim’s mild surprise, and perhaps underscoring his belief that this had in fact been a spectacularly awful week, Batman took the cigarette and held it while Jim lit both of them.

It didn’t escape the older man’s notice that the black gloved hand trembled slightly, and Jim knew enough about the insulation of the suit, having seen Batman stand comfortably in significantly harsher conditions, to know that it wasn’t from the cold.

Batman took a slow drag, the butt flaring then fading again in the darkness, and exhaled a cloud of smoke and condensation into the frosty air.

They stood like that for a while, wrapped in silence as they watched the officers work. Well, to be fair Jim was only half-watching the officers, one eye glued to Batman. He smelled faintly botanical, sweet like nectar but also bitter and sharp like vinegar and acid. Small patches of his cape were missing, ragged holes that looked reminiscent of burn marks, and a light dusting of gold covered most of his body. Pollen, Jim assumed.

So, she’d put up a hell of a fight then.

“You’re staring, Jim.”

The older man jumped like a child caught stealing a cookie and redirected his gaze to the scene. “Christ,” he muttered, rubbing his neck somewhat sheepishly. “Here I thought I was being slick.”

Batman dropped the cigarette and snuffed it into the wet pavement. “Was there anything else?”

“No, thank God. I think that’s everything.”

“Then you should get home. Get some rest,” Batman said, turning to leave.

It was one of the few times Jim had had the chance to actually watch Batman leave rather than be left talking to the open air. He watched the man reach for a grapple beneath his cape and felt something drop into the pit of his stomach as he thought about the ride home.

No, he couldn’t go home. It was something Jim had learned soon after he’d gotten married, back when he was still new to the job. He couldn’t go straight home after a rough night. No matter how much he might want to, he knew he needed to get his head on straight before he walked through the door. Make sure he was ready to interact, to be a father and a husband, to be with his family. Otherwise, the events of the night clung to him like smoke, wafting with him from room to room and turning him into something dour and unapproachable. It wasn’t fair to his family or anyone around him, and he’d learned that the hard way, but he’d learned it all the same.

But this was one of those unique nights where the thought of being alone was almost worse. The way his mind was racing, had been racing for the past few days, the last thing he wanted was to be left to his own devices. To think about all the ways he’d screwed up, all the people who had been endangered or worse because of a clue he’d missed, a decision he’d made too slowly or blown all together. He would sit and he would think and he would descend into self-flagellation until he was just about ready to hand in his letter of resignation and fling himself into the harbor. It was a well-trodden path at this point, and one he didn’t want to revisit.

So, in a last-ditch attempt to salvage what was left of the night, Jim found himself asking, “Where are you headed?”

Batman paused and tossed a curious look over his shoulder. It was hard to tell through the mask, but Jim got the feeling he had an eyebrow raised.

“Is something wrong,” Batman asked.

“No, no, I was just…” Jim took a breath and jammed his half-frozen hands into his pockets, feeling impossibly foolish. What was he doing? “It’s been a rough week,” he continued. “And I was just…” His sentence trailed off with another deep sigh. “Eh, never mind. It was nothing.”

Batman kept his eyes on him, appraising him the way Jim had seen him study countless crime scenes. It made him feel strangely vulnerable, almost nude.

“Are you hungry?” Batman asked suddenly.

And even though he was one of the most infuriatingly inscrutable men in the world, Jim knew him well enough by now to recognize this for what it was. A small lifeline.

“Starving,” Jim grinned, dropping his cigarette to crush it underfoot. “There’s a little hole in the wall on 4th.”

“McLaren’s?”

“That’s the one.” Jim was beyond amused by the idea that Batman might be familiar with the little mom & pop health code violation they called a diner. He imagined him strolling in for a milkshake at 2 in the morning, cowl and all, and having an autographed portrait added to the wall of celebrity customers.

Jim glanced back at the scene. They’d finally hauled Croc into one of the armored vans and were just beginning to clear out.

“We’re just about done here,” he said. “Give me about 10 minutes and I should– Goddammit.” He was talking to himself again. Perhaps the first time had been a fluke.

About thirty minutes later, Jim was pulling up in front of the little diner, the windows papered with sun damaged menu items and flashing neon lights, and the only place still open at this ungodly hour. A bell chimed as he stepped in, immediately blinded by the contrast from wintry night to bright fluorescent interior.

“Gordy!” the round man at the grill shouted by way of greeting.

“Pauly.” Jim was too tired to return the same vigor, but he offered a smile, tugging off his coat that was now heavy with rain and stiff with cold.

Without another word between them, Pauly threw a few extra ingredients on the flat-top grill to start preparing Jim’s usual.

In the back, a dark figure was hunched in the corner booth by a window, completely incongruous with the otherwise ordinary setting, like a Tesla in a Norman Rockwell painting.

He caught Pauly’s eye then, and Pauly shot him wary half-raise of an eyebrow as if to say, What the hell you got going on here? and Am I gonna have to update my insurance policy on this place? and Do you think he’ll sign a photo?

Jim just shrugged in a way he hoped was reassuring then made his way back to the booth and slipped in. Batman was leaning over a half-drained mug of coffee, his head in his hand, and though Jim couldn’t see his eyes through the white lenses in the mask, he could’ve sworn the other man was dozing off.

“Surprised you’re sitting with your back to the door,” Jim noted. “Thought you were too paranoid for that sort of thing.”

Batman simply gestured toward the chrome napkin holder, angled in such a way that he had a clear view of the entire restaurant behind him. Of course.

Jim chuckled and shook his head as Pauly came over with a glass of Coke. He held up a coffee pot, offering to refill Batman’s cup, but Batman held up a tired hand and Pauly returned to the kitchen.

“So,” Jim began, tapping his straw against the table to open it, “made it through another one.”

“Hn.” Batman rubbed his face in an exhausted and somewhat startlingly human gesture and coughed, groaning a little.

Jim was fairly certain he’d never seen Batman so openly… human before. Even after some of their worst scrapes when Batman was practically bleeding out or loaded with some sort of toxin, he had always stood tall, stoic, betraying not even a hint of weakness. After a while, it had only added to the legend of it all.

Batman: the man who did not sleep, who bled but did not feel pain.

He’d taken on a mythos, became something larger than himself. Jim had watched the transformation with his own two eyes, had seen the way the conversation shifted around him in the precinct and on the streets. In the months after Batman’s first appearance, he went from being the crazy man in a costume to the lurking force that hung over the city the same way clouds always seemed to – at once haunting and familiar.

He’d known all along that the stories of his exploits were overblown, but he’d let them grow anyway because he also knew how necessary it was that the city believed them, that they saw Batman as this otherworldly entity. It was the only way for any of it to work. Batman’s very name, the signal in the sky, they had to be backed by an unshakeable belief that he was something more than a man.

Because it wasn’t enough to be a good man. Not here; not anymore. Good men didn’t scare criminals, not the kind that stalked the streets of Gotham. And good men didn’t last long in these parts, besides. Harvey Dent’s presence in Arkham was a painful, permanent reminder of that fact. And it was Harvey Dent, along with other fallen or corrupted good men, who solidified the cynicism that clung to the hearts of most Gothamites like a parasite and made it nearly impossible for them to take any solace in the efforts or words of simple good men.

In a battle against devils, men simply did not do.

No, they needed something more, something greater. They needed a legend, a story whispered over barrel fires and on street corners, an ever-present threat to those who prowled the shadows and a hope for those searching for the light.

They needed Batman.

And Jim was mature enough to admit that he needed it, too. He clung to the stories, craved them the same way a child might cling to Santa Clause – a desperate last attempt at hope in this city that seemed to try its damnedest to crush it.

But now, sitting across from Batman and getting a chance to really look at him up close in something other than the dim lit of a rooftop or back alley, and seeing the drawn lines in his face and the weary drag in his voice, Jim couldn’t help but kick himself for being so foolish, so selfish. It was one thing for the city to believe the stories, but he didn’t have that luxury. He couldn’t. Because at the end of the day there needed to be at least one person out there who saw Batman for who he really was: just a good man trying to save the city from itself.

Someone had to see that – had to know that.

Otherwise, who would save the Batman from the city?

And when Batman coughed again and stretched his neck painfully from side to side, wincing as he did, Jim kicked himself again. He’d noticed from the first moment that Batman seemed worse for wear, yet never once had he suggested any medical intervention, however futile the offer might be. And he vowed in that moment to do better at remembering that this man before him was just that.

A man.

“You all right?” Jim asked in a belated attempt to do what he should’ve done almost an hour ago. And many times, before that. “If you want, I can get one of the guys to give you a once over.”

“I’m fine,” Batman said, his eyes scrunched.

Sitting here, Batman’s chest and arms were visible beneath the cape, and Jim could get a better read on the extent of the damage. The burns he’d noticed in the cape itself were also on his torso, leaving holes in the fabric that revealed the tough, lightweight armor beneath, and Jim recognized the telltale slashes across his chest and biceps left by Ivy’s thorny vines, some of them slicing clean through to the skin. There was a particularly deep gash across Batman’s left side, and when he noticed Jim staring, he let the cape fall a bit more to cover himself.

“Really,” he added with a slight edge in his voice.

Jim put up his hands in surrender. “Hey, listen. I’m not your mother. If you say you’re fine,” he shrugged, taking a swig from his Coke, and he could’ve sworn he saw some tension seep out of Batman’s shoulders, as if he’d been bracing himself for a battle on this issue.

Jim was a caring man, and he could worry and nag with the best of them, but he was also an old man, and tired. And the last thing he intended to do tonight on top of everything else was argue with another grown man about a damn checkup.

“What do you usually do after nights like this?” he asked, pivoting easily. “I’m assuming by the nervous sweats on Pauly’s collar that you’re not exactly a regular here.”

“No,” Batman granted. “Usually, I go for a drive.”

“Huh. I would’ve thought you’d just go right home. Crawl into bed and pass out.”

“Sometimes, but not always. Nights like this… I need to be alone for a while. Clear my head, wait for the adrenaline to wear off.”

It hadn’t occurred to Jim that the Batman might live with other people. He wondered what that looked like. A wife? A family? He found himself imagining the Christmas card – a smiling family in matching sweaters and then… Batman. His lips curled into a smile around the straw in his mouth.

But he also understood the sentiment exactly, and he nodded, saying, “I hear ya,” while suppressing the million questions burning at the back of his throat about Batman’s home life. Not the time, not the place, and not his business.

“Do you want to, uh… Do you want to talk about it?” he asked after a brief pause. “What happened, I mean?” Jim’s eyes flicked back and forth between his Coke and Batman’s face, suddenly feeling wildly out of his depth. He figured it was a necessary question to ask, especially given everything that had happened, but he felt impossibly unqualified to have the conversation with this man in particular.

“No,” Batman said after another moment, staring out the window at the sparse, pre-dawn traffic. If Jim were anybody else or any younger, he might have flushed with embarrassment.

Because of course Batman didn’t want to talk about it with him. What could he possibly offer by way of advice or comfort to the man who had saved the entire city – hell, the world – on multiple occasions; who had fought battles in different solar systems and gone toe to toe with aliens and demigods? Comparatively, Jim was a nobody, practically irrelevant in the grand scheme of things.

Self-pity wasn’t a familiar sensation for him, and he shifted uncomfortably in the overstuffed seat, cringing as the plastic covering whined beneath him.

“Not about tonight,” Batman continued.

Jim blinked, confused, and Batman went on a little hesitantly. “Let’s just… talk.”

“Oh.” The response felt incredibly lame coming out of his mouth and seemed to plop onto the table between them, but he was so caught off guard that he didn’t know what else to say.

It looked almost like Batman was suddenly unsure, because he immediately straightened in his seat, and his expression became more guarded, that familiar stoicism returning to his mouth and all of the apparent exhaustion evaporating in an instant.

“You’re right,” he said quickly, even though Jim hadn’t said anything. “It’s unnecessary. And you’re probably tired. You should go.”

Batman had just begun to slide out of the booth – wincing in pain as he went – when Jim reached out a hand.

“Hey, hey, wait a second. At this point I won’t be getting to sleep anytime soon, and I’ll bet the same goes for you. Now, I plan to sit here, eat my roast beef sandwich and maybe get an extra order of fries. I can’t force you, but if you wanna sit here with me and talk about something other than criminally insane meta humans and murder and armed robberies, I’d like that quite a bit.”

