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rosie-b · 4 months

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Centuries Overdue

Chapter 5

In which we finally get to visit the catacombs. Also, there are magic zombies (more or less)!

Excerpt from the ninth journal of Adrien Agreste, written at the Agreste mansion in Paris, France, on the twenty-eighth of June, 1810.

The Darkness is strongest under the City.

I know what lies there, moved from the soil above over decades and still growing as I write. The Catacombs are hardly a Secret, but they hold more than one.

Last night, after writing my last entry, I went on a walk to Test the darkness and see if It would follow me again. It did. It was stronger than ever, and It called to me in my parents’ voices, both at once.

“Come with us,” It beckoned. “We are Lost, but not Dead yet. Come save us!”

If this is a Mage’s Joke I will need more than Providence to keep me from giving in to my Anger. But I think, no, I know that it is no joke. It is the voice of my Parents, trapped by the Mage of the Darkness. It was feeding off the souls of the Talents and Mages It gathered, then, but Its Downfall did not undo their imprisonment. And from their chained Power, still flowing to It, It rises again!

It is hunting me. I said as much to the Bourgeois family last night, when I visited them. I needed some reason to be Out, after all, some reason to fool the Darkness into thinking I am no wiser now than I was in Ravlunda, when I let the Darkness re-grow in the foolish Hope that It was dead.

It will get a surprise when I am the One to fool It.

I am going to visit the Catacombs. I will scour every tunnel for the heart of this Darkness, and when I find It, I will destroy It once and for all. I will free my Parents and the other trapped magicians. Only then will I be able to rest.

What I am doing, I must do in secret. Visits to the Catacombs are allowed, but only with permission, which is granted sparingly and with bias. It seems the common people take precedence now, not the Nobles, as it once was, or the Children of those whose families left France in l’Émigration. This makes sense, though it adds Difficulty to my own Cause.

I cannot afford to wait for the Officials to believe my Words and grant Me an Appointment. I must act now to save my Parents, else all will be lost and the Mages, once mighty, will be brought down by one man’s Folly. I pray that they do not suffer for my failures.

There is an entrance I know by the Barrière d'Enfer, the Gates of Hell. I will slip in quietly to-morrow, while the Guards’ eyes are full of sleep, taking my Journal of Spells with me. It is the Book of Spells which Mages of Tikki and Plagg may use, as well as a few handy Universal ones. With any luck, Plagg’s Blessing will grant me the strength I need to Destroy this most evil of Mages for-ever.

And at last, the Darkness will be vanquished.

At last, we will know Peace.

__*__*__*__*__

After she finished the last of Adrien’s journals, Marinette had the strangest feeling that she’d never again feel as complete as she had while she was still reading them. It was like her world had been in color while she still had more entries to look forward to, but now it had faded back to its normal sepia tones; not quite black and white, but no longer as vibrant as she remembered.

She could always reread the journals, she supposed. Alya had finally convinced Mayor Bourgeois to ‘donate’ the entire collection to her ‘charity organization,’ really the Mages’ cross-country education for new group members. The papers and legitimacy of the organization, of course, had been completely made up through a series of intricate illusions made by several Mages, but it worked, and now the Agreste journals were finally back where they belonged.

Marinette kept visiting the café on Wednesday evenings, partly for her new and old friends and partly to try and fill the void Adrien’s journals had left behind. Sometimes she’d stay for the whole gathering, sometimes not, but she always enjoyed the company, and by now she’d begun to feel like a real member of the little group, even though she lacked her own magic.

Still, Alya insisted that Marinette must have a Gift from one kwami or another, and she called some of her friends from the other surviving Mage groups to come test Marinette. Luka, Kagami, and Zoe had all come at one time or another, but Marinette hadn’t passed any of their tests. When Alya’s boyfriend, Nino, returned from his stay with Wayzz’s group, she convinced him to test Marinette, too, but still without any luck.

Marinette was fine with that, really, but it was becoming a little embarrassing, so she convinced Alya to drop the investigation for now.

“We have basically the rest of my life to figure out if I’m really a Mage or not,” she’d pointed out. “There’s no need to rush into this!”

Alya had sighed. “You’re right, but can you blame me for trying? I always knew you were special, and even if you’re not a Mage or a Talent, I think you should’ve been one. Any kwami would have to be crazy to pass on giving you a Gift.”

Marinette thought it was sweet that her friend thought so highly of her.

But even with all her praises, Alya still didn’t trust Marinette’s (potential) latent magic enough to let her go into the catacombs alone, though.

“No way,” Alya had insisted in a panic when Marinette first brought up her idea. She’d crossed her arms over her chest in a large ‘X,’ staring at Marinette with something like horror in her eyes. “There is no way I’m letting you walk down into those catacombs, to find Adrien or for any other reason. I agree that Adrien’s last entries sound concerning, but face the facts, girl! He had to have had severe PTSD, and the ‘darkness’ he thought was tracking him was clearly just in his head. Maybe he wasn’t crazy, but his mind was definitely playing tricks on him.”

“I’m not arguing there,” Marinette had protested. “I’m just saying, there has to be some way we can find his remains and give him the proper burial he deserves. I get why you’re nervous, but there are plenty of people who explore forbidden parts of the catacombs!”

“Yeah, but we’re not cataphiles,” Alya had pleaded. “Learning what is and isn’t safe in the catacombs has to take them a long time, and even then, there are too many miles of unexplored tunnels. Nobody knows all of them. And if someone had found a body, Adrien’s or someone else’s, they would have reported it by now. But there are no new bodies in the catacombs, just the old ones that are supposed to be there. And, consider, do we know for a fact that Adrien went to the catacombs? No. He said he was going to visit them, but he might’ve changed his mind.”

“He wouldn’t do that,” Marinette had said firmly. “Adrien wouldn’t do that. He thought he knew what he had to do to save the Mages, and he had a plan for it. It wouldn’t be like him to just give up.”

“Well, I guess in a weird way, you knew him better than me,” Alya had said with a shrug, apparently trying to seem nonchalant after her outburst. “I just don’t think it’s safe for you to go down there after him, that’s all.”

Marinette had paused. Alya had been acting strangely from the moment Marinette had first mentioned her plan to go into the catacombs, if not to find Adrien’s body, then at least to pay her respects from a distance.

“You’re hiding something, aren’t you.”

Alya had immediately shot back, with a touch of desperation, “No, I’m not! I would never want to hide anything from you.”

“But you did,” Marinette had pressed, though she felt a bit bad for saying it. “You hid magic’s existence from me for years. Not that I’m mad! But we both know you can lie to my face if you need to. That’s like your whole deal, illusions and lies. So what is it, Alya? Just tell me what you’re hiding. I won’t be mad, I promise. I’ll try to understand, no matter how weird it is!”

It had only taken a little more begging for Alya to willingly uncover her secrets.

As it turned out, there was a dangerous power making its home in the catacombs, preventing any Mages from getting in (or, potentially, out).

