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wood-white-writer · 5 months

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“Didn’t mean to make your heart Blue” || [9/…]

— OPLA!Buggy x F!Reader

“And I know no one will save me, I just need someone to kiss.

Give me one good honest kiss and I’ll be alright.”

— Mitski, “Nobody”

Pairing: Buggy the Clown (Live Action) x F!Reader

Summary: You were an apprentice of Gol D. Roger’s crew in your youth, long before his eventual demise. Along with the Red-Haired Shanks and Buggy, you were a formidable trio; the embodiment of a new generation of pirates yet to come. But times changed, and so did you and your friends. In which there is lost affections, mentions of the past, and re-bonding over a bath. Unshared thoughts and feelings of regret return from years of negligence, and whereas some aspects remain buried, others have a chance to resurface from the depths.

Warnings: fem!reader, LA!Verse, slight canon divergence, morally grey reader, mentions of violence and blood, dual-pov (though primarily Buggy's), Buggy being a simp, implications of Buggy being a horny simp

A/N: AND HERE WE ARE! FINALLY, AFTER SO MANY WEEKS, THE NEW CHAPTER IS UP! Seriously, I want to thank you all for your immense patience and support. As I mentioned in a previous post, work has been hectic as hell and I know I wrote that this chapter would hopefully be finished last week, but life took its toll. Hopefully, you'll enjoy this chapter, though I myself have mixed feelings about it.

INCLUDES SOME SELF-MADE SKETCHES AT THE BOTTOM, so you’re warned

The sun warms your face as you breathe in the fresh scent of the sea. You’re lounging on deck, hands folded behind your head and feet hanging over the railings in a rather peculiar position, but you’re perfectly content.

Luffy benched you for the rest of the voyage to Arlong Park, a decision you initially found insulting to no short degree. Well, maybe benched is not the right term to use, but more like “I don’t want you to die, and I think you need to relax this once”.

You had argued that no, you’re fine and the love bites Arlong left you are nothing compared to the marks Mihawk left on Zoro, and he’s still up and about as usual.

But Luffy is firm about his decision, and what the Captain says goes.

So, here you are, enjoying some quiet all while letting your wounds heal, and it seems that nothing can hope to put an end to this ambiance that is—

“HEY! THERE ‘YA ARE!”

…. You spoke too soon. Way too soon.

A shadow falls over your face like a curtain and blocks the view of the sun. A shadow belonging to - you make a lucky guess - a severed head that’s been talking for way longer than a severed head typically should, in your experience.

You open one lazy eye to pinpoint the exact perpetrator and see a bright red dot staring down at you from Usopp’s grip.

Buggy winks at you, making those mildly irritating clink-clink noises.

“I can’t stand it anymore,” Usopp grumbles. “You take him! He’s annoying and keeps telling me my nose is too long!”

“Because it is, you shidiot!”

“It’s average!”

“That’s what your mom said!”

“You keep my mom’s name out of your mouth, you psychotic, fucking—!”

“Be quiet.”

Both the clown and the slingshot simultaneously shut their mouths before things have a chance to escalate on a non-verbal scale, and you take this as a sign that your break is officially over and buried ten feet under.

Stretching your arms out loud enough to pop a few vertebrae, you shift to lean your back against the railing and give both boys an unimpressed look-over, like a disappointed mother having caught both of her children in the act of something. “It’s too early for you to be making a ruckus.”

“It’s 11 am,” Usopp points out.

“Still too early.” Deciding that you’d rather not deal with this with more effort than you’re willing to spend, you return to your previous position. “Leave the head, or don’t. Just let me rest.”

“Fine by me.”

With a thud and an “OW FUCK!”, Usopp unceremoniously drops the clown and forgoes his Buggy-sitting duties to do whatever he wants to do, leaving you to pick up the slack.

A string of curses flow from Buggy’s mouth, which you only vaguely pay attention to. There was something along the lines of “Long-nosed asshat,” and “Right on the nose”, but you abandon all interest in favor of feeling the sun on your cheek.

“So…” you hear him jump a little closer. “Alone at last.”

You don’t answer.

“What? Don’t give me that! I thought we were good!”

You remain selectively mute.

“Hey! Don’t ignore me! I don’t like it!”

“You survived it for twenty years. I’m sure you can stand it for a few more minutes.”

“…. Seriously?”

“Mhmm.”

You don’t know what possesses him, but he keeps quiet for most of the next thirty minutes, and you take the time to continue basking in the sun.

It’s a luxury you can rarely afford, and you’ll be damned if it gets ruined now or all time, least of all by him. You’re not going to even open the can of worms that is last night’s events, so you lock it in a chest to be dug up for another day.

Not now. It won't be that long until you reach Arlong Park, and shit will go down. This might be the only chance you get to replenish your strength and gods do you need it now more than ever.

"… Hey?” Buggy starts.

You let him decide whether to perceive your silence as an opening or a locked door.

“I’m bored.”

“Tough.”

“Can’t we do something else?”

“We could fish. Your head might serve as a good bait.” Despite yourself, your lip tugs a little in what is supposed to be a halfway smirk. The image of Buggy dangling above the shark-infested waters from a hook to his bandana would be an entertaining sight to behold.

He swallows audibly. “Was that a joke?”

“Keep bothering me and we’ll find out soon enough.”

“C’mon! Don’t be like that! Seriously, I’m bored! Ain’t much you can do when you’re just a head… except to give one, but that’s beside the point.”

Too much detailing, you think. He wants entertainment of any kind; you want peace and quiet. What to do and how to kill two birds with one stone? You open one eye and let it drift over to Buggy, who in turn is staring intently at you.

In the sun, you make out every detail of his rugged face. His make-up’s almost wiped completely off the skin, with only remnants of the red lipstick and blue diamonds vaguely in place. His stubbles have grown slightly, given the lack of access to a barber, and if you get close enough, he probably stinks of—

A lightbulb goes off in your head. A devious one, blinking to every corner of your brain.

Despite what anyone thinks, you’re not above being petty.

With a push, you sit up and glance over at him. “Anything?”

Buggy raises his eyebrows and nods desperately. “Yeah! Anything! As long as I ain’t got to sit here doing naught-shit, I’m game!”

You turn to him, put each of your hands to the edges of his jaw, and lift him a little closer to you. Whether from the sun or just him alone, he’s warm and soft under your digits.

“Alright,” is all you say.

Buggy beams much like the bulb in your head, and a loud bark of laughter erupts from his mouth. You almost pity him, pity him for being oblivious to what’s to come.

But it needs to be done.

There’s no other way around it and he’s had it coming. He deserves this, you tell yourself. He deserves every inch of ruthlessness you can offer, and you’ll deliver.

————

Buggy blanches, lips wobbling in horror as he slowly glances up at you. Betrayal fills his bright-blue eyes and, for the first time since Orange Town, he sees you as the beast you both know you are.

He’s afraid.

He’s afraid of you.

He knows you can be vindictive; he knows you can be brutal, but in all the time he’s known you, he’s never perceived you as cruel.

Maybe it’s time for him to reassess that thought.

“No,” he whispers softly. “No, please.”

Your face is blank, and cold, and he doesn’t know if it’s a trick of the light or not, but there’s a shadow across your face that darkens everything but your eyes. Those bright eyes he used to hold in such high regard.

“You want my forgiveness,” you state calmly as you gradually lower him to his demise. “You have to earn it.

“Please, anything but this. I’ll do anything other than this!”

But his pleas earn no mercy from you. He wiggles in your grasp like a fish out of water, and as much as he tries to beg and move and free himself, your hold is iron incarnate.

Buggy lets out an ear-curdling scream the moment he feels the water under his neck.

“NOOOOO!”

————

Honestly, how childish, you think as you begin to soak him in the basin you procured from the kitchens. He hisses like a cat as you pour the water over his head, rinsing his hair. Try as he might, he cannot escape your grasp.

It’s not even deep enough to reach his chin, and still, he acts like it’s acid he’s been thrown into.

But you’re determined, this has to be done.

“Oh, quit whining” you chastise, getting drops of water your way with all his scuttling. “You need this.”

“You’re gonna drown me!” he accuses.

“It’s soap and water, and it’s not even that deep.”

“You say that now, sure! But the moment you let go, plop! Oh, there goes Buggy the Clown! Taken from this world too early!”

You roll your eyes. “I’m holding you up, you’re not going to drown. Now, stop acting like a child.”

Buggy is restless and continues to thrash around for a good ten seconds more before finally relenting, a look of sour disapproval on his face. It’s so caricatured and animated that it threatens to make a suppressed chuckle leave your throat.

He still looks the same when he’s mad.

Now that he’s finally calm, you lower him so that the edge of his neck finally stands on the bottom of the basin. Then, you soak a rag and raise it towards his face.

Buggy flinches. “Can you …. Eh… leave the face?”

“There’s hardly anything there anymore, and it’ll irritate your skin if you leave it on for too long.”

“I think I can tell you what irritates me or not, like this bird bath for instance, thank you very much.” He scowls and edges further away from the wet rag. “Seriously, just leave it.”

“I’ll reapply the make-up.”

“… What?”

When you first boarded the Merry, you happened to find some leftover make-up hidden away in one of the shelves. It was strange, considering how the boat was freshly built, and imagined that one of the builders had taken some personal liberty in the large space before the project was finished.

For whatever reason, you didn’t throw it out, though you didn’t use it yourself.

If it can get him to accept the fact that he needs a wash, you’re willing to do it.

“I’ll put on your make-up if I can wash off what you currently have,” you clarify. “Deal?”

Buggy goes quiet, and his eyes widen slightly, but not out of horror or dread. It’s more like … when you catch the sight of something unexpected; a delayed reaction that stirs feelings you have yet to decipher.

Finally, after some internal debates with himself, Buggy nods. “Fuckin’ fine then,” he utters, and despite the crudeness of his words, they’re lenient.

Content, you gently place your free hand to his left to keep him stable and use the other one to carefully drag the rag across his stained cheek.

Buggy watches you intently through the process, never taking his eyes off you unless you’re wiping off the painted diamonds on his eyes. Your hands, for once, are soft to the touch. They’re soft for him, as though a single misplaced touch might shatter him like glass.

He used to be acquainted with the soft touches long before the cold and brutal ones. Soft fingers that pinched his cheeks as you helped apply the paint over his face.

Soft touches against his arm when he was feeling particular for some reason, whether it was good or bad.

Your fingers intertwined with his’ as you came to terms with your captain’s death, sitting by the edge of the docks as the rain poured from above. It was cold, he was freezing, and too close to the waters for his comfort, but he wanted nothing more than to sit in the rain with you and share the heat from your fingers.

Even after everything, you’re still capable of reserving those touches for him.

After wiping the makeup completely off him, you raise the cup and fill it with water. “Close your eyes.”

He doesn’t want to, but he does and feels the water rushing down like the rain on those docks.

When he’s finally finished, you fish him up from the basin and put him down atop a soft towel on the table. Like a cat, he instinctively shakes off the residue of water, only to find you already raising a new towel towards him.

He stops moving, and you takes this as your cue to continue. You’re attentive, he notices. You wipe his face first, then his ears, then his hair. You dry it and scratch his scalp at the same time through the fabric, and he instinctively leans against your touch.

This is … nice.

“When did you cut your hair?” You ask out of the blue as you continue to dry him, making sure to leave no spot too humid.

He almost failed to catch onto your words with how at ease he is. “Hmmm?”

“You used to have long hair before,” you elaborate. “Why did you cut it?”

“…. Too much of a hassle to maintain,” he answers after some thought. “It’s hard to find the time to take care of it.”

“… I see.”

The truth is, he cut it right after he left. Not particularly clean either. You know that feeling you get when you feel like you’re losing control, and ridding yourself of any additional weight seems to relieve it?

Well, that’s what Buggy did.

He cut it with a pair of rusty scissors, severing chunks at a time — some bigger than others — until all he was left with was pieces sticking out to each side like a madman.

It didn’t help though. It didn’t make him feel any lighter from the weight on his chest. From that gnawing feeling.

Still, he maintained the habit and got better with practice. It became more of a practical thing with time; he was a busy man, and he could do well with fewer things to get in his eyes, but it never eased the pain.

But feeling the tips of your fingers lightly graze his hair, however, he feels more relieved than he’s done in the last twenty years.

After a few minutes, you remove the towel and give him a neutral one-over. It’s the first time you’ve seen him as an adult without any of that makeup, and you’re reminded of just how much he’s changed, but also how he’s not.

Even after all this time, it’s still Buggy.

Buggy sees you watching him, and he can’t help but feel slightly self-conscious now that your eyes are on him without his usual armor.

But you don’t comment on it, nor show any surprise in any sense of the word. There are times when he hates your face, not because of anything superficial, but because you make it so damn challenging for him to figure out what goes in that brain of yours. He’s reminded of how you were when you were younger, how lifeless you used to be, and it feels like you’ve regressed to that state.

Another thing to add to the shitlist of things he’s regretful about.

He licks his lips and opens his mouth to say something when the door suddenly bursts open. Buggy jumps whereas you merely look over your shoulder to spot Zoro standing there, his eyes narrowed between you and the clown.

Buggy frowns.

“Zoro,” you speak plainly, as if you failed to notice his annoyance towards the spectacle presented before him. “Is there anything?”

“The hell is this?” His eyes flicker between you and Buggy like it’s the worst show on earth. “What’s going on?”

“He reeked,” you explain. “I have merely been rectifying it for the sake of our noses.”

Buggy wants to argue with the statement that No, he fucking doesn’t, but he suppresses it for the sake of figuring out where this conversation’s headed.

“Since when do we make it a habit of bathing prisoners?” Zoro asks, his hand resting on the handle of his sword.

“Since when have we had prisoners?” You counter.

The swordsman scoffs. “The clown’s needed upstairs in ten.”

“Sure.”

“I’m right here, you know?”

Zoro gives him a nasty look and nothing more before heading back out the door, shutting it with a forceful thud.

“Why do you even stick around with these nobodies?!” Buggy questions. “They can’t navigate for shit, they have no sense of preservation, and they suck at fighting!”

You shift back to raise a knowing eyebrow at him. “They defeated you, didn’t they?”

“That’s—! … I was outnumbered, it wasn’t a fair fight!”

“No fights are fair in the life of piracy,” you point out.

He bites the inside of his cheek. “All I’m saying is, you’re too powerful to be with these losers. You could join my crew! Think about it! We’d be unstoppable!”

“You mean, join the same people who locked me up and whose asses I subsequently kicked?”

“Exactly! Don’t worry, they’ll get over it! Once they see how awesome you are, they’ll accept you with open ar—!”

“I decline.”

Buggy pauses, his enthusiasm promptly vanishing and getting replaced with bitter disappointment. “You’re not even going to consider it?”

“Why would I?” You wipe away a descending drop from his right eye. “I have no interest in joining another crew.”

“You say that, and yet here you are with these losers.”

“I was never going to stay permanently.”

He pauses. “You weren’t?”

“I’m here for Luffy, and once I’ve decided that he can hold his own weight above the waters, I’ll leave.”

“… Where will you go? After, then?”

It takes you a moment to answer, like you don’t know the answer yourself quite yet. Your hand stills for a moment before resuming with the task at hand.

“Who knows?” You shrug. “The sea is my home. I’ve missed it, so I will remain where the waves pull me.”

That won’t do on its own. Stay with me. Buggy wants to ask, and if he had knees, he’d ask on them. Come with me. Be with me. You won’t have to be an official member of his crew; you don’t have to bend to him. You just have to stay.

Stay with him.

That’s all he’ll ask.

Stay with him until he has the opportunity to figure out a way to make it up to you.

Stay with him so he can compensate for the twenty years you suffered in each other’s absences.

Just stay.

“Hey.” He’s surprised by his own initiative. “Why’d you even leave your crew and stick your feet on land if you love the sea so much?”

You raise an eyebrow in question.

“I mean, you were Captain of the Cross-Haired Pirates, for crying out loud! You used to be legendary!” He proclaims, almost saddened by your apparent dismissal of your previous title. “You had fame, berries, a reputation that preceded everyone! Everyone feared you! Why’d you ditch all of that? Because of that rubbery prick? Because of Shanks?”

“Is that really what you want to ask me?”

“Yeah!”

You sigh through your nose and put the towel down to recline in your chair. “I didn’t become a Captain because that’s what I wanted. I became a Captain because it provided an outlet.”

“An outlet? For fucking what?”

It takes you a few seconds to finally reach a suitable response.

“Anger,” you admit calmly, your arms crossing over your chest as the words stir on your tongue. They must taste bitter. “I was angry, and it festered every day, churning into a poisonous substance in my body. Being a captain with a crew, I could take it out on whoever I wanted. Pirate, marine, unruly crew member, it didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered.”

It makes sense now, he thinks, the reputation you’ve garnered over the years. Beware the Beast in the East, people would chant in passing towns and harbors, like you were a ghost story. Her eyes were like swords, and her hands were twice as sharp.

There wasn’t a single place where blood didn’t paint your steps.

He never met you while you were a captain; he didn’t want to, couldn’t find it in himself to pop by even once. Still, he kept your poster hidden in the dark depths of the chest in his quarters, if only for acrimonious reminiscence. He would spend some drunken nights doing nothing but staring at it, and it was like he could feel your rage seep through the ink on the page and scorch his fingers. A reminder of what he did.

Now, looking at you and comparing you to the poster, he fails to see the resemblance. He doubts he could’ve spotted it had you reunited earlier on. Captain Cross-Hairs was sharp around the edges, with pecks of blood on her cheeks and fresh scars on her face.

He licks his lips in deliberation. “You were pissed… because of what?”

Because of me?

“I don’t know.” He watches your chest expand with your breath, mesmerized simply by watching you commit to living. There used to be a time when you didn’t. “I didn’t care about money or power. I didn’t care for much of anything, except to purge that rage from my body. I fought, and I killed. It helped, for a time; I felt satisfied, but after a while, you grow bored of eating the same meal.”

When he looked at you when you were younger, he imagined he saw the scorching sun. Burning and bright and enlightening.

You were … everything, but he never imagined that the same fire that used to mesmerize him would burn a thousand ships in his absence.

But he was a boy back then. He’s older now, more experienced in the ways of life, he knows better.

He knows enough.

"But the boy," you say with a certain gentleness in your voice that does not evade his notice. "He's good."

"He's weak," Buggy scoffs, feeling his belly fill with sour smoke. He recognizes the feeling. It's the feeling he got when he watched Shanks talk to you that night by the fire. The same feeling he got when he watched you stay with Shanks that day.

"He's defeated every opponent he's come across."

"Didn't beat Arlong, though." Buggy points out with a smidgen of childish pride and smirks. "Got his ass handed to him real good if I remember correctly."

You look back at him in that narrow way you usually reserve for him when he's crossed a line, and he can already tell he fucked up.

"I watched him grow, Buggy.” You say firmly. “I was there for all of it. I watched him learn, I watched him fight, I watched him leave land. He’s not like us — he doesn’t waste time on regret. He’ll become better than we ever were.”

Buggy glowers but doesn’t say anything else, insisting on letting your words simmer in his brain until he can find the will to let them go.

You procure something from the drawers and it’s only when he looks down that he realizes it’s the make-up. With gentle hands, you lift him and place him in your lap, the brush already blue and ready.

“I’m not here to talk about what used to be,” you say. “Now hold still.”

The diamonds across his eyes come first, the brushing makes his face tickle and it’s only by sheer willpower alone that he manages to refrain from staring at you.

“Takes us back,” he whispers and closes his eyes so that you can finish. “Doesn’t it?”

He hears something akin to a chortle that doesn’t quite reach your throat, but he considers it a small win.

“You looked a mess,” you answer. “A child could’ve done a better job than I did.”

“Wasn’t bad for your first try, though.”

Except that it was. It was pretty bad. Your hands were shaking, and you held your breath like you were afraid of making a mistake. By the time you were finished, he looked like a canvas painted by a child, but he didn’t have the heart to tell you that.

He used to think that it was strange. You were skilled at nearly everything you committed yourself to, without even trying.

When he thinks back on it, maybe it wasn’t skill; maybe it was just an ingrained fear of failure that drove you to become the best at what you did.

Then again, your worst could never be the worst in his eyes.

You finish his eyes, and when he looks up at you, he sees the same determination and focus in your eyes as he did that day. It’s the same look you have when you’re targeting something, be it an enemy or a point of interest. It’s always the same.

And he can’t look away.

You move onto the crossbones next, and he’s happy he won’t have to close his eyes for this one. He’s not certain you can pull off his iconic look, but he’ll give you the benefit of the doubt for now.

After all, you strive for perfection. He doubts this will be an exception.

Get it? Perfection and except— You know what? Nevermind.

He can feel your attention in every stroke of the brush, feel the white paint glisten on his skin before it dries. Your warmth lingers like burning embers, he feels like getting too close will burn him, yet he wants nothing more than blisters upon his skin.