Batman held his gaze for a moment, still halfway between sitting and standing as Pauly returned and set two plates down on the table. A hefty roast beef sandwich pierced with a toothpick and topped with a pickle for Jim and a Philly cheesesteak for Batman. Jim couldn’t tell if it was his little speech or the food that pushed him over the edge, but Batman settled back into the seat, a little stiff, but apparently ready to stay for at least as long as it took to finish the sandwich.

Jim grinned as he watched him drag over a ketchup and squirt it into the center of the sandwich. The whole image was just so surreal he wouldn’t have been surprised if his alarm went off in a minute and he woke up only to realize the whole thing had been a dream.

“So then,” Jim said around a mouthful of bread and meat, “seen any good movies lately?”

[hannahmcne]

Ice Cream Social (Mal and Hades Father/Daughter story)

Ben pressed the housekeys into her hand. "Go," he urged, nodding to the door.

Mal bit her lip and glanced over her shoulder. In the doorway was a tall, pale-skinned man with long, dark robes. His blue hair was currently cold with no flames to speak of as he waited.

"Where are we going?" She asked.

"Just out," Hades replied. His voice was soft – a little tired? She wasn't sure.

"But…" she turned back to Ben, chewing on her lip. "Zach just woke up. What if he starts crying? Or someone comes by?"

"I'm here," Ben reminded her. He put his hand up to her face to cup her cheek. "Listen, I got him. I won't let anything hurt him. Hades is going to take you out for the day. You need to be away from the castle."

"You have meetings," Mal protested. Ben's hands moved to her arms as he began to guide her towards the door. "Don't you? We can't leave him alone – he'll hate us!"

"He's six weeks old, Mal," Ben sighed. There were traces of exhaustion in his voice, but they weren't from any lack of sleep. Zach would routinely wake up once every night and Mal was so keen on him that Ben was never able to hear the crying before his wife had woken up and stolen the baby from under his nose. "Listen, you need to go and be away for a little bit. I've got Zach – don't you trust me with him?"

Mal's eye twitched. "Yes, of course. You always take good care of him, but Ben, don't you think-"

Hades put an arm around Mal's shoulders and her arguments ended in a little squeak. Her eyes were still wide though, and she stopped focusing on Ben and let her attention fix on a point over his shoulder. Ben carefully stepped in between her and the baby swing before she could summon in. Hades continued edging her out.

"You've got the-"

"I've got everything Mal."

"And you know where the-"

"I know where everything is, Mal."

"And if he starts to-"

"Mal. I live here. He's my son too. I promise you I know how to take care of him and I know how you like to do things with him."

Mal's lower lip trembled. Hades opened her hand for her and put another ring of keys in it. "Go on, go start the car. My son-in-law and I are going to talk for a minute."

"I want to say bye!" Mal burst back past the doorframe in a sudden panic and rushed back past Ben before he could catch her. With one arm out where Mal had passed through two seconds before, Ben took a long, slow, deep breath. Hades pressed his lips together.

"It's this bad?" he asked softly, nodding to where Mal was kneeling on the ground in front of the baby swing.

Ben pressed both hands together in front of his face and took another deep breath. "At least she's not refusing to be around him and doing this," he reasoned. "But yeah, she's been like this for the last two months. Worse at night and when anyone comes around."

"And when you say anyone…"

"She cried when my mom picked him up for a photo."

"Did you film it?"

"Evie did. It was funny at first, but after a month of her still being in shock and everything…" Ben glanced over his shoulder, shaking his head. Mal was chewing on her lip on the floor with one hand balanced out as if she was going to brush her fingers down Zach's cheek. Ben knew she wouldn't – she was terrified to touch him.

"Well, at least she likes him-"

"No, she's terrified of him."

"She can't be terrified of her own-"

"She thinks she's giving off some sort of invisible influence that is going to corrupt him and make him evil."

Hades went silent, staring between Ben and Mal as if they both had two heads. Ben sighed and rubbed his eyes. "I think… she's going back into some sort of Isle state. She's… jumping whenever anyone enters the room, she's not sleeping or eating or taking care of herself, she's obsessing over everything about him… it's bad. It's like… she's literally become a dragon protecting her horde, and she's reverting back to when she had to protect everything she owned and fight everyone around her."

"What?" Mal called from in front of the swing. They'd been whispering, but the word "fight" had her swiveling around to focus. "What's wrong? Is someone coming?"

"No, we just need to head out," Hades replied. Ben sighed and walked over to the baby swing. He forced his arm through Mal's and turned her away from the cooing, content baby in the swing. Mal allowed herself to be turned around but then began trying to twist back around to make sure Zach was okay. Only Ben's arm kept her moving forward as she craned her neck to make sure nothing had happened to Zach in the five seconds she'd been facing the other way.

Hades took her other arm as soon as she was close enough and forcibly helped her over the doorframe. "C'mon, Mallie. I haven't seen you since Zach was born – we're going to go out and Ben is going to have some father-son time with him. It'll be really good for the kid – you want him to be attached to his dad, right?"

"Yes, Ben's great with him, but-" Hades had to take her other arm to keep her from wiggling out of his grip. "Do we have enough diapers at home? Maybe we should send out for more."

"No, we're okay Mal," Ben used his foot to edge her foot out into the hall. "You're going out with your dad and he's going to stay here with me."

"Does he have enough blankets? What if he gets cold and gets sick and-"

"Mal, it's summer. He's fine."

"Does he still have his gloves so he doesn't scratch-"

"Goodbye, Mal."

The door shut with a rather final thud and Hades heard Ben turn the lock. Mal began to hyperventilate. In theory, if she wasn't panicking as much as she was, she could have easily gotten away from him and used an unlocking spell and then he and Ben would really have been in trouble, but as it was, she was easy enough to lead down the hall and into the front hall of the palace.

"What happens if he starts to cry and Ben doesn't know what to do?" Mal babbled as they got to the front steps, only about ten feet from the car. She began to show a little resistance now, refusing to move her feet as she continued looking back over her shoulder. "What if he needs me?"

"Oh, now Ben knows what he's doing," Hades held her arm a little tighter as he continued pulling her towards the car. "He taught you how to hold him, remember?"

"Yes but maybe he forgot-"

Hades opened the door and helped her in. He pushed the lock down on her door before he closed it, which was a good thing because, by the time he'd gotten in on his side, she was already trying to open it.

"Hey," he snapped a little and grabbed her hand to squeeze as he quickly put the car in gear. "Ben's got this. He has everything he needs. And you and I are going to go out for ice cream."

They started rolling and Mal let out a little breath as the front door slowly moved out of sight. "Yes, okay," she agreed in a tiny voice before fumbling over her shoulder for the seat belt. "Ben's got this."

"He does," Hades agreed. He watched her settle down a little bit more, wringing her hands and shaking as she took a few deep breaths.

They got out of the palace and Hades figured her anxiety had leveled off as much as it was going to. He drummed his fingers on the wheel – would it be better to start a conversation about Ben or about being the queen or about Zach or what?

"What's on your mind?" he asked finally.

Mal let out a little laugh. "Oh, I'm just worried about Zach," she replied, holding a hand to her head. "He's just so little and I don't want anyone coming by while I'm gone."

"I'm sure Ben won't let anyone in."

"Well, he might. He's not as cautious as I am."

"I saw an article about how you didn't want to let anyone around him. Exceptional Exposure said you were hoarding the crown prince from the public."

"Oh wow… the public can go screw itself… he is not even two months old, he has the rest of his life to be their crown prince, and they do not need to pester my baby."

Hades laughed and then chewed on his cheek. "I remember your mom didn't want anyone else to see you after you were born either."

Mal almost jumped right out of her skin. "What?" she demanded. Her skin was pasty white.

Hades realized he might have touched on a bad subject. "Well, she just didn't want to share you." He tried to laugh it off. "She used to cuddle with you for hours while you slept."

Mal relaxed a little, but she'd seized the door handle and didn't seem intent on releasing it soon.

"I think it's something a lot of new moms do," Hades continued. "They're just new and hard to share."

Mal nodded slowly. "I just… worry that something will happen if I leave him," she agreed.

"Well, Ben's got this. He's, you know, "the guy". The one who is good with kids and knows how to calm them down and he's good with them. He'll be fine."

Mal chewed her cheek, nodded, and turned to look outside the window. Hades watched her out of the corner of his eye as she traced the outlines of the passing buildings and looked sad. After a minute, he leaned over and poked her. "Do you not like that Ben's good with him?"

Mal spun so fast he was surprised her head didn't pop off and keep going. "No!" she exclaimed. "Oh, no! Ben is.. wonderful. He knows just what to do and say and he's so, so, so… good. I'm just… not."

"You're not good?" he repeated. Mal shook her head, glancing down at her lap and twiddling her thumbs. He had a feeling they weren't talking about good as in "being good at something" but rather "good and bad".

"Mallie, you know good and evil don't really exist, right?"

"Well, of course they don't… it's just… sometimes they do."

"What's that mean?"

Mal chewed on her cheek more. What would he do if she happened to bite right through it? Was that possible? How would that even be treated?

They took an exit off the main road and pulled into the drive-in of a cheap family diner. They were only about fifteen minutes from the palace even if Hades thought Ben was more likely to reinstate the barrier and murder his own father than be forced to call Mal for help.

Mal still hadn't answered, so Hades busied himself with rolling down his window and reading the menu to her. "There's vanilla and peach and chocolate – oh look, you can get them with candy coating. Do you want strawberry or birthday cake or-"

"Maybe I should call Ben and make sure everything's okay-"

Hades snapped his hand out to catch her wrist as she pulled her phone out of her jacket. He slowly wrenched it from her fingers and then tucked it into the driverside door, making sure the screen was facing away so she couldn't use magic to make the touchscreen react. "There's also cherry and butterscotch," he finished.

Mal's lower lip was jutting out, but she turned her focus to the dimly-lit plastic board of options and sighed. "Maybe the peach and strawberry option?" she asked.

"Still craving fruit?"

Mal blushed. "Yeah."

Hades pulled forward to the little black speaker box with the hexagonal opening in it. "Hello, we'd like to order some ice creams-"

"Let me know when you're ready to order."

"We like to get some-"

"Hold on sir, you're not coming through clearly."

"Can you hear me-"

"What would you like to order?"

Mal giggled as Hades huffed in annoyance. She leaned past him and gave her order to the black box. For some reason, her voice was more compatible with the hexagon. When Hades still couldn't talk straight, she gave them his order too.

Maybe they didn't have a great speaker, in Hades' opinion, but they did have pretty fast service. A tiny drive later and with a few fumbling interactions, Mal was balancing two rather tall cones as Hades tried to exit the driveway without committing curbicide. He growled when the wheels protested a particularly tight turn and Mal giggled when the back wheel thumped up and over a grate.

"Ben told me that there was a nice little park over this way-"

"Maybe I should call him now?"

"Mallie, it's been twenty minutes."

Mal guarded the ice cream from the sunlight carefully as Hades circled the street and the parking lot twice before finding the park hidden behind a wall of thick trees. The two left the car parked as straight as they could between two crooked lines of paint and got out. Mal hesitated before closing her car door. "Can I check my phone to make sure…"

Hades closed the door for her. "I've got my phone. If the palace burns down, you can see it from here. Otherwise, Ben will probably call me first."

They walked for maybe thirty seconds underneath the trees before finding some park benches. Originally, Hades had planned on making Mal walk a little bit more to keep her mind off Zach, but walking turned out to make it harder to focus on eating ice cream, so they stopped and listened to the wind blow through the trees around them. Kids were laughing nearby – this park had a playground.

"You could probably walk here with Zach from time to time," Hades hummed as he picked off bits of the candy coating to snack on. "He'd probably love that."

Mal hummed in agreement. "We wouldn't have to bring guards," she agreed. "The palace doesn't usually make me take guards. Just Ben."

"I think that says a lot."

"It does, doesn't it?"

Hades flicked a bit of candy at her. It was so hot out here that even the coating was starting to melt. A bit of white stuck to her cheek, which she wiped away as she rolled her eyes. "Why is Auradon so hot and green and.." he threw his head back and let a demonic growl escape his throat. A passing jogger jumped, looked around, and kept going.