“There’s a reason why none of us, not even Fluff’s Mages, go down there, Marinette,” Alya admitted after one of the café meetings. “There’s something else in the tunnels. You know I don’t believe Adrien’s Darkness exists, but some kind of twisted magic definitely does. Maybe it always has, but I think it’s still new. Not many Mages know about it, because so far, not many need to, except the local Mages. It’s not a full-blown problem yet, since whatever it is prefers to stick to the tunnels. When it does come out, though, it acts like a void, draining Mages’ powers from them if they come into contact with it.”

Alya had shuddered, rubbing her arm as if she was cold despite the warmth of the café.

“Last semester, I had the misfortune of meeting one, a wandering branch of the magic. I was walking home in the dark from class, and I felt a cold wind at my back. It didn’t feel natural, so I cast an illusion to provide some cover for myself and hid in a group of tourists until it revealed itself. Wasn’t much to look at, just a wisp of darkness in the shape of a human. When it noticed that I’d seen it, yellow sparks collected in it like a child’s scrawled-out crayon lines, giving it some creepy mockery of a face and arms and hands and eyes. It stared right back at me.”

As she’d listened to the story, Marinette’s heart had stopped. Darkness in the shape of a human? Her mind raced as she considered the possibility that this was the same Darkness Adrien had written about before passing.

Alya had groaned on seeing her friend’s scrunched-up face. “I can tell what you’re thinking, girl. But this isn’t the Darkness Adrien was talking about! That Mage was killed long ago. This is a new threat, one whose origins we have no clue about! But I heard about it before, from Nino. He was tracked by one the second-to-last time he visited Paris and had to fight it off. He came back from experience suggesting we call the attacking magic figures ‘zombies’. He thinks the magic is inhabiting the corpses from the catacombs, or taking control of the dead’s spirits, and then it uses that to attack us, possibly to steal our powers away and get even stronger. I don’t have a better name for the magic, and it does look like a corrupted Mage post-mortem might, so. Zombies it is,” she’d said, offering Marinette a wry grin. “Luckily, no other group of Mages has had to deal with them so far, just us here in Paris. And there doesn’t seem to be a magic virus to worry about, so, yay.” She’d thrown up fake-enthusiastic jazz hands and an exhausted smile.

So, the maybe-new Darkness wasn’t a big problem yet. That was good, but how safe was it for the Mages, truly? Alya’s story was just raising more questions for Marinette.

“How did you defeat it?” she had asked, sitting on the edge of her seat and gripping her warm coffee mug tightly. What was the key to killing a living Darkness?

Alya had hummed and wrapped her hands tight around her own mug as she remembered. “I had to use a very powerful spell. All the Mages here know it; it’s the one Universal spell that still works, basically. Unlike the other, more ancient ones, it was created by all the kwamis together, as they simultaneously established the same spell for each group of Mages. They came up with it to provide us with a better defense after the final battle against the Darkness. So, because of its origin, it’s technically a kwami-specific spell, not a Universal one, but it functions the same way because every kwami gifted it to every group of Mages. It’s meant to kill an unkillable enemy, no matter the source of its power. The spell is stronger when said by many Mages all at once, but luckily, me reciting it on my own was enough to get rid of that zombie. It won’t hurt us again.”

Marinette had let out a sigh, relief pooling in her stomach as she accepted that her friends were likely all safe. “Thank goodness. I’m glad you’re safe.”

Alya had nodded, a far-off look in her eye. “For now. And I know you think you’re safe, too, but be careful, Marinette. The zombies have only shown interest in strong Mages so far, but that doesn’t mean they won’t go after you. Even if you’re right, and you’re not a Mage, going in the catacombs would mean putting yourself in danger. Promise me you won’t do it, okay?”

Marinette had hummed and smiled and promised she’d stay safe.

But here was the thing. As far as she knew (and as several failed tests proved), Marinette was not a Mage.

And the ‘zombies’ were only targeting the strongest Mages. Not even mid-level Mages, and she’d asked the newest members of both Trixx and Fluff’s groups. None of them were worried about being targeted, and they were all at a much greater risk than Marinette was, herself.

So all things considered, it was perfectly safe for her to book a ticket for one humdrum, non-magical, guided tour of the catacombs, right?

It wasn’t like she was going to go off the safe paths or actually try to bring Adrien’s remains back to the surface for burial. She just wanted to visit the place where he’d died, to find some kind of peace with his ending. She’d felt wrong ever since she’d finished his journals, and somehow she knew that if she could just pay her respects (even if in a less-than-normal way), she’d find closure.

So after a few weeks of deliberation, she booked a ticket for a tour.

On the day of her visit, Marinette deliberately did not tell Alya where she was going after her last shift of work at the library. She headed straight for home, where she dropped off the big purse she’d taken to work and checked that her phone was charged before putting on a light sweater and some boots and heading off to the catacombs.

She was the first one from her tour group to arrive, so going through security was a breeze. But before she could head down to the catacombs, her guide informed her, they had to wait for everyone else to arrive. Fifteen minutes later, they did, and the tour officially began.

At first, everything was surprisingly modern; the building’s white paint and first rooms full of security weren’t out of the ordinary for any other touristy location in Paris. The first (20 meter-long, she remembered) spiral staircase was just like any other; everything felt normal until she reached the transition between what felt more like a hospital or a very plain museum and the old, stone-hewed catacombs. Her hackles raised as she walked through the door and up a stone staircase into the long tunnel whose end marked where the catacombs truly began.

The iron gate made her feel apprehensive, like she was walking into a prison, but the security guards lounging just beyond it seemed more homey than anything. The painted pillars looked as though they belonged to a medieval castle, and the absurd mixture of so many different elements shocked Marinette back into feeling like a visitor on any other, normal tour.

The smell, though; the smell was what assured her that this was more than just some random tourist trap. Marinette’s mom had taken her to an old, stone chapel for the funeral of a family friend once. The musty scent of the catacombs reminded her strongly of the way that haunting chapel had smelled. She decided not to think about the reason for the lingering stench—if she could help it, that was. She was about to see the evidence of its origins for herself.

Don’t focus on it, she told herself. It’s not musty, it’s just dusty. Just a nice friendly dust around here, like in the library by Adrien’s books. Yeah, that’s it! Nothing scary here.

She’d never thought she was afraid of the dead before. Then again, she’d never visited the catacombs before. But she was still confident that she’d accomplish her goals, no problem. Nobody had been trapped in the catacombs since— well.

She decided not to think about it, realizing that she’d be doing that a lot during this trip.

Once the rest of the tour group collected in the room past the gate, they were led deeper into the tunnels. There were no bones at first, just rough-hewn stone and white brick walls, low ceilings with moss creeping across them, and dim lighting from lamps and the lit-up information board on the right-hand side. But through the next open doorway, Marinette could see walls made up of bones, what looked like femurs on top of femurs with a line of skulls in between, like a skeletal tapestry woven by the dead.

The tour guide spoke about the catacombs’ history as they moved along the tunnels, but Marinette’s gaze was drawn by the bones, and she fell into the middle of the group as faster-walking tourists pushed past her. Everywhere she looked was claimed by death, even the heart formed by some well-placed skulls in the wall. This really is the empire of the dead.

A sign on the left stated that these bones had been transferred to the catacombs in 1859, well after Adrien had visited and been lost to the tunnels. They were still building when he came here; the tunnels must have been bare here when he visited.