He looks at you, looks into your focused eyes, and he feels … something tightening, back where his body is. It could be his stomach, his head… other places, but he can’t tell. Arlong’s been busy abusing his body long enough that he can’t differentiate between a kick or a punch anymore.

But this isn’t Arlong.

It’s you.

He can handle a tight body if it’s because of you.

When he was young, and his body began to work in the way of a man, he would sometimes wake up and feel sweaty and … stiff. He knew enough to know what it was, to know what caused it, but he didn’t know how to approach the situation.

He knew the source of his frustrations. He knew how to alleviate them, but he didn’t. He respected you far too much to ever dare cross the threshold. He figured that simply talking to you, simply holding your hand, and being at your side would be enough. He would be content with just that.

But he watched you … develop. It didn’t seem like such a big deal at the time, but he couldn’t help but marvel at the sight. He imagined feeling your flesh under his digits. The softness across your chest and hips. The warm skin.

He looks at you now, sees the scars peeking from under your shirt, on your face, and he wants to feel the rough edges.

Buggy gulps and he’s rather happy now that the rest of his body is not attached to him. He’s lost enough dignity as it is.

“And now, the mouth.”

Yes, he wants to touch that t—

You take the lipstick, and in a straight line, smear it across his mouth in a way that snaps him out of his thoughts. He can feel the warmth emitting from your thumb as you finish his face, and it takes him half a mind not to—

“Done.”

Disappointment lingers in the clown’s visage, and even when you present him a mirror and see the identical likeness to his wanted posters, it does not alleviate the feeling. For what it's worth, he's impressed with how far your make-up-applying skills have reached since last time.

It's perfect.

But it means you’re done, and the nobodies require his flashy expertise to get Miss Ginger back.

You dump the discolored water out and put the rest of the equipment away, and he feels his head weigh another ten pounds at so. He somewhat hopes it would; maybe it would be heavy enough that you wouldn’t bother carrying him up the deck?

… Oh, who is he kidding? It’s you. You won’t have any trouble in that department even if he were to weigh as much as a boulder. Ten boulders, even.

To his surprise, instead of reaching for him, you lounge back into your seat and nonchalantly cross your arms and ankles. He’s confused. Weren’t you going to go up with him already?

“If Zoro needs you, he can get you himself.”

That’s what you’ll leave it be like. He, freshly washed, dried, and painted. You, just casually sitting like you have no urgency to get back to the world.

“He’ll be pissed at you,” Buggy warns. “And probably threaten to throw you into the sea.”

You shrug, your eyes already closed, giving him no indication whatsoever that you’re particularly concerned with the veryscary swordsman. He grins with all his teeth on show.

Unfortunately, the green-haired asshole turns up not even five minutes later. All but ripping the clown by the roots of his hair and taking him away like a sack of flour. Buggy spews curses and threats, but they all fall on deaf ears.

It’s only when he’s positioned on deck that he’s finally free of his torment, if only for an hour or two. He begrudgingly instructs the long-nosed slingshot where to sail, adding a few creative insults along the way. Hey, it’s not Buggy’s fault they’re too easy to rile up.

“Is that long nose compensating for something?”

To which he earned a slap to the back of his head. From whom, he doesn’t know, but he’ll take his victories in whatever light weight they come in.

After a while, he shifts his head to eject another insult to the slingshot when he sees that you’re standing a few feet away, your arms crossed while leaning against the railing; eyes closed but face focused and attentive.

He cuts his verbal daggers down a notch.

It gets late, the sky darkens, and one after another, the crew members resign to their chambers save for the slingshot, who still insists on going for a while longer. Him, and you, surprisingly enough.

You stay, for all of it; neither complaining nor muttering a sound.

You're stoically positioned on the sidelines, hardly moving at all. He would've died if he'd been standing in the same position for more than one hour, but you endured a total of six without a shiver or a strain. Like a soldier in the rain. A monk in a temple of thorns.

A beast in an empty forest, lonesome in its hunger, yet content with what content remains buried in its stomach for the time being.

Long-nosed slingshot finally calls it a night and withdraws from the steering wheel with his hands outreached for the head. Before his dirty fingers can hope to graze the magnificent head that is Buggy's, you stretch your arm out like a shield between them.

"I'll take him."

Slingshot snorts. "Really? You want to?"

"Do you want to?"

With his hands raised in mock surrender, Slingshot relents. "... Fine, be my guest."

With a nod, you take the head and retire back to your chamber on the ship. Buggy yawns in your arms, tired, but satisfied with the warmth embracing him. Your steps feel like waves with each one you take, nudging him further and further toward the edge of sleep. Only unadulterated stubbornness keeps him awake.

It darkens for a moment. When he rouses back, he feels softness underneath him. A pillow of sorts, not comforting enough to offer him sleep, but enough to keep him relaxed.

He nudges around, like a fish in a small bowl, only to find that he's not on the table, nor in a barrel, nor a bag. The surface beneath him is made of fabric, and swings with his movements.

He's in a hammock.

More precisely, your hammock.

“Sleep.” He hears your command.

He finally locates you, seated by the window of your cabin with your palm under your chin, staring out into the darkened ocean.

He turns, voice diluted with drowsiness. “You too…”

“Soon.”

“Now," he almost whines.

The look you give him is not any different from the kind you usually provide, but it lacks the usual undertone of annoyance. He can tell you're tired, even if you're refusing to show it. The shadows under your eyes stand out more prominently, even in the dimmed candlelight.

With an inaudible sigh, you stand and while he expects you to move towards the hammock, he's disappointed to see you aiming towards the door instead.

"H-Hey, where are you going?"

"The kitchens," you respond. "You can sleep here for the night; I'll take the couch."

"That's not necessary!" He wiggles so that he can look at you from over the edge of the hammock, careful as not to fall from the height. A thought dawns over him, one that makes his cheeks feel warm. "We- We can share! I don't take a lot of space!"

"You still take up too much of it."

"Are you calling me fat?!"

He's almost insulted when you don't answer to contradict his assumption, yet despite the innate urge to defend his honor and spew shit at you, he decides to let it slide.

"C'mon! I promise I'll behave," he tries again. "You'll hardly notice me. Those couches suck balls anyway, so why not?"

He watches you give it some thought for probably a good two minutes. He expects you'll decline his proposition, finding that your own pride weighs more than the need for decent sleep.

Then, you lower your shoulders in defeat and make your way over to the hammock. "Scoot over."

He obliges rather excitedly, and when he wiggles back a bit too much to make space, he can feel gravity threaten to drop him on the other side of the hammock. Before it gets to that point, you grab him by the side of his face and hold him until you can lift yourself and lay down.

Only then do you lay him down, on the right side of your abdomen. He's mindful of the wounds that have yet to heal there, so he tries not to invade too much. Still, he can't deny, he's quite comfortable. Very comfortable.

He's the most comfortable he's been in a long time - twenty years.

He surpasses the urge to push closer to you, share your warmth, and elects to look up at the ceiling instead.

"Hope you don't snore," he jokes, only to have a yawn follow promptly behind.

"I don't snore," you answer, deadpan. "Now go to sleep."

He's not convinced, but he doesn't comment on it. This peace hangs by a thread, and he'll be damned if it's cut short now of all times. He shuts his eyes, and in his dreams, he's presented with the sun on the blue skies above.

He feels warm all over.

----

Taglist: @kurinhimenezu, @carpinchootaku, @ay0nha, @teh-vampire-bunny, @lokiscure, @internationalsuper-spy, @detectivesparrow , @yuriwk , @notyuralycat, @angeli-fucking-cat, @machinema7k , @shuujin, @avatar-lover, @gingernut1314, @autumn-slaves. @marvelouskatie, @floristoflillys, @dizzyenby, @redpool, @deliri-yum22, @aemondsb1tch, @ackroxia, @gayandfairycore, @knightsfavoriteprincess, @asterizee, @aamethyst23, @lizzie1107, @cyberwears, @heylookliisten, @f41k47, @beep-beep1, @crimsonflameproxy, @unpopular-sober-thoughts, @rayleeya, @timeladyrikaofgallifrey, @fanshavegottensotoxic, @fluffybunnyu, @sirenmelody23

(If you want to be tagged for this story, just send me a message or leave a comment :))

(Additionally, some sketches of how I imagine Cross-Hairs to look like while I’m writing.)

#buggy the clown #buggy x reader #one piece live action #buggy the clown x reader #one piece #one piece x reader #buggy one piece #buggy x you #buggy the clown fanfiction #buggy x female reader #DMTMYHB #didn’t mean to make your heart blue

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hyuuukais · 9 months

Text

✧˖°ʚ🍓ɞ♡ SUNSHINE AND STRAWBERRIES

pairing ☆ lee felix x fem reader

synopsis ☆ Y/N is a new streamer. after months of planning, and her best friend & now fellow streamer han jisung convincing her, she makes a twitch and youtube account. thanks to jisung giving her a shoutout to his own huge following, she gains some unexpected overnight fame. but what was more unexpected was waking up to see her long-time favourite comfort streamer _sunshine.bbokari_ following her.

warnings ☆ anxiety mention

[TAGLIST -> CLOSED]

MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS | NEXT

☆ fully written chapter ☆

CHAPTER THIRTY ☆ WAIT

You met the next day at the park by your apartment.

Not a lot of people were out, though the weather was nice. There was a light breeze, causing your hair to get caught in your mouth a few times, and making it cool enough to keep wearing the sweater/sweatpants combo you'd been wearing for the last week.

There was plenty of time for you to calm your nerves before Felix showed up; you had a habit of being early. You sit on a bench by a small pond, watching the ducks with a small smile. Though nothing could fully distract you from what was about to happen.

All night, you played it through your head: Felix would show up, and before he could say anything you'd do it. You'd break up with him. And then you'd go, leaving no room for argument or objection. The plan was far from solid, but it's what you had to do.

Sudden movement beside you breaks you away from your thoughts, looking beside you to see Felix sit down on the bench next to you. He stares straight ahead, the only acknowledgement being a small nod in your direction. Your plan dissolved the second he sat down and the two of you sat in silence for the better part of an hour until you couldn't bear it any longer.

"Felix I-"

"Wait," He holds up a hand. "Just... wait."

Taking a deep breath, he turns to look at you directly. Now you could see the dark circles under his eyes, the tired expression. Your heart broke further. This past week had been hard for you, and you didn't even stop to think how hard it might have been for him.

But why would he be? You think. He's not the one desperately in love.

"If you- if you really think we should break up, then I need to tell you something." He runs a hand through his hair nervously, turning his body on the bench to face you better. "I don't want to stay friends. No- I can't stay friends."

Your lip quivered, but you stay silent, allowing him to continue. He looks away from you again, taking a shaky breath. You could almost see an internal debate in his eyes, anticipating what he'll say next.

"Y/N, I'm in love with you," He says, voice breaking just the slightest.

There it was. Confession out in the open. Felix felt relieved to had finally said it, but all you could feel was increasing anxiety.

"You- you what?"

"I understand if you don't feel the same way, since this whole relationship was supposed to be just a ruse," He lets out a half-hearted laugh, looking down at his hands, fingers playing with his rings. "In fact, maybe it's best to leave it like this. I know you don't feel the same, but I've fallen so, so hard for you Y/N, harder than I ever thought I could. I've never felt this way about anybody before and I thought maybe, just maybe, if I was the best fake boyfriend you could've asked for, you'd fall for me too. Clearly that didn't work."

He shakes his head, his lips turned down in a frown, sniffing hard and trying to prevent tears from falling. Even now, heartbroken, he still looked so beautiful.

"So I guess this is goodbye," He hesitantly makes eye contact with you, and your chest tightens. "It was good while it lasted, I hope it was for you too."

As he stands to leave, your own tears began to fall. You hadn't even noticed them building up.

Felix was getting further away and the sky grew cloudy, mimicking the feeling in your chest. He was almost out of sight when the rain began and you made your decision.

He was in love with you.

You were in love with him.

So why in the world were you breaking up?

The next few moments felt like a movie.

You run, right down to the end of the path where you found Felix walking home, grabbing his arm. He flinches at the sudden action, eyes softening just a bit when he saw it was you. Tears streaked his cheeks, mixing with the light rain, freckles shining. Thunder rumbles in the distance, but the oncoming storm was the last thing on your mind.

"Y/N-"

"I'm in love with you too."

☆~☆~☆

notes ☆ soooo that happened!!! i hate to do this, but i'm not sure when i'll be able to update next as i'll be super busy this upcoming week! but hopefully it won't be too long until the next one. tysm for all the love and support for this smau! i can't believe it's getting so close to the end... but dw!!! i have lots of other ideas for fics after this one ❤

taglist ☆ @marcillfll @toplinelix @neri-ner @tfshouldidohere @imasimplol @samvagejkflxhrt @yennifersgeralt @aestheticsluut @cherryuqii @tenebrisirae @roseidol @veryjeongintxtkid @amara-mars @chrizzlaptop @bmnyy @sheeshhhhfelixsworld @ellelabelle @gini143 @mrsseals16 @veedoesntknaur @channiesstars @daydreamer5006 @luvvvash @amesification @skzswife @blamemef0rit @soulphoenix1618 @lovingmny @stvrfir3 @boo-ven9eance @adestayskz @rag-iii @enchantedgrunge @mytherapisttoldmenotto @strawberry-dreamland @oh-my-fancan @lucktales @cookielino @fantasyaddict123 @sleeplessmin @alexxxxxthebitxh @flirtyskzbutterfly @vixensss @hannahs-docx @hash2013 @jellsxox @sserafimez @theblindhag @httphans @hannahhbahng

pink means i can't tag u

#✧˖°ʚ🍓ɞ♡ SUNSHINE AND STRAWBERRIES #skz #stray kids #skz smau #social media au #lee felix x reader #stray kids smau #lee felix #lee felix x fem reader #non idol felix #non idol au #stray kids streamer au #felix streamer au #streamer au #smau

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lullabyes22-blog · 3 months

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Snippet - Jayce Goes Sleuthing - Forward, but Never Forget/XOXO

In the wake of Vi's departure, and Viktor's defection, Jayce's life falls apart.

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

"Consider carefully. The Man of Tomorrow, Piltover's brightest mind, would look pretty dim in a prison jumpsuit."

Snippet:

Caitlyn—

I got your message this morning. I'm sorry it's taken so long to write. It's been a crazy couple of weeks. Not sure where to begin, so I guess I'll start with the most important thing:

I've resigned from the Council.

As of last week, I'm no longer a Councilor. Just a regular citizen. I know the news isn't official yet. There will be a special announcement later this week. It's pretty short-notice. I'm sure the media will have a field day.

Your Mother knows; I'm surprised she didn't tell you. Then again, the Council's been busy scrambling to find a replacement for Professor Heimerdinger. They've been hogtied in a bunch of other issues since Zaun's independence, too. There's been nothing but emergency sessions with the Zaunite Cabinet. So it's possible she didn't get a chance.

The motion for me to step down was unanimous. It's the right choice, and I'm at peace with it.

I'm sorry to hear about yours and Violet's split. It sounds like the two of you had a good thing going. She and I didn't really see eye to eye. But you seemed to care for her a lot. I had no idea there was a Peacekeeper Exchange Initiative happening—or that she'd been reassigned to Zaun. I saw no preliminary memos on the matter. If I had, maybe I could've done something to prevent it.

Then again, I've been so distracted lately. It wouldn't have surprised me if a hundred things slipped under my radar.

I understand you're concerned for her safety. Near as my old contacts in the Council can tell me, her transfer has been approved. They've already conducted the ceremonial swearing-in, and the inaugural Peacekeeper Exchange Initiative has officially begun. They've been granted interim residency until the next rotation, six months from now.

There's not much that can be done to stop it. At least, not in the legal sense. My authority to intervene has run its course. And if the Council's being tightlipped, then Silco's people are pathologically silent. The details of Violet's reassignment—where she'll stay, her duties, her work schedule—is all being kept private.

I'm sorry, Cait. You're the last person who deserves this kind of heartbreak.

You've asked me to confront Mel. To convince her to stop Vi's transfer, or pull the plug on the whole project.

Sadly, I can't do either of those things.

Mel and I are no longer together. It was a mutual decision. She's no longer my mentor, and I'm no longer her protégé. She's made her position on forging diplomatic ties with Zaun's First Chancellor clear. I've made equally clear my distaste on trying to spin blood money into gold. We're both determined to follow through, and I don't see a way of changing that.

Guess it's heartbreaks all around, huh?

Maybe it's necessary. Maybe we're supposed to hurt so we can grow. I think I've gotten a little too comfortable in my cushy Council chair. It's high time I got back to the grind. I wanted to build a better world. That means I need to put the work in at HexCorp to make it happen.

We'll get through this, Cait. You and me. Let's meet up once things have calmed down. I miss our talks. I need some sane company after weeks of listening to politicians bicker.

If there's anything I can do, please let me know.

Fondly,

Jayce

Cait—

Viktor's gone.

He's been missing since last Wednesday. The reason the Enforcers haven't been informed yet is because the Council is keeping it under wraps. But they've alerted the Wardens, and they're conducting a private investigation. Viktor's notes are gone from the lab. His apartment has been ransacked. All the Hex-tech prototypes are missing.

So is the Hexcore.

I'm worried. Not because the Hexcore could be turned into a weapon of mass destruction. Viktor's been under a great deal of strain. He's not well. I don't want him getting hurt. The fact that all his research has been taken—it makes no sense. He could've been abducted, but there's no ransom note. None of his assistants noticed any signs of foul play.

There's also been no sightings of Sky Young. Or any traces of her remains.

Cait—I don't want to add to your troubles. But I don't know who else to share this with. I trust you. I value your insight.

And the truth is, I'm a little scared.

The Wardens are suggesting Viktor's gone rogue. More than that. They're speculating that he may be linked to Sky's disappearance. Their inquisitor told me that his behavior during their last interrogation was erratic. That he'd showed signs of paranoia. That he'd withheld key details about Sky's last hours, and lied about the last time he'd seen her.

They're considering the possibility that Viktor was involved in her disappearance.

Cait—I think it's bullshit. Viktor wouldn't harm a fly. He's one of the gentlest souls I've ever known. He's dedicated his life to serving Piltover, and making it a better place. And he’s known Sky since they were children. I never saw anything but respect between them. Her disappearance hit him hard. I was with him when the preliminary investigation was being conducted.

I can tell you: he wasn't faking his grief.

Something else is going on. I don't know what.

But I'm going to find out.

In the meantime, I'm sorry I can't be of more help with tracking down Violet. I don't have any pull with the Wardens, or Silco's administration. And my contacts on the Council won't talk. Try reaching out to your mother. She's the only one I know who can reasonably intervene. At the very least, she can get her sources to conduct a quiet search.

I know it's not the solution you wanted. I know the stakes are high.

I just want you to know you're not alone.

Warm regards,

Jayce

Caitlyn—

It's late, and I know you're probably sleeping. Still, I had to write. Something happened tonight.

The Wardens found Viktor.

He's been located in Zaun. Specifically, at the headquarters of First Chancellor Silco. They're claiming he's defected. What's more, they're stating that he's in collaboration with a notorious chemist, formerly known as Colin Reveck, but currently known as "Singed." The doctor has a record for performing unethical experiments.

He's also rumored to be responsible for the creation of Shimmer.

The Wardens received clearance to access Viktor's medical records. They found traces of Shimmer in his blood samples. Apparently, Viktor's been on the drug for months. He's been hiding the side-effects. There is evidence that he's been taking massive doses. It's been compromising his mind.

And now, according to the Wardens, he's a wanted fugitive.

Sky Young's DNA has been found on his personal belongings.

I can't believe it, Cait. This isn't the man I know. Viktor would never harm Sky. Never. And with his medical condition, he'd be too weak to physically attack her. As for the Shimmer—he's always been adamant about never touching drugs. Or stimulants of any kind. One cup of caffeine was enough to get him buzzed.

He wouldn't take that poison, even in his darkest hours.

Something isn't adding up.

The Council are currently in talks with Zaun's Cabinet. They're demanding that Viktor and the Hexcore be handed over. The Wardens are pushing for extradition. Mel has been trying—unsuccessfully—to reach First Chancellor Silco. He's been unavailable since last afternoon.

This is bad.

I've got a sinking feeling. Viktor's research—the Hexcore—it's the key to unlocking a whole stratum of potential weaponry. The fact that he's now in Zaun, under Silco’s aegis, isn't a coincidence. Silco's notoriously secretive, but we know that he has an extensive network of spies and informants. If he saw a chance to use Viktor's illness against him, and profit off his genius, he'd seize it without a second thought.

That's exactly what I think is happening.

Viktor's not a criminal. And he didn't disappear of his own volition. Silco must've had a hand in it.

I'm going to figure out how.