Mal laughed. "It took me a long time to get used to how bright it is here. Sometimes I still catch myself squinting."

Hades nodded. "Auradon is weird."

"Auradon is weird."

"I just don't understand them."

"I never have either."

Hades chewed on his cheek. "It's… odd," he said. "Some people just… came off the island and came to Auradon. And some of us came off the island, but then we brought the Isle with us."

Mal's hand shook a little as she bit off the top of her cone. She traced the green coating of the metal chain-link table. "That's me," she whispered. "I know I'm in Auradon, I think I act Auradon, but then something happens and I realize that part of me is just always stuck on that island, trying to get out of the barrier."

"It's tough."

"It is tough."

"Everyone always thinks I'm crazy."

"I'm so afraid I'm going to hurt Zach because of it."

There was a silence then. It was an odd silence that was so… palpable it's almost like someone set an object in front of them. An object of silence.

"Mallie, you're doing really good with him. Everyone says so."

But Mal sniffed and wiped her eyes with her wrist. "I… I don't know."

"I know. Ben knows. Heck, even Zach knows. Ben says you're his favorite person."

Mal shook her head. "I swear I'm doing my best but… I just think I'm too much like mom to do this."

"Now listen, I know Maleficent wasn't the easiest person to get along with, but she was a good mom to you. A really good mom. She cuddled you and sang and-"

"No, she wasn't a good mom." Mal set her cone down and held her hands to her head. "She wasn't… maybe she was good at first, but she wasn't good when I needed her to be."

Hades reached across the table. Mal put her hand in his and squeezed it a little. "You talk to her lately?" he whispered.

Mal shook her head. "Not since I found out I was pregnant. She was just… I knew what she would say. So I never went and told her or anything. She probably knows now, of course, but I didn't say anything."

"What did you think she'd say?"

"The same thing she's been saying for years. Every time I've gone to visit her ever since I got married it's been the same thing. How I'm making a huge mistake and turning my back on her and Ben isn't in this for the long run and all my children will be exactly like me and-"

"If all of your children turn out exactly like you, I think you and Ben should count yourselves lucky."

Mal sobbed. She took her hand back and covered her face and began to cry. Hades was up out of his seat and over to her side of the table before she could even finish putting her head down to hide her tears.

"I can't do this," she sobbed. "I can't even… what if there's still evil in me? What if it got to him somehow? I don't want to make it worse and I don't want him catching anything from me… but I can't leave him when he's so small and he needs me…"

"There is no evil in you," Hades protested. He tried to pull her into a sitting position so he didn't have to hug the table to get his arms around her. "Mal, you are a good person."

"I can't possibly be a good person," Mal disagreed. "And Zach… how can I be a good mom? I don't know what a good mom is. Ben has Belle and Adam and he's perfect and good but I've got Maleficent and-"

She broke down more, leaning into his shoulder. Hades rubbed her back slowly. "What'd she do to you?" he whispered.

He meant the question rhetorically, but then Mal's breath caught and shuddered and he realized then what Ben had meant about her going back into an Isle state. Her mind was jumping back to always having to be on her guard, always having to protect what was hers. She'd never been a mom before and so she'd naturally retreated to remembering what her mom was like and trying to avoid that.

Hades rubbed her back to try and calm her down. "Mal," he whispered to try and bring her back to Auradon. "What happened? What'd she do?"

"She wasn't good," Mal whispered against his shoulder. "She wasn't… Ben's been trying to help me…"

"What'd she do?"

There was a lot of sniffling as Mal tried to calm back down. "I'm sorry, I'm just-" she wiped her nose on the napkins that had been given to them with their ice creams. Her peach ice cream was leaking out through the strawberry coating in little streams onto the pavement. "There was a lot. And I thought I was past it, but these last few weeks have been hard."

Hades put a hand on her knee and squeezed. "Talk," he urged.

A few deep breaths. "She would… she'd leave me alone for long times… just in my room or in… she had this other room where she'd keep me and I wasn't allowed to leave."

"Allowed?"

"Well, the one room had chains so I couldn't leave-"

"Chains?"

"Ben was mad too."

Ben was mad too? Just mad? He reasoned that Mal was likely downplaying the explosion Ben had had but geesh, Hades was a lot more than "mad" right now.

"What kind of a room?"

"A dark one. She had a lantern she'd bring whenever she'd come in and do stuff."

"Do stuff?"

"She wasn't a good mom, dad. She wasn't."

There was this deep and burning rage that was rising inside his chest. It wasn't like he hadn't dealt with child abuse before – people around the world had routinely left infants to die in fields and the Greeks had seen honor in assaulting young boys in particular, but he had also had to deal with the Polynesian people who tossed infants to sharks and the Babylonian people who auctioned their children off to brothels and the Hebrews who both slit the throats and stoned their raped daughters and the general crazy people who drove families off cliffs and threw children into walls. And yes, he'd put all those people into their proper places in the underworld. But there was a different rage felt here, when he'd trusted that woman with his daughter and was now finding she'd been locked in a room for-

"How long?"

"Well, it happened a lot for as long as I can remember…"

"No, I meant how long would she leave you there."

Mal wiped her eyes with her fingertips. "Usually just a few days."

"A few-"

"I know, I know. I know it's not normal, I just… that's what it was." Mal seemed to be finding a little bit of stability as she kept talking. "I talk to Ben and I know what a normal childhood should look like – I just didn't have one."

"She left you in a room for days?"

"That room or my room. My room was usually for… other people though."

"Other people?"

No answer, meaning an answer he didn't want.

"Mallie, she didn't-"

"That's what it was, Dad. That's how our world was. I didn't see anything wrong with it."

"How many?"

"Geesh, dad, it's not like I counted. It was just part of life. I didn't even understand the concept of rape until Carlos and Evie were talking to-"

"I can't believe it." He sat back, letting his arms fall back from her. His wrist hit the table and – ouch, that hurt – but he didn't even react.

Mal set a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, it's okay. It was forever ago. Really."

"I trusted her with you."

"Well, you don't need to anymore."

He glanced over at her as she finished drying the rest of her tears. She took several deep breaths. He felt like he needed some too, but his head was more focused on drafting the perfect eternal punishment for Maleficent than it was on something subsidiary like the anger that was overpowering everything in him.

"I don't, do I?"

"No. That's Ben's job now."

"Well, at least he does a better job of looking after you." Wait. "Does he?"

"He does." She let a little bit of broken laughter escape. "And he's been working with me on all of this. I know he's been frustrated with me these last few weeks, but he knows I'm trying."

"You are trying. And you're doing good."

"I'm trying."

"You are good."

"I'm trying."

He set his hand back on her knee and squeezed. Mal put her hand atop his and squeezed back. Then there was a plop as her ice cream tipped over on the table and the last of the candy coating smashed through the green chain links. "Oh, shoot," Mal sighed. "Well, it was a lot of ice cream, I guess."

"Mal," Hades called. She turned and focused on him. Her eyes were red now from crying, which made the green stand out more. He leaned forward and wiped a few more tears out from under her lashes. "You literally gave up an entire belief system after five days of trying something new. You stepped up to be the future queen of a country you'd hated all your life for a boy you'd known six months. You took that country's safety and put it on your own shoulders and then fought tooth and nail to help everyone on both sides of that barrier for the last six or so years. If Maleficent could be one of the worst parents on that Isle and raise you, then Zach doesn't need to worry about any… residual evil from his grandmother. Whatever tough-stuff you've got in you, he's got in him. And he's got a better mom than you did, so he'll make it. No problem there."

Mal let out a little laugh. Her gaze darted down to the ground though, so Hades tugged her chin back up. "Evil doesn't exist," he whispered. "And even if it did, you work through it just fine. He can too. And that's not even taking into account the fact you've got a pretty awesome partner too."

"He is pretty great, isn't he? I got lucky."

"Let's not get too ahead of ourselves."

She laughed a little more and a few more tears escaped, but Hades wasn't too worried about them. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and she leaned into him again. Behind them, the steady "plip… plip… plip," of the melting ice cream could be heard. Another crash came as Hades toppled to the ground. They sat in silence, drawing off each other's weakness until something vibrated in Hades's pocket. Mal made a face at the offending noise and then sat straight up. "Is it Ben?" she demanded.

Hades sighed and fished in his robes for the device. He still wasn't used to carrying it around, but it had a cute picture of his grandkid and daughter on the front and that made him a little more fond of it.

"It is Ben," he affirmed. "It says he has sent me an attachment."

"An attachment?" Mal craned her head to read over his shoulder. "Why is his name 'Daughter Thief'?"

"Because 'Mal's unfortunate temporary assistant' was too long for a first name."

"Temporary?"

"Your vows said until death do you part. I didn't make the rules!" He passed the phone over to her. It was a photo of Zach, lying on his belly on Ben and Mal's bed and smiling at the camera. His eyes, which were Mal's pale-green without any magic behind him, were focused on the camera. Mal let out a happy sigh against Hades's arm.

A message came through. "Don't show Mal if she's still freaking out but you can have this photo to add to your stash."

Hades snorted. "She's okay."

A long pause, probably where Ben was debating what Hades meant by "okay".

"Really?"

"I'll try and keep her out a bit longer, but yeah." (Mal snorted and poked him for that message.)

"She's not worried that the press will break in and smother him?"

"She's calm."

"Unbelievable."

Mal hummed against Hades's arm. He put the phone away and ran his fingertips down her arm once. She closed her eyes. He laughed. "What, did worrying about him for six weeks straight wear you out?"

She shook her head and yawned. "I just want him to be okay," she mumbled.

Hades chuckled and watched as the heat got to her and she drifted away. "If he's anything like his momma, he won't go wrong."

Five minutes of silence. A palpable silence, but this time somewhat comforting. Like someone had dropped a blanket of silence over them. The ice cream stopped its "plip… plip… plip," as it dried. Eventually, Hades picked Mal up and carried her to the car. Put the air conditioning on and they drove around for a little longer before Hades pulled back up to the palace and carried her back in. Ben had to unlock the door before he could wander in and put her onto their bed. By that time, tiny prince Zach had also fallen asleep, so they put him beside Mal on top of all the covers and put a light blanket on them before turning on the fan and letting them both sleep.

"Thanks again for taking her out," Ben sighed after the door was shut. "She's been… ramping herself up for weeks."

"It was good," Hades nodded. "Nice to talk to her."

"You work magic. Seriously. She wasn't even listening to me anymore. I mean, you saw her…"

"Yeah. She was out there."

They both shifted awkwardly in the door. "Well, have a nice day," Ben said.

"You too, Daughter-Thief."

"Wait, does that mean I can call you-"

"No."

Back out the front door; he was drumming his hands on his legs. The car was still running – he put it in gear and headed out. The route home was memorized, but so was another route. Soon, he was peering up at a different government building.

Big white walls and barbed wire would mean nothing – visiting hours were still happening. Somewhere inside was a fae woman with black horns and evil in her blood who had a lot to answer for. He could wander in and request to see her. They could sit her down with clear glass and a telephone for them to talk to each other. He could interrogate her on everything she had done and let her know exactly where she was going when she died.

But then he was leaving again before anything had happened.

Mal would be fine. He would be too.

And he wasn't going to waste any more of his time with that crazy witch.

[pinkbubbles-and-bigtroubles]

We're stuck at the airport bc of fog. I'm seriously pissed off, tired and I'm missing you more than you know. What are you doing baby girl?

I just washed my face and I'm thinking about putting a mask on but idk. I miss you too Daddy. Last night I couldn't sleep thinking about how much I needed you. Can't wait to see you in 12 days and show you how much I've missed you

Counting the days are we love? Tell me, how many days has it been since I let you cum? 

Four days, and I have to wait until I see you. Are you worried I won't behave? It's not the same without you here. Why do you do this to me? I was having a normal evening, wasn't even horny but now I'm thinking about you and wanting your cock. 

Are you now? Trust me I'd rather be home with you right now. You're so beautiful when you're on your knees getting ready to suck me off.

You're mean, seriously mean. You know I love the way you taste. I hate that I'm so wet right now. 

Let me see

Honey blinked at her phone when she read Ashton's request. She pulled her pajama shorts and panties down and angled her phone trying to get the best angle and taking a couple pictures. 