As she kept walking, Marinette slowly grew accustomed to the otherworldly atmosphere of the tunnels. There was an elderly German couple behind her whose quiet, friendly-sounding conversations kept her grounded, and further in the back of the group, an American family argued about their plans for the next day in English.

Marinette wasn’t feeling as nervous anymore. She was just here to pay her respects, to get some closure and leave. And that was similar to what the catacombs’ designers had wanted to do, too. They’d taken delicate care of all the skeletons they were in charge of transferring, bringing a priest with them on all their trips to inter the bones. They’d offered prayers in hopes of securing a peaceful rest for the long-dead people who had once occupied these crumbling bones.

Bodies were turned into art here, a sign of the care with which the builders had made the catacombs. Every section of the catacombs had some loving touch in it; whether it was a carved sign with French poetry or a wave-like pattern in the walls of bones. It was comforting, for a while. Marinette recalled that the tunnels’ construction had been out of necessity to free more space for the living and move the dead out of their overfilled cemeteries and marveled that such a gruesome task had been carried out so artfully.

Still, there was a sinister air in the bone-lined tunnels, a promise of danger carried by the cold, dusty wind poking through the seams of her sweater.

Marinette wondered if the magic zombies Alya had talked about really stayed here, in some blocked-off tunnel of the catacombs. She knew they posed no danger to her, as a non-magical human, but if they were real— they are real, Alya’s voice reminded her—then who was to say they weren’t the ones responsible for what had happened to Adrien? Who was to say that they hadn’t lured him off the path and trapped him with their dark magic?

Who was to say they hadn’t turned him into one of them?

Suddenly, Marinette didn’t feel so good about this trip. Her churning stomach threatened to eject the lunch she’d eaten before coming, and her head felt murky, like a thick wall of fog was clouding her thoughts.

The tour guide’s voice grew fainter, and Marinette took a moment to steady herself. She nearly put a hand on the wall, but remembered not to just in time. The bones here were older than in the last tunnel, though you couldn’t tell by looking at them. Underground, in an environment like this one, it took much longer for remains to decompose, Marinette remembered.

She wanted to think about something else.

Just 112 steps until I get out of here, she told herself. Stairs, anyway. It was 131 down, and 112 back up at the end of the tunnels. That’s what the pamphlet said. The exit can’t be too far from here; the tour only covers a tiny part of the catacombs!

The tour group was about to move past her, and the man holding hands with his daughter motioned to her, as if to say, are you going to catch up, or do you need help?

She smiled reassuringly and started walking again, and before long, she was back in the middle of the pack.

The next section of the tunnels was marked by a sign, like many of them were. This one read that the bones had been moved in 1787. A little bit past it, a pillar was tagged with graffiti. The sight of it knocked Marinette out of the last traces of her reverie, and she scoffed as she kept following the tour group.

It was almost as if they were moving back in time; the farther they went through the tunnels, the older the bone deposits were. Her mind wandered back to Adrien, to the boy who’d lost his parents to evil magic, but dedicated his life to saving others from the same fate. He’d spent so much of his life as an unrecognized hero, working to keep the magic community in contact despite the many battles tearing apart their continent, constantly traveling though he ached for a home.

And when he finally was able to rest, peace was stolen from his once again, this time claiming his life.

A light breeze ran through the tunnel, and Marinette shivered, rubbing her arms and cursing herself for not wearing more layers. It was late summer aboveground, and so even this sweater had felt like overkill, but now she wished she’d worn a thicker one.

In the next section of the catacombs, her left shoe’s laces came undone. She’d worn hiking boots, ugly brown things without a zipper, at the recommendation of the owner of the shoe store she’d visited when she’d told her that she would be visiting the catacombs. By the time she got done fixing her shoelaces, stooped down by the left side of the wall, the group had nearly moved past her; there were only a couple visitors beside her as she resumed following the guide.

The next turn the group took was a little confusing. It looked like they were supposed to head straight, but a locked and secured gate informed the group to turn to the left, instead. Marinette lingered at the gate, looking through it to where the catacombs continued. No one was allowed back there, not even the guards. The tunnels beyond the gate were dark, and her eyes drew shapes in them like ghosts grasping the walls to stand and chase her.

She stumbled back, and her sweater caught on a jagged stone jutting out from the wall. Marinette breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that she hadn’t gotten caught on one of the bones, but grew mortified to notice that she’d fallen behind the group. She tore her sleeve free and quickly headed down the left tunnel, walking quickly to make up for the time she’d spent staring at the closed-off tunnels. A few minutes later, and she’d still not caught up to the back of the group, though, so she turned around to check whether she’d missed another turn somehow.

The tunnel was closed off behind her. Her stomach lurched, and she rushed back towards the corner she’d turned into the tunnel from, only to find a dead end. There was no exit to the tunnel, just a pile of bones filling the gap between the limestone wall and the pillar supporting the ceiling. Past that, she couldn’t see anything; there was a gap at the top of the bone pile, but she was too short to see over it.

She took a rasping breath and choked on the musty air.

A low murmur came from behind her, farther down the tunnel she’d already started walking through.

Her heart pounded. Was that the group? Had she missed the real turn she’d taken when she turned back to find it?

She put one foot directly behind the other, toes brushing the heel of her boot, and slowly spun back around in as close to a perfect 180 as she could get.

“Hello?” she called. “Hello? Wait for me, please! I fell behind!”

Marinette grimaced when there was no answer. How far behind was she? How had she managed to get this lost in such a short amount of time?

Lost. Marinette was lost, just like—!

Okay, no, she told herself strictly. Do not follow that train of thought. Just— follow the sound of the group. Yeah, that’s it!

She took a step forward, and then another, further and further from the pile of bones and down the dimly-lit hall, hoping to hear the German couple’s accent or the loud American mother warning her kid not to touch the bones.

She shuddered and looked down, as far as her gaze could safely travel from the bone-lined walls. Just keep walking. One step at a time.

There was a cul-de-sac just off to the left, and the tunnel past it sloped steeply downward. She passed between a pair of pillars, and suddenly, the walls weren’t lined with bones anymore. Her shoulders slumped in relief, and she tried calling for the group again.

“Hello? It’s me, Marinette! I think I’m lost!” She paused. “Hello?”

Still nothing.

Marinette stumbled over the floor, which was rough and not smooth as it had been in other parts of the tunnel. She steadied herself against the wall and decided to take a break, so she pulled out her phone and checked the time. There was no service down here, but the light of the screen was still comforting. She’d charged the phone up before leaving work, so there was still seventy percent of the battery left, and that was good; maybe she’d get a bar of service somehow and find a map of the tunnels on the internet to help her.

Or maybe she should stop wasting time daydreaming about saving herself and get moving so that the group would finally be able to hear her and she’d be found. She pushed herself off the wall and started walking again.

The tunnels branched off a few meters down the hall, and Marinette staggered to a halt.

“What?” she asked aloud. “What… how is this possible?”

All of the tunnels before her were dark, and as she cautiously stepped into the large, maybe three meters-wide space where they joined together, the tunnel behind her fell dark, too, leaving her alone in the middle of the catacombs with no clue where to go, trembling in the dim, eerie lighting of the concourse.