Take care of yourself, okay? Please. I've already lost my brother. I can't lose my best friend too.

Be safe. I'll keep in touch.

Jayce

Cait—

Sorry I took off so early yesterday. There was no time. The Council had an emergency meeting with HexCorp, and I was summoned as its representative.

Things have escalated. Zaun's Cabinet has denied extradition. They claim that Viktor's entry into Zaun was perfectly legal. What's more, they state that the Hexcore, as one of Viktor's primary inventions, is his to take wherever he chooses. They even claim that the Hexcore is a prototype and, therefore, not an official piece of HexCorp's patented technology.

I'd expected the Council to push back. Instead—and I can't believe I'm writing this—they've acquiesced.

I was speechless.

The Council's position is that, as a scientist, Viktor has a right to his intellectual property. I argued that we'd both worked on the Hexcore as a team. Therefore, it was ours. They pointed to our original patent agreement, and the fine print that gives us equal, but not joint, ownership. They also reminded me that, as Viktor was from the Fissures, he was legally a foreigner under Piltover's laws.

I remember, during my tenure as a Councilor, pushing for months to get that stupid provision removed, and having my proposal shot down.

Now it's bit the entire city in the ass.

Cait—I'm ashamed to say it. But I lost my temper. In the middle of the meeting, I slammed my fist on the table and demanded to know why the hell they were backing down. Didn't we have the resources, and the right, to protect those who'd served us? Even if Viktor had exited under a cloud, didn't his deteriorating health and the danger the Hexcore posed justify both their retrieval?

Why, I wanted to know, weren't they summoning Silco here to account for his actions? Why weren't they threatening his administration with military force if he refused to cooperate? Didn't he owe us an explanation as to how our greatest innovator had come into contact with him?

It was Mel who answered. She explained that Silco's administration is a sovereign entity. We don't have the authority to demand an audience, nor the leverage to force his cooperation. We're not even legally bound to warn him. Zaun's Cabinet has the right to act independently of our influence. And, as for Silco's personal agenda, that is beyond the Council's purview. He's not obliged to share his secrets. It's his prerogative, not ours.

In other words, we don't have a leg to stand on.

I was so mad. So mad. I couldn't believe it. I couldn't believe them. It was the same shit I'd had to deal with when I'd first been nominated as Councilor. Except that time, it was the bureaucracy that was hamstringing me. This time, it's the people who I worked with. People who swore to protect our citizens. Who pledged to defend Piltover's principles.

And who are now acting like cowards, unwilling to do what's necessary.

I called them on it. In front of the entire assembly. I asked them where their courage had gone. Why they weren't fighting. Why they weren't even trying. Was this what Piltover was going to become? A society that allowed its greatest minds to be suborned? What the hell were they planning to do when the next inventor came under Silco's spell? Were they going to give up then, too?

The meeting ended shortly afterwards.

Mel tried to catch me in the hallway, but I was having none of it. She cornered me by the stairs. She wanted to know if I'd reconsider resigning. If we could talk.

I'll admit I was tempted. I haven't seen her since our split, and it's been hard. I miss her. It'd be nice to just hold her, even for a few minutes. To feel sane again. Safe. I know we can't rekindle things. Not with her position, and mine. But a hug, a kiss, some conversation...anything would've been good.

I turned her down.

I said we had nothing to discuss. That she'd made her position clear, and it was not one I agreed with. I asked her what the point of continuing the conversation was if we couldn't agree on the most fundamental matters. If we'd end up arguing over the same things again. I didn't have time for it. My focus had to be on Viktor. On finding a way to bring him home. And if she wasn't willing to help, then we had nothing else to talk about.

She told me I was being foolish. That I'd let my emotions blind me. That my stubbornness was going to be the death of me.

I told her I was fine with that. Because the alternative would be dying inside. That I wasn't willing to let Silco's take everything from me.

Especially not Viktor.

Cait, let's meet. Soon. We've got a lot to discuss. And I can't do this alone.

Jayce.

Cait—

This is going to be a quick one.

The Council and Zaun's Cabinet have arranged a summit. It's slated for next week. Silco is going to attend. We'll be discussing the terms for Viktor's return, and the repatriation of the Hexcore. Mel has been working to make it happen. It's the first sign of progress. It gives me hope. And it's a chance for me to confront Silco directly.

I'm not going to rest until Viktor's back where he belongs.

I'll ask Silco about Violet. I'll corner him in private, if I have to. I'm not sure how the two of them are connected. If they are, at all. But it can't hurt. And the more I can get him talking, the more opportunities I'll have to figure out what the hell is really going on. What he wants. And why.

I'll send a follow-up letter once I've got more information.

Stay strong. And, whatever happens, please don't lose faith. Piltover needs your courage. So do I.

Jayce.

Caitlyn,

I'm so sorry. I need to vent. Too much has happened.

Viktor's staying in Zaun.

So is the Hexcore.

Negotiations fell through. I don't know why. Silco showed up, and he was civil. More than that, actually. He was polite. He shook hands. He thanked the Council for reaching out, and expressed his appreciation at their willingness to compromise. He'd brought along his Deputy and a few members his Cabinet. They were well-dressed, professional. I was impressed. I was relieved. I'd come prepared to do battle, but he seemed determined to cooperate.

Then it all went to shit.

Cait, I can't explain it. But the whole thing felt... staged. Like Silco already knew how it was going to end. Like the Council had already signed off on some private deal, and were simply going through the motions. Mel opened with the usual pleasantries. She asked Silco about his health. His administration. His relationship with Zaun's citizens.

The latter question was a nod to me. A subtle signal that she was leaving the floor open for me to address him.

I did. I'd been preparing for weeks. I'd even gone over my questions with some of the other Councilors. They'd all agreed that the issue had to be addressed. If the Council was serious about building diplomatic ties, and creating a sustainable rapport with Zaun, then Silco's conduct had to be taken seriously. And he couldn't be given an inch.

He needed to be confronted.

So, as soon as the pleasantries were finished, I asked him what his plans were for the Hexcore. For the Peacekeeper Exchange Initiative. Why, if he was a man of the people, was he taking a magical relic that was potentially volatile out of our control? How was it serving his citizens, or the people who'd been entrusted to his care? How was it serving his principles?

And, most importantly, where the hell was Viktor, and what the hell was his game?

Silco smiled.

The bastard actually smiled.

Then he showed me a letter, in Viktor's handwriting, addressed to the Council. It stated that, because of his deteriorating health, he'd chosen to relocate back home. He wrote that there was only so much treatment the doctors at Piltover could provide. Eventually, he'd need more intensive care. And, as a Zaunite, he was entitled access to the physician of his choosing.

His physician was Colin Reveck.

Singed.

Apparently, if Viktor's letter was to be believed, Singed had known Viktor for years. As a chemist, he had a keen understanding of the disease affecting Viktor's lungs. And he'd been working with him on an experimental treatment. That was the reason Shimmer was in Viktor's bloodstream.

It was an integral part of the therapy. Without it, he'd have died long ago.

Silco also presented records of his conversations with Viktor, during which Viktor had confessed to feeling ostracized in Piltover. To having been made to feel bypassed, not only by the Council, but by his own peers.

By me.

Sky's disappearance had hit him hard, and the strain of maintaining his career and his health had left him emotionally depleted. He'd been forced to make a choice, and he'd chosen life.

He'd chosen Zaun.

I demanded proof. I said there was no way Viktor would write a letter like that. That there was no way he'd willingly choose to work with someone like Singed. He'd always despised putting morality aside for progress. He'd never approved of using animals as test subjects. Or people. I accused Silco of lying. Of blackmailing Viktor, or worse.

Silco showed me a photo.

I'll spare you the worse details. It was Viktor, yes. Definitely him. But the man in the picture looked nothing like my friend. He was... augmented. All over. He had metal plates across his face. There are mechanical appendages in place of his hands. There's gears, and cogs, and wires, on his torso. His throat is encased in a tube, and there is an equalizer outfitted to his chest.

Even his eyes are different. They're no longer his natural color. They're yellow and black. Like hazard lights.

And they glow.

Cait, it was like something out of a nightmare. He looked—he looked like an automaton. Like a cyborg. It wasn't a person anymore. It was a machine. Something created by a mad scientist, and brought to life by evil sorcery.

The timestamp on the photo was two weeks ago. When Viktor was first reported missing. That meant that, between then and now, Viktor had undergone a terrible transformation.

He'd become something inhuman.

Cait, I've known Viktor for years. I've known him better than anyone. But right then, I didn't recognize him. Not even a little bit. And, when I looked up at Silco, I saw him watching me. Watching the horror in my face. Smiling.

Smiling like the Devil himself.

I could've hit him. I would've hit him. Right then and there. But the Councilors intervened. Their security pulled me back. Mel tried to talk me down, but I was too furious. I couldn't believe what I'd seen. I couldn't believe he'd had the nerve to show it. To shove it in our faces. I couldn't believe the Viktor he'd shown me was real.

But it was.

The photograph's been vetted. It's the real deal. So is Viktor's signature. His handwriting hasn't changed. It's been matched to several official documents. His letter, which was accompanied by a medical report from Singed, has also been examined. And, while we've been unable to corroborate its contents, the letter itself has passed a rigorous authenticity test.

Viktor is alive.

And he's staying in Zaun. Under Silco's care.

He's been provided an apartment, a generous stipend, and a state-of-the-art lab. He's been placed in charge of an expanding Hex and chem-tech research division, and given a team of assistants. He's been granted unrestricted access to Zaun's medical facilities for his treatment, and all the resources necessary to conduct his experiments.

All of which are in collaboration with Singed.

There's nothing we can do, Cait. Absolutely nothing. Silco's got him locked in a golden cage. He's using Viktor's genius to advance his agenda, and the fact that he's been augmented is proof that he's not above forcing him into compliance.

Viktor's a casualty. And we're the ones who lost him.

It's all my fault.

They've scheduled a forty-five-minute recess. We'll take a break, then resume for the next session. After that, there'll be a dinner. And more discussions. I can't. I just can't. This is all wrong. Everything. My best friend is gone. Mel and I are no longer together. And the Council. They've failed. Failed us. Failed the city. Failed Viktor.

And something tells me it's going to get a whole lot worse.

Cait, please be patient. I still need to ask Silco about Violet. And I'll do everything I can. You have my word.

Jayce.

Cait—

The summit's over. Silco and his people have left.

And good riddance. I never want to see his rotten face again.

Cait, the whole thing was a sham. A total sham. From beginning to end. Nothing meaningful came out of the meetings. Silco didn't answer a single question. The Council wouldn't hold him to account. Instead, they started discussing the crisis as if it was a business merger. As if it was some kind of deal to be brokered, and a mutually beneficial arrangement to be made.

Silco had the gall to suggest a compromise. He said that Viktor, as a Zaunite, should be allowed to continue his research on the Hexcore. In return, the Council will be permitted to oversee his future Hextech projects. Both cities will collaborate to conduct a monthly audit via a joint Oversight Committee. They'd guarantee a set number of patents, and a share of the profits, and even provide funding for further innovations.

I argued that this was unacceptable. It would give the Council no actual leverage, and would only make them complicit in Viktor's subjugation. That they'd be signing a blank check. And that, by working with Silco, we'd be condoning his crimes.

The Council said nothing. They didn't support me. They didn't even try.

Mel agreed with Silco.

I couldn't believe it. I still can't believe it, Cait. She sided with him. With him!

She said the Council had to think long-term, and that, if we wanted peace, we needed to start acting like the world leaders we claimed to be. She pointed to the economic benefits, and the opportunities the new alliance could create. She reminded everyone that Viktor was a free man, and that he was the one who'd made the decision.

As far as she was concerned, it was his right.

I was outraged. I told her this wasn't the time for political theater or corporate speak. This was a human being's life we were talking about. And Viktor wasn't free. He was a hostage. If the Council really wanted to serve their citizens, they'd stand up to Silco. They'd demand the repatriation of the Hexcore. Then they'd demand Viktor's release.

And they'd use every means possible to get him back.

Then Silco dropped a bombshell.

He said, as thanks for the Council's cooperation in facilitating Viktor's "return" to Zaun, he'd make a gesture of goodwill. He'd draft legislation to outlaw the production of Shimmer as a narcotic, and to ban its distribution for recreational purposes. And, to prove his intentions were sincere, he'd have the new law approved by a vote, and the legislation made public. Only medicinal uses, he stressed, would remain legal.

The Council, he went on to suggest, could enact a blanket embargo on Shimmer's importation. Points of entry would be monitored, and Piltover would take steps to crack down on illegal trafficking. It would send a message to Piltover's allies, that Zaun was serious about pursuing the path of legitimacy. And that its partnership with Piltover was a symbol of that intent.

I was shocked.

So was Mel. And the rest of the Council. This wasn't what anyone had been expecting. This wasn't the Silco we'd known. He was offering to put himself in our debt. To cut ties with the illegal drug trade, and to allow the Council the opportunity to enforce sanctions against bad actors.

It was a major concession. It would effectively eliminate a key revenue stream in Silco's operation, and cripple the underworld's most valuable market.

Cait, I'll admit it.

I didn't see the trap until it was too late.

Silco doesn't need to distribute Shimmer within his city anymore. Because he's got the Hexcore. And it's capable of making breakthroughs in science and magic, beyond anything we've ever known. He's got some of the world's greatest innovators under his thumb. The only limits are their imaginations.

With the fruits of their labor—and the Council's backing—investors will flock to Zaun. Capital will pour in. The city will grow. Its economy will flourish.

No drugs needed.

I was the only one who spoke out against it. I felt like a complete jerk. But I had to state my case. I argued that the Council had to consider the risks. That we couldn't trust Silco, no matter how immaculately he dressed up his proposal. Who was to say he wouldn't take the Council's investment and put it into other ventures? What if he began funneling the investors' coin, and used it to finance bioweapons? What if he turned Zaun into an armory, right under Piltover's feet?

And, even if he did give up the drug trade, what about his human trafficking? His smuggling? The brothels, and the illegal casinos, and the underground fighting pits?

What about his ties to organized crime?

The Council dismissed my concerns.

They were eager. Eager to shake hands. Eager to sign on the dotted line. Eager to move forward.

The deal, Mel explained, would be the cornerstone of a lasting relationship between Zaun and Piltover. The Council's approval was vital. It would lend a stamp of legitimacy to Zaun's new order. And, she stated, it was the only way to avoid future conflict.

I was disgusted.

She was trying to sell the summit as a success. Like we hadn't given up a critical piece of our national defense, and put it into the hands of a foreign dictator. Like Silco hadn't blackmailed Viktor, or taken advantage of his illness, or exploited his vulnerability. Like he wasn't an abusive tyrant who ruled by fear, and murdered in cold blood.

Like he hadn't just gotten away with everything.

Cait, I can't tell you what happened. I don't have the words. I was angry. So, so angry. And disappointed. With the Council. With Mel. With myself. I couldn't stand to be there a moment longer.

So I walked out.

After the summit, I waited to catch Silco in the lobby. He was heading towards his limo. There were no security personnel. Just him and his Deputy Chancellor and a blackguard. He was smoking a cigar, and strolling like a man with all the time in the world.

I didn't say a word. I didn't hesitate. I grabbed him and pinned him against the wall.

I told him he had a choice. Either he could hand over Viktor and the Hexcore, or I'd beat the truth out of him.

The bastard smiled. He smiled at me.

Then he said, "Pet."

Someone grabbed me from behind. An arm went around my throat. A hand wrenched my elbow behind my back. I struggled, but couldn't break free. The grip was like iron. I half-turned, expecting to see Silco's Deputy. It was the blackguard.

Cait...

It was Violet.

She was in a full-on bodyguard get-up. Black suit. Black shirt. Black visor. Black boots. Her was cropped short, and she'd gained muscle. She looked lean, and hard, and strong.

Like a soldier.

She didn't say a word. She kept me in a sleeper hold, until the Deputy arrived with security. I don't know how many Councilors saw me in that position. I don't know what they must've been thinking, or what they must’ve been saying.

I was seeing stars. I was dizzy. I could barely breathe.

Then Silco said, "Drop him."

Violet obeyed.

When I came to, I was on my knees. My neck hurt. My arm hurt. My head was pounding. It was hard to focus. Then two steel-tipped boots materialized in my line of sight. I looked up, and there was Silco, staring down at me.

He was calm. Collected. Completely at ease.

"You'll have to forgive her," he said. "She's still being trained."

Cait, he knew.

He knew I'd ask him about Violet. He knew you'd placed inquiries looking for her. He knew we were concerned for her wellbeing.

So he'd had her accompany him to the summit, as a deliberate provocation.

He was taunting us both.

"I'd advise you, as a personal favor, to not try this again," he said. "If you do, you may find the outcome... less forgiving."

I told him to go fuck himself.

I think he smiled. It's hard to remember.

With a fingertip, he gestured Violet over. She came. I'll never forget that. The way she obeyed. Without hesitation. Without question. Not once did she acknowledge my presence. I still remember when I'd drop by for tea sometimes at your flat, and she'd scowl when she saw me. Or roll her eyes. Or say, "Oh, look. Pretty-Boy's here."

There was none of that. Nothing. Just total silence.

Total obedience.

Then Silco took her by the chin.

"There's a good girl," he said, and stroked her cheek.

It made my skin crawl.

I told myself it was because of Silco. Since the Siege, I'd been looking into his past, and there's enough material in the dossiers to turn your blood to icewater. I can't imagine the psychic price of serving that monster. I can't even imagine the pressure of being a blackguard at his beck-and-call.

I told myself it was the thought of Violet at his mercy, night after night. I told myself it was because she'd lost her autonomy. That she was trapped. That she was under duress.

I told myself that's why my gut was churning.

I'm sorry, Cait.

That's not the truth.

The truth is, I wasn't scared of Silco.

I was scared of Violet.

No—I was terrified.

Cait—there was a look in her eyes. I don't know how to describe it. A coldness, almost. Like she wasn't seeing me, or the Deputy, or anyone. Only Silco. She didn't flinch when he touched her. She didn't even blink. She was completely unmoved. Like a soldier on the parade ground.

Like a weapon waiting to open fire.

The limo pulled up. Silco and his Deputy got inside. I remember Vi holding the door open for them. And I remember her turning, one last time, to look at me.

There was nothing in her face. No emotion. No recognition. No regret.

Just empty.

Then she got inside, and the door swung shut. They drove off.

I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. Cait, it's all I can think about. How different she looks. How hard she seems. And that stare. That terrifying, horrible stare.

What the hell did Silco do to her?

Cait, I'm coming to visit. We have a lot to talk about.

Jayce

Cait—

I have news.

Big news.

After I left your flat, I went straight home. A courier had just dropped a missive off at my place.

It was from the Wardens.

Their theory on Viktor being responsible for Sky's disappearance is crumbling. Despite their suspicions that Viktor was the last man to see her, their investigation has been unable to locate a single shred of evidence.

Viktor's laboratory is clean. No fingerprints, no signs of foul play, no indication of a struggle. Even the cameras, which the Wardens have accessed using a subpoena, showed no signs of her leaving with him. Her clothes, and belongings, were still inside the building. And her bike was still parked outside.

They're still not sure how she vanished. It's like she was swallowed up by a black hole.

As for the DNA—a secondary lab test revealed it was a mistake. Just a case of cross-contamination. They'd mistaken an old sample from a previous search in Sky's apartment. The report had gotten mixed up with Viktor's case file. The mistake had been made by an intern, who'd mislabeled a sample, and the senior investigators had simply repeated the error.

All in all, it was a complete botch-up.

The evidence is circumstantial. There's nothing that implicates Viktor.

For now, they've dropped charges.

I should be thankful. I know Viktor hasn't committed any crimes, and there's no concrete evidence of his guilt. It was a stretch to accuse him of involvement in Sky's disappearance.

But now there's a nagging doubt in the back of my mind. The timing's too convenient. First the Council caves to Zaun, and lets Viktor remain as Silco's prisoner. Now the Wardens have decided, of their own accord, not to press charges.

It makes no sense.

Worse, my own mind's playing tricks on me. I keep replaying the night Sky was reported missing. How distraught Viktor was. How he could barely speak. Barely look at me. He was a wreck, and I believed his distress was sincere. I'd told the Wardens, time and again, that there was no way Viktor had done anything to harm Sky.

I'd vouched for him.

Now, though...now, I'm not so sure.

The thing is, we still don't have all the facts from that night. Sky was last seen exiting her office at eight o' clock. The cameras see her walking down the main corridor. Then, at nine thirty, her assistant goes in to check on her, and finds her gone. Her bike's still there. Her street clothes are still on the rack. All her possessions are still inside.

But no Sky.

Where the hell did she go?

The cameras don't show her exiting the building. Which means she must still be in there. Except there's no trace of her. None.

Then it hit me.