She'd never been into taking any kind of nude photo or video, but Ashton got so turned on when she did. It always amazed her that he found her as sexy as she found him, and he'd help her love and accept her body which made the sex so much better.  Her submission to him made her feel strong and sexy. 

Ashton's throat tightened when he saw the pictures. She quickly complied to any request, giving herself to him completely. The trust and love behind that was intoxicating and erotic. His girl was everything to him and he wanted her to feel good tonight even if he couldn't be there. 

Get naked and get in our bed. I need to see you baby girl, see what I'm missing 

Honey jumped off the couch and made sure the bedroom door was locked behind her before turning on the bedside lamps, stripping down and lying on her back, phone in hand. 

I'm ready Daddy, what do you want me to do? 

Let me see those pretty tits babe, pull on your nipples for me

Honey squeezed her full breasts moving her free hand from one dark pink nipple to the other pulling and twisting a breathy moan escaping her lips before she ended the video and hit send.

Ashton sighed heavily as he opened the video. Luke looked up at the sound but when Ashton shook his head he closed his eyes once more. Ashton turned his eyes back to his phone mentally feeling the heaviness of her breasts in his hands, and the soft pillow they created for his head when he needed cuddles. 

Wish you were here sucking on my nipples with your fingers inside of me

Are you touching yourself baby girl?

No, you haven't said I could yet. Just thinking about you as I play with my tits. Does that make you hard Daddy?

I'm sitting in an airport lounge with an erection I can't touch. It's my own fault really

Does that mean you want me to stop?

Absolutely not, reach down between your legs and tell me what you want

She hit voice record and began rubbing her clit.

"I'm so wet for you right now, wishing your fingers were here spreading me open. Miss the way you look up at me with that evil little smirk while you're saying the filthiest things. You look so proud of yourself after you make me beg. Oh God just thinking about it is getting me so wet. Listen" she held the phone between her legs so he could hear her fingers moving as she fantasized about him.

Ashton glanced around when he saw the audio file pop up. Luke was asleep, Calum was watching something on his phone and Michael was sitting in the corner on Facetime with his dogs. Ashton slid his earbuds in and played music to double check the Bluetooth connection before opening Honey's message. 

 Listening to Honey play with her pussy made Ashton's whole body flush and he squirmed in his seat. He was really hard now, picturing her laid out of the bed moaning for him to stop teasing and replace her fingers with his. 

Slide your fingers in and tell me how good it feels

"Feels so good, thinking about you always gets me so turned on," Honey's voice was breathy and needy. "Need you here Daddy, it's not the same." She knew the effect this would have on him, and the thought of Ashton sitting out in public with his dick straining against his pants made her whimper. She was starting to feel her orgasm build, "are you gonna let me cum for you tonight?"

Not just yet baby girl, you're going to have to work harder than that. 

Want me to get a toy and put on a show for you? 

You're trying to kill me aren't you

Is that a no? 

I'd love to watch you, just wish it was in person.  Get the big guy out of your toy box

Ooh yes Daddy, wanna watch me ride that big dick for you? 

Ashton almost choked, clearing his throat and shifting in his seat. He was getting slightly impatient after a few minutes. 

Sorry it took me a second to grab a towel and get everything set up

Honey pushed the rug to the side, and stuck the suction cup end of the dildo to the wooden floor. She pulled the bedside table up so she could set her phone on it to record. She'd angled things so Ashton could see her tits head on but watch her ass in the mirror's reflection over her shoulder. 

Ashton got a quick video of Honey slowly bouncing on the toy, her eyes fixed on the camera and her mouth slightly open. After less than a minute however she frowned and stopped recording.

Ashton groaned, rewatching the video after glancing around to double check no one could see. 

Honey sent another, longer, video and Ashton almost drooled all over himself. It took all his willpower not to palm his erection through his jeans as he watched her ass jiggle and bounce riding a cock that wasn't his. Her tits swayed as she worked her hips, soft little sighs and moans escaping her lips as she concentrated on how good it felt. 

"You like how that looks? It feels so good, but not as good as you. Nothing is better than you," Honey told the truth. She was no naive virgin when she met Ashton at one of Cal's parties, but sex with him was so much better that anything she'd experienced. Ashton told her it was because their souls were connected, and as cheesy as it sounded she kind of believed him. 

Ashton closed the video knowing he was dangerously close to cumming in his pants if he kept watching.

You ride that dick like such a good girl. Want you to cum just like that for me.

 He jumped at the feeling of a shoe brushing against his leg, looking up he saw Luke sleepy eyed and smirking at him. Luke stretched out again giving a pointed glance at the phone in Ashton's hand before dropping it to the bulge in his pants. 

Another video notification popped up and Ashton hesitated knowing Luke was aware of his situation, but he couldn't resist. 

She was moaning louder, working her hips faster, and rubbing her clit as she did. Cooing and whimpering, "yes Daddy, please, it's so good," Honey was caught up in the dual fantasy of imagining she was riding Ashton's cock and the image of him jerking off while watching her. As her orgasm approached she moved the phone to the floor giving him a close up view of her pussy creaming on the toy along with the delicious sound of her juices with the friction as she rode the dick fast and hard. 

"I'm cumming, oh fuck Ashton, I'm cumming for you Daddy," she was whiny and needy and Ashton could almost feel her shuddering on top of him, digging her nails into his chest. Ashton stood up so fast he almost fell over and Luke had to catch him below he toppled. Calum looked up from his laptop and took off his headphones. 

"I got him Cal, it's fine," Luke reassured him, stepping over Michael who'd crashed half on the couch half on the floor as he led a still slightly woozy Ashton away from them.

"Luke I'm fine," Ashton protested as Luke followed him into the bathroom. "I don't know why I got so dizzy." 

Luke snorted, "you got a head rush because all of your blood has gone to your dick. Honey must really have you riled up. Ashton raised his eyebrows and Luke laughed, "your face gave you away. That and the giant boner." 

"Fuck off, now can I have some privacy?" Ashton was annoyed but still needed to find release. 

"Of course, unless you want to return the favor and need someone to hold the camera," Luke's blue eyes crinkled watching a wicked grin cross Ashton's lips as he realized what Luke was proposing. 

"Oh she'd like that," Ashton handed over his phone. "Will you get on your knees, I promise not to cum on you." 

Luke walked over and locked the bathroom door as Ashton unzipped his pants and started to run his fingers up and down his shaft. 

Luke got into position, "wouldn't be the first time, but you're answering to Lola if you do."

@toofadedtofight​ @kiiiimberlyriiiicker1995​ @maluminspace​ @sexgodashton​ @5sosnsfw​ @irwinkitten​ @cal-pal-cuddles​ @kchillout​

[ladylouoflothlorien]

Serendipity - Part 2

Pairing - Augledh (Orc Captain) & Héowyn (Woman of Rohan) Words - 3341 Read part 1 here For everyone who asked to be tagged in this or just really liked it when part 1 came out, I want to apologise for how long it’s taken to get part 2 out. A lot of my WIP’s have been rather neglected, so this sort of apology is going to be popping up a lot on my blog in the near future. I feel like I’ve finally got my creativity back and I’m certainly glad to see it. Anyway, without further ado, on to the fic!

That morning, the villagers awoke to discover that there had been no attack that night. Héowyn didn’t think much of it, after all, she’d seen that orc walk away from their village with her own two eyes. Why would he make the effort to come back and attack after that?

Things only began to appear strange when a whole week had passed without a single attack – not so much as a trampled flower. Although Augledh had told her not to tell anyone, he was significantly less intimidating when the memory of him was a week old. Besides, Héowyn was going crazy not being able to talk about such a strange experience. Anyway, if she only told her father, how on earth would the orc know?

The truth was, Augledh couldn’t bring himself to order an attack on a village where he now knew his soulmate lived. So he didn’t, and the village hadn’t suffered any more attacks. After the example he’d made of Gilga, none of the orcs questioned why their commander had made the seemingly arbitrary decision to change the village they were attacking. Some even thought it might be a test to see which of them, if any, would also be stupid enough to dare question him.

Another week of no attacks passed by peacefully in the village. The villagers began to wonder if the orcs had decided to finally leave them alone or if they were gearing up for one massive attack. Héowyn finally snapped. Forget the fact that she’d promised the orc not to tell anyone. What did she owe him, anyway? Her train of thoughts paused for a moment as the practical part of her brain reminded her that he easily could have killed her, and by that logic she actually owed him her life. Héowyn pushed that thought away. She was going to tell her father what had happened; she’d already decided.

Héowyn sat her father down that afternoon after they’d both finished work for the day and prepared him for what she was about to say. Then she relayed what had happened a little over two weeks before, and though she left nothing out, she spoke matter-of-factly and as calmly as she could so as not to alarm him. Even so, when Héowyn described the second, much larger orc who jumped out and beheaded the first, he couldn’t stop himself from letting out a horrified gasp. She had to spend a considerable number of minutes calming him down before she could continue. Unbeknownst to her, just as she’d been starting her story, one of their neighbours had been coming to talk to them. Gossip was one of the few well-practiced pleasures of village life. Their neighbour, upon realising that they were having some kind of serious conversation, had shamelessly positioned themselves close to the barely open window – though she kept herself hidden from the view of the two people inside. She was able to hear the whole story, though she’d had to suppress a gasp of her own at the mere mention of orcs. Who would’ve guessed that Héowyn would be so reckless over a stray warg pup?

Once it seemed that the story was over, the woman listening in carefully slipped away from Héowyn’s hut, making sure her actions were a silent as possible so she wouldn’t be discovered by the two people inside. Once she was far enough away from the hut to run without sounding suspicious, the woman ran as fast as she could to where the weekly meeting of the elders was taking place.

Augledh had not seen the woman – Héowyn – since that night. It had taken him the whole first week to get used to the fact that he had finally found his soulmate and to process all the implications that came with. The logical side of his brain refused to allow himself to see Héowyn again until he had worked through these thoughts by himself. Besides, he had a whole camp full of young orcs to train. On top of that, he wanted to get his courtship started as quickly as possible. Despite his misgivings, deep down Augledh was truly excited that he’d finally found his soulmate. He had to make her something, but he had very little free time. What free time he had, he dedicated to crafting her gift.

Augledh wasn’t sure what a human woman would most like. He settled for practicality; he decided to make her a dagger. It didn’t take much still to yield, unlike a sword, and Augledh wasn’t too proud to admit that he was making her a weapon to satisfy his own selfish need to know she has some level of protection. He hadn’t seen any weaponry on her when they’d met, just that staff. He liked to believe that if she’d had any other option of protection, she wouldn’t have been stupid enough to venture into the night alone without it. All that being said, Augledh didn’t want to rush his creation, and so many days passed him by with painfully little progress being made on said dagger.

The nosey neighbour had informed the elders of what she’d overheard and they’d thanked her for her information, though they weren’t really sure what to say. They decided that for now, the information should remain a secret, and though the woman loved to gossip, they told her to remain silent so firmly that she felt as though she had no choice but to listen. The word of the village elders was as good as law after all. Then the elders sent her away so they could discuss among themselves without her. They quickly noted that since Héowyn had met that orc, there had been no attacks on their village. Indeed, it didn’t take a genius to point that out. This was no small piece of information either, since a whole two weeks had passed peacefully for them. Those two weeks had been invaluable to the village in their progress to rebuild and replant what the orcs had destroyed.

How on earth had Héowyn come face to face with no less than three orcs and lived to tell the tale? The elders couldn’t fathom it. To them, the orcs were nothing more than the living embodiment of the evil lurking in the dark places of the world. After a little more discussion, the elders decided that, for some unknown reason, one of the orcs must’ve taken a very decided liking to Héowyn. There was nothing they could be angry at. It wasn’t as if Héowyn had betrayed them by returning the affection. In fact, it had only brought them good, since she now seemed to bring their village protection by way of the orc who fancied her. The elders decided that, overall, they were pleased with the situation. However, they decided that it would be better for the village population as a whole to remain in the dark as to the reason why they were suddenly safe from orc attacks. They had warned the gossiping woman so sternly that they had no doubt she would keep quiet. As for Héowyn, it seemed that she had no intention of making the knowledge public, since she had only told her father in the quiet of their hut and – according to their source – had sworn him to secrecy before-hand. The elders definitely felt a sense of satisfaction at knowing Héowyn’s secret without her knowing that they did and without her consent. They weren’t village elders for nothing, after all. They had the respect of the people. All titbits of information were passed by them.