She turned to her right, and was struck by a sight so horrifying that she nearly fainted. There was a skeleton, which was par for the day so far, but this one was just… different, in a way that sent shivers down her spine. This skeleton was collapsed by the tunnel just to the right of the one she’d emerged from, and its bones were still arranged like those of a normal corpse, unlike the other skeletons she’d seen that day.

There was an old leather journal a half a meter from its outstretched hand.

#ao3 links at top #ml fanfic #rosie-b writing #miraculous ladybug #ml au #centuries overdue #this chapter has the last journal entry :'(#it feels weird to know that part's done even if the rest is still coming out

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mazzystar24 · 28 days

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I totally get I just finished my exam week (I had to do a math test at 8am Sat😭). Wish you luck tho!

Also do you have any good buddies fics? Destiel too?

Math test at 8am is BRUTAL

Thank you I will definitely need it😭😭

Unfortunately I only have buddie fics to offer😔:

(Warning I do like a fair amount of angst)

Right where you left me - by hyacinthusbloom ( @thebloomingheather on here) - when I say I might be as big a fan of this fic as I am of the show I MEAN IT, you do not even understand how much I love this fic or how obsessed I am with it, I have reread it so many times despite it still being in progress that I think I may genuinely qualify it as addictive, me and @estheticpotaeto legit wait for updates like a dog at the author’s door istg, like everything about this fic is flawless and written with so much love and emotion and the way the writer captures the effects of trauma is just amazing because it’s so rare to find this level of diving into ptsd and the more uncomfortable aspects of it that are more taboo or less understandable to people, like I can yap for an hour about this fic but I’ll just say READ IT

Any fic by daisies_and_briars ( @cal-daisies-and-briars on here) but one of my favourites of his is Both blade and branch and muscle memory and four can keep a secret and appetency and the two she’s writing right now (change the prophecy and steal my sunshine) -wow at that point I should’ve left it as any fic because that’s a lot of favourites😭😭

Any fic by @loserdiaz plus with them you get enough lighthearted fics to even out the angst

Ooo I’m not sure what their username on here is but lizzybizzyzz is also another writer who I just love their fics

Fractals by hobbitprincess - one of those fics that make you squeak at how much love these fictional characters have for each other

Beneath my mother tongue by archerincombat - the angst the writing the way they hit every single emotional beat? Amazing

Anything by this_is_moony_lovegood

Leave the light on (I’ll be coming home) by HMSLusitania - the presumed dead Eddie fic of your dreams, a constant reread for me it’s just 👌

Anchored by adorkable_buddie - sorry Chris you gotta be injured sometimes just for us to get our buddie dreams hope you understand and we appreciate your sacrifice 😔🫶

empty, broken, lonely, hoping by daniweb - when I tell you I love the presumed dead trope you best believe I’m telling the truth because the ANGST?? Yes please, LISTEN it’s the closest you can get to the emotional beats of killing off a character without ever killing them off because you love them and happy endings too much so TIM MINEAR TAKE NOTES I KNOW YOU SAID YOU LOVE THEM TOO MUCH TO KILL THEM, anyways back to to the point this fic again is just flawless execution by the writer like absolutely love it

every time we stop talking (the universe starts screaming) by withmeornotatall - emotional destruction and I absolutely love it, divorce era 2.0 and it HITS

Home is where it hurts- by rileyblue2001 - can you tell I hate the Buckley parents because I HATE the Buckley parents

The one with the return of the sex addiction by buddiefication (pumpkincreamcoldbrew) - I’ve reccomended so much angst so have a funny little light hearted buddie fic with the father bobby vibes we all love❤️❤️

Okay back to the angst tho 😭😭- out of ashes by Ashavahishta - AHHHHHHH THIS FIC JUST AHHHHH STOP THE WAY I WOULD DIE FOR A FOLLOW UP FIC TO THIS AHHHH I LOVE IT SM AND ITS LEGIT A ONE SHOT I CRIED SO HARD

Falling Slowly; Sing Your Melody (I’ll Sing It Loud) by Princessfbi ( @princessfbi on here who I also love sm of their fics so highly suggest just going on their page and looking through all the fics) - absolutely love it, legit gave me brain rot and got me obsessed for a GOOD while

I'm comin' back, don't let me go by wikiangela ( @wikiangela on here also love love their fics again so check them out but this one is probably my favourite of theirs)

Okay this is looking more and more like a uni reading list so I’m gonna shut up now but I hope you enjoy these fics and that a few of them emotionally damage you like they did me because I love to spread the joy (see: pain and suffering) 🫶🫶

#911 #buddie #evan buckley #911 abc #eddie diaz #911 fox #evan buck buckley #911onfox #buckley diaz family #911 fic #911 fic rec #buddie fic #buddie fic recs #asks open #send asks #send me asks #answered asks #asks #also for any authors I didn’t tag the tumblr’s of it’s just cos I can’t remember it off the top of my head so just used ao3 links instead)

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rashoumon-homo · 19 days

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- Bottom Dazai Week 2024 -

Day 3 - Self Care is Fucking the Brat Out of Dazai

5/15/24 - Brat // “Like what you see?”

In which Chuuya has to deal with a bratty mackerel instead of having a relaxing evening to himself.

♡ ♡ ♡

It had been a long fucking day and Chuuya wanted nothing more than to get home and relax. Maybe pour himself some red wine, draw up a bath, listen to music…

His hopes were shattered the second he reached his front door. Unlocked. Even a criminal wouldn’t be that stupid. No, there was only one person who would do this - and they’d do it as a sign. Chuuya shoved his key back in his pocket and swung open the door, crushing the doorknob a little in his irritation. A pair of shoes were haphazardly left by the door; a little further in, a tan coat was draped over the back of the couch. As Chuuya continued from the entryway to the hallway that led to his room, he stepped over a white dress shirt, bolo tie lying on the ground not too far from it. Not only had that idiot mackerel broken into his house, it seemed he couldn’t pick up after himself either. Though realistically, Chuuya knew the trail of clothes left like breadcrumbs was likely intentional; a way to work up his libido and get his mind running through all the lewd possibilities of what he might find.

As he neared the end of the hall, the sound of soft moans met his ears, muffled by the partially closed bedroom door. Chuuya scoffed and muttered, “Ridiculous,” under his breath. He braced himself before pushing the door open.

Dazai lay on Chuuya’s bed, completely naked. His eyes were pinched shut in pleasure, head tipped back as short, breathy moans fell from his parted lips. One hand played with his nipple while the other slowly thrust a dildo into his ass. A bottle of lube, still uncapped, dribbled onto the silk sheets. As he heard Chuuya come in, he directed his hazy eyes toward him and let a languid smile ease across his features. “Like what you see?” he asked breathily. The question was punctuated by a quiet ahn sound, his eyes falling closed as his hips jerked.

♡ ♡ ♡

Continue reading here!