The Hex-lab—mine and Viktor's workspace—had no cameras. A security camera had been installed, but Viktor had requested it be removed. He'd said, and I quote, "We are scientists. Our work necessitates a degree of privacy." It was part of our terms with the Council, and an addendum to our patent agreement. The lab would be kept off-limits, except to those involved with the project.

Viktor, Sky, and I were the only one who had the keycard.

And Viktor was the only person in the lab that night.

Caitlyn—I'm worried. It's possible I've made a terrible mistake. I've been so fixated on finding Viktor, I haven't stopped to ask myself why. Why would Viktor disappear without a word? Why would he take all his notes, abandon his post, and go into hiding? Why wouldn't he ask me for help? Or at least leave a note?

I've been thinking—what if he doesn't want to be found?

What if something bad happened between him and Sky? Something so terrible, he had no choice but to run?

Cait, please—help me figure this out.

Your friend,

Jayce.

Cait,

I had a fight with Mel.

I'm ashamed to say it. To be honest, it's embarrassing. I've never raised my voice at her before. Or sworn at her. Or, frankly, behaved like such a prick.

Here's what happened.

After my talk with you, I went straight to her penthouse. I was in a bad place. I'd hit the bar—awful idea, I know—and then gone for a walk. It was raining. I ended up in one of the city's parks. It's near her place. I sat on a bench and tried to get my thoughts together. Everything—why Viktor could've left, why Sky might've disappeared, why the Council were so willing to negotiate with Silco—was running through my head.

I just wanted to talk. I wanted a friend. I wanted her.

Cait—you told me how hard it's been since Violet left. How much you've been hurting. Not the everyday stuff. I know about that. But it's the other things, too. Like how you don't feel like yourself anymore. Like there's something hollow in you, that only she can fill. And nights are the worst. You miss the closeness. You miss the warmth.

And, Gods help me, the sex.

That's the part I miss the most. I can't tell you how many times I've woken up at night, dreaming about Mel, and I've had to stop myself from calling her up at four o'clock in the morning.

It's hard, Cait. Being apart. It's really hard.

I know how you feel. So you'll understand perfectly why I went to see Mel. I know we broke things off. I know it was my decision. And, no, I didn't expect us to pick up where we'd left off.

I just wanted someone to talk to.

Before I knew it, I was at her penthouse. I was soaked, and cold, and drunk. It was the middle of the night. But the doorman recognized me. He let me in, and called ahead to let her know.

She was waiting for me.

I'll never forget how she looked, Cait. She was wearing a silk robe. One of my favorites: all white lace and gold brocade. Her hair was loose, and it smelled like hyacinths. You know, I've never told you this, but I used to comb Mel's hair before bed. I wasn't very good at it. Sometimes I'd end up pulling too hard. But she'd smile, each time, and show me the trick to gently working through the knots. She'd kiss my hands. Then she'd kiss me.

Then—

Well, I think you know.

Seeing her again. Seeing her so soft, and warm, and lovely. It took my breath away.

It took everything.

Cait, I'm not going to lie. We ended up in bed. She said she'd missed me. And, damn it, I'd missed her. So much.

So very, very much.

I can't say I don't love her. How can I not? She's smart, and gorgeous, and funny. She's passionate. She's fearless. And I admire her. She has a way of commanding a room, but also of making every single person feel heard. She makes me feel heard. When I talk to her, I feel like I can say anything. Do anything. Be anything.

I needed that. I needed her.

She felt the same.

It was beautiful. Intimate. Wonderful. Sure at first, we were both a little awkward, and clumsy, and I'd forgotten to shave the past few days. But, after a few minutes, we were like two people who'd never left each other. Two people who'd never been apart.

Two people in love.

When we finished, we held each other. Then she kissed my cheek, and whispered in my ear, "Jayce, darling... you're home."

And, Cait, it felt like it. Like I'd finally come home.

It's not until after I'd showered, and was heading back into the bedroom, that the doubts crept in. Those nagging little doubts. Things I'd pushed down. Things I didn't want to confront. Like how the Council and Silco seemed to be on the same page in advance. Like how they were giving him carte blanche to exploit a man's genius, and use it for their own gains.

Like how Mel, out of everyone, seemed to know exactly what Silco was thinking.

Like she was expecting it.

I slipped back into bed with Mel, and I held her. Still, the questions came in my head. They came quietly, at first. Softly. Then, as the silence between us grew, they began to gain volume. Until I was sure she could hear them too.

Then I asked her the question.

"Why didn't you fight?"

At first, she pretended not to understand. So I said it again, louder.

"Why didn't you fight, Mel? Why didn't the Council?"

She turned. She was looking at me. Searching my face.

"You had a chance," I told her. "You could've fought for Viktor. You could've fought for me. Why didn't you?"

There was a long silence.

"I didn't have a choice," she said.

"Bullshit."

"It's the truth. I didn't. Jayce—you don't understand. There's more at stake than just the Hexcore. It's a small piece of a bigger issue. That issue being—how can we maintain our peace with Zaun. You have to understand. It's not only about your friend."

"Viktor. His name is Viktor."

"Viktor, yes. But we need to think of the whole picture. It's not just him. It's our trade agreements. It's our economic stability. It's our reputation as a city. As the City of Progress."

"So it's not important, what's happening to him. Because he's not a Piltovan, he's expendable."

"That's not what I'm saying. Please. Don't twist my words."

"Then what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that a single man, or his personal rights, cannot eclipse the good of a city. You've been obsessed. You've been chasing shadows, instead of addressing the real problems."

"Like the Council selling out their best innovator to a dictator."

For the first time, her eyes disconnected from mine. "He isn't a dictator."

"Isn't he? What do you call someone who murders his way to the top, and uses his power to enslave his citizens?"

"We've held discussions, Silco and I. He wants prosperity for his city. Freedom for his people. I want the same for ours. To achieve that, we must compromise on certain issues. He's no model of merciful leadership, I grant you. But he's a pragmatic man. A visionary. Someone who can bring lasting change."

"He's a monster."

"Jayce. Darling. Your anger blinds you. I know he's committed terrible crimes. And yes, we've made deals that neither of us is pleased with. But, in the end, the outcome is worth the price. Our cities will grow together. We'll create a lasting, sustainable peace."

"At the cost of my best friend'."

"Viktor chose to leave. It's his right."

"Only because he had no choice. He couldn't stay in Piltover. Not with the Wardens falsely accusing him."

"Jayce—" A shadow fell across her face. "Please. Stop. This isn't getting us anywhere. Can't you see that? If you keep on fighting, you're only going to make things worse."

"Worse for who? The Council?"

"For Viktor. And... for you."

There was something in her eyes. Something... dark. Almost desperate.

"Please, Jayce. You need to trust me. I have your best interests at heart. I've been working to protect you. You've no idea the things I've—" She cut herself off.

I asked her what she was talking about. I asked her what the hell was going on.

That's when she told me.

Cait, the Warden's investigation? Mel is the one who called it off. Not because of inconclusive evidence. Not because of the waste of resources. Not because the security camera footage was inconclusive.

She called it off, because the Wardens had irrefutable proof that Viktor had killed Sky.

It wasn't just the fact that he was the last man to see Sky alive. Or the fact that she was last seen near the corridor to the Hex-lab.

It was the fact that, in the lab itself, they found Sky.

Or rather, her bone dust.

It was everywhere. Motes of it, on the floor. On the chairs. On the workbench. Someone had tried to clean it up, but not thoroughly. Not enough to remove the residue. And the forensics team had been able to confirm, using chemical analysis, that the samples were mixed with Viktor's DNA.

His, and no one else's.

The Wardens were set to launch an arrest warrant. Then Mel had intervened.

"It would've been a disaster," she told me. "A disaster for him. A disaster for Zaun. And for us. I had no choice, Jayce. None."

I was shocked. My brain couldn't comprehend what she was saying. It was impossible. Viktor wasn't a murderer. He couldn't be. He just couldn't.

I asked her if Silco knew.

She admitted that he did. He was the one, in fact, who'd tipped the Wardens off. Apparently, a remark Viktor had made during a conversation with his Deputy Chancellor had caught Silco's attention. He'd sent a blackguard to Viktor's lab, on the pretext of collecting leftover notes. During a search, the blackguard found traces of bone dust. He collected the sample and turned it over to the Wardens.

There were no signs of tampering. The evidence was months old. And it was damning.

"I can't believe this." I whispered.

Mel put her arms around me. She held me tight.

"Jayce," she said. "I'm sorry. Silco and I—we decided that the best thing would be for Viktor to remain in Zaun. For the charges to be dropped. So long as he confines his work to the Fissures, he'll have complete freedom. But should he return to Piltover..."

She didn't finish.

She didn't need to.

Cait, the Council and Silco. They've conspired against Viktor. Against both of us. They're letting him remain in Zaun, so that he can continue his research on the Hexcore. But, should he return, he'll be arrested.

And I'll be forced to testify.

It was too much. The idea that my best friend could be a killer. The fact that Mel knew. That she'd been complicit. The betrayal, by the Council, who'd gone along with it all. The duplicity. The corruption.

It was just too much.

I couldn't stop myself. I lost control. I leapt out of bed. I shouted. I called her a liar. I asked her how she could do it. How she could let him stay, and put him in danger. How she could be so calculating. So cold.

So much like... Silco.

She didn't answer. She was crying. I've never seen Mel cry. Never.

And, Gods help me, I didn't care.

Cait, I stormed out of her flat. I left her there, in tears.

I can't go back. I can't forgive her. I can't forgive myself.

I'm writing you now from a bar. It's three o' clock in the morning. I can't go home. I can't bear to sleep. I can't stop thinking. About the summit. About Mel. About Viktor.

About the future.

Cait, please help.

I'm lost.

Jayce

Jayce—

Destroy this message the minute you read it. You're being monitored.

Your apartment is being watched.

Your office, too.

I know, because so is mine.

Silco knows you're trying to make contact with Viktor. He knows I'm trying to reach out to Vi. The only reason he's permitted you to communicate with me is to bait a trap. I've gone back and deleted every missive I've written to you. Do the same. You need to watch your back. If the Wardens find out you've been trying to make contact with a suspected killer, it's not just your career.

It's your freedom.

You're a private citizen now. They won't hesitate to arrest you. And I won't be able to stop them.

Jayce, this is serious.

You're a hero. You're the face of Hextech. You've changed the world. You can't afford to throw it away. If you get caught, it'll be catastrophic.

Please. I'm begging you. You have to stop.

We can't contact each other via missive. Not until I can figure a way out of this.

Caitlyn

Caitlyn,

Don't worry. I won't put you in danger. I've found a workaround. I've created a secure channel, which will allow us to correspond without being intercepted. I've also modified the pneumatic tubes. It will take some time, but I can rig a system, which will ensure the messages are delivered directly to your desk.

I need a favor.

Your department has access to the Warden's database. How high is your clearance? Can you get access to their records on Sky? I'd like to have a look at their files.

I'll explain when I see you.

Jayce

Jayce,

I got in.

Here are the files.

Hurry. I don't know how long the clearance will last.

Cait

Cait—

Thank you.

This is incredible. You're amazing.

I've been reading through the records. It's difficult, because a lot of stuff has been redacted. But I've managed to piece together the timeline of Sky's disappearance. It's hard to believe, but the case has been open since the day she went missing. It's bigger than the Wardens let on to the Council.

There's more here than I expected.

According to the records, the Wardens were already investigating Viktor. He'd been placed on their Watch List, under suspicion of having ties with the Undercity's chemists. It was a flimsy pretext, and he wasn't a suspect. Just a person of interest.

They were tracking his movements, to see if he had any known associates belowground.

Then Sky was killed.

By now, I know she was killed. It's hard to watch. There's security footage, from the night she went missing. It's in black-and-white, and it's grainy. You can see Sky, exiting her office, and walking down the main hall. She's still in her lab coat, with her notes under her arm. Her hair's up, but her ponytail's slipping. She's got a smile on her face, and a spring in her step.

It's strange, Cait. But I can tell, even though she's just a shadow on the screen… she's happy.

She's going to see Viktor.

I know she's going to see Viktor, because the security cameras are tracking her movements. And they show her walking down the main hallway, past my office, and into the stairwell. From there, she goes to the third floor. The cameras lose her there. There's no coverage inside the Hex-lab.

It has no cameras, remember.

But something happens six minutes later. There's a—a fluctuation, almost. In the video. The image blurs. It's like the camera's glitching.

Except it's not the camera.

Cait, I've seen that fluctuation before.

It's a Hex-field.

I can tell because, while the image distorts, the edges of the hallway remain sharp. Which means the field's expanding outward, in a dome pattern, from a central source. The source, in question, is the Hexcore.

It's been activated.

I've checked the timeline. The hex-field is only active for a few seconds. Then it's gone.

But Sky never returns.

I've been over the footage a hundred times. And the conclusion's always the same.

Sky entered the lab. She met Viktor. Then he killed her.

Why, I can't say. Maybe it was an accident. Maybe it was something else. The point is, her remains were never found. Only traces of her bones.

I've got to find him, Cait. I've got to talk to him.

I've got to understand what happened.

Jayce

Cait—

It's a trap.

You were right.

I did something stupid. I didn't think. I took a risk, and it's backfired.

I went into Zaun. I had no formal dispensation; no notarized travel pass; no clearance from the Council. I was, effectively, trespassing on foreign soil.

I didn't care.

I was going to find Viktor. I needed answers on what had happened. I wasn't going to let him stay down there, hiding from what he'd done. I was going to make him tell the truth. Then, maybe, we could figure out how to fix this mess.

So, in the middle of the night, I armed myself with my hammer. I went down to the harbor. I was careful to avoid the usual checkpoints you'd told me about. I headed for a small, out-of-the-way pier, where the patrols were less frequent. I'd borrowed a friend's boat. It was small, and not the fastest, but it's quiet. I managed to sneak past the harbor's first buoys.

Then, I crossed the border.

Zaun's different now.

I remember the last time I was in the Fissures to get supplies. Back before the Siege. It was rundown. It was rancid. The streets were in disrepair. The people were sullen. There was poverty and sickness, and a sense of despair.

Things have changed.

The Promenade's undergone a transformation. It's like a state-of-the-art motherboard framed in multicolored neon. They've repaired the streets, and the buildings are lit up like stars. They're clean. Pristine. Even the air smells different. Less acrid.

It's almost... pleasant.

It was late, but the shops were open. The crowds were out in full-force. They were mingling in the plazas, drinking at the bars, dancing in the squares. I passed an upscale club, and there was a line snaking all the way around the block. There were people of all classes and creeds, and they were dressed up, and celebrating.

Like it was a holiday.

I couldn't believe it. After everything that monster's done, the people of Zaun are out, and living it up, like it's the greatest carnival in the world. Like they're grateful. Grateful to have Silco in charge.

Cait, it's surreal.

It's as if, after years of fear, they're finally free. Not only free from Piltover's control—from its judgment, its oppression, its prejudice. It's like they're free in their souls. They're happy. Joyous.

But I can't shake the feeling that they're in a trance. As if, with the bright lights and poppy colors, Silco is hypnotizing them. He'd holding them in thrall, so they'll worship him, and not notice the bodies he's left in his wake.

That's how I felt, walking through the Promenade. Like I was following a parade of automatons, fueled on sensory ecstasy.

I tried talking to a few passersby, and they seemed nice. Friendly.

Some of them, too friendly.

I'm not sure how, but they knew I was a Topsider. A couple of them offered to give me directions. Others were eager to buy me drinks. A few asked if I'd like a dance.

One thing's for certain: they're much more welcoming now. Like, now that Zaun's nearabouts Piltover's equal, bygones can be bygones, and no one cares about a bit of old history.

I wasn't there to debate history, though. I was there to find Viktor.

I asked a few of the locals if they'd heard of him. It didn't seem to ring any bells, though a few said he sounded familiar. Then I mentioned he'd worked on Hex-tech, and a chorus rose up.

"Oh! The Machinist!"

That's what they call him in Zaun. They've forgotten his name. Or maybe they don't care.

What matters is that he's terraforming the urban landscape. Changing the city. Bringing the Fissures up to par. Creating a new Zaun, and building it up from ground-zero

I was shocked. He's already begun work? It's only been a few weeks.

But it's true. Apparently, Silco has put him in charge of a full-scale revitalization project. He's using the Hexcore to create new infrastructural designs. Changing the way the city is laid out, and making the Fissures over from a mud-hole into a metropolis. He has a whole team of engineers, and an entourage of blackguards. Every week, they're working on a new layer of the city.

A fresh coat of paint, if you will.

This week, they were overhauling the turbines. The next, the power grid. The one after that, the sewage system. By the time the Expo's begun, Zaun will be a chromed-up paradise.

And Silco will be lauded as its liberator.

The irony.

I was told he'd be working on the turbines this week, and to head toward the eastside. So, that's where I went.

The zone was a hive of activity. Tremors from power-drills under my feet; sparks from welding torches in the air; bodies swarming over scaffoldings. It looked like a small army had been drafted, and was working their hands to the bone. The entire sector had been cordoned off.

The turbines stood on platforms, towering over the street. They were colossal works-in-progress: rivets the size of hubcaps, steel girders dense as concrete blocks, pistons the width of my chest. They were astonishing, Cait. The scale of them was unreal. Their alloy-shelled interiors seemed to be a combination of metallurgical compounds and Fissure-seam crystals, the two meshed together into a seamless matrix with a shimmery-green tint.

There were runes, too.

Hex-runes.

They were inscribed all over the turbines. And, judging by the way the technicians were treating them, they weren't simply decorative. They were a critical component of the new design.

I'd never seen anything like it.

I couldn't help but admire Viktor's work. He'd done all this in less than a month. Except it wasn't just him. Here and there, I saw a familiar monkey motif scrawled into the blueprints, or decorating the turbine's frame.

It was Jinx's signature.

It hit me, then, like a gut punch. Viktor hadn't done this alone. Jinx was collaborating with him. Her notes were scattered throughout the designs. This wasn't a solitary operation with a spur-of-the-moment breakthrough. This was a joint venture, between two rogue agents. One that must have been in the works for months.

Or longer.

I felt a chill go down my spine.

Silco had likely planned this—this coup—from the moment of the Peace Treaty.

And there was no telling what he had planned next.

Cait, I had to stop him. I had to find Viktor.

I asked a few technicians if they'd seen him. I was directed to the south end. I didn't have a plan. All I knew was that I had to find him. Confront him. Demand an explanation.

Then I saw him.

He stood in the middle of the mayhem, directing the crew. At first glance, he seemed the same. Same height. Same build. Same accent. But that was a trick of the eye. Like my memory was a distorting medium, and my mind had supplanted an old image onto a new reality.

Because, when he turned, it was like he'd been replaced by someone else.

Someone I barely recognized.

He seemed taller, somehow. His movements were more fluid; his stiffness less pronounced. He didn't walk. He glided. The balls of his feet seemed to float a bare millimeter above the ground, as if the air itself was propelling him forward. And the way he carried himself, with such confident assurance—it was like his world had expanded, in the span of a few weeks, from a sickbed to a stage.

That's when I noticed his cane was different.

It wasn't the ergonomic model he'd designed for himself, as his mobility declined. This was a prong-tipped rod, polished black, with a barb at the base. Like a javelin. It was a definite case of function over form. No aesthetic appeal. No concession to comfort.

Just a weapon.

But, Cait, that's not what unnerved me the most.

That was Viktor himself.

Because he wasn't Viktor. He was some unnervingly close approximation dressed in patches of Viktor's skin, with steel seams running through the missing spots. His skull, torso and limbs are half-cybernetic. The right leg—the one that 'never behaved' as he'd sometimes put it—has been replaced with a mechanical prosthesis. It's got a titanium exoskeleton, and a carbon-fiber frame, and a hydraulic heel. The knee's a ball joint. The thigh's an articulated piston. It's like a work of art. The most horrifying work of art you could imagine.

But it's not just his leg.

His right hand—the one he'd taken to wearing a glove on—is now a four-fingered steel claw. It's hinged at the wrist, and the phalanges are articulated, and the palm's been fitted with a projectile port.

I know, because I watched him fire it.

It was a blackguard, one of the many onsite. The guy was being a dick. He was bullying some of the workers, and shouting at them, and generally harassing everyone within earshot.

Then Viktor walked up, and calmly ordered him to stand down.

The blackguard laughed.

Viktor didn't hesitate. He didn't say a word. He lifted a hand. The steel palm opened, and the projectile port spun, and the muzzle flared, and a blast of hot green light shot out, and blasted a hole straight through the guy's sleeve. It must have singed his skin, too, because the blackguard let out a howl.

Then he fell to his knees, groveling apologies.

Viktor, with terse instructions to the rest of the crew, turned, and left.

I couldn't believe it.

He'd shot at a man.

Without flinching. Without pausing to consider the consequences. Without even acknowledging the guy's pain.

He'd changed, Cait.