Three weeks were hardly enough for Héowyn to get over what had happened that night in the field. Truthfully, although it no longer consumed her every waking thought, she still found her mind wandering back to the strange and terrifying creatures she had met whenever she found time to herself. What had happened, as well as the fact that no orcs had left so much as a footprint around their village since, was baffling to her. What was more baffling still was the fact that she actually felt a certain desire to see the orc captain again. To be sure, it was only a small wish, and she easily chalked it up to the fact that she had a natural curiosity for anything other than the mundane and ordinary life of her village, so such thoughts didn’t really bother her or cause her to question her own sanity. She was drawn from such a line of thought by a knock at the door. It was a quiet knock, cautious, but still the sound made her jump. Since the very first orc attack they’d had on their village, no one had ventured out after dark, not even in the three weeks of peace they’d had, so a knock to announce the presence of a visitor was the last thing she’d expected. Héowyn put down the tattered book she’d been struggling to read by the light of a guttering candle and smoothed out her skirt.

“Just a minute.” She was only wearing her night dress, so she needed to put a covering on to be decent for company. Whoever was waiting for her did not call out to answer her, and she supposed that they were being cautious. The orcs could be about after all, where physical safety was at stake there was no point taking chances. Héowyn pulled a thin shawl around her shoulders. If it had been daylight she would not have been fit to be seen, as the shawl was only enough to cover the positively scandalous amount of chest she’d otherwise be showing, and did nothing to hide how the thin fabric of her night-dress clung to her feminine form. However, the moonlight would do much to hide her indecency from prying human eyes.

Unfortunately for Héowyn, the eyes that awaited the sight of her were not human, and could see significantly better at night than any man of her species.  She went to the door carrying her candle in its crude holder to provide some little semblance of light, but when she opened the door she was so shocked by what she saw that she dropped it. It clattered on the floor and the candle instantly flickered out. In the short pause where all that could be heard was Héowyn’s sharp intake of breath, Augledh moved with the well trained speed of a fighter and covered the woman’s mouth with his massive palm.

“Please… do not scream.”

Héowyn slowly and shakily exhaled against his palm, and when he was certain she did not have the breath to scream he dropped his hand. The Orc captain knew little of the customs men had surrounding their social interactions, but he was pretty sure this was out of the common way. It was equally clear that the woman was waiting for him to speak first, so he did.

“I made this.” He paused, holding out a thin parcel wrapped in a brown hessian sheet. “For you.” The woman merely blinked at him. Confusion was painted on her face as clearly as could be, and the Orc had to wonder if human courting was so vastly different from the courting rituals of his own kind as to render her incapable of identifying a courting gift when she saw one. Augledh hadn’t imagined having to explain the courting rituals of his people to add to the stresses of presenting the gift in the first place, but he was a military captain, and he’d faced stickier situations than this. He rolled his shoulders back and squared them, straightening his back and summoning courage from within himself to begin a hushed explanation, when all of a sudden voiced could be heard from nearby, and the dim flickering of a carried lantern could be seen bouncing off the walls of the closest hut.

Augledh tensed, and Héowyn inhaled sharply once again.

“Will you take it?” He asked her, his tone laced with slight panic. The chance of being caught, alone and – the orcs who trained him would chastise him if they knew – without his sword in a human village was a dangerous one. Héowyn herself felt a certain level of panic, though hers was less specifically tied to personal safety but rather to her reputation within her community. She had no idea how someone would view this odd meeting if they happened to see the two together. She wanted him gone, now. Looking back to the parcel, she reasoned quickly to herself that he’d only come to deliver whatever was wrapped in the very rough fabric, and if all she needed to do to get him to leave was accept it then that’s what she’d have to do. Héowyn was about to reach out and take the parcel from his hands when she realised that whoever was out and about had come close enough for her to hear their footsteps.

In a split-second decision – and undoubtedly little real thought – Héowyn’s hands reached past the parcel to grab onto the Orc’s tunic instead and she firmly tugged him inside. Had he been expecting it, Augledh would have been able to withstand the pull with ease, but as it was his eyes merely widened as he stumbled forwards and into the woman’s hut. The movement was so sudden that he couldn’t catch himself, and his momentum carried him too far. Augledh all but barrelled into Héowyn, knocking her backwards with him falling after her. Luckily the woman fell down onto her behind, rather than her back or her head. Blinking, the orc found himself clumsily cradling his parcel with one hand whilst the other was braced against the compressed dirt floor of the hut, having shot out mid-fall to prevent his weight from crushing her. It took Héowyn even less time to realise that the orc’s mid-section was bracketed by her knees, and that he was lying between her thighs – which had become scandalously exposed as her nightdress had shifted up her legs. The door had swung half shut behind them, and Augledh went to right himself instantly, hardly noticing the position they were in, when his ears caught the footsteps himself and he stilled.

“If we move now they will hear, I am sure.” He spoke, his voice scarce more than a breath. He did not realise that human hearing was not so sharp as his, and undoubtably they could have separated if they had moved quietly enough, but he did not know this. Héowyn merely nodded mutely as her wide eyes stared at anything but his face and she tried her absolute best to ignore the warmth radiating from his – ridiculously hard and muscled, but not that she noticed, no sir – form.

The longer they remained frozen in that position, waiting for the threat of discovery to pass, the more aware Augledh became of just how suggestive position it was. The few times he had ever been between a woman’s thighs had all been for the same purpose, and it took all of his self-control to prevent his eyes from wandering. If she had not been a human woman, he would not have bothered with this, but he had heard of just how sexually repressed human women were, and he did not want to alarm her. It did not help his situation in the least that she appeared to be wearing a covering that, had it been any thinner, would have been positively see-through. Augledh felt himself stir in his britches, and was glad that there forms had not been pressed any closer, or else Héowyn would surely have felt him too.

After what felt like years, the footsteps had passed beyond the hearing of both woman and orc, and Héowyn cleared her throat tentatively.

“Perhaps… it is best if you leave before you are noticed…”

She did not wish to appear rude, or to anger him, for though he had been kind to her so far he was still an orc, and dangerous. Then again, in that moment she was more afeared of what damage his potential discovery would do to her reputation. A woman’s reputation was a beautiful yet fragile thing, like a flower. She and all the women of her village knew this, had it made known to them at a young age. Héowyn needed him to leave.

Augledh seemed to sense that he was no longer welcome, though he doubted he had truly been welcome at the start of their conversation. The orc eased himself up to stand, and had been going to offer the woman a hand to help her up, but she had already righted herself by the time he had dusted himself off. Not to be dissuaded from his original purpose, he held the wrapped parcel back out to her.

“Will you take it?” He repeated his early question with less panic now that they were mostly hidden by the partially closed door.

“I… do not understand.”

“Take it, and I will explain another time.”

Still he held out the wrapped object to her, and she reached out towards it only to hesitate once again, her hand hovering somewhere between herself and the parcel.

“A-another time?”

Augledh nodded.

“On the third day after tomorrow, go to the field where we met. There are some trees at the edge of the field, I will be waiting there.”

Héowyn hesitated still, weighing her options. She could see that she had several. First, she could refuse whatever he was trying to give her, but then she could anger him and that was ultimately what she was trying to avoid. Second, she could take the gift and simply not go to meet him, though now that it was clear he knew where she lived she did not know how effective a strategy that would be in the long-term. The third and final option, which was the option she chose to go with, was to take the gift and decide later whether or not to meet him. She had three days to deliberate, after all.

Without giving herself any longer to mull it over and potentially scare herself into inaction, Héowyn took the cloth-wrapped object out of the orc’s outstretched hand and cradled it against her chest. It was an odd shape, and she could not work out what it was from that. She supposed she would have to wait until she could unwrap it.

The woman could immediately tell that her action had pleased the orc – she supposed she should be thinking of him as ‘Augledh’ for he had told her his name, but she could not yet think of him as anything other than ‘orc’. His lips had curved upwards into a smile that showed many pointed teeth, and made Héowyn feel rather like a rabbit being watched by a wolf. The sight of it made her lower stomach flutter rather strangely, though she only allowed herself to attribute this feeling to fear caused by such a predatory sight. Yes, fear, that was it.  

Without another word, Augledh turned and opened the door. He paused for a moment as he listened for any disturbances in the night, and when his sharp ears heard none he slipped out and away. Héowyn hardly heard him depart, and she felt shock that such a large creature could move so swiftly and so stealthily. The woman closed and bolted the door to her home, walking back to her bed with her new gift in hand feeling rather like the last few minutes hadn’t really happened. When she reached her bed, she felt a sudden wave of exhaustion that crushed all curiosity she might have to see what exactly her gift was, and so she carefully placed it on the floor beside her bed. She not so carefully fell down onto her straw-stuffed mattress, letting out a little huff of air as she did. Héowyn’s eyes fell shut, and she was asleep in what felt like seconds. Serendipity tags: @jennifromthebak

Forever Tags: @sweeticedtea @cd1242 @strongandfreedc @pixierox101​ @jotink78​ @luna-xial @underthemoon-imagines

[mst3kproject]

913: Quest of the Delta Knights

Or, as I’ve taken to calling it, Wizards of the Lost Kingdom -1.

Long ago it was a time of brave knights and fair maidens, bubonic plague, public hangings, spiral perms and really stupid hats.  The tyrant of this land is Lord Volcher, who acts a lot like Alan Rickman in Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves only not so subtle.  Opposed to him are the Delta Knights, who have a prophecy about a young sage from the North, and a wizard-looking dude called Baydool thinks he’s found this chosen one in a skinny kid named Travis who might have precognitive powers, I don’t know. Supposedly Travis is destined to lead them to the place where Archimedes hid the lost knowledge of Atlantis.  Wasn’t that the plot of an episode of MacGuyver?

This all takes place when Leonardo da Vinci was in his early twenties, which would place us in the 1470’s.  Despite being so theoretically specific, Wizards of the Lost Kingdom -1 doesn’t actually try very hard to be set in anything resembling the historical past – it’s kind of like The Undead in being a quasi-Renaissance fantasy thrown together by people whose ‘research’ consisted mostly of watching other quasi-Renaissance fantasy movies.  The only historical detail they got noticeably right was the death of Archemedes. Supposedly he really was cut down by the Romans while trying to finish some math, his last words being roughly, “don’t disturb my calculations.”  Legend credits him with inventing a heat ray and a couple of other superweapons that may or may not have been used in the siege of Syracuse, which I guess is what inspired this movie.

That’s a fun idea, I suppose, and could make for a sort of medieval Indiana Jones type adventure.  Problem is, I’m really not sure what kind of movie Wizards of the Lost Kingdom -1 is trying to be.  The tone shifts sharply depending on who’s in a given scene.  When the villains are onscreen one gets the impression that this is a comedy, but nothing that happens is actually funny.  Indeed, a lot of the so-called ‘jokes’ are downright mystifying.  What the fuck is with the thing about Whampool having been a bearded lady in a carnival?  What is supposed to be the punchline of that?  What’s supposed to be funny about any of Volcher’s interactions with the Mannerjay, whoever she is?  Why is he loyal to her when she treats him so badly?

When we’re watching the heroes, we have the opposite situation: it seems like this is all meant to be riveting and sometimes heartfelt, but everything that’s happening is silly.  I want to speculate that there was some kind of failure of communication here, that some of the actors thought they were making a serious adventure movie and the rest thought this was a medieval sitcom, but Baydool and Volcher are played by the same guy so I got nothing.

The result feels uneven to the point of being nearly incomprehensible. How the hell does Leonardo da Vinci exist in the same universe as the Wizard Whampool with his neckbeard and Brooklyn accent?  Why do characters keep talking about filing their paperwork in a world where very few people can read?  How do real countries like Italy and Germany exist, and yet we’re in a land ruled by a Dark Queen who never does anything and a forest full of ziplining people who live in the trees like fucking Ewoks?  How is anybody talking about the country of Turkey four hundred years before it existed?