Event Masterlist

Tag list: @suru1990 @little-miss-chaoss

#rashoumon writes #bottom dazai week #bottom dazai week 2024 #bsd dazai #dazai bsd #soukoku #skk #soukoku smut #skk smut #bottom dazai #top chuuya #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd smut #ao3 link

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tennessoui · 5 months

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kit's january ko-fi fic: Anakitty AU

ugh i am so excited to be posting this on my kofi, i had such a blast writing this that i literally wrote 3k yesterday for it and 3k today in like. 3 hours. she's the definition of a silly little au becoming a fic!!

in this fic/au, anakin becomes a cat; meanwhile, obi-wan just happens to find a cat outside his doors that he decides to take in to care for, as he's a lonely old man now that his padawan has left the nest. good thing this cat is really affectionate and just melts when obi-wan gives it pets!

meanwhile anakin thinks it's a pretty sweet deal to be a cat forever if it means he has obi-wan's affection and attention and love and attention and pets and attention and, etc etc

here's a little snippet!:

“So you haven’t heard from Anakin in a few days,” Obi-Wan says carefully, brushing each slightly curly strand of the cat’s fur flat as he examines his grand padawan. “Are you worried about him?” Obi-Wan hasn’t heard from Anakin lately either, but the boy has been pulling slowly and carefully away from him for ages. For the most part, Obi-Wan has stopped reaching out, and their virtual communications have dried up. “Not anymore,” Ahsoka says, picking up her tea with an angry look at the cat. “How long has it been since he’s been like thi—I mean, since you last heard from him?” “Well, I couldn’t quite say!” Eleven days. “Though, if I’m being honest, the Council is close to drawing him up on charges for abandoning his troops without leave to take a holiday. I’m sure he will slip back into the Temple sooner or later.” “Wow!” Ahsoka’s voice is pitched much too loud and much too pointed to be natural. “Did you hear that, Anakin? You’re going to be tried for abandoning your troops if you don’t tell the Council you’re experiencing a bit of a setback soon!” The cat rolls onto its back with a loud purr, paws folded upward to allow Obi-Wan the maximum of tummy to scratch. Obi-Wan, knowing it's his due, scratches its tummy obligingly.

as a reminder for how these kofi fics work: i've uploaded the google document link into my gallery on ko-fi. to view the image and get the link that's in the image description, you have to be a monthly subscriber. it's $4 a month, and once you become a subscriber, you can read the 5 other ficlets i've uploaded! if you want to donate to get access, make sure the donation bar is set to "monthly" instead of "one time".

#kit's kofi #obikin #anakitty au #the au post that this is written from is linked at the top of the google doc too!!#and there's an ask linked that has a picture of anakitty #pulled unashamedly from google images #also i think it's been far too long since i explicity said but i appreciate the support so so so much #im really glad and thankful for any subscriber i get for this and always try to make the fics i write for kofi #be at least on par with the level of writing i post to ao3 #which is a step above fics i post on tumblr #you guys got me through grad school apps and. that's just amazing so thank you!!#i hope you enjoy anakitty!!

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phantomstatistician · 4 months

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Fandom: Link Click

Sample Size: 1,177 stories

Source: AO3

#link click #fluff #angst #hurt/comfort #not beta read #cheng xiaoshi needs a hug #lu guang needs a hug #established relationship #time travel #top cheng xiaoshi/bottom lu guang #emotional hurt/comfort #fanfiction #ao3 #statistics #phantom statistician

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dayligthltos · 1 month

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BOSS.

Words: 2,84k (explicit)

Chapters: 1/1

In the office he is the boss, he orders, he dominates, but when he gets home all the roles are reversed, Louis can only follow the orders of Harry, his beautiful wife.

read it on Ao3 here: click

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sak-writes · 26 days

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Title: Top Gun Turned Upside-down

Summary:

Maverick somehow wakes up as his 24 year old self (original Top Gun age) with all his memories intact. A week later, after much freaking out and putting the extended training of the Dagger squadron on hold, a young man (who looks suspiciously like Bradley) is found passed out on base and is thought to be Rooster by medics (who have had limited/no contact with Rooster before). Later that day 'Rooster' (actually Goose) is cleared from the med-bay and left to wander the base in a state of mild to moderate confusion (being the same Top Gun base he trained at but with 20+ years of additions). Eventually Goose (due to both Rooster and Goose being officially identified as Lt. Bradshaw the case of mistaken identity continues on for far too long) asks around about where he can find Maverick and gets pointed in the direction of Mav's private hanger.

Maverick and Goose are given an impossible second chance to work out everything between them that fate cruelly prevented, and Bradley gets to know his Dad in a different light than any photo or story could ever allow for.

This is my most proud work, and I think it deserves a place on this blog since it is complete!!!

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alonetogether · 7 months

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the kid was alright but it went to his head ;-) as always the full is on my ao3 here

#peterick #rpf #my art #not sfw #im not even gonna try fighting with the filter on this one its too hard to try get around #i was thinking about it the like... fuzzy white stuff at the top there is because i lightsabered petes penas #the ao3 link has like... bare penas tho. enjoy

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andmakeithome · 7 months

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eyes closed, watch the fall

The first time the day repeats, Maverick thinks it was all a dream. A horrible dream, something he’ll do his damnedest to prevent. He holds tight to Goose and keeps his own head on straight, vowing to keep Goose alive until he can’t anymore. The second repetition invokes a strange sense of unease and déjà vu. Just a nightmare, maybe, or maybe a recurring dream; Maverick doesn’t have any other word to describe it. The third is when he knows he’s in hell.

read on ao3

a/n: thank you so so so much to @icemankazansky and @boasamishipper for the betas!! this fic would not be what it is without you two <333

#pete maverick mitchell #tom iceman kazansky #nick goose bradshaw #top gun #tg86 #time loops #pre-icemav #full tags on ao3 #words from lyss #time loop au #eyes closed watch the fall #it comes and it goes #ailesswhumptober2023 #FINALLY. IT'S HERE #also if you saw me try to post this three times SORRY tumblr wouldn't post the link for whatever reason >:/#there is a hopeful ending #enjoy the angst :]

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missathlete31 · 7 months

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As Above, So Below

Summary (link below)- Bradley Bradshaw is one of the leading alchemist and archaeologist in the world. Following in his late father's footsteps, his life's goal is to find one of history's greatest treasures: Flamel's Philosopher's Stone. When he learns the stone might be hidden in the catacombs of Paris, Rooster assembles a crew to guide and document his historic journey to retrieve it. But in order to be successful Bradley needs the best of the best with him, including his ex, Jake Seresin, a brilliant translator of ancient texts. Despite their disastrous past, both men agree to work together one last time. Unfortunately as they begin their descent, the team members have no way of knowing that they are entering their own personal hell.

*An AU based on the movie of the same name*

#top gun maverick #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin #top gun #top gun hangman #bradley rooster bradshaw #top gun: maverick #hangster #hangman x rooster #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #Bradley Bradshaw #top gun maverick au #natasha phoenix trace #as above so below #ao3 link

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rosie-b · 4 months

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Centuries Overdue

Chapter 9: Epilogue

This is it; the last chapter is finally here!! Thanks again to everyone at @mlbigbang for making this story possible :D

Without further ado, I hope you enjoy the epilogue!

Several months later, Marinette was leading Adrien back to the Clockwise Fox from the library where her journey had started. In the time since their newsworthy escape from the catacombs, they’d become fast friends, and Marinette had even convinced Adrien to enroll in a university course he was interested in.