The Viktor I knew was gentle. He had a self-effacing slouch, an earnest smile, and an uncanny ability to see the best in people. He was always questioning, always second-guessing, always willing to learn.

This man was nothing like that.

This man was... hard.

As if the softness had been drained from him.

Just like Violet.

As he strode off, I was able to catch strains of conversation. Cait—his voice has changed completely. He's got an equalizer attached to his mouth, which runs on a small internal pump, and has an integrated voice modulator. It's the reason his accent's less pronounced. His tone's deeper, too. It's more authoritative. More commanding.

Less human.

The rest of his face is the same as the photograph. There are sensors on his cheeks, and his jaw is augmented with a cybernetic clamp. Then there's the eyes. The sockets are lined with a copper alloy, and the lenses are bionic. No pupils; no sclera. Just two reflective orbs with a glowing core.

Golden and black. Like looking into a pair of glowing embers.

Except they're cold.

I followed him. He wasn't going far. There was a trailer nearby, where blueprints were spread out over a makeshift table. He stepped inside. I'd expected to see Jinx. I was sure she'd be there. After all, she was collaborating with him. She'd drawn up half the diagrams, and, by the looks of things, had helped him implement them, too.

But the trailer was empty.

Viktor was alone.

Then I realized Viktor knew I was there.

"Jayce," he said, without turning around. "You are trespassing."

His voice, even through the equalizer, was the same.

Except it wasn't.

It was cold, too.

"Viktor," I said. "We need to talk."

He still didn't turn. "If the blackguards find you, they will arrest you. And, should they do so, I cannot guarantee your safety."

"I don't care."

"You should."

"I know what happened to Sky."

There was a prolonged silence punctuated by the distant sound of power tools. Then, very slowly, he turned. Our eyes met, and even though every muscle and nerve ending in my body fought it, I couldn't stop myself from flinching at the totality of his transformation.

At the eerieness of it.

"Sky," he said, at last, "is gone"

"I know. She's dead. The Wardens found her bone-dust in your lab. You killed her."

"Jayce, you don't understand."

"Then explain it to me."

"I didn't kill her. Not in the way you think."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean? Viktor, you were the last person to see her alive. She was last seen near the Hex-lab. There are traces of her DNA mixed in with your own. What the fuck am I supposed to think?"

He said nothing. His breathing rasped like an iron file through the air. It was a strange, grating sound. His lungs, I understood, had been augmented, too. The extent of the mechanization, in such short a time-frame, couldn't be man-made.

Then I understood.

"Magic," I said.

He didn't answer.

"That's what happened, didn't it? You were using the Hexcore's magic. Not on tools. On yourself. And you didn't want anyone to know."

Still he said nothing.

"But it went wrong, didn't it? The Hexcore did something to her. She was in the lab, and something happened, and she got hurt. Badly. So badly that you had to dispose of her. And you thought, if you were careful, no one would ever find out. That you'd get away with it."

"Jayce—"

"Is that why you left? Because you were afraid of being caught? Dammit, Viktor, answer me!"

He looked at me, and the stare was preternaturally calm. But I could feel an intense heat cooking the air around him. He didn't raise his voice, or gesticulate, or make any move against me.

He kept on staring.

"Jayce," he said at last, "before I left Piltover, I was working on a theory. One involving the Hexcore. I had discovered that, with the right runic sequence, it was possible to channel its subatomic energies into living flesh. Through an organic compound as the catalyst, and the correct sequence as a stabilizer, the Hexcore's powers would no longer be tied to its physical matrix. We'd use it to augment living things. Restore damaged muscle. Heal sick tissue. Repair a faulty organ. Even..."

"What?"

"Prolong life."

Dazed, I shook my head. "Viktor, that's impossible. That level of transfiguration—"

"Can be achieved. All that's necessary is for the Hexcore to sustain the right frequency, at the correct resonance. A harmonic pattern, if you will."

"We tried, remember? We tried, with plants and fungi. We couldn't even manage to make a weed grow. The results crumbled, or rotted, or—"

"—died. Yes." His breath shivered like a metal grate in a storm. "That is because the runic sequence is incomplete. To channel the Hexcore's power, a keystone rune is needed. Something to anchor the harmonics. Act as the focus. Without it—"

"Viktor, please. You're not making any sense—"

"I was trying to extend life, Jayce!"

For the first time, the flat dial tone of his voice shifted. I heard, subaudible but discernible, a quaver of grief.

"Extend life," he whispered. "Not take it."

It took a moment for the meaning to sink in. My breath came hot, nauseous. "You messed up. Didn't you?"

"Jayce—"

"You screwed up. Something went wrong. You did something to Sky. You killed her."

He gave a single jerky nod.

My guts turned over. The fear had been replaced with disgust. With anger. I couldn't stand to look at him. To see what he'd done.

What he'd become.

"Where's her body?" I demanded.

"It's gone."

"Gone? Gone where?"

He rubbed his jaw, the bones grinding side-to-side. It was old gesture. The one he'd make, whenever he was uncomfortable. Or guilty.

"It was consumed."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Jayce, please. You must believe me. I—I did not intend for her to die. I did not even realize she was there until after—"

"After?"

The glow in his bionic eyes dimmed. "The Hexcore, when it opened, created a feedback loop. The catalyst in my blood was to be the sensor, absorbing the concentration of the energy's signals. The runes on my body were the integrating centers, the medium through which the feedback would be channelled. But—but there was not enough of one to balance the other."

I understood. "The Shimmer. That's why it was in your bloodstream. It interacts with the Hexcore's harmonics. Instead of destabilizing the resonance, it amplifies the feedback. It's what allows you to maintain a stable connection."

"Yes."

"And the runes. They're not for stabilization. They're for augmentation. For transmutation."

"Yes."

"And Sky? Where did she fit into all this?"

A strange darkness filmed Viktor's bionic eyes. "She was not meant to be there. I should have—should have locked the door. Should have—but no, I did not think. It was too much, the moment. The chance, too great. If it had worked—" He broke off. His head drooped, slowly, as if his neck was made of wires stretched too taut. "She was there. The Hexcore's field was activated. It took her."

"Took her."

"Blindly. As a mouth takes in food. She was trying to pull me away. She was saying my name. Viktor. Viktor. She did not understand." His cybernetic fingers flexed around his cane. "I could not stop it. Could not shut down the Hexcore. The energy—it was too strong. Too much."

"You're saying the Hexcore absorbed her?"

"Her flesh. Then her bones. Then her essence. Until nothing remained." His chest vibrated, like an engine winding down. "Nothing but dust."

A cold fist gripped my heart. I thought of the security footage. The fluctuation, and the blur. It hadn't been a camera glitch.

It had been the Hexcore.

"Viktor," I breathed. "My Gods."

His head remained bowed.

"This is why, isn't it? Why you asked me to destroy the Hexcore. You knew, then. Knew how powerful it was. How dangerous. You wanted me to shut it down."

"Destroy it," he whispered. "Yes. But that was before—"

"Before, what?"

"Sky. In her notes. She'd left me a—a message. Only, it was never intended for my eyes." He unstuck his jaw with effort, as if his teeth were glued together. As if the words themselves were too heavy to shape. "Sky was working on a project. One I'd encouraged. Every week, she would show me her findings. I would provide suggestions, or offer assistance, as needed. She was a brilliant researcher, Jayce. And unlike myself... she never forgot her roots."

I swallowed. It was hard, around the knot in my throat. "What—what was her project?"

"Life." The word was soft, almost reverent. "Here, in Zaun. She'd designed blueprints for a Hex-filtration plant. Something to purify the water. Sewage removal. Runoff collection. All to make the streets where she—where we both—grew up, safer. A habitable home for the people who needed it most."

"And now... you're building it."

"Yes."

"With Silco's blood money."

He lifted his head. The contours of his expression iced over; robotic, remote. "The blood money is the Council's. Silco is only the siphon."

"What—?"

"Or do you not hold the Councilors complicit in the Undercity's degradation?"

"That's not—"

"Not the same?" Something in his bionic eyes crackled. It could've been anger, or amusement, or a thousand other emotions, and I wouldn't have known the difference. "Tell me, Jayce. Why are you here?"

I was taken aback. "Because—because I needed to know the truth."

"You know the truth." The last humanity dissolved out of his voice, leaving a mechanical buzz. "You wanted to hold me accountable."

"If you'd killed Sky—"

"You've killed too, Jayce."

A stone lodged in my chest. It was cold. It was hard.

It was the truth.

Cait—only you, Violet and Mel know what I did. That night, at Silco's Shimmer factory. The boy caught in the crossfire. The boy who'd died because of my recklessness. I've lived with the memory of his face ever since. It's haunted me. Night and day. No matter how much I've tried to justify it. No matter how many good deeds I've done.

The fact is, I took a life.

And Viktor knew.

For so long, I'd kept it from him, out of shame but also fear. The fear of him judging me, as no different from the other Topsiders. The same ones who'd mistreated him as a boy; who'd buried his city under their refuse and left the people to rot. I was afraid, Cait, of him hating me. Of him realizing how little I deserved his friendship.

And now he did.

Silco, I thought, icy splinters of rage in my gut. He knew too.

He knew—and he'd used the knowledge to turn Viktor against me.

"Viktor," I began.

"Jayce." His voice was dead as the grave. "Do not."

"Look, please, I—"

"You should not have come. Your presence will be construed as hostile. There will be consequences."

"Then let's leave. Come back with me. I can protect you. The Council, they'll—"

"Forgive me?" His lips approximated a smile. "No. That, I think, will not happen."

"You can't stay here. Not under Silco's thumb. He's using you, Viktor. Using the Hexcore. You can't trust him. Can't you see?"

"I can. You cannot."

"Viktor—"

"I cannot return to Piltover, Jayce. My mistakes have made it impossible. I understand that." The mechanical ruthlessness returned to his voice. "You, in turn, must understand. I will not return, because of your own."

My entire axis tilted. I couldn't believe my ears. I was reeling.

"You—you don't mean that."

"I do."

"You'd really choose Silco, over Piltover?"

"I choose neither."

"But—HexCorp. Our research. Me. Us."

"I am sorry, Jayce."

And for the barest moment, the briefest heartbeat, his bionic eyes seemed wetly sheened. As if he was still human.

Then it was gone.

His cane tapped, twice.

A heartbeat later, blackguards melted from the darkest corners.

I counted four. They'd been posted all around. In the shadows.

Waiting for him to give the signal.

I knew, then, that I'd been set up.

Silco had goaded me into coming. He'd known I'd confront Viktor, and Viktor would reveal what had happened to Sky. Then the blackguards would appear, and there'd be arrest warrants. Public censure. Tarnished reputations.

All the while, Viktor would remain in Zaun, free to pursue his work.

I'd played right into his hands.

"Viktor," I said. "Please. Don't do this."

"Goodbye, Jayce." He turned. "You must not return."

"Viktor—"

"Take him."

Cait, I barely had time to react. The blackguards closed in, and my hammer was out, and the energy pulsed, and I managed to get off a shot, and send two of the men flying back, until—

A blow to the back of my skull.

The ground rose up, and slammed into my face.

The world went dark.

When I woke, I was in a holding cell. A dank, cramped space, with a barred door and a cot, and a bucket in the corner. My head throbbed. My hammer had been confiscated. My wrists were chafed from old shackles.

But, other than that, I was unharmed.

I wasn't sure how long I was kept there. Time passed strangely, in a fog of disorientation. It felt like days, but couldn't have been more than a few hours. Finally, a guard appeared. He escorted me out. We took a lift down to an underground garage, where a limousine was waiting. He shoved me in, and I braced myself for the worst.

Maybe Silco would have me strangled. Maybe they'd put a bullet through my skull. Maybe they'd dump me in the river.

I had a dozen scenarios running through my head. None of them ended well.

None of them came close to reality.

Mel was sitting inside.

Silco had informed her, via a confidential courier, of my entry into Zaun. That I'd gone across the border, unsupervised, armed, with no clearance. That I'd trespassed, and threatened Viktor. And that, in doing so, I'd violated the terms of the Peace Treaty.

Politically, it could've been catastrophic. Months of negotiations—the careful cultivation of trust, the fragile bonds of diplomacy—all put at risk. If Silco had decided to press charges, to use the incident as leverage against Piltover, or retaliation for a perceived slight, the Council would've been hard-pressed to respond.

But he hadn't.

Mel told me, afterward, that the crisis had been resolved behind closed doors. She'd taken the ferry to Zaun, requested a private meeting, and met with Silco in his office. There, after some back-and-forth, she had convinced him to drop the charges. In exchange, the Wardens had agreed to a temporary suspension of my duties at HexCorp. It was, in effect, a forced sabbatical. One I was to spend, for three months, under house-arrest.

During that time, I was forbidden from entering Zaun.

Mel told me all this later. In that moment, sitting beside her in the car, I couldn't bring myself to speak. I was too ashamed—too overwhelmed—to say a word.

We rode in silence.

Cait—I've been such an idiot.

I've gambled high, and I've lost. And because of that, Piltover had nearly lost, too. I'd put myself before my city. Before the safety, the security, the future of our people. I thought of how I'd exploded at Mel, that night in her flat. How I'd left her there, in tears. How I'd jeopardized everything she'd worked so hard to achieve. Everything I'd fought so hard to create.

All because of my own blind, selfish, outsized ego.

All because I thought I could swoop in and save the day.

Gods, what an ass I've been.

Throughout the ride, I kept looking sidelong at Mel. She sat, straight-backed, her hands in her lap, her eyes cast forward. Her dress was pristine, her hair was coiffed, her makeup was impeccable. To the untrained eye, she looked flawless.

I knew her better.

I saw the way her hands were a white-knuckled twist. I saw the subtle quiver of her lower lip. I saw the lavender shadows under her eyes.

The guilt was suffocating.

She'd saved me. She's always saved me. And how have I repaid her? With scorn. With mistrust. With disrespect.

I wanted to fall at her feet. Beg her forgiveness. Tell her how sorry I was, and how stupid I'd been, and how wrong.

I didn't.

Instead, I sat there. Staring at my shoes.

We pulled into her driveway.

"Jayce," she said. "Go. Rest in the guestroom. I'll have the maids send up some tea."

Her tone was polite, but distant. Reserved.

I nodded. "Thanks."

"Jayce?"

I paused, halfway out of the car. "Yes?"

She turned, at last, and met my stare. Her eyes were dark, and sad, and tired.

"I'm glad you're safe," she said simply.

Cait, I couldn't say a word. I could barely breathe. I hesitated for just a second, then pulled her across and into my arms. She embraced me, and as soon as I felt her warmth, smelled her perfume, I couldn't stop myself. The past few weeks—Viktor's departure, the truth of Sky's death, the realization that I'd nearly ruined everything—everything came rushing back.

I broke down.

I was crying, Cait. Crying in her arms. Like a child. She held me. She didn't say anything. Just held me.

I don't deserve her.

I truly don't. But having her close, and knowing she cared, was a lifeline. Since the Siege, it's like I've lost a tiny bit of my reality. My grasp on the world. Every day, it's been a little harder. Then Viktor left, and Sky died, and the pieces of my world started falling apart.

Mel is the one of the few pieces still anchoring me.

I wanted to tell her this, Cait. I wanted to tell her, how much she means to me, and how sorry I was, and how grateful. I wanted to tell her, over and over, that I didn't deserve her, and how, despite it all, I was never going to leave her side.

I didn't, though.

I kissed her.

It wasn't planned. It just... happened. I kissed her. She was still in my arms. We were still in the car. I was still crying.

Then I was kissing her.

She let me, for a little bit. Then she broke, gently, and turned her head. Putting a palm on my chest, she nudged me back.

"No, Jayce."

"Mel..."

"You need to rest. We'll talk, later."

"Mel, I..."

"Later," she said softly.

It wasn't a request.

And so, I let her go. I walked into the penthouse, and was escorted upstairs. But, Cait—it was the loneliest walk of my life. Because I realized why, when I'd kissed her, she'd withdrawn.

Not because it was the wrong time.

Not because I was in shock.

Not because she was mad.

Cait, she's seeing someone else. I can't say how I know. Just that I can sense it. And, the worst part is, I can't blame her. After the way I've treated her—blowing hot, then cold; pushing her away, then pulling her close; accusing her of things she'd never do, then expecting her to help me when the shit hits the fan—it's no surprise she's moved on.

And how can I expect this gorgeous, sophisticated, brilliant woman, with her head screwed on straight, and her heart in the right place, and the courage to speak truth into power, to stick around?

Especially when I'm acting like a spoiled, sulky, immature, selfish asshole.

She's better off.

But not me.

I've fucked up, Cait. I've hurt people. I've hurt my friends. I've endangered Piltover. All because I've been too caught up in myself. Because I've let my pride run wild.

Because, at the end of the day, maybe I'm still just a boy meddling with things I don't understand.

I think it's time that boy grew up.

It's time he made the world a better place.

P.S.

This will be my last correspondence for a little while. I'll be going upcity to my mother's place. I've got a few projects in mind, and if I'm going to be under house-arrest, might as well put my time to good use.

Before I go, though, I want to thank you.

For your support. Your honesty. Your friendship.

For everything.

Cait, you're the best.

Your friend, always,

Jayce

To Jayce Talis, Esq.

Sir,

You will oblige me to ask the following: Are you out of your fucking mind?

First, you attack the First Chancellor in plain view of half the Council. Then, you decide it would be a good idea to traipse across the border, unescorted and armed with Hex-tech, without a notarized travel pass. Then, not satisfied with having broken one law, you have the gall to threaten one of our citizens—our brightest minds—with abduction and bodily harm. Then you injure two blackguards, and thereby put yourself, and the integrity of the Peace Treaty, at risk.

Now, you have the balls to write to me—demanding an audience with the First Chancellor, once your house-arrest has expired.

Your arrogance knows no bounds.

Read carefully, sir. Because I will only say this once:

No.

No, you will not have an audience with the First Chancellor. No, we will not divulge the address of the Machinist, Viktor. No, we will not disclose blackguard Violet's current location. And no, you will not be given leave to enter the Fissures, unsupervised and with your hammer.

That is final.

Your last letter, demanding a 'sit-down' (you have, evidently, been reading too many tabloids) is not only a grave presumption. It is also a threat against the integrity of this office. Your future letters, from here on out, will be marked as "Return to Sender." The prior ones, we've already compiled and forwarded to the Council, who have assured us will investigate.

I trust they will take the proper disciplinary actions.

Janna knows, you deserve a slap on the rear. A hard one.

Given your tenure as a former Councilor, we are prepared to show a degree of leniency. You are a prominent figure in the public eye. We recognize the emotional impact of your mentor, Dr. Heimerdinger's, passing. We also know that you have suffered the loss of Viktor's partnership, and are under intense strain in your private life.

In light of these facts, the First Chancellor has agreed to overlook your invective. We will not press charges, and will not seek punitive action, so long as you cease any and all communication with the First Chancellor. You are also instructed to desist any further inquiries into the whereabouts of the Hexcore.

If you continue to persist in your obstinate line of inquiry, the First Chancellor will no longer be inclined to clemency. You will find yourself facing multiple felony charges, which may carry a term of imprisonment.

Consider carefully.

The Man of Tomorrow, Piltover's brightest mind, would look pretty dim in a prison jumpsuit.

Kindly refrain from further correspondence. Unless it’s in the form of an apology. A similar letter of warning has been forwarded to Enforcer Caitlyn Kiramman. In light of your close personal relationship, we request you relay the message next time you meet.

Regards,

Sevika M.

P.S.

The First Chancellor has also requested we share the following message:

"The boy's letters are charmingly feisty. The girl's, surpassingly eloquent. I am delighted to know that two such exceptional individuals are among our neighbors. My only regret is that they spend more time throwing rocks, and less time building bridges."

"When their aim improves, they will be welcome to visit. Until then, they are advised to keep their distance."

57 notes · View notes

joshs-big-toe · 6 months

Note

CAN YOU PLZ DO DOM! MIKE IM BEGGING

Hey guys, this request basically gave me free rein to do whatever I want, so please enjoy this toe-curling story I write here. This is going to be a longer one (word count: 4,919) so sit back and enjoy. This is basically pure smut so if you don’t want that, keep scrolling :) (also, Abby is not relevant in this story, so just pretend she is staying the week at a friend’s house if that’s something you're concerned about I guess lol)

Cw: heavy smut, dom! Mike, sub fem! Reader, deprivation, edging, jealous mike, possessive mike, sweet mike, dirty talk, HELLA EDGING, slight degradation, slight praise, mentions of CONSENTUAL somnophelia, slight fluff toward the end

Mike Schmidt, your boyfriend, supported your acting career with his entire being. Actuality, he was damn proud of you. No matter the role, he was on board, flooding you with support and affirmations. However, you had just gotten a role, your dream role, in this Blumhouse film, starring alongside an actor you loved: Evan Peters. You have loved Evan Peters since you saw him in Kick-Ass. When you got your script, you read through it. The storyline was amazing, but there was a lot of sex between you and Evan’s character. For the first time, you didn’t want to tell Mike about a role. You knew Mike more than likely would support your decision to take on this role, but nervousness filled you. Before you told Mike, you decided you wanted to think about it, hiding your script under your bed. Soon enough, the thought of the script slipped your mind and you moved on with your day. The day consisted of a tabling, meeting Evan for the first time, and getting to know the cast and directors better. It was almost time for Mike to go to work when you finally got home. You sighed, putting your bag on the table by the door after closing it behind you. “Mike, love, I’m home.” Silence. You were confused, his shift at the Pizzaria didn’t start until midnight. It was only 11:00 pm. “Mike?” You strolled past the living room into your room, seeing Mike on the floor, holding your script.