I guess the film-makers figured nobody would care because it’s just a silly fantasy movie, right?  Maybe that’s true – maybe I’m just anal about it because I did undergrad work in medieval and renaissance history.  The way I see it, though, once you’ve decided to mention real people like Archimedes and Leonardo da Vinci, you’ve got to at least try to be set in the real world.  If you’re going to make up things like the Golden Newt Award from the College of Alchemists in Istanbul, you can also make up your ancient scientist and your artistic prodigy.  Otherwise your movie comes across like it was written by a twelve-year-old.

(Don’t ask me why Volcher and Baydool are both David Warner, by the way.  Maybe it’s supposed to be a two sides of the same coin thing?  Maybe there was a subplot about them being long-lost twins and it got cut from the movie?  Maybe they just couldn’t afford to pay another actor and thought nobody would notice?)

There are major characters who are totally useless.  Volcher’s Evil Overlady is a woman referred to as ‘the Mannerjay’ – I googled this word to see if it actually meant anything but all that comes up is pages about this movie.  I guess somebody thought it sounded cool.  She appears to sit around all day belittling the people who are running her kingdom for her.  We never find out who she is or what she wants or why she’s in charge, and she appears to be in the movie only so it can make jokes about how totally whipped Volcher is.  Her pet wizard, Whampool, is important for about thirty seconds while Baydool and Travis sneak into his lab to copy the map to Archimedes’ library, but he keeps popping up again after that for short scenes that are supposed to be comedic but aren’t, and contribute nothing.

Equally wasted is Thena, the woman Travis springs from a brothel because she saved him from being beaten up once.  She turns out to be the Lost Princess of the Ewok People, which comes across as a lazy way to get her out of the movie again.  She shows up to shoot one guy at the very end but can never really be said to have an effect on the plot.  She’s not even anyone’s love interest.  She’s only in the movie because the casting director thought her tits looked good in that corset.

The plot never seems to escalate.  The middle section of a movie is supposed to be ‘rising action’ or at least ‘rising tension’, but the characters in Wizards of the Lost Kingdom -1 just seem to be wandering around.  Part of this is because of characters like Whampool, or Thena and the Ewok People, who come and go without having any effect on the plot. A major part of it is because the bad guys are idiots who can’t seem to get anything done.  Sometimes the good guys don’t seem able to get anything done, either, as when Travis attempts to rescue Baydool from prison but only ends up getting him killed.  This is supposed to be the heartbreaking tragic scene where Travis loses his mentor, but it mostly feels like wasted time.

I’ve already mentioned a number of anachronisms in Wizards of the Lost Kingdom -1, but there are always more, and the biggest of them is the one the entire plot is founded on.  Baydool tells Travis that the Delta Knights are ‘a secret society dedicated to bringing mankind out of the dark ages.’  Right.  So first of all, ‘the dark ages’ usually means about 400-800 AD in Europe, when we don’t know much about what was going on because everybody was too busy killing each other to write it down.  They weren’t called that, however, until the seventeenth century, when scholars began contrasting what they considered an age of ignorance with the ‘light’ of Greece and Rome beforehand and the Renaissance (a period of fetishism for all things Greco-Roman) after.  Notice how neither of these periods overlap with the supposed time of this movie.  This brings me to my second point, which is that dark ages are dark only in retrospect.  Nobody who was actually alive at the time knew they were living in the dark ages and they probably wouldn’t have cared if they had.

Of course at the end of the movie, they find the secrets of Atlantis but decide to bury them again so that Volcher can’t use Archimedes’ death ray to conquer the world or something.  Throughout the movie Volcher has gone around murdering random people and yelling orders, but he’s so dumb and incompetent that he never really seems like a threat to our heroes.  I got the idea that if Travis hadn’t blown him up he would have done it to himself within the next fifteen minutes.  The Mannerjay, sitting around in her hilltop castle (always introduced with a thunderbolt sound even when the sky is blue), certainly isn’t a threat to anybody.  I don’t think she knows what goes on outside her room.  Keeping this stuff out of their hands seems totally unnecessary. These clowns wouldn’t know what to do with it.

Besides, if you’re trying to fit this into actual history, shouldn’t the end be the Delta Knights using the contents of Archimedes’ Library to bring about the Renaissance?  That’s what they wanted, wasn’t it?  To re-introduce Greco-Roman ideas of science into this backward, superstitious society (not that they ever bother to establish society as backward and superstitious)?  Instead they just blow the whole thing up and all that’s left is things Leonardo was later inspired to sketch in his margins when he got bored of drawing penises with legs. Congratulations on defeating the entire purpose of your own secret society, guys.

Why would anybody make a movie like this?  Wizards of the Lost Kingdom -1 clearly had some kind of budget, because the costumes are pretty nice even when they’re not very historical.  Archimedes’ ray gun is realized through effects that aren’t very special but at least they work.  There are horses and props and things like that, but the script and story are so juvenile, un-funny, and pointless that it doesn’t feel like it deserves them. Nothing here was worth my time or the film-makers’ money and effort.  It doesn’t make me as viscerally angry as Kitten with a Whip, but man, it sucks.

[bilgisticallykosher]

Reminder that I’m totally down to give specific warnings or descriptions or help people navigate through the video if anyone needs.

Warnings (aside from the obvious): Long post, lots of caps lock, long rambling with a large degree of incoherence. I titled this “me screaming at the new video” in docs. I was real accurate.  It took me over 2 hours to watch this thing because I kept pausing to not shut up. This is 5 pages in docs.

Okay, JUST looking at the cover, I-  are those tentacles? IS this a new side? Octoside? I can already hear all the names were going to give him. Oliver, Octavio, October wait no that’s already a Sanders shorts. Okay, intrusive thoughts, that's… Roman’s already a supplier of those. Fandom agrees, “Don’t think about your naked Aunt Patty.” So, maybe Depression? Anger? Or, is it Roman still, after all? Because I see the word Creativity there. Or tentaclereativity. So it’s still Roman, but I’m convinced that his opposite is Virgil, although I’m also sure that they implied Pride in the Halloween episode. Something about “proud of it” and then they said “let’s table that discussion for another time.”

Ugh, Roman’s been doing so wonderful on his own. He’s just been owning up to insecurities, and it’s been great. This is going to be highly related to him. Although, Patton looks like the one trying to block him out? Roman’s concerned, Logan’s miffed, Virgil is angry, and oh my god is that a MOUSTACHE OKAY I’M WATCHING. 

Content warning, oh my gosh, they were not kidding. Does that seriously say death and blood and gore? I’m just getting more hype. I mean, intrusive thoughts, I’m sure nothing will permanently, physically happen to them.  (Goodbye Fresh.) 

Dark circles under Thomas’s eyes, implication of sleep deprivation, or something with Virgil?

“The human connection will make me feel more like a person,” I came here to have a good time and honestly I’m feeling so attacked right now. Credits! Great job everyone! I know everyone worked real hard on this. 

Okay, Thomas in his robe, very reminiscent of Excepting Anxiety. Blasé attitude, too. Hmm, trouble sleeping (tires), overstating ‘everything going wrong,’ definitely seems like Virgil’s territory. 

Woah there he is. He’s, he’s really angry? And Patton’s voice is strained. What is happening, does Patton know……whatever, or WHOever? Yeah, he’s shifty eyed. He knows. Virgil definitely knows, and it’s not him. Oh man oh man. Oh, confirmed, they’re in on trying to avoid the conversation. GREAT TEAM WORK, PAT! Doing great, buddy. 

Roman’s rhymes are amazing. Definitely misery, though. Alright, so Thomas is having thoughts that make Virgil act up, and either he’s telling Patton, or Patton knows because of emotions. 

Roman’s so much better at summoning than Logan. And Logan knows?! Ooh, sore spot for them here. Patton oh noooo. That’s easy for you to say? 

I love the idea that, 1, Logan Falsehood’d as a reaction and an example on purpose, and 2, that he’s got a limit of one per day. 

ALRIGHT! I’ve got it. They don’t want Roman to know because he’s going to, intentionally or not, expand on whatever the thoughts are. He’s Creativity and dreams, it’s what he does and he’s not going to be able to help it, intrusive thoughts, this IS Roman-centric! Poor boy. (Kraken, sushi. Those tentacles mean something. Also the tentacle represents the C, I understand the title image now.) Yeah, they don’t want him inadvertently going into daydream mode. 

I have never seen this movie. These are freaking top-notch jokes, though. WOAH, THOMAS. Not good. Really not good. I’m still hype. Oh, is that the sort of death mention that

Television: [has hands]

Me: [strangled squeaking noise] 

Okay, I’m having, okay. Okay. Okay. I’m fine. I just. I need. Okay. I’m fine. Need a moment. Freaking out, in, a good way? I just. Really unexpected, even though I saw the hands. Oh my gosh. Can the others see him????? Because they’re looking at Roman they should see him. I didn’t know I could make that noise, but apparently I can. And I can hold it. And make it slowly go higher pitched. Okay. Okay. I’m fine now. Maybe. Okay. Hypening.

OH THEY CAN okay, oh dissonant voice. What sort of overdramatic staff is this dork NO ROMAN. 

THE DUKE?! WHAT!!! Getting heavy Warfstache vibes, btw, and why does he have a grey streak? Virgil and Logan are unconcerned about Roman, so I guess he’s fine. 

Is this a song? What is his outfit, omg. His mustache is fabulous. His eyes are kinda ringed.  in purple? 

What is happening, oh my god. Oh here’s the religious commentary, I guess. This is fine, I’m okay with this. But he’s playing Adam AND Eve himself. Dramatic dork confirmed. Oooh, you lack imagination. He IS Roman’s opposite, dang. I was so sure it was Virgil. Also YES green’s my favorite color! 

Hahaaaa! Tiny little aunt Patty naked post-it! Patton’s so distressed, Virgil ANGERY. A to Z is incredible. I missed some lyrics there; I’ll catch it when I watch it with captions the next five times. I mean, uh, no, I’d never… ten times. Nice blood spatter! What is he doing to them! What’s with the size thing? Is that a thing he can do? Or creative (heh) liberty due to song? 

SNAKE how’d I not guess that from Adam and Chava SNAKE IT’S SNAKE!

I don’t get the hand image. What is that? So far kind of the same sort of vibe from Deceit and Duke- oooh, both Ds. The whole, own up to who you are, stop lying to yourself. 

“You’ve got a fiend in me!” “Squeak!”

Oh, oh no, he’s really not quite like Deceit. He’s saying that these things make Thomas evil. Definitely not a Deceit thing to do. 

EDITING PRAISE! YOU GUYS. You guys are incredible, you did such a good job. 

“I’m your Creativity!” Officially calling those things fart trumpets. 

Oh, is he actually Creativity? Okay I’ll roll with it. Oh my gosh it’s only ten minutes into it and I can’t shut up. Virgil is so uncomfortable. 

Never bring [Jeffery Dahmer] up again got a GREAT face from Duke. Oh man. Is that true about him trying to repress those thoughts?

WHITE BEAR that episode of Black Mirror might make more sense now. 

Impressive hair blowing from Virgil, that’s the hair blowing equivalent of what Dr. Horrible did with his fingers in Brand New Day. 

Patton called Roman handsome, and I knew that second most handsome prince bit in the last episode was something he’d say, not just him trying to be all lawyer-y! (Ooh, foreboding music…)

Honestly, Logan was, if anything, even more chill about lying in CLBG, and Deceit in general (his scales are quite smooth). By comparison, he’s going off on the Duke. OOH, I KNEW THAT ABOUT THE WORD DORK! 

Ohhh my gosh the costumes are opposites! I, almost realized that, about color theory, and then forgot about the sash. And those shoulder pads are massive, Duke! Did you steal Roman’s puppet chin to make those? 

Joan! Haha, I love it, definitely something they would do. Interesting, you can hear an overlay of Joan’s voice, and Duke’s voice. Why can’t the Duke do it as well as anyone else? What did Virgil realize during the twin explanation? Hey, Cayin and Hevel, more Genesis. 

Did he mention friends and family? Oh my gosh, self-immolation is terrible, I looked it up. Like, uh, suicide for a public purpose, or to make a point? 

Laugh! Dork laugh! There’s the implication of them knowing each other. 

Oh, okay, okay. So, Virgil’s anxious, because in and of itself, whatever it was that he was thinking/obsessing over was bad. His anxiety is, well, cognitive distortions. That’s why everyone’s all bothered. Yeah, point to Logan on that oh my god, what is that camera angle, I love it.