“You know, I still can’t believe Gimmi used their own power to erase the Bourgeois family’s memory of magic,” Adrien said as they reached the cafe door.

“Well, it worked so poorly that they didn’t try it again,” Marinette commented. “Gave them delusions of grandeur and now we have the prissiest mayor’s daughter in France! You’d think she was a princess with how she acts.”

“Well, I hope we don’t need another rebellion,” Adrien said. “The last one was more than enough for me.”

“You weren’t even directly in it,” Marinette pointed out. “But I agree. Luckily, Chloe only thinks she’s powerful enough to warrant one, and France is pretty much married to democracy now.”

“That’s one good change,” Adrien agreed. “Among many, of course! I still can’t believe how good pizza is! And airplanes might not be as fun as I thought they would be, but they’re quite handy for traveling. Vast improvement on riding horseback, let me tell you,” he said, earning a side glance from one of the baristas.

They placed their orders at the counter and waited for their drinks to come.

Adrien noticed Marinette giving him an odd look and raised his eyebrow. “What is it?”

“Oh, nothing,” she said. “Have you been speaking to Alix a lot lately?”

Adrien tilted his head. “No, why?”

Marinette laughed. “I guess I’m just paranoid about it. You ordered the exact same drink I did the first time I came here.”

Adrien blinked. “Is that bad?”

“Just embarrassing,” she admitted as their drinks came and she led him back to their usual table. “I ordered it in the middle of the summer.”

Adrien looked at the steaming hot cup of mocha in his hands. “I see,” he said with a giggle.

Marinette scowled. “Don’t be mean to me or I’ll be mean right back, shortie!” She blushed as the people at the neighboring table clearly overheard.

“Shortie? I’m injured, Marinette! After all, I am still taller than you are, so I think that insult doesn’t hold water.”

“Oh, you’re only taller by a few inches. And since I’m very short, that makes you short, as well,” Marinette retorted.

“Hey! I used to be tall, you know. I was taller than Napoleon,” Adrien squawked.

“And nowadays, people call him short. So maybe your argument is the one that doesn’t hold water,” Marinette pointed out with a grin.

Adrien sulked as he took a sip of his mocha. “So rude,” he muttered.

Marinette hummed and sent him a smile, letting him know she was sorry. “You know, Adrien, you might be short now, but I still think you’re handsome.”

Adrien blushed a fiery red. “And I, you, uh, beautiful, that is!” He giggled and took another sip of his drink.

“Wow, get a room,” Alix teased as she passed by their table with a set of dirty plates.

Marinette blushed. “You don’t know what that means yet, do you?” she asked nervously.

Adrien groaned. “Actually, I think I have been spending too much time with Alix, after all,” he said. “Because yes, I understood that reference.”

“And I understand that one,” Marinette said with a smile. “Did Nino convince you to watch the American movies with him?”

Adrien nodded. “They were quite inaccurate, if you ask me. Have the wrong kind of magic entirely.”

“Then what do you say we come back here tonight for the right kind?”

Alix whistled as she passed by them again. “In public, Marinette? You get it, girl!”

Marinette dropped her head onto the table.

“You know what I mean,” she groaned. “Stop being mean to me!”

“Yeah, back off or she’ll be mean right back, Alix,” Adrien warned playfully.

“Yeah, you don’t want to see me be mean, Alix, I’m better at it than you,” Marinette said, lifting her head and giving a not-so-menacing glare (her hair was plastered to her forehead now and she was sure she looked like a lame copy of Medusa).

“Message received,” Alix said with a smirk. “I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone then!”

She walked back into the kitchen without cleaning any more tables.

“I think she came out here just to make fun of us,” Adrien observed.

“I agree,” Marinette said. “Do you want to get out of here?”

He grinned. “I’ll go wherever you do, Marinette.”

She hid her blush in the last drops of her coffee and led him outside.

As they walked back to their new apartment together (they’d agreed that it would be far easier to share one until Alya’s spell had enough time to settle and Adrien applying for one wouldn’t risk his status as a French citizen), Adrien’s hand brushed against hers. Marinette struggled to control the grin on her face and took the hint, grabbing his hand and swinging it as they kept walking.

They passed by the park Adrien said he’d been able to somewhat recognize from before, and he tugged lightly on her hand.

“Marinette, do you feel like spending some time in the park together?” he asked, looking at her with a slightly nervous expression.

She hummed and nodded. “Sure. You know I never mind doing things together with you.”

Adrien blushed. “That’s good, because you’ve had to do a lot of them. You, Alya, and Alix are almost singularly responsible for me surviving the twenty-first century. Triply responsible, I suppose.” He hesitated, and Marinette squeezed his hand to let him know he could ask whatever it was that was bugging him. “Is it too much? Do you want me to try moving out on my own? I’m pretty sure Alya said it should be okay by now, so if you want me gone, just tell me and I will go.”

Marinette’s heart twinged painfully. “Do you want to move out? I mean, I completely understand, of course, and I can just invite Alya to fill the empty room, but you know you don’t have to, right? I like having you around, Adrien,” she admitted, feeling like a shy schoolgirl all over again.

Adrien smiled at her. “I like having you around, too, Marinette. I just don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. But if you’re sure, then I’d like to stay.”

“Of course,” Marinette said. “Stay as long as you’d like!”

“Careful, I might just take you up on that,” Adrien laughed. “And you’ll be stuck with me forever.”

Marinette stopped walking.

Adrien turned to her, looking concerned. “Marinette? Did you not mean it? I, I’m sorry, I’ll just—”

“I want you around forever,” she said, cutting him off.

“Pardon?”

“Adrien, I— I think I want you to be around forever.”

“We can try, but I really don’t want to live that long; three centuries is good enough for me,” he joked.

Marinette’s lips twitched. “Don’t distract me! Adrien, I’ve realized something important that I should tell you.”

His face immediately became serious. “What is it?”

Marinette groaned. “Not like that! It’s just— just— I like you, Adrien. You’re tied with Alya for best friend now, but I think… I think I’d like to try something other than being like this. Platonic,” she said, gesturing between the two of them. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Adrien nodded cautiously. “I hope I do, Marinette. Because I feel something else for you, too, and I don’t want to be alone in feeling it.”

“Me, neither,” Marinette said. And then, just to check, she asked, “So, do you want to make this into a date? We can go bird watching, or get ice cream, or just sit on the bench for a while, whatever! Or if not, that’s fine, too!”

She was about to start panicking, and Adrien must have known it, because he took both her hands together and pressed a gentle kiss to them. “I would love to,” he told her. “I love to do anything, everything, as long as it’s with you.”

Marinette smiled up at him, relief in her eyes.

“Promise?”

“Promise,” Adrien said, smiling.

“Good,” Marinette said. “Because I love doing everything with you, too.”

Adrien couldn’t stop himself from hugging her at that. “I’m so glad we met,” he whispered into her hair.

Marinette smiled and pulled him closer. “Me, too,” she confessed. “It was just a few centuries overdue.”

#ao3 links at the top #centuries overdue #ml fanfic #rosie-b writing #ml au #adrinette #lovesquare #love square #miraculous ladybug

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invaliowat · 2 months

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Summary:

"So Nick didn’t really know how to start this.