He looked up at you, a mix of sadness and anger filling his eyes. “What is this, y/n?” You were speechless, mouth hanging open slightly.

Your mouth opened slightly, trying to come up with what to say. “Mike, um, it's just-“

He cut you off. “When were you going to tell me about this? Clearly, you’ve had this for a couple of days now.” His voice was monotone, showing clear frustration.

“I was going to tell you,” you mumbled.

“Why didn’t you?” He set the script down on the ground.

“I was nervous, Mike. I didn’t want you to get upset.”

“I wouldn’t have been upset if you would’ve just told me. Now I just feel like you lied to me, y/n.” He flipped the pages. “And of course Evan Peters. Really?” I nodded, feeling guilty for not telling him. Now keep in mind, Mike was never rude or controlling when it came to you, he just was extremely attached. He typically wouldn’t mind sex scenes, but he knew about your love for Evan, and immediately he was filled with jealousy.

“It's not real sex, Mike.” You said, hiding the redness that filled your face. He put his face in his hands, groaning.

“That’s not the point, y/n. The point is, you felt the need to hide this shit from me.” He looked down at his watch. “I have to go to work, this,” he holds up the script, “is coming with me.” He stood up, loading his pockets with his essentials and then grabbing highlighters, note tabs, and sticky notes from your desk drawer. Without a word, he kissed your cheek and left your room. His skin was hot against yours, making your body shudder. You stood there, unsure of how to even react. You heard the door shutting and the lock click as Mike left. You knew you were fucked, that you'd be in the doghouse tomorrow. Why did he want my script, you thought to yourself. You began to overthink the whole situation, making it difficult for you to fall asleep. You lay on your bed, tossing and turning. You texted Mike, no answer. You had no idea how long it had been before you heard your phone ding. It was Mike.

Mike: I hate how you kept that from me, not only is it one scene, but three? Multiple make-out scenes. Nobody else but me should be fucking touching you like that. All I can imagine is that angry sex scene, fuck y/n people are going to see you, hear you make the sounds only I can hear.

You read the text over and over again, slightly turned on by the jealousy but guilt-ridden. You knew you should’ve just told him. After a few seconds, your phone let out a ding again. You look down, seeing a video. You clicked on it, blackness filling the screen at first. You heard soft grunts and whimpers coming from the other side. Eventually, an image came into view making your hand fly to your mouth. The video consisted of him fucking his hand in the bathroom, rubbing his dick in a rough manner. You couldn’t make out what he was saying except for an exasperated ‘Is this what you fucking wanted?’ You felt an immediate heat pooling between your legs at the sight, at his moans and whimpers and unintelligible grumbles across the screen. Your body buzzed, you had never seen anything hotter in your life. Fuck. You knew this was the start of something you didn’t know if you were worried about or extremely excited about. He continued to write messages to you throughout the night. ‘I know you’re ready to take me. You’re such a naughty girl. You’re going to listen to me like the slut you are.’ You knew you weren’t going to sleep tonight, so you decided to go to your desk and work on some of the scoring work for the movie. Your mind is so stuck on the video, that you didn’t notice Mike walking into the house before he dropped the script onto your keyboard. He is home early. He kissed your neck, running his mouth down it before whispering, “I’m gonna show you, think about what you’ve done,” before mumbling something about a shower and disappearing again.

Looking back down at the script, you saw that it was annotated. Sticky tabs marking certain pages, as well as color-coordinated highlighted marks. You flicked through the script, realizing it was every single bit of dirty dialogue, make-out, and sex scene. On the back page, you noticed a sticky note that decoded his highlights. There was a yellow highlight mark, an orange highlight mark, and a pink highlight mark. The yellow one read ‘tonight’, the orange one read ‘tomorrow’, and the pink one read ‘day after tomorrow’. Fuck.

The First Night

Mike came out of the shower, only boxers covering him. His wet hair stuck to his forehead, drops of water slid down his chest. You stared at him, a deep red covering your cheeks. “Did you think about it?” You nodded, barely visible.

“Yes, Mike, I am so sorry I didn’t-“ He cut you off with a ‘tsk’ and shook his head.

“You need to learn your lines, don’t you? Knees, now.” This wasn’t him asking, you knew he was serious. He grabbed the script on his way to the bed, sitting on the edge of it. You comply to his demand, getting on your knees and facing him. He handed you the script, repeating, “You need to learn your lines. So read them. The ones highlighted in yellow. His jaw was set, eyes an impossible shade darker. You took the script from him, scanning the pages for the yellow highlights. All dirty talk. The only thing highlighted for tonight was dirty talk. You were fucked. You let out a shaky sigh, beginning to read the lines aloud.

“P-please baby,” you began reading. He reached down, grabbing your jaw to make him look up at you.

“The only way you’ll learn is if you do it right, no stuttering. Again.” You could see the hardness in his boxers. “My eyes are up here, sweetheart,” he mumbled as he slipped them off, grabbing his length. You cleared your throat, embarrassed.

“Please, baby I need you,” you started again, your tone was shaky. He stroked his cock slowly, shaking his head.

He stopped, mumbling a curse word. “You’re supposed to be begging, y/n,” he teased. “I thought you already read the script. Probably touched yourself while reading it too, huh? Again.” Your face was impossibly redder. You watched his hand run over the tip of his dick, squeezing it before pumping it faster. He let out a quiet groan, letting his head lull back slightly. You glanced back down at your script.

“I-I’m sorry, Mike, I-“

“If you make any noises or movements other than your lines, you’re starting over again. Now read it, y/n.” You nodded again.

“Please, baby,” you began, making your tone more whiny, needy. “Please, I need you. I need to feel you inside me. Please f-fuck me,” you stuttered out the words. A moan escaped his mouth, his mouth open slightly as he kept his gaze on you. You wanted him so fucking bad. Instinctively, you reached up to touch him. With his free hand, he slapped yours away.

“If you fucking touch me,” he paused his movements, letting out a shaky breath. “If you fucking touch me, I'll make you start over again.” He started up again. You could see his body shaking, telling you that he was close.

“Please,” you begged, it sounding more sincere than before. You started to reach down to touch yourself, trying to ease the aching in your core. He grabbed my jaw again, making me look up at him.

“Did I say you could touch yourself? As far as I know, I didn’t give you fucking permission. Again.” Once again, you relayed your line to him, not breaking eye contact, finishing them perfectly. You watched him, a loud moan echoing your room. “F-fuck,” he groaned out, letting out whimpers as he came, beads landing on your face and script, causing the letters and highlighter to bleed. He laid back on the bed for a moment, his dick still tightly gripped in his hand, chest heaving. Finally, sitting up, he pulled up his boxers and found a shirt to wipe his hand off with, tossing it back to you. “Good girl,” he mumbled. “Now get cleaned up.” With that, he kissed your forehead and got into bed, turning to face away from you. You continued to look at him, watching him breathe from under the covers. Looking back down at your script, I realize that you needed a new one now. You grabbed the shirt that Mike had thrown at you, wiping your face clean, and getting into bed. You turned toward him, he refused to look at you. You groaned, turning onto your side. You weren’t going to let him win this little game he decided to play with you. Throughout the night, Mike periodically woke you up, rubbing his hand along your heat, and kissing your neck. By the third time, it was 5 am you were fed up, grabbing his hand and putting it back. “Im not sure you’ve learned your lesson, y/n. So, no.” He rolled over on his side, falling asleep again. You groaned, willing yourself to go back to sleep. This was going to be a long few days.

The Second Night

Today consisted of a few more table readings, as well as a couple of preemptive press interviews to promote your movie. By the time you got home, it was 7 pm. You walked into your room, seeing Mike on his phone, barely glancing at you before going back to his phone. Seeing as your day was rough, you decided today was the day to officially apologize to him. You drop your stuff to the floor and make your way over to the bed. You sit on the edge, looking toward him. “Hey Mikey,” you start. He set his phone, sitting up to face you. “I um,” his eyes meet yours. You were unable to read him this time. “I think we should talk,” you mumble, refusing to look away from his eyes. He grabbed your neck, not too hard but hard enough to hurt you. His lips connected to yours, kissing you with a force that sent you spiraling. Your mouth gaped, allowing him to shove his tongue in your mouth, making you moan as your tongues danced. Without breaking the kiss, he got up, shoving you down on the bed. He finally broke the kiss and walked over to your desk, grabbing the script and tossing it at you.

“In the orange. Tell me what happens next.” You look at him, your eyes wide. You pick up the script, flicking through the pages until you reached the orange. “Out loud, sweetheart.”

“In this scene,” you pause, allowing yourself to read before you spoke. “Evan’s character and I um, he and I are supposed to make out while he…” You pause, not wanting to say it.

“Hmm?”

“He is fingering me while we ma- while we kiss.”

“Wrong. Try again.” He gave off a devilish grin.

“While w-we make out, Mike.” You whisper.

“That’s my girl,” he mumbled as he made his way over to you, immediately attacking your neck and working at your jeans, sliding them off of you. You gasp, immediately grabbing onto his hair. You could feel yourself getting wet under his touch, aching for any sort of friction. You push your hips up against him. “Hands to yourself, love,” he growled against your neck. He grabs the script, shoving it into my hand. “Read it, tell me what it says.” His breath tickled my neck, sending chills down my spine.

“It- look I-“ You are unable to get the words out as his lips latch onto yours. He kisses you like he’s starving, taking you in as much as he can.

“Come on, sweetheart, read your little script. Memorize it. Know every noise, every movement you're supposed to make. And if you forget,” he pauses, twisting a finger around your panties, pulling them aside. “I’ll make you remember.” He grumbles, connecting his lips against yours again, sliding a finger inside you. He moves in and out impossibly slow, making you groan. His tongue runs along the seam of your lips, letting himself in as your tongues danced together aggressively. You moan onto his mouth, prompting him to quicken his movements. He was holding you against him as he inserted another finger, curling them upward, hitting that special spot that made pleasure jolt through your body. Your head lolled back, a moan escaping your lips.

“F-fuck, Mike,” you whine.

“You're so fucking wet, baby. Fuck look at you, helpless under me.” He whispered. You allowed your eyes to close. He grabbed your jaw with his free hand, very gently. Your eyes opened, his eyes were full of lust. “Oh no, you're going to look at me as I show you the effect I have on you.” His lips connected to your collarbone, sucking on it until a purple mark appeared. His fingers kept hooking up into you, and you could feel the heat building up in your belly. You buck your hips forward as he whispers, “You really think you get to cum tonight? Not until you’ve learned your lesson.” Right before you were granted a release, he pulled his fingers out, standing upright and looking at you. You were a mess before him: face red and eyes glazed over. He sticks his fingers in his mouth, licking your arousal off of them. You lost.

“Oh god please Mike, please no I promise I won’t do it again Mike please I miss you I need you so bad-“ You rambled on, looking at him with puppy dog eyes, eyebrows strewn together. Instead, he chuckles and crosses his arms.

“You haven’t learned anything, so you don’t get me, nor do you get to finish. Understand?” You whined, laying back on the bed, covering your face. Your body ached for him, you wanted to feel him inside you again. He leaned over you, planting a soft kiss on your temple. He moved to your ear and whispered, “And y/n? If you even try to make yourself cum, you’ll regret it, trust me.” He kissed your cheek again before getting off of you and heading to the bathroom to take another shower. You groaned, rubbing your legs together trying to give yourself any kind of friction. As he was showering, you devised a plan. You could try and ride his thigh when he gets back to bed. Yeah, that should work. You laid in bed, and after about 30 minutes he finally returned, climbing in bed next to you. You smiled, rolling over and straddling his thigh, kissing his face. You slowly started to grind your hips against him, but he grabbed your hips before you could derive any sort of pleasure. “You don’t think I know what you’re doing, love?” You decided to play dumb.

“What do you mean, Mike? I’m just kissing you.” Who were you kidding, you weren’t even convincing yourself.

“As good as you look doing that,” he paused, studying your face and biting his lower lip. “And as badly as I want you to continue, you won’t. Like I said earlier. No lesson learned.” In a swift movement, he hoisted your leg off of him. You were extremely embarrassed. He got what he wanted from you: You begged. Eventually, you were able to will yourself to sleep.

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

You woke up with a sensation on your thigh. “Mike?” You mumble in your sleepy state. There was no response, his arms were wrapped around your thighs as he trailed kisses down to your core. He pressed a kiss against your aching clit through your panties, causing you to groan out. Your hands found his hair, grabbing a fistful of it.

“You’re intoxicating, y/n,” he grumbled against you. He slid your panties to the side, running his tongue along your slit until he reached your clit. “Fuck,” he breathed out against you before sucking on you, causing your body to jolt. You were extremely sensitive, but god it felt so good. “God you make me so fucking hard,” he groaned, grinding against the bed.

“P-please mike,” you moaned out. “Please, I n-need to come.” You threw your head back in frustration as he pulled away, leaving a small kiss on your thigh before crawling back up next to you.

“Not yet,” he grinned before turning over and falling back asleep. You were on the verge of tears at this point. You were so fucking horny but you were afraid to do anything, you didn’t want to prolong the punishment longer than it was planned to be. Finally, after what felt like agonizing hours of laying and staring at the ceiling, you were able to finally fall asleep.

The Final Night

The next morning, you woke up to Mike on his phone. He looked over at you, an innocent smile on his lips. “Good morning,” he said cheerfully. You were buzzing, your body craving some sort of release. You needed Mike. You were tired of whatever he was playing at. You just wanted to feel him, you craved the feeling of him inside you. He shifted his body to where he was on top of you. You felt his hard cock pressing into your lower belly. “Do you remember your lines we went over?” He ran his hands under your shirt, grabbing at your tits, causing a pleasure-filled sigh to escape your lips.

“I do,” you lied, trying to get him to finally fuck you.

“Good girl, I'm glad you remember.” He leaned down, kissing your neck. “Let's see if you still remember after I fuck the words out of your pretty little mouth.” He was quoting the script. Your mouth falls open slightly as you watch him remove his boxers, his dick springing free. He gave you a look, as if asking if it was okay. You give a soft nod.

“Please, M-Mike, I’m desperate,” You beg. He smiles, leaning down and kissing your forehead.

“You don’t get to look at me, understand?” He asked, slipping his shirt off and putting it over your eyes. “Only I get to look at you, looking at me would bring you too much pleasure.”

“Please mike, just fuck me please,” you groan. Without a word, you feel his cock slide into you. You throw your head back, gripping at the bedsheets and moaning. You hear soft groans and whimpers coming from Mike, making you impossibly hornier. He’s attacking your neck as he's thrusting into you with no mercy, “F-fuck mike please!” You cry out.

“Now’s your time, say you’re fucking mine, y/n.” You weren’t able to get the words out. You feel his thumb circle your clit as he continues ruthlessly thrusting. The familiar heat is building up in you, making you throw out a string of incoherent pleas and whines. You grab onto his arms, praying he’s going to let you cum. “Looks like I’m fucking the words right out of your mouth, huh? That’s such a shame,” he said, taking deep breaths in between his words. With that, he pulls out of you, moving his thumb off your clit. He removes the shirt off your face and looks down at you, seeing tears forming in your eyes. You groan, silently begging him to let you have your release. He wipes the tears from your eyes before giving you a soft kiss. He puts his boxers back on, getting off the bed and making his way out of the room, you presume to the bathroom to ‘finish himself off.’

“Mike p-please,” you whine. “I don’t want to wait any longer p-please,” He only shakes his head in response.

“Look at your script, love. Patience is key.” He walked out of the room, leaving you aching for him. You got up, stumbling over to your desk and picking up the script. You scanned over the highlighted parts. He is recreating this almost identically, you think to yourself. You look over the pink highlights, blushing at what you have coming for you tonight. Thank god you have nothing to do today.

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

Your legs were buzzing and your skin was on fire. Mike called out of work tonight, making you hopeful. You weren’t sure where he was though. You were laying on your bed, reading a book when he came in, panting. You looked up at him. “H-hey Mikey,” you say sheepishly. “Where have you been?”

“I was on a run,” he walked over to you, picking you up and attacking your lips with his in an aggressive kiss. You wrap your legs around his waist as he picked you up. “Enough is enough,” he grumbled, pushing you up against the wall. His tongue pushes past your lips, you greedily taking him in as he roughly kisses you. As he uses the wall as leverage, he manages to peel your shirt off, grabbing at your tits as he is kissing and sucking on your neck. You lean your head back against the wall, letting your mouth fall open, small moans escaping. “You’re so fucking needy, you need this soooo fucking bad don’t you?” He teased you in between kisses. You were useless, seeing stars as he groped your tits. He’s basically eating you, lips traveling from your jaw, to your neck, to your collarbone, gingerly leaving kisses on the marks he gave you the previous night. His hand reaches between the two of you, pushing up against your core, rubbing you through your clothed cunt. You’re a mess at this point, your body reacting exactly the way he wanted it to. “Greedy, greedy, greedy,” he grumbled. You are nearly at your breaking point, that heat building up inside you once again.

“M-Mikey please, please just this once please I need-“ Those words cause him to speed up. You moan, feeling yourself come undone in his arms.

“Oh baby no, I’m going to make you cum however many times I want to make you cum,” he groans.

“Oh f-fuck, Mike!” You cry out. Your body tenses as you finally get your release. You grab onto mike, clawing at his back as you ride out your orgasm, moans and whimpers escaping you. Immediately, he brings you over to the bed, laying you down gently with your ass hanging over the edge. He strips you, immediately attacking your entrance with his tongue. You grab his hair, your hips bucking up onto him. “M-mike yo- this is too much, i-im so fucking sensitive I-“

“Its enough when Ive had enough,” he mumbles against you. His tongue runs over your folds, flicking against your clit periodically. He pushes your legs apart as far as they could go, spreading you open as he tongue-fucked you. You feel your orgasm building again, causing you to pull back slightly. It was almost too much for you to handle. Mike pulls you against him again. You whine and squirm under his touch, your vision hazy with pleasure. “if you don’t fucking be still Im going to extend your punishment, and I don’t believe you want that, do you, you pathetic mess.” Mike goes at it again. You tug his hair, making him whimper into you. His tongue flicks over your clit a couple more time before you finally tip over the edge, coming on his face. Your back arched as you rode out your orgasm, him planting soft kisses and nips on your inner thigh. Your body ached, but it felt so fucking good. Mike pushed you further up the bed, taking off his sweatpants and boxers, revealing his cock, twitching in anticipation. He gets on top of you, planting sloppy lazy kisses all over you before kissing you, sliding his tongue in your mouth. You immediately tasted yourself on his tongue. “Bet you can fucking taste what I do to you. Yeah? You understand you’re fucking mine right? Those pretty noises? Mine. Those pretty faces you make? Mine. The obscene words you say when you’re close? ONLY mine. No one else’s” You nodded your head quickly. “Use your fucking words, love. Put that pretty mouth of yours to use.”

“I-I’m yours, mike,” you moan through kisses. You continue to repeat those words when you feel him push his cock into you spreading you open, making you gasp. Fucking, finally.

“Fucking right you are,” he growls before attacking his lips to yours again. He grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head. He thrust in and out of you at a sloppy yet quick pace, the sound of skin slapping and moans filling the room. Mike was letting out small whimpers here and there, struggling to speak. “What did you learn y/n? What did you learn from this experience, hmm? That’s you’re a slut for me? How you make me fucking horny by you just looking at me? How I want to fuck you so hard that the only word you can say is MY name?? Tell me my love, what did you learn?”

You start babbling “I- I learned never to keep things from you, fuck, H-how no amount of fake sex on the screen will change the fact that we fit perfectly together. How- holy shit M-Mike,” he didn’t let up. He was pounding into you. You were unfolding again. “how you know me so well. How you love me so well. How I’ll never lie about anything ever again. How I’m only yours. Only, y-yours, Mike.”