Duke is JP confirmed. Ripped off nipples. JP from Wade’s (lordminion777) circle of friends, salty boys. That’s still their official name, right? Anyway, he’s JP.

Oh, I saw dripping off of that hand. That sequence is getting longer every time. 

Who are those, I don’t recognize them? “I’m about to smash the Hulk” you guys I think I love the Duke a little bit a lot. 

Patton, no, that’s- Patton! “That’s what repression is?” Ooh, tense Virgil moment with Logan. Yet, also touching? 

“Well THAT can’t be where the bar is.” !!!

Weird Duke blink during religion talk. It’s so funny looking at this though a Jewish perspective. It’s similar, but just a little off. And we don’t do the 7 deadly sins thing. 

Figuratively! 

Wait it’s coming from Virgil?! Uh, uh, anxious about being a bad person, subconsciously projecting it onto Thomas?

Patton too?! Oh, wait, yeah, this comes back to repression that makes sense. Oh my gosh, Logan. ! Can the Duke do the Deceit silence thing oh no, no he can’t. Close. Teeth are an improvement I think.��

Hey isn’t there an incorrect quote about Virgil drinking shampoo? 

Remus?! Oh my gosh are you KIDDING me? A new side, PLUS his name? Oh, oh that’s so clever, Roman. Rome was founded by Romulus and Remus. So clever! And definitely butt trumpets, from earlier, because AVPM’s Lupin had butt trumpets. 

Oh, direct shot and reaction at Virgil not hiding anything. And okay, I’ve changed my mind like 10 times, but I think I get it now. Haha, Logan! It was like a pop quiz! And Thomas cursed!

The scream darkened the room, that was awesome. But nobody cared. Ah, secretly a Patton and Virgil arc! 

Oh my god, Patton had a look of realization when Virgil was listing off things, is he going to tell him to not skip the callback?!

[Sad poopy noises.] Logan’s on fire today! Yes! 

Oh, he’s gone? Ha, nope! Oh it got worse, haha!

Patton, control, it’s happening! Oh, wait no. 

Virgil really used to fear him? And, oh, what were those exchanged looks during “just like old times”? Logan and Patton, and maybe Roman figured it out? Does Virgil know that? 

Roman! 

Nerdy Wolverine. Ahh, cool! Dukey problem! Oooh return of “I don’t like him.”

What, brother?! So that’s an actual thing now? But okay, alright, I guess Logan’s thing from before. NOPE EVERYTHING’S FINE NEVER COMING BACK. Romaaaaan.

Dark sides? “Others.” Oh, Thomas for sure doesn’t know. Oh dear. OH MUSIC it’s swelling oh my gosh, he’s going to tell, he’s going to tell.  Gasp! He told, and oh, so sad, and oh no he’s just sinking out?! My poor baby little precious oh I immediately see why Patton had a problem with coddling him.

Oh, oh Thomas is so confuddled. There’s going to be so many angst fics. I will read them all. 

Alright, actually a hilarious ad.  Way to incorporate intrusive thoughts into it! END CARD holy- REMUS! Oh the deodorant. And again. Nice knife, he’s going to- yep, deodorant. Oh he’s done, but he’ll have another- yep. What the heck is it, actually? 

THERE’S A SNAKE IN MY BUTT! PFF that’s going to be some fics also. Officially: I love Remus. 

Final thoughts; I’m in love, I was so wrong about “they wouldn’t throw a new side or plot relevance at us with all these warnings,” everyone freaking outdid themselves, this must have happened so soon after Selfishness vs. Selflessness, I love him, I really dug a lot of that humor, my taste in music is way worse than anything Remus threw at us (ask me about that), WHAT WERE THE THOUGHTS with the dripping hand bit, S v. S part 2 is definitely the next one, and I freaking love this video. 

[whiskeyworen]

Resolutions

"Cyrus? Are you up here?" Moryggan called, climbing the metal steps to the observation dome. She proceeded slowly, not wanting to intrude on anything if he wanted privacy.

It had been a few weeks since the end of Kralkatorrik. The Pact had celebrated their victory, buried their dead, and had begun truly aiding the still-unbalanced Kingdom of Elona. It would probably be many years before a true and fair balance would be ironed out between the various factions there, so it was still a hotbed for conflict. Given their lack of association to the Pact, Cyrus had pulled their ship, Forsaken Aspect, away from the fleet. There was nothing the Pact could do to stop them, other than protest; it's not like they could target the ship with their strictly manual cannons. Not with the Inquest cloaking device active on it. That, and the sheer destructive power the Aspect could return would have sunk damned near any of the first and second generation ships the Pact fielded. That's what happens when the ship you're facing contains illegal, auto-targetting, horrendously powerful weapons and more armor than three ships-of-the-line combined.

As the ship returned to the vicinity of Lion's Arch, each of the team had broken away to different parts of the ship, intent on their own things. Tenna had returned to her labs, buried in the belly of the ship, to study Forged gear, decode even more of Scarlet's files, and make her own advances in biology and technology unhindered by the Council.

Verula had gone down to the gun-decks to monitor the maintenance and upgrading of the ship's various weapons by the semi-autonomous servitors that were a crucial part of a ship the size of the Aspect. Though the servitors were intelligent enough and reliable enough in a pinch, they didn't innovate, which required someone with a true mind and a keenness for machinery to guide them. Both of which the matronly Charr was in spades.

No one knew what became of Vaela Toma, but no one particularly cared; her popping in-and-out of Mist rifts had become so commonplace that it was just assumed that if she disappeared somewhere, she'd come back some day.

So, out of the ship's small living crew, only Moryggan and Cyrus were left out of sorts. Neither one had much to do, but Moryggan had noticed how unsettled Cyrus was after Aurene had self-evolved/grown. Something about that fleeting touch they'd all felt had left him staring off into space.

To a degree, it worried her. As much as she tried to keep a professional distance from him, Moryggan was sylvari, and so was far more attuned to people's feelings than she cared to admit. When he'd disappeared after a meal, she'd gotten such a bad feeling that she simply had to find him and figure out why.

Which had led her here, to the stairs to the observation dome near the top of the ship. It had originally been designed as a kind of lookout post for when sensors were disabled, or as a primary star-finder for direction, but had been repurposed quickly as a kind of private getaway everyone used for some peace and quiet. This far up the ship's superstructure, you couldn't even feel the low hum of its power systems, the throb of the engines, or the hiss of the ventilators. It was... a quiet place.

There was no answer from the platform, so Moryggan stepped over to a monitor on the wall, clicking a button on it. "Aspect, are you sure he's up there?"

The Forsaken Aspect was a unique ship. She had a mind of her own, initially designed by the mad Scarlet, but refined and perfected by Tenna's technical genius and Verula's skill. She had a kind of consciousness of its own, and thankfully, was quite fond of its crew. So it was no surprise when Aspect replied to her question. "Yes, Miss Moryggan. Cyrus entered the dome approximately twenty-five minutes ago."

The golem eye embedded in the console rotated slightly to face her. "He has not left it. Is there anything wrong?"

Moryggan bit her lip. She didn't want to worry Aspect; the ship thought of Cyrus as something between a big brother and a father. Aspect was essentially a very large, very powerful, very innocent child. "I don't know, but I'm going to find out."

"Alright. Please let me know if you require anything further. I will send a watchwork servitor if you need anything." The golem eye retracted till it was flush with the wall, before going dark as Aspect turned her attentions elsewhere.

The sylvari mesmer turned away from the console and slowly ascended the stairway into the dome. As her head cleared floor-level, she could see him, sitting on the edge of the platform. The way the dome had been built was a kind of flying bridge, with a large platform hanging out in the space under the windows. Cyrus was sitting on the edge, his legs hanging off into the void, not even turning to look at her.

"Cyrus? What's up?" She asked cautiously, stepping closer to him. She didn't step up beside him; he hadn't even acknowledged her yet. But... suddenly she realized he wasn't wearing his usual gear, his armor and all his technical toys. His heavy leather coat, with its coolant systems and things she barely understood was nowhere to be seen. Instead, he seemed to be dressed in actual clothes. Street clothes. He never dressed that way. There might have been three or four times in the last few years that she'd ever seen him in anything other than his combat gear. Something about his determination to be prepared for anything, and his paranoia kept him from relaxing much at all, no matter how he'd acted in public. At least, that was the impression she'd gotten from him. On some level, it'd been reassuring to know there was someone always prepared, who was as suspicious as she was. She could trust that.

The summer hoodie he had on, simple pants and whatnot...it didn't seem like him at all. The only piece of tech he had on was the glider backpack; these days NO one who had one went anywhere without one. And the Dynamics college had come up with an absolutely perfect design; small and unobtrusive.

"....Cyrus?" She asked quietly. "Hmm?... Oh, hey Mory." Cyrus finally shook himself free of his reverie, glancing over his shoulder for a second. "Not much. Just... been thinking." "What about?" The sylvari stepped up behind him, before kneeling down. He'd never called her 'Mory' before, except when heavily drunk. And certainly not quite so pleasantly. "Is everything okay?" "Yeah. Everything is okay." He nodded. He lifted a hand, flexing his fingers slightly. There was still a tingle there he couldn't shake. From that psychic touch. When Aurene 'spoke' to him. "I'm... trying to figure out something. I don't know..." "Is there anything I can do to help?" She asked, scooting closer. She no longer could feel the sense of doom he'd been giving off at dinner, but there was something else. A sadness. "No." He replied. Then he paused, thinking. "At least, I don't know." "You don't know?"He turned slightly to look over his shoulder at her. With his eye, surrounded by the unnatural marking he'd been 'gifted', he carefully watched her face, her expression, taking it in. Taking in the worry in her eyes. The glow of the scar on her own face; it always struck him as coincidental that they both had facial scarring after a fashion, on the same side. Made things a bit more familial, in a sense. "....When was the last time you talked to your Mother, Mory?" He asked softly. At the mention of the Pale Tree, he saw her pupils tighten in anxiety, and her minty glow pulse faster as her heart suddenly accelerated. She took a breath, trying to calm herself, though her scar's bright glow belied the controlled expression on her face. "Not since Lion's Arch fell. I couldn't face her after... after that thing tried to take control of me." She didn't elaborate beyond that. There was pain, and shame hidden under the flat manner of her speech. It was too carefully said, too well enunciated to be entirely truthful. Cyrus knew neither of them believed she could say something like that so simply and not feel anything. He let the silence hang for a moment, before sighing. "I need to... I need to talk to her. But I don't know if I can do it. Or if I'd even be permitted to talk to her." "The Mother does meet with travellers, you know." Moryggan pointed out. "She's not exactly hard to meet." "But she might refuse to speak to me, Mory." His mouth twisted. "I was an Aetherblade, remember. I helped Ceara.... Scarlet. Both of them. She might not forgive me for being responsible for what happened to Ceara. Or what Scarlet did." Moryggan smiled softly, and put a hand on his shoulder. "Cyrus... Do you know the teachings of Ventari? The ones most of my kind try to live by?" "Kind of. I tend to forget some of them though." He shrugged, and they both chuckled. "The second teaching is 'Do not fear difficulty. Hard ground makes stronger roots'. And the Fourth is 'All things have a right to grow. The blossom is brother to the weed'." She smiled weakly. "Between the two, it means that self-determination is key, no matter the outcome, and that we get stronger through difficulty, because we learn. We can forgive." She sat down on the rim beside him, patting him on the forearm. "The Pale Tree will always grieve when one of her children dies, or turns to evil. But she is also capable of the greatest forgiveness. At least, that's what I believe." "Then why haven't you gone home and talked with her?" He asked heavily, his eyes shadowed with sadness. "She would probably forgive you, right?" Moryggan's smile faded slightly, and she looked out of the dome windows, considering. "...Because even though she would forgive me, welcome me back with open arms and branches... On some level, I can't forgive myself." She sighed. "I thought I was a strong person. Physically. Mentally. Perfectly strong and controlled, and damned proud of it. And then..." She grimaced, reaching up to rub her scar. "Then that thing... Mordremoth... just walked into my mind and nearly crushed me. If it wasn't for you, I'd..." Cyrus watched her, seeing that pain again. He reached out to pat the hand she had on his arm. "Then, I think we need to go home, Mory. At least, to your home. I need to talk to your Mother, and... I think you need to have a chat with her yourself." Moryggan nodded slowly, exhaling heavily. "Yeah. It's time to go home. I-I need to tell her what's happened. To me." "Yeah. And I need to tell her things. Important things." Cyrus added. "If I'm lucky, she won't have me thrown in the jail." He pulled both of them to their feet and gestured for the stairs. "Let's go. We'll be in L.A. in a few hours." As they descended the stairs together, the monitor on the wall activated, the eye blinking on. Aspect called out to them. "Miss Moryggan? Cyrus? Do you need anything?" "No, Aspect, thank you. But if you could chart for the usual docks in Lion's Arch? We'll be spending a few days on ground travel from there. Please let the others know as well, when they have the time." "Acknowledged, Cyrus. Making course change for the Lighthouse dock as per your order. Maintain Illusion matrix?" "Yep. Make us look like a merchant airship, and adjust trim and docking ports to compensate. Make sure there's plenty of room around us so no one collides with the illusion." "Aye aye, sir." Aspect replied cheerifully, before signing off. **** It did not take long. Once they were docked in Lion's Arch, the two of them paid transit through the Asura gate to the Grove, and were there by nightfall. They rented a room-pod in the lower levels of the Grove, where the night air was filled with luminescent pollen and the whisper of soft leaves. It was actually quite beautiful, peaceful even. While Moryggan visited old companions for the day, Cyrus had wandered the halls and chambers, chatting with curious Saplings and laughing at their innocence. It was refreshing to say the least. When they got back together in the evening, Moryggan had some surprising news. "I talked to some of the Wardens, and they got word to their leaders; we've...we've got an appointment to see the Pale Tree tonight." She looked quite embarassed, face suffused with glow. In a small voice, she added. "Mother apparently cleared her other meetings just for us." That filled Cyrus's veins with a sudden dose of icewater. There's no way they should have been granted a meeting that fast, or with that kind of response. It wasn't... normal. How many ambassadors did she just piss off, to meet with us? He asked himself, trying to hide the shock on his face. "Well... Uh... I guess we should go meet her as soon as we can then?" He replied, unsure. ****