Well.

That’s not true.

He knew exactly where to start this.

Knew exactly what he wanted to talk about and who he wanted to talk to it about damn near down to not only the words he wanted to say but the cadence and the rhythm and the tone of it as well.

If he hadn’t thought about it the whole way there, the entire car ride back to Maverick’s house and again on up the stairs, he surely would’ve been able to fall back on the words he’d been ruminating over since the first time he’d seen that look on Ron’s face.

Y’know.

That one."

Alternatively: Nick finally finds out what happened between Mav and Ron, Ron thinks he's lost Nick, Nick is capital 'A' Angry and protective and it all comes to a head.

Featuring: Ron being self sacrificing, Maverick being Maverick (a little dumb but we love him), Nick trying to juggle his brood of idiots who he loves very much.

Oh and IceMav.

More IceMav.

AN: New chapter up y’all! Hope you enjoy! As always be nice, be awesome and read the tags :)

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rashoumon-homo · 15 days

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- Bottom Dazai Week 2024 -

Day 7 - There’s My Man

5/19/24 - Free Space (Trans Dazai)

Dazai has a strict boundary around not using his front hole during sex. But he’s come to realize recently that he enjoys the physical feeling of it as long as there’s no associated dysphoria. Chuuya helps him explore that realization some more.

♡ ♡ ♡

The sound of squelching and soft moans filled the empty bedroom. A shiver ran down Dazai’s spine as he thrust the dildo in and out of himself, bare back arching off the tangled sheets. Slick dripped out of him onto the towel he’d set under his hips.

For just a moment, just when he felt his orgasm approaching (but not a moment sooner), he let himself imagine the dildo was a real cock— Chuuya’s cock. He imagined Chuuya propped over him, breathing hard and groaning with each sinful drag of his hips. And he pretended, as red-hot sparks gathered in his core, that this scene was something he could realistically experience. That it would be possible for him to even be worked up to this point if Chuuya was really fucking him like this.

The wave of his orgasm crashed over him, punching a cry from his open mouth. He fucked himself slowly through the ebb and flow of tensing muscles until it was too much stimulation to bear. He relaxed back onto the bed, catching his breath and letting himself zone out for a few minutes to bask in the euphoric bliss. His phone pinged from somewhere amongst the sheets. He blindly felt around for it, then held it up to check the message on the screen.

Chibi: On my way home from work

Chibi: Thai food sound good for dinner?

Dazai shot back a quick “sure” before starting to clean up. He grabbed a couple tissues and held them under the dildo as he pulled it out to catch the slick dripping off the toy. Still holding tissues under it, he carried it to the bathroom and ran it under warm water.

As the high of the orgasm faded away, Dazai’s dysphoria came back with a vengeance. He and Chuuya had sex all the time, but he’d never get to experience his fantasies in real life. Even if he was brave enough to try using that hole instead of doing anal, he already knew he’d never be able to orgasm that way. Sure he could do it while masturbating, but something about being seen like that by another person, being fucked in a hole he shouldn’t technically have… even if the other person was Chuuya, he didn’t think he could do it. Dazai set the dildo by the sink to dry and hopped in the shower to wash off the sticky mess between his legs.

♡ ♡ ♡

Continue reading here!

Event Masterlist

Tag list: @suru1990 @little-miss-chaoss

#rashoumon writes #bottom dazai week #bottom dazai week 2024 #bsd dazai #dazai bsd #soukoku #skk #soukoku smut #skk smut #bottom dazai #top chuuya #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd smut #ao3 link

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take-it-on-the-run · 5 months

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Burn

Sejanus Plinth, Coriolanus Snow

Looking back at it, Sejanus should've seen his fate coming at him like a brick through a window

Word Count: 2.1k

Tags: Angst (?), AU where Sejanus lives and outsmarts Coryo, OOC!Sejanus (he has a spine), guest appearance from Lucy Gray

Characters: Sejanus Plinth, Coriolanus Snow, Lucy Gray Baird

Anonymous requested: "An au of where Sejanus lives instead of dies but finds out coryo betrayed him (his only true friend betrayed him and left him heartbroken/extremely hurt) so he goes home and seeks comfort from burning that photo of him and snow (kind of inspired by the song burn from Hamilton) but he burns the photo and then sobs his poor heart out"

Read it on AO3!

A/N: This was my first ever request! I want to thank the person who requested this fic for putting some faith in me to write something! I'm not great at writing angst when it comes to people I don't know a lot about (Sejanus) but I hope this isn't too horrible. As always, any constructive criticism is welcome with open arms!

Sejanus Plinth hadn’t had many friends as he grew up.

He’d come from the Districts, and his beginnings weren’t lost to him. His family, on the other hand, acted as if they’d been born in the Capitol and hadn’t only been there for ten years.

When he transferred to the Academy, his beginnings were certainly spotlighted by his classmates. People turned away from him, whispering in each other’s ears as he walked by; he was an outsider, through and through.

Sure, people talked to him, walked with him in the halls, and laughed when he made jokes, but no one close enough he’d call his friend.

The money that came attached to the Plinth name was a blessing, but sometimes it was more of a bubble surrounding him. People only talked because of his name, only walked because of his name, and only laughed because of his name. At the end of the day, he’d go home to a house full of nothing but empty people and return to a school that only wanted to know him because of the Plinth prize.

At a mere eight years old, he’d thought of disappearing for the first time, until a boy in his class sat down and offered him a gumdrop.

It was a small gesture, but compared to the ridicule Sejanus had been under for his first months in the Capitol, it showed him that there was at least one soul in the sea of vultures surrounding him.

Sejanus had learned the boy’s name was Coriolanus, but only his grandma’am called him that, so it was simply Coryo.

Coryo didn’t mind much of what the other kids thought when the two of them started to study together in the library, sending a brief, cold glare toward anyone who talked loud enough for him to hear.

He hadn’t known it at the time, but the only person he’d call a friend had come to school with that gumdrop for a reason, but, until their final year in the Academy together, Sejanus was content with the idea of Coryo being his only friend.

When it finally came time for the two of them to graduate, and for the Plinth prize winner to be announced, he knew this year was different.

Greed leaked from every last person in the room, including the boy Sejanus befriended all those years ago. Even when it was announced that there was a final test, one Sejanus knew was coming, his friend barely blinked.

“You will each be assigned a tribute from the Games to mentor,” Professor Highbottom’s voice bellowed as he paced in front of the group of students, “and depending on how each of you does in your mentoring, your chances of winning the Plinth prize,” his steely eyes flickered to Sejanus before returning to the group at large, “will be greatly affected.”

People murmured around him, being quickly silenced by Highbottom’s finger in the air.

Sejanus nervously shifted his eyes to his friend, looking for someone to see just how insane this entire idea was, but was met with the side of his head as Clemensia Dovecote whispered something to him. The both of them laughed, Coryo wiping the smirk off of his face with his hand before looking back to their teacher.

Looking back at it, he should’ve seen his fate coming like a brick through a window.

Professor Highbottom announced mentors and their tributes right before the Reaping was displayed on the large screen in front of the class.

Marcus, was his tribute’s name, and Sejanus tuned the rest of what Highbottom was saying out - without even having to look, his heart dropped to his knees as District 2’s Reaping was screened above him.