“Good girl. Goooood fucking girl” he said as he started peppering kisses all over your face. “My sweet girl. You’re so perfect, fuck. I want to breathe you in always.” He slowed his pace down, becoming more gentle. “I want you to feel safe to tell me things, fuck-“ He’s a groaning mess. In fact you were both a fucking mess. “I fucking love you so much.” You felt him twitch inside you, his eyes screwing shut. You felt it too, and finally, you spilled, clenching around him, moaning out his name. You felt him cum inside you as he tried to stifle his whimpers. You two stayed there for a moment, catching your breath. You wrap your arms around him in a bear hug, holding onto him tightly. He chuckles, kissing your cheek. “You did so well, you took me so well. You were so patient, you’re so fucking good,” he whispered, leaning his forehead against yours. He rolls off of you, taking off his shirt to clean you and him up. He pulled you against him when he was done, wrapping you up in his arms. You buried your head in his chest. He rubs your back, making random shapes against your skin.

“Mike I’m really sorry. I never should have done that. I got in my own head and got worried. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.” He hugs you tighter.

“Love, I forgave you after night one. I just wanted to have some fun. See how you could come undone under me. It was fucking mesmerizing. Fucking beautiful.” He paused for a moment. “Y/n, you’re going to do so good in that movie. You always do. I can’t wait to see it.” Mike kisses your shoulder. “I’m so proud of you, love. You never fail to amaze me with what you can do. Whether it’s school, your thousands of movie jobs, or how you take me…you always do amazing.” You smile against his chest.

“I love you, Mike.”

“I love you too, more than anything.” His words were sluggish. “Sleep?” You nodded, already drifting off. “Goodnight, my love.” You hum a response into his chest before fading into a, finally, peaceful sleep.

If yall made it to the end, thanks for reading, I appreciate your support for my page. You guys are literally amazing! Please forgive me for any typos, it is in fact 6AM lmao. Anyways, thanks again if you made it to the end!

#josh hutcherson #michael schmidt #mike schmidt #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt imagine #mike schmidt smut #josh hutcherson fanfic #five nights at freddy's #josh hutcherson smut #peeta mellark #fnaf mike schmidt

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marimayscarlett · 14 days

Note

Dive into a world of gothic allure as an elderly vampire lord sweeps you off your feet to his New York penthouse. 🧛🦇🥀

Explore the captivating fantasy of being his object of obsession. 😩 The vampire lord, with his smoldering gaze and commanding presence, becomes fixated on you.

With his silver hair and timeless elegance, he will mesmerise you with his refined manners and poetic words. 📜

🌃 As the nights grow longer and the passion intensifies 🔥 , you delve deeper into the secrets of his world, discovering the dark history that binds you together. Will you succumb to the seductive power of the vampire lord, or will you find the strength to resist his alluring embrace? 👀

Ja ok doch wem wollen wir etwas vormachen? Was für ein Widerstand, bitte?! Richard kann mit uns machen, was er will.

(Warning: shamelessly catering to my romantic vampire needs here, self insert scribblings)

Thank you dearest Näd for this and your unwavering and equally obsessed support in our little fantasy crossover here (grüß mir deinen Werwolf-Mann) 🤍🤍🤍

The saga of the charming older vampire lord continues... for more context, here is his potential backstory, an attempt for the lore behind his vampire existence as a part one so to speak.

🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇

How would we meet?

A large exhibition hall in a historic museum, shortly before the museum's closing. The sun has already set on this winter day, and the moonlight illuminates the dust dancing through the air. A young woman, her reddish-brown hair tightly pulled back into a bun, with bangs falling across her face, leans over a desk, the sleeves of her loose shirt rolled up.

She is completely engrossed in her work, transcribing the text from an old book into her notebook, consulting various entries in her dictionary, and carefully turning the centuries-old pages. She barely hears the slow footsteps approaching and only looks up from her work when the person stands before her desk.

Her gaze is caught by gray eyes under striking eyebrows. The man before her is impeccably dressed, his long gray hair gathered in an elegant braid. Her breath catches briefly—why, she's not exactly sure.

"Good evening. You must be Maria, the one in charge of the exhibition on medieval manuscripts.."

"Yes, that's me. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr..."

"Kruspe. But please, just call me Richard. I must say, the way you handle these artifacts with such care and reverence is truly admirable."

"Ah, this name rings a bell. So I guess you're the one who lent this beautiful manuscript to the museum? I just believe each piece has a story to tell, and it's our duty to ensure they're heard."

"Quite poetic, Maria. I couldn't agree more. Your passion for art is evident."

"Well, it's hard not to be passionate when surrounded by such beauty and history."

"Your enthusiasm for this topic seems to be quite strong. It's quite... captivating to see."

"Oh, thank you...That's very kind of you to say."

"It's merely an observation. Anyway, I won't take up any more of your time. I'll leave you to your work."

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Richard. If you have any questions about the exhibition, feel free to ask."

🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇

How the obsession evolves:

Richard finds himself lingering around the museum more often, drawn to Maria's presence. He battles with his desires, knowing the consequences of succumbing to his vampiric instincts - as it already demanded a loved one of his as a victim over a century ago.

Maria notices Richard's frequent visits and begins to feel a mixture of curiosity and unease. Despite his polite demeanor, there's something unsettling about his gaze.

One restless night, Richard's longing for her reaches a tipping point. He stands outside her home, conflicted yet unable to resist the pull any longer. With a heavy heart and trembling hands, he makes a decision that will change both their lives forever, and takes her while she sleeps with him to his New York penthouse, determined to not let her go.

Maria is faced with the task of coming to terms with her new life situation - her new home, a modern golden cage, with a man who anticipates her every wish, who tries to make her life as comfortable as possible, yet... remains silent. He barely speaks to her, and inside him, the conflict between obsession and guilt simmers. It's as if he's denying himself access to his greatest longing. At night, she hears him restlessly pacing on the rooftop, and even though she tries to initiate a conversation, gently understanding his melancholy, she only meets with a few polite words and sad eyes - as if he's punishing her for his decision.

Richard's wrestles with the fear of repeating past tragedies, haunted by memories of the girl he loved and lost to his own monstrous nature. But one night, he gathers his courage: he reveals his dark nature to her, shares with her his past - and contrary to the expected rejection, he encounters understanding and deep emotions.

#rammstein #emigrate #richard kruspe #ask #tiny fanfic-rambling i guess #yes i know this is kind of like a reader insert. and by that i mean ME #vampire #vampire aesthetic

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cyberbirb-arts · 9 months

Text

Accompanying piece to a Gency ficlet under the cut! :D

Angela would tirelessly dedicate a good portion of her week to monitor Genji's enhancements, double-checking his oxygen levels and considering new filtration systems for his biotic fluids. She then worried about the adjustments to his cyborg body and new pain medications, second-guessing her own decisions one too many times.

But Genji always reassured Angela that everything was fine, and that if there were any issues he'd tell her at once. He did not like seeing her so stressed and anxious.

He fondly remembers their late night conversations, sharing a dish of her favorite apple pie and cups of stale coffee. He'd listen to Angela ramble for hours about the same subject, boredom never crossing his mind. How much sleep she was getting exactly, however...

Genji found her too often collapsed at her desk; glasses somehow tossed on the floor, papers and documents scattered across, and her tablet dangerously hanging off the edge. He quietly retrieved her readers and caught the tablet in time. He carefully placed a cushion under her cheek and draped a small blanket over her shoulders. It's the least Genji could do, he didn't want to disturb her workspace.

He believed that she always had wings, even without her field suit. But angels needed their rest, too.

"Take care of your own needs as you do for others," he told her. "Please don't leave yourself out."

"I know," she smiled genuinely. "I appreciate you looking out for me."

That evening she was wide awake and the moonlight complimented her pale blonde hair so beautifully, it seemed like tiny golden halos were escaping the loose ponytail. Genji called her ethereal to himself, even as she apologized about her smudged eyeliner and tired, weary smile – all evidence of long hours and few breaks. And the extra coffee probably wasn't the greatest idea. So, her picture-taking skills were a bit clumsy with shaking fingers until Genji held up the other end of the phone.

She waved at him through the screen and started the countdown for the photo timer, but Genji noticed some pie crumbs on her chin.

"Hold still, Angela...", he whispered, using the softest part of his pinky finger to swipe them away.

She laughed, "Quite the professional I am."

"...The best one I know."

She met his gaze, and suddenly Genji wished he didn't plan his return trip to Nepal to contemplate consciousness; a place so far away from the one he could never call home anymore, bearing witness to the great blanket of stars enveloping the snow upon the mountains.

Because at that moment, he fell in love with the entire universe in her eyes.

He entertained the idea briefly, and in his mind he saw Angela's worried expression as she'd approach him, unpacking his bag. Genji would say nothing but tuck a loose piece of her bang behind an ear – the one that would always fall unceremoniously in front of her right eye – he'd selfishly wanted to do that.

Maybe softly kiss her cheek; a quiet thank you for everything.

He'd have to write an extensive apology to Zenyatta, for the desire to stay a little longer with the amazing woman who saved his life...

But of course, he could not stay.

His spiritual path beckoned him to the Shambali once more.

And her hands were full already as an engineer and field medic for Overwatch.

As Genji finally caught himself staring at her after a bit too long, the both of them reluctantly glanced back at the phone screen and their bashful smiles.

Angela silently cradled his gentle hand in hers and nearly gave it a kiss – but she stopped herself.

The camera timer was about to run out.

"Make sure to write me a letter, Genji..."

No one could smile like her.

"I will not forget, Angela."

As beautiful as the Moon.

"...Danke schön."

#overwatch #genji shimada #angela ziegler #mercy #gency #fanart #overwatch fanfiction #medibang #cyberbirb-arts

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ssuckitlosers · 5 months

Text

Prompt: Keeping Warm, PrUk

Attempted something for PrUKcember/@pruktober. Better late than never?

Summary: Gilbert’s cold after a trip to the shops.

Words: 1,143

A03

Cold mornings had never really been a problem for him before. Gilbert was an early riser, always had been, yet he was still in bed. He had been awake for a while, lightly playing with the mop of blonde hair next to him instead of starting the day. While he was comfortable, he really should get up.

The arm around his waist tightened, preventing him from leaving.

"Art," Gilbert chuckled, only getting an incomprehensible noise in response, "I need to get up."

Arthur mumbled something he didn't quite catch, but his tone expressed his disagreement. Instead, he shifted, further wrapping himself around Gilbert. His head moved out from under the covers to press a tired kiss to his neck, "No, you don't."

"Someone has to," He pointed out, omitting the fact that he'd already stayed longer than he should have. One of them had to go shopping today; a task Gilbert had given himself. Arthur wasn't going to be so cuddly once he realised they were out of milk for his tea.

With a sigh, Gilbert resumed stroking Arthur's hair, allowing himself a few more minutes before he had to brave the cold.

----

Their shopping list was unusually long. The poor weather had them both procrastinating going out until they were forced to. Even if they had milk, there was nothing else. A couple of unappetising cereal bars lay at the back of a cupboard and there were a couple of tins but nothing particularly nice.

One look outside revealed that the snow had not stopped. If anything, it had gotten worse. Everything was covered in white and he could barely see the end of the garden through the falling snow. Maybe the cereal bars are better than he thought…

No, he had to go. If it got any worse, they'd be snowed in and then they'd be in real trouble. Besides, if he let Arthur do the shopping he'd forget half the list. As much as he loved the man, he was incapable of buying everything in one trip. Despite being the reason they kept a list.

Before he left, he impulsively turned on the heating. A rarity for him, but he knew Arthur would appreciate it. As he grabbed his keys, he idly wondered if Arthur would make hot chocolate later. Hopefully. He's awesome at making drinks and his hot chocolate was delicious. Maybe he should try to bribe him with some snacks…

----

By the time he got back home, he was cold and wet. His fingers stung as he held the shopping bags. The heat hit him as he opened the door and he had to thank his past self for turning it on before he left. What a good decision.

He carelessly kicked off his shoes, left his wet socks on the floor and quickly shed his jacket. He could deal with them once the blood returned to his fingers. As he walked towards the kitchen he could see that Arthur had left his blanket cocoon.

"Guess whose awesome?" Gilbert announced, setting the shopping bags on the kitchen table.

"Hmm, I wonder…" Arthur leant against the countertop, as Gilbert lost his train of thought. Arthur hadn't been awake for long; he stood there arms crossed, barefooted, hair pointing in all directions, in a worn pair of pyjama's bottoms and one of Gilbert's old t-shirts. He would never get tired of seeing Arthur like this. Of being allowed to see him like this. It always brought a stupid smile to his face.

His thoughts were interrupted by Arthur clearing his throat, looking amused.

"I bought those biscuits you like," Gilbert said, remembering where he left off. Pleased to see Arthur's teasing smile replaced by a more genuine one as he moved towards him.

"You're the best," Arthur teased.

"I know."

"You're freezing!"

"Yep." Arthur cupped his cheeks, frowning at how cold they were.

"Fucking hell, did you even wear a hat?" Arthur's hand covered his frozen ears, answering his own question. "A scarf?" His hands moved to his chilled neck, "Glov-" Gilbert kissed him. effectively derailing the oncoming lecture.

He felt Arthur relax and hummed in approval as he moved his warm hands to hold his cold face. They took a few steps until Arthur's back hit the counter. Gilbert slid his hands down past Arthur's ass, to grab his thighs and hoist him up onto the counter. Arthur's legs wrapped around him, keeping him close as things got more heated. Sure was a good way to get hot.

"Fuck." Arthur yelped, quickly moving to stop Gilbert's freezing hands from getting further up his shirt. "I'm buying you gloves."

"Where's the love?" Gilbert cackled, brushing his thumbs across Arthur's skin, "Share your heat."

"Absolutely not." Arthur wedged a foot in between them and straightened his leg to push Gilbert away. "Go get out of those wet clothes."

"I know one way I could get out of them." Gilbert wiggled his eyebrows, before making a grab for the other man.

"Keep those ice cubes away from me." Arthur jumped off the counter, laughing, narrowly evading Gilbert's hands.

"Boo," Gilbert pouted, feigning defeat before lunging at Arthur and spinning him around.

"Wait, wait, wait," Arthur held Gilbert's wrists, breathless from the play fighting and laughing so much. "I'll make hot chocolate."

"You drive a hard bargain." Gilbert paused for a few seconds, to add suspense, before accepting, "Deal."

"Good," Arthur laughed, releasing his wrists to plant a quick kiss on his mouth, "Now go get changed before you catch a cold."

"I'm too awesome to get sick."

"Don't test it."

-----

Thanks for reading!

Lmao hear me out, I’m a headcanon girlie please. Fanfics are not my forte, I haven’t written a fic in years. (Kinda wanna write more though, we'll see.) Hopefully it's alright, I wrote this in a few hours and probably need to edit it but ah that's for future me.

#hetalia #hws england #hws prussia #pruk #prukcember #hetalia fanfiction #sshutuploser #arthur kirkland #gilbert beilschmidt #emotionally i am going to have to redo this at some point

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lostinheavensworld · 9 months

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leaving.

Eddie Munson x college!reader

this is extremely self indulgent, I started writing this to comfort myself instead of packing, and I just finished it after getting all moved in. this is my first time writing on here, please be nice!

You were leaving.

Tomorrow morning, your car would be packed full of all your most important belongings, and you wouldn’t be back for months.

Yet, your boyfriend seemed determined to avoid talking about any of that.

Instead, he was intently describing his newest campaign, designed for the kids he’s taken under his wing. He’s left high school, but not them. Their club meets weekly, and you know they’ll be the best hope of keeping Eddie sane while you’re gone.

But who will keep you sane?

Leaving all your loved ones behind… you’ve been spiraling this past week. You’ve hugged countless friends, family, and even coworkers goodbye. It’s been fucking with you more than you’re letting on. After all, it is your second year doing this. You're supposed to be used to it by now.

Your first year, you called Eddie about a hundred times the first week alone, using his voice to calm your nerves as you were constantly forced into new environments. by the second semester, things were easier, Eddie visited you more and you finally began to feel comfortable where you were… until summer break started.

Thrown back into your hometown, you go to a party the first week back and you get reminded why you were so quick to get out of this place. but… it's where everyone you’ve ever known is. It's your home. Eventually, you fell into a familiar rhythm. You spent time with Eddie nearly every day, just happy to finally see each other again.

You two were finally content with life, both living in a serene bubble ignoring the deadline awaiting you in August; but now the day has come.

You asked Eddie to come over to help you pack, but he was so absorbed in brainstorming that he wasn’t much help. That’s alright, you just wanted the company. but…

“Eds,” you call softly.

“Then I’ll- yea?” he pauses, dropping his notebook into his lap.

"Aren't you gonna help me pack..?"

"...Oh. Uh, yeah," he jumps up and moves to start folding your clothes, falling silent and wearing an expression you can't quite read. You don't push it, since you need to get this shit packed before you sleep tonight.

You both work quietly, nearly finished packing before Eddie suddenly stops and wraps his arms around your waist instead. You try to keep packing, but this limited range of motion is not working out for you as you hoped.

"Babe, I can't move," you laugh slightly, attempting to push his arms down, meeting a surprising resistance. This causes you to stop your actions and twist around in his arms instead. "Eddie?"

He doesn't respond at first, burying his head in your shoulder instead and holding you tighter. "I'm not ready for you to go..."

Now it's your turn to stand quietly, wrapping your arms around him as you sway slightly. Your head falls against his shoulder as you absorb the comfort, trying to not get absorbed in your sadness. You know if you wallow in the moment you'll start crying and second guessing every decision that has led you here. You couldn't afford to sit in these feelings, pushing your boyfriend back so you can see his face again. "I'm not ready to have to be hours away from you either, but you know I need to go, right?"

"Last semester wasn't even that fun for you, wouldn't it be better to stay here?"

"In Hawkins?" you laughed, "no, it would not be better for me to stay here. C'mon, you know staying here much longer would make me more miserable than going back there... plus, this year will be different. You're gonna come up more, remember? I already talked it over with my new roommate."

"Yeah, I know," he groaned, resting his forehead against your own, "I just wish things could be different."

"Me too, but... abstinence makes the heart grow stronger," you grin at him, "I bet you were getting sick of me wrapped around you every night," even before you finish the sentence, his face is screwing up in horror,

"You know that was a lie. You couldn't even say that with a straight face. If I could have you by my side every night, I would. I wouldn't trade any moment with you for anything else in the world."

You smile at his words, pulling him into a gentle kiss. "sap," you whisper, kissing him again before he can protest. You honestly would rather stay in this moment forever, but you know this conversation is important. "You'll be visiting a month from today. Time will fly by my love. I'll see you so, so soon."

He hums in agreement, tugging you back to packing, now moving quickly to finish up.

"Woah, what just changed? Am I that convincing?" you tease.

"No, I'd just rather keep kissing you on your bed but all this shit is in the way, so it's in my best interest to get this done," he gives you a grin. Within a few minutes, he's zipping up your suitcase and (gently) chucking it onto the ground, before grabbing you and moving you both onto the bed. "...much better."

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #fics bring me comfort #comfort #college!reader #canon divergence

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dontknowmanijustworkhere · 3 months

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Painting Experience

Summary: Wednesday regretted her decision to be Xavier's canvas

Wednesday regretted her decision of agreeing to be Xavier’s canvas. The bristles that were brushing against her arches were driving her wild, but she couldn’t do much about it without revealing that she was ticklish and that she would not do.

The two of them were in his empty dorm room. Rowan was out and would be until later. He’d figured the best place for this was his bed so she’d be comfortable. The nightstand he normally used to charge his phone on was pushed closer to the end of the bed so his painting materials could rest on it and not risk falling over and staining his sheets.

She resisted the urge to grab a fistful of his bedsheets, willing herself to stay still and not move her feet when Xavier brought the paintbrush under her toes. She didn’t realize how exceptionally ticklish she was until this very moment.

“Are you done yet?” She said, her teeth gritting. She hoped he wouldn’t see that she was struggling to keep herself from laughing, and instead interpret her question coming from impatience.

“It’s only been a couple minutes,” Xavier grinned at her.

It felt like an eternity.

“Yes, well-” She bit down on her lip hard . He seemed to be moving agonizingly slow. She needed to keep her mind focused, to think about electrocuting Pugsley or ways to shut Enid up whenever she was prattling on about things that she did not care about, which was most of the time. “I don’t want this to interfere with my writing time.”

“It won’t,” Xavier assured her.

Wednesday shut her eyes, taking deep breaths. She could get through this. She would not allow herself to be humiliated or defeated. She was much stronger than that-

Her whole body jerked when an entirely new sensation came over her, making Xavier look at her in concern.

“Are you okay?”

Wednesday blushed. “I’m fine,” she muttered. “Continue.”

“Are you sure?” Xavier wasn’t letting it go. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” Wednesday snapped.

He still looked doubtful. “I was just trying to draw a smiley face on you.” Wednesday lifted her foot up, twisting it so she could see it. There was indeed a smiley face drawn on her big toe. “I guess I pressed down too hard?” He frowned.