They stood before the final seed elevator before the Tree's Omphalos chamber, and every instinct in his body told Cyrus to flee. He glanced upward to the Tree's immense branches, all the various levels and platforms. The soft, pink and purple-hued petals on the long, smooth vine that swirled down from the core in the farthest reaches. It shifted softly in the night breeze, the petals seeming to gesture upward, though that had to be an illusion.

She's three miles tall, twenty miles across if you include the roots, houses an entire city in her boughs...and she wants to see us. Cyrus mulled over in his mind with incredulity. Beings like the Pale Tree weren't supposed to care for the meanderings of mere mortals, at least that's what he'd always thought. "I...don't know if this was such a good idea, Mory."

"Last minute misgivings?" She chided him, giving him a shakey smile. "If me being here can get you to go up there, maybe you being here can get me to go up there. What do you think?"

"....Deal." He nodded, and sat uneasily in one chamber of the seed pod. Moryggan took the other half, the leaf/door raised, and a gust of magic gently blew the seed up through the many supporting platforms of the tree to the Omphalos chamber.

Safely in place, the door flipped open again, and the two travellers carefully stepped out onto the lush, soft, green grass platform suspended near the top of the tree. Looking around, Cyrus realized he could see no Wardens around; from what he'd heard from Moryggan and other sylvari, the Pale Tree's avatar was attended by at least a squad at all times. Did she dismiss them? He couldn't see them with his cursed Discernment eye; they weren't hidden under Mesmer magic anywhere nearby.

"Come. Please come here." A soft voice called. It sounded like it was right beside them, but both of them knew it was the Tree herself projecting her voice to guide them to her Avatar. "I am always happy to have visitors, and, I think, the two of you are long overdue?"

There was a playfulness to her tone that made Cyrus unconsciously smile. An immensely powerful, massive entity, and she was making jokes. There was something ... likeable about that. It clearly carried on in her children, since he'd spent the afternoon having good laughs with Saplings and Menders.

"Hello, Pale Tree." Cyrus knelt respectfully. "I'm afraid I don't know if there's a title I should refer to you by, like I would with Queen Jennah or the Imperator."

"...Mother." Moryggan knelt as well, closing her eyes. "I am... home." The Pale Tree's glowing avatar stepped forward gracefully, her bare feet not leaving impressions in the grass as it gently parted of its own accord around her descending step. She laid a hand on each of their shoulders. "Greetings to you both, visitor, and child. Cyrus Sigismund, and Moryggan Deraleth. I have been expecting you for some time."

With but a touch, she guided them back to their feet. "I had hoped, children, that you would have talked to me far sooner than now." She tilted her head, the movement causing a release of glowing pollen from the flower that made up her 'hair'. "I am curious as to why it took so very long?"

They looked between each other, unsure, before Cyrus rubbed his gloved hands together. "...I was unsure if I would be welcomed, Pale Tree. I don't know if you know, but, I was a...friend... of Ceara's."

The Tree's ersatz eyes widened in surprise, but she merely nodded.

"...I was also a friend of Scarlet's." He added more leadenly. It was hard to meet her eyes, but he forced himself to. "I was with her as she started to descend to madness. I...was forced out and away from her when she became too unstable. But I had one final chat with her before the destruction of her machine in Lion's Arch."

The glow suffusing the Omphalos seemed to fade a little, dimming for a mere moment before rising back to its usual glow. The Pale Tree looked at him, pain and sorrow in her eyes, but also compassion. So much compassion that it was so very hard to look her in the face. She reached out to touch his cheek, gently, so he wouldn't look away in shame. "...What of my daughter then, Cyrus? I grieve for her daily, but I take solace in that she has been freed of her madness. If you have any news for me that the others have not brought me..."

Cyrus reached up and held the hand against his face. He knew the Avatar wasn't truly a physical thing, but however she managed it, her hand felt so real. It was like the softest leaf he'd ever felt, but one with a pulse. It was warm, and welcoming. It really felt like a Mother's touch, and it broke his heart. In spite of his control, he felt a tear slip from his eye. "...She was sorry. She had had the best intentions, but... the damage done to her had twisted those intentions. What she did... was not...what she'd meant to do in the first place."

He wiped the tear away. "She had wanted to protect you. Protect all of you, and all of us. But... what he did, even with his sleeping mind..." Cyrus's face collapsed into sorrow. "She wasn't Mordrem. But he'd devastated her mind just by touching it. She'd resolved to kill him at all costs but along the way, she forgot what her goal had been. The damage he'd done had slowly erased her goals. The denials and declines she'd gotten from the other nations ate at her mind. She..."

"I know." The Mother cut him off gently. She held his head in both hands, and lowered her forehead to touch his. "Even though she had cut her ties with me, defied my pleas for caution and stepped beyond the mental shield I put up to keep my children safe... I realize she was trying to fight back." She stroked his hair as more tears flowed from him. "At no point did she ever turn her weapons against the Grove."

"The machine. The Breachmaker." Cyrus grated out. "It was meant to kill the Beast. Not feed it. She knew at the end that she had screwed up badly. She was so terribly, terribly sorry about that, but unable to do anything about it. Not at that point. Not with the Pact at her neck, and not with her madness tearing at her. She could have escaped, but she chose not to. She knew...there had to be some justice. Some peace."

"Cyrus. Thank you." The Pale Tree stepped back, smiling sadly, and gave his cheek one last touch. "I can sense how much you grieve for her. For Ceara and Scarlet both. I can see how much her pain hurt you. And how much of a friend you were to her, no matter what she did. Thank you for that."

"As you say." Cyrus rasped, throat tight with emotion. He wobbled slightly, unstable with such a powerful release of emotion; the pain, the memories, and the sad, wonderful, freeing feeling of confession. He glanced over at Moryggan, and was shocked to see tears streaming down her face as well. "Moryggan..."

"Daughter." The Pale Tree turned her attention to the rose-skinned sylvari. "You share his pain so openly. I remember you as a Sapling, always hiding your emotions, or at least trying to." She smiled. "There were times you wore your heart on your sleeve. In the past, you would never admit to feeling compassion for others, though I always know you did."

She tapped the side of her head, winking playfully. "The Dream tells much, especially of our inner selves. But it seems you have your own story to tell me."

Moryggan blinked, tears still staining her cheeks, before bowing her head in shame. "I'm sorry, Mother. I... I am ashamed. I was weak. If it weren't for Cyrus, and by extension, Scarlet Briar, I'd have been..."

She paused, searching. She was almost shaking, now that she was in front of her mother. The words just wouldn't come.

Then she felt someone touch her arm. Cyrus reached out and was giving her arm a gentle stroke. I was there for him.... He said he'd be there for me. She reminded herself, drawing strength from it.

"Mother... If it wasn't for Cyrus, and the things he'd gotten from Scarlet, I'd have ended up one of the Crazed. One of the Mordrem, probably. " She raised her head, staring with haunted eyes at her mother. "The Dragon... he didn't just reach into my mind. H-he crushed it underfoot. Tried to crush me. But for Cyrus, I-I...." In one fluid movement, the Pale Tree drew upon her, wrapping her arms around her daughter and burying her in the glowing petals of her body. She crooned to her lost daughter, whispering loving words and encouragement, while Moryggan broke down into grateful sobs. She clung to the Pale Tree's avatar tightly, releasing all that pent up pain, misgiving, and shame.

Cyrus stood there, watching silently but wanting to reach out to his teammate. The Pale Tree cuddled her child gently, as a mother should. She glanced at him, making eye contact. The look in her eye said it all, but she verbalized it anyway. "Thank you once again, Cyrus. You bring me sad but welcome news of my long lost daughter, but you also saved one of my daughters from the clutches of the Beast. I have many children, but each one of them is dear to me, and you have returned one to me I had thought I would not see again." She stroked Moryggan's frond hair gently, before laying a soft kiss on her scar. "Welcome home, Moryggan. Know this; you will always be welcome here in the Grove, in the Dream. We are always here for you... I am here for you, if you wish it."

"Thank you.... Mother." Moryggan said shakily, reluctantly drawing back from the Tree's embrace. "I am no longer afraid to come back... no longer ashamed..."

The Tree nodded and turned to Cyrus, raising an eyebrow. "And you, Cyrus?"

He smiled a little and shrugged. "I honestly thought I was going to end up in your jail for being associated with Scarlet. So...walking out of here and still being allowed to visit the Grove is more than I might hope for."

That made the Tree laugh, a pleasant, melodious sound. "Cyrus, you aren't going to end up in my jail. There is no crime you have committed here. If anything, you are to receive a boon if I can come up with one, for what you have done."

He shook his head. "I don't need medals or titles. If you permit us to trade and offer materials and other things, that would be more than enough." Cyrus crossed his arms. "That is, if you'd be willing."

"Tell you what." The Tree smirked a bit, gliding back to a patch of glowing grass and settling down on it. She reached out and patted the ground, a trail of luminescence sliding from her hand to light up two patches in front of her that seemed just the right size for the two of her visitors. "You and your associates can do business here so long as you don't deal in illegal or illicit goods, and you will be titled an honored guest of the Grove and of Myself... if you two will sit here and tell me your adventures."

She smiled, as they came and sat down on the grass, which wove itself into soft cushions at her thought. "I want to hear about everything you've done, why you did it, and everything else. Your friends... your family."

Cyrus chuckled a bit, and glanced over at Moryggan, who covered her mouth to hide her own chuckle. "Well... my story is going to take a long time, my Lady."

"That is quite alright!" The Tree replied primly, gesturing upward with one hand. From some other level, a vine swirled up, items balanced in its curls. With a flourish, it laid out an imported Krytan tea set, complete with hot tea and a service tray of assorted pastries. "I shall provide the confections if you provide the entertainment. And I have plenty of time."

They all had a good laugh at that, and Cyrus poured them all a cup of tea as he tried to explain his home... ---- Author note: I didn’t actually write this for the Writer’s Event for @tyrias-library but it might just fall under a bunch of the prompt guidelines anyway. If it’s not actually entered in it, that’s cool with me because it wasn’t planned that way. LoL. That said, enjoy. I’m still debating how close these two actually are. Or will become. It’s far too easy to write ships, but at the same time, it seems so appropriate. I’m also debating something with the Forsaken Aspect... time will tell of course. ;)