District 2 Male, Marcus; another boy who Sejanus had befriended.

When the camera panned to the young man, Sejanus craned his neck to look at his former friend. His hands were swollen, his hair shorter, and his clothes were the customary masonry uniform of District 2; but looking at him felt like a window to his past life. His face remained the same as it always had, the small mole near his right ear almost acting as a way for Sejanus to prove that this was who he remembered. Who’s spot he could’ve easily been in if his family hadn’t transferred to the Capitol.

Marcus wouldn’t meet his eyes when they met again for the first time in ten years.

He looked at Sejanus through the metal bars, at his hand outstretched with food, and turned away silently. He didn’t give him a second glance, even after he eventually accepted the food through another tribute.

Marcus didn’t even get a chance to defend his own life.

A stupid tour of the Games’ arena, meant for strategizing, tore that away from him.

The explosion went off, and in a flash, Marcus was gone. Coryo and his tribute were covered in smokey debris, and all the screaming made Senjanus’ head practically explode. He turned back to see Coryo pulling his tribute out from underneath the rubble, yelling at them to run for the exit. He spun, looking around for Marcus, but deep down he knew he’d already run; so that’s what Sejanus did; he ran as fast as his legs would carry him as he waived the exit route to everyone trying to escape.

In the days leading up to the Games, Sejanus let himself think - hope - Marcus had escaped Panem somehow. Done something he only could dream of.

That hope was crushed the moment he saw Marcus hanging by his arms on a rock in the arena. His face was disfigured, and blood leaked from every part of him, landing drop by drop in a large pool far beneath him. The others barely flinched as they found their tributes, waiting for an alarm bell to sound.

Again, he turned to the only other person he could’ve called a friend, for some semblance of comfort, and instead saw he too was looking for his tribute.

Sejanus knew Coryo had felt something for that District 12 girl, probably before his friend realized it. Every time she spoke, his head turned to attention, taking in everything she said. He wanted to pretend that he didn’t see their hands interlaced as they went to preview the arena, but he couldn’t.

Coriolanus Snow had a heart, just not one to share.

The strings holding his heart in place buckled, and Sejanus swore that his mind, body, and heart were acting on their own accord.

Before he could pull back his words like he had all these years, he was screaming at the rest of the mentors in front of their screens. At the stupid man waiving his microphone around. At the Capitol, the formality of it all, all of Panem for existing in the first place.

At Coryo.

“Monsters!” He felt blood rush to his face as he jabbed his finger at everyone in the auditorium, “all of you, are monsters!”

No one spoke a word, yet all eyes were focused on him as he stumbled away from the stage, his stomach churning and trying to empty itself.

Not one person stopped him from running out of the room, it was like his words didn’t meet their ears.

It was only when Coryo was practically dragging him from the arena that night, tooth and nail, did Sejanus thought his words reached someone. When he felt Coryo’s hands rip him from Marcus’ body, away from the friend his family had forced him to leave behind, did he think that just maybe he cared about him at all.

The rest of that night went down so quickly, Sejanus could swear it was a nightmare; if only it weren’t for Bobbin’s death being broadcast the next morning.

As he watched Coryo bash the tribute’s head in, over, and over, and over, and over again, he felt his heart stop. Not out of loneliness, jealousy, or even desperation; but out of pure, blood-freezing, fear.

After that night, Sejanus locked himself away until his punishment for breaking into the arena came.

Being shipped to District 12 to serve as a Peacekeeper for the next twenty years of his life.

A light sentence is what his father called it.

He heard through the grapevine that Coryo’s tribute, his performer from District 12, had cheated death and managed to win the Games.

What was he feeling in that moment? Joy? Pride? Rage?

Fear?

As he stepped on the Peacekeeper train heading to District 12, their eyes connected almost instantly, and he swore he could feel the blood splattering onto his hands same as the night in the arena.

He wouldn’t admit it to himself at the time, but he felt his heart falter with relief as he saw Coryo’s familiar face blankly staring back at him, curving into a polite, but empty, smile.

Even after they’d gone and seen Lucy Gray, Coryo’s performer, Sejanus still told himself that he meant something to the boy he’d grown up with. That, if he were caught sneaking away to talk with rebels again, he would come to his aid.

“What are you doing?”

It was a simple enough question, one that someone passing by wouldn’t remember seconds after they’d heard it, but to Sejanus, it plagued his lungs with smoke as he fought the urge to run, turning away from Coryo with an empty jabberjay cage in his hands.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sejanus stated, surprised his voice didn’t raise any octaves.

“I’ve seen you, meeting with some of the Districts, whispering, don’t you think getting three of them killed was enough?”

The violent scene of Coryo shooting down that girl like an animal, and the carnage that followed flashed in his mind, almost drowning out the noise of a jabberjay’s record button being flicked on.

Like a brick through a window.

“So, you’re going to pretend like you haven’t been helping out any kind of rebel group in your free time?” Coryo asked him again, this time, in a harsher tone that was more accusatory than curious.

Sejanus balled his hands resting on the workbench in front of them, turning to his accuser as blood crept its way up his neck.

“You have never been where they are,” he whisper-yelled to the boy beside him as he felt his heart shatter to pieces once more, “we’ve both got it all, so how the hell would we know anything about their side of the story? People are starving as we do patrols, and we can’t so much as look at them without being punished.” He took a step closer to Coryo, to the jabberjay he knew was recording them, “and your girl? That Lucy Gray? Her life can’t be too different from these people we see out here. I’ve seen the way you look at her, the stolen moments, the way you almost beat that Billy Taupe to death because he was harassing her. No Peacekeeper in their right mind would do that out of simple pride for their job, Coriolanus.”

The boy beside him faltered for a moment as his full name slid off of Sejanus’ tongue, replaced with frustration as his thumb hovered over the jabberjay’s recorder controls.

Sejanus left without another word, turning the corner and waiting for the sound he knew he was going to hear.

Crack.

The jabberjay that Coriolanus had tried to use against him was as dead as his heart was.

And now, as he sat in a small cabin far outside the reach of the Capitol, a friend who’d been deemed dead along with him, strumming on her guitar, he opened the box he dragged from his barracks that day.

A faintly crinkled photo of students, both standing proud in their red uniforms, stared back at him. He didn’t know what had become of the boy standing next to him; the one he called Coryo, then Coriolanus, but tears slipped down his cheeks nonetheless. The strumming of the guitar stopped as the bright girl across the fire looked at him with pity, not saying a word.

His fingers tightened around the photo, distorting the two people in it. He couldn’t tell himself that was him, and he couldn’t say the blond next to him chose the Capitol over their friendship. These were two different people, friends, who had only had one another as they’d grown up in a climate that rejected them both.

He dipped the photo into the fire, watching as flames crawled over the only reminder that once, he had a friend, someone who wouldn’t ridicule him for his upbringing or his standing. Someone who, if fate had allowed it, may have held their friendship higher than his greed for power.

Sejanus Plinth hadn’t had many friends when he’d finally grown up. Only a girl sitting across from him, strumming away on her guitar, gently muffling his quiet sobs as he let the photo burn to ash.

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