Wednesday didn’t want to keep talking about this. “Finish what you were doing or I will leave.”

Secretly, she hoped he’d persist so she had a reason to walk out of here.

But alas, he didn’t. Although, the grin from earlier was back and she didn’t like it.

“Did I tickle you?” He said, looking amused.

“No,” Wednesday denied.

“No, huh?” Xavier said slyly. He used the brush to tickle along her toes. “That doesn’t tickle?”

Wednesday tried not to move, but it was impossible not to squirm. “Don’t,” she tried to warn him but the words got stuck in her throat when he used his free hand to skitter his fingernails on her other, paint-free foot. “I’m warhnihing you!”

“Are you?” He teased. “Never thought I’d see the day that Wednesday Addams was laughing .”

The brush was back on the middle of her foot, heading down to her heel. Wednesday couldn’t hold it in any longer and she burst into girlish giggles. In the meantime, she couldn’t even move her feet away from the tortuous fingers; Xavier had thrown his legs over hers to successfully trap them. Her threats sounded quite pathetic, garbled with laughter as she flailed around on the bed. Xavier was smiling the whole time, chuckling a bit, unaware of the danger he’d put himself in.

She would get her revenge on him later.

That was a promise.

#tickle fic #tickling #wednesday tickle #wednesday tickles #wednesday addams #wednesday netflix #lee wednesday #lee! wednesday #ticklish wednesday #xavier thorpe

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szallejhscorner · 1 year

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King of Diamonds - Part I

Hello, again!

I’m back with something new. It won’t be that long I think, and I can’t promise to update that frequently, but season 2 made me want to write this really badly. So here we are, I guess.

•♦•♦• When Chishiya Shuntarou accepted to remain in the Borderlands as a citizen, I knew there was nothing I could do but to accept as well. •♦•♦•

Fireworks lit up the sky, rainbow-colored explosions that proved what we all had hoped for: the very last game had been cleared. Parts of the Hearts Queen’s blimp were still falling down from the air, leaving trails of sparks and ash where the airship once hovered. The very last game. We made it.

We could finally go home.

It was a beautiful sight, and I felt tears running down my cheeks. My wounds burned whenever I took a breath, but I didn’t look away from the fireworks. So many of them. So many injuries… dozens of scars on my body that would never heal.

All those games I had been forced to play. All those people who died next to me… who died because of me.

I was no murderer. Somehow, I had managed not to kill a single person with my own hands. But nonetheless, people had died because of me. People in opposite teams… people who had less points than I…

They had left not only the physical scars on my body. My whole soul had been scarred in this world, my heart shattered into so many pieces that it would be impossible to fix it. And yet all I wanted was to finally go home, into the arms of my family and far, far away from this horror.

I could go home now.

With a shaking sigh, I turned to the side, where Chishiya was still leaning against the corpse of a car. His white body was completely soaked red now, and his eyes were fluttering. His pain must be massive, and he wouldn’t make it much longer with those severe injuries. I didn’t need to be a doctor to know that.

I wanted to reach for his hand and tell him to go home. I was sure he’d decline the citizenship, more than anything because he was dying and doctors in the real world could help him. Besides, who would want to stay in such a madhouse?

And yet, Chishiya Shuntarou never stopped to surprise me. He coughed more blood that covered his lips and the already pale skin on his face, but the smirk didn’t leave his face. It never did. His eyes found mine for a moment before they turned towards the sky, and his voice was almost too silent to hear when he said:

“I’ll accept.”

My heart dropped to my stomach and I almost forgot to breathe. “What? But… Chishiya! You’ll die if you stay here!”

Chishiya chuckled, a sound so pained and rough that it made me shudder. Even though I wasn’t the one suffering so much pain, it was agonizing to see him that way. Not only because of the way I felt for him.

“I don’t want to go back to a world without you…” I whispered, almost begging him to change his mind. We could meet again in the real world, live a life without games. We could be together and be happy.

“That world has… nothing for me”, Chishiya muttered under a pained breath, “so I… accept.”

My body dropped back against the car. I wanted to ruffle my hair, but my hands were covered in blood. Chishiya’s blood. Blood that was still pouring out from the bullet holes in his body.

“You bastard”, I sobbed, but tears blurred my sight now so I couldn’t even see the condescending smirk on his face.

We had gone through so much together. All those games we had survived, moments we had had together. And yet he wanted to stay… wanted to continue. I didn’t have to explain to him that, once he became a citizen, he could never turn back. He would continue to play games, and one day, other players would defeat him, killing him just like we had defeated the face cards.

I didn’t want that. I did not want to die here. But Chishiya had made clear that his decision couldn’t be changed, and I didn’t want to be without him, either.

“You bastard”, I repeated with a desperate laugh.

And then, I once more looked up to the fireworks. They were still beautiful, but it had taken mere seconds for me to hate them. I didn’t want to stay here. I didn’t want to die.

I sighed and blinked away the tears. “I’ll accept, too.”

#king of diamonds #chishiya shuntaro #shuntaro chishiya #alice in borderland #aib #aib spoilers

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oldfarmwitch · 4 months

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I’ve been home taking care of my mom for the last 5+ weeks and was supposed to go home on Monday.

Things were looking promising for a while, but we realized yesterday that she can’t be alone just yet, so I have to stay another couple of weeks at least. My sister will be able to come at some point, but we don’t know when.

Gonna dump the rest of my feelings under the cut.

I flew out here with 24 hours notice to help while she recovered from a fall only to have her to end up in the ER 2 days after I got here and have unplanned surgery five days later.

I’ve spent the past 4 weeks running around between hospitals and care homes and outpatient therapy while also researching modifications we can make to her home and still trying to work (thank goodness I work remotely for an incredibly flexible and understanding company).

It’s terrifying to live halfway across the world from an aging parent who lives alone and has questionable decision making skills.

My sister and I are looking into services and hiring help, but there are long waitlists for everything. We want to move her to an independent living facility closer to my sister, but that will likely take a few years.

I don’t want this to be my life for the next few years. I miss my partner and my pets and my bed and my kitchen and my life. I was doing ok with everything until I realized I’d have to stay longer. Luckily, she doesn’t need 24/7 care, so I can get away and take breaks, but wow. I have so much respect and empathy for full-time caregivers.

I just needed to get this off my chest, I guess.

#personal #surgery #medical issues

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avaritia-apotheosis · 9 months

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Phantom Children: Redux | I. In Lieu of Flowers

Starting off my crossposting journey with PC:R <3

There is no Clockwork there to rewind time after the Nasty Burger explosion. Danny Fenton, having witnessed his friends and family die a fiery death, struggles to cope with his loss and the looming future that awaits him. So when an unlikely source offers a hand to help, he takes it. Three years later, Batman is called upon to help solve a string of impossible murders in Gotham that end up entangling him to the mysteries of Amity Park. -- A Rewrite of Phantom Children ft. A shiny new plot, longer chapters, and stronger prose!

A DPxDC crossover // Read on [AO3} or [FFN.net]

MASTERPOST // Next Chapter →

Three Years Ago…

Danny Fenton was fourteen when his world ended for the third time.

And no, this wasn’t the product of teenage melodrama. Rather it’s the result of the universe’s spirited efforts in making Danny’s life a veritable punching bag for any deity to come over and fuck it up .

He certainly didn’t ask to half-die not once, but twice , and be responsible for this godforsaken town. That’s a thing heroes do. Or sidekicks that train under heroes. Not some dumb kid barely halfway through his first semester of high school and who was incapable of keeping his grades higher than a C .

But, well, this was what he got for playing hero, right? Dead parents, dead sister, and dead friends, all because he was too goddamn slow .

(The prerequisite to every hero: a tragic backstory. Guess it was finally his turn.)

The weather went from a light mist to a drizzle, raindrops falling in uneven staccato on the cluster of black umbrellas. He could barely hear the ceremony— not that he was able to pay much attention anyway. Danny tried to. He did. But his mind was a blue screen— had been for the past few weeks—and the preacher’s words were just going in one ear and out the other in loud static.

His fingers curled around the velvet pouch in his pocket, grounding himself. He’d dug it out from its lockbox in the depths of his closet for this exact reason.

In front of Danny was a single plot reserved for the Fenton family, the grass undisturbed except for the muddy dirt and drooping flowers around the erected marble obelisk that stood atop the plot. (Undisturbed because there wasn’t any need to dig up the ground for a coffin. You’d need bodies for that, and there were hardly any left after—) At the obelisk’s base was a bronze placard engraved with the names of three of the people who once comprised Danny's whole world, and an epitaph: Gone but Never Forgotten.

Vlad must have chosen it. The obelisk was his decision too; excessive and grand because he would provide nothing less for his greatest enemy, his greatest love, and their wonderful, genius, perfect daughter.

Danny looked away from the monument, his hair a damp curtain that shadowed his eyes. No mom left to brush it out of the way. No dad to ruffle it into something even messier. There’s a— a pressure at the back of his throat that nauseated him to the point of discomfort but not enough to actually vomit in the nearest shrubbery. He rubbed his scratchy throat with his free hand, letting it rest by his clavicle. Right above where his heart was being mercilessly squeezed by his own guilty conscience.

He should have been the one to plan his family’s funeral. The one to write their obituary. The one to choose the headstone. The flowers. The date. Everything. It was his responsibility. His duty to make all these decisions as the—

Danny bit the inside of his lip.

He should have been more responsible. Should have been— oh he didn't know— there when all the decisions were made instead of holing up in a corner of the Zone and letting Vlad take care of it all. God, what kind of son was he to have the audacity to get his family killed and foist off arranging the funeral to the guy who wanted to kill his dad .

But maybe that was better. Leaving the decision-making to someone else, that is. God knows that Danny makes all the wrong choices.

(If only he was faster he was stronger he saved his family before going after his evil future selfhe gave back the test answers sooner that boiler never overheated.)

The hand on his shoulder nearly made Danny jump out of his skin.

He shifted his umbrella to see his aunt Alicia looking down at him, concern and pity softening her usually stoic features. Vlad flew her in from Spittoon. When? Danny didn’t know, though somewhere in his foggy memories he might have recalled Vlad asking how to reach Danny’s relatives. It was only aunt Alicia who came in the end, though. His mom and aunt Alicia never liked to talk about their parents, and his dad was an only child who was far too estranged from his own.

“Ceremony’s over, kid. You okay?”

He’d scoff, but he didn’t want to tempt his nausea.

“I’ll live.” He winced, the words bitter on his tongue. “I’m fine, I mean.”

Aunt Alicia pressed her lips into a thin, flat line. “The rain’s getting a little worse. Do you want to head back home?”

Home? Where even was that anymore?

“I think I wanna stay out here for now.”

“Do you want me to stay with you?”

“No— I just…I want to be alone, I think.”

She sighed, giving a comforting squeeze to his shoulder before dropping her hand. “Alright. I’ll just be waiting for you in the car then.”

Danny nodded absentmindedly, gaze trained on the drooping white lilies by the placard. At the corner of his eye, he saw Vlad approach aunt Alicia, somber-faced but calculating as they headed to the car.

The future he tried to escape was already playing out. Pieces slotting into place like some jigsaw puzzle of doom.

In his quiet moments, holed up in the corner of his parents’ room, he’d ponder the what-ifs. The should-have, could-have, would-have-beens. He’d think of the future in all its terrible glory and wonder where else it could have all gone wrong. The trigger was—surprise, surprise— Vlad. Or, living with him, that is. If he wanted to put an ounce of trust in that sob story future-Vlad spun, then it was Danny’s own grief coupled with Vlad’s invention that sent the world spinning into its destruction.

(Future-Vlad might have helped him. Might have turned over a new leaf. But there was an entire decade that separated Future-Vlad from the present- Vlad. And Danny would rather cut off his own arm than trust present-Vlad with anything related to Danny’s well-being.)

Danny knew jack shit about the adoption process, but he was 80% sure most social workers would place Danny with his aunt as opposed to his parents’ old college buddy that they recently connected with. That Danny ended up living with Vlad meant that either Aunt Alicia didn’t pass whatever assessment the state required, or Vlad used his influence to tip the scales in his favor. Probably both.

So the law would never let him live with anyone but Vlad— the fruit loop would make sure of that. Danny’s only option left was to run away, then.

Hm. How long could one half-dead fourteen-year-old realistically outrun a half-dead crazy billionaire with enough connections in both the human world and the Ghost Zone?

Survey says—

Fuck .

“Our condolences, Daniel.”

Danny startled. Who the—

He tilted his head the other way, shifting his focus to the woman who just appeared next to him. Sure Danny found his own attention slipping into darker places more often than not these days, but he should have noticed if someone came near him.

No, wait. Aunt Alicia managed to sneak up on him earlier. Maybe Danny really was just out of it.

“The doctors Fenton did brilliant work, and your sister had such a bright future ahead of her. Their loss will be felt.”

“Thank you,” Danny answered. The words are still ash on his tongue but he didn’t stumble over them anymore. “I…appreciate your support.”

The woman was tall, with a wiry physique and cool tawny skin. She had an oval face, a straight nose, and sharp features, though much of it was slightly obscured by her hat, the black netting ending just past her nose. Her hands were tucked into the pockets of her long black coat.

The man—and Danny knew he’d seen him somewhere before, it was on the tip of his tongue—shared in the similar sharp characteristics, but his coloring was a lot lighter. He had long white hair that extended past his shoulders and a long horseshoe mustache that should have looked stupid, but somehow he managed to make it work. He held a single umbrella for both himself and the woman.

His mind clicked. Recognition alight on his face.

“Mr. Dusan?”

Dusan smiled. “I am pleased that you still remember me, Daniel.”

Mr. Dusan, if Danny remembered correctly, was his parents’ liaison with their benefactor. The CEO of some sort of big research company whose name Danny never really bothered to pay attention to. They had been funding his parents’ research since their university days, and it was because of them that the Fentons managed to get their hands on enough samples of ectoplasm to experiment and research on. Mr. Dusan would be sent every once in a while to observe his parents’ studies, much to the Fenton family’s stress and delight. His visits would be preceded with days of cleaning the house from top to bottom and Danny’s parents frantically getting their stuff organized. But a good visit from Mr. Dusan always ended with the family going out for a nice dinner the day after.

It was one of Danny’s favorite times, really.

“Just Danny, please.”

“Danny, then,” Dusan said. “May I introduce you to my sister, Talia al Ghul?”

Sister? Danny raised his hand for a handshake, deciding not to comment on the age difference. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m, uh, sorry it’s not during better circumstances.”

Talia shook his hand with a closed-lipped, but somber smile. “Our employer—your parents’ benefactor—actually sent us to give his condolences, and to extend a helping hand if you should ever need it.”

“What?”

“Your parents were pioneers, Danny. Their research changed the face of the world as we know it despite how much they were ridiculed for it. It would be remiss of their benefactor to simply leave their legacy, their only son, alone to the wolves.” Her voice was smooth and honey-sweet, and Danny felt compelled to listen. “If you need anything, anything at all, feel free to reach out to us.”

She handed him a business card. It was crisp, made from thick card stock. Blank except for a single number in the middle.

Danny turned it over in his hand. “Anything?”

“Anything.”

He tucked it into his pocket. “Thank you for your offer. I’ll keep it in mind.”

“We will be in town for the next few days,” Dusan said. “We hope to hear from you soon.”

◆◆◆

Later, aunt Alicia asked if Danny would rather stay with her at the hotel. She’d ask this every time they parted ways, and each time Danny would say no, thank you.

She didn’t push too much. Knew, probably, that it was only a matter of time that Danny would have to leave his house to live…wherever it was his social worker decided to stick him in.

Danny appreciated her concern— even if he would rather do without it.

He slipped off his black suit jacket, throwing it over the back of the couch as he walked past the living room. His mom would throw a fit at that. He scrambled down to the lab, taking the steps two at a time, hands wrenching the tie from around his neck—and god fuck why did his skin feel so hot. The tie ended up somewhere on the steps, the velvet bag safely stowed away in a drawer full of blueprints. He kicked off his stupid dress shoes. A safety hazard, his dad would say. The lab floor needed to be clear at all times to prevent an accident.

Too fucking late for that.

White rings passed through him with blinding fury as Danny burst through the portal between dimensions and into the silence of the Ghost Zone.

He floated. Aimless.

And breathed.

◆◆◆

Danny picked a direction. Eenie-meenie-minie-moe . It’s no use trying to logic out directions in the Ghost Zone. Not when the islands thought of physics as nothing more than a joke. He set off north-north-west of the portal and tried his luck there.

Tucker and Sam would call him stupid. There were probably a billion-and-one better ways to find Clockwork’s stupid tower than this.

Jazz would say he’s still stuck on the bargaining stage—

Jazz can’t say anything anymore.

None of them can.

◆◆◆

Jessica Andrews, his social worker, took him out to a quiet cafe to talk. She was a tall woman with a stocky frame, brown skin, and a soft rounded face. Her nails were painted a light green; it was to match her plants, she’d say. Once, she’d told him about how her husband would complain about all the plants she bought because he couldn’t figure out where the jungle stopped and the house began.

The cafe was far enough away from most schools and built below some bible store, its facade made from faded red brick with a charcoal gray awning. A few circular tables and chairs were laid out front, though they sat empty. The weather had been everything but gloomy for the past few days.

Jessica clasped her hands over the table, green nails tap-tap-tapping against her knuckles. “How have you been holding up, Danny?”

They’re seated by the giant window, though there wasn’t much to look at on the other side. Just the road and more old buildings on the other side.

“‘M fine.”

“That’s wonderful.” She could tell that he was lying; he’d bet on it. “How has your sleep been?”

Danny pointedly drank his coffee— brewed as dark as he could with as many espresso shots he could manage to order without the barista giving him a strange look. “Fine.”

She raised an eyebrow. “The black holes under your eyes beg to differ.”

“I’d rather skip all this small talk if that’s ok.”

“Alright, if that’s what you want.” She brushed a stray strand of hair away from her face. “I promised you early on that I’d keep you informed of how the courts are handling your case.”

He huffed, sinking into his chair. He already knew the outcome. “They decide where to stick me yet?”

“They’re still doing their due diligence and contacting as many of your adult relatives as possible in order to find a suitable guardian.”

“I’m sensing some sort of catch here.”

“The people looking over your case have considered your request to be placed with your aunt Alicia.”

“They said no.”

“They had some…concerns,” she said. “Your aunt’s residence is very isolated, which might prevent you from getting the proper help you need. There were also some concerns about how you would handle a sudden dramatic shift in lifestyles, what with being moved away from your school, your community, your peers, into someplace extremely unfamiliar.”

Danny leveled a look at her. “There’s something else, too, isn’t there.”

Jessica gave him a look of pity. “Your aunt also expressed some…hesitancy in taking you in when we talked with her.”

His breath caught. Teeth gnawed at the inside of his lip. Fuck. He rubbed the back of his neck, slowly inching it up to tug at the back of his hair, the other hand curling into a fist beneath the table. Fuck—

He knew he knew this would happen but he still—

—Can’t believe that he held onto that—

—What was he thinking?

“Danny?”

Fingernails dug crescents into the inside of his palm. He takes a deep breath. “Yeah, no, I’m fine. Don’t— I’m fine. It’s fine.”

He shivered.

Dan’s laughter echoed from the back of his skull, mocking him. It’s inevitable, Dan crowed. I am inevitable. You can’t stop the future any more than you could stop the sun from rising.

◆◆◆

Clockwork’s tower was nowhere to be found. Danny didn’t know why he kept on searching. Sheer stubbornness, maybe. Some foolish hope beyond all hope that if he begged hard enough, Clockwork would be willing to do him a favor and rewind time back to when everything made sense.

Sometimes Danny doesn’t even go to the Ghost Zone to find him.

Sometimes he’ll just find some patch of the Zone with enough floating rocks and scream. Scream until his voice is hoarse and he could no longer sustain his ghost form. Until the rocks are nothing but pebbles floating in the green void. Until all that’s left is the freezing cold inside of him.

The ghosts had been staying away from Amity Park.

Good.

He didn’t know what he would do if any of them showed up now.

Danny woke up with his skin freezing-on-fire-cold-too-cold-he-can’t-stop-sweating. He didn’t remember calling anyone, but he must have, considering that someone showed up in his room with a bowl of chicken soup and a glass of Gatorade.

He should’ve been more alarmed at this— there was a stranger in his house. But right now his head was begging to be smashed in with a hammer and he’s just glad that he was not alone.

“Do you think you could sit up and eat, Danny?” The figure sat down at the edge of his bed, one hand on top of the blanket cocoon he made for himself. A woman. An accent that was definitely not American. British, maybe? Either way, not aunt Alicia.

His stomach rumbled. At least this time it didn’t feel like throwing up everything. Danny pushed himself up with aching slowness, leaning back against the headboard. Bleariness blinked away from his eyes, he saw his caretaker’s features more clearly. It was—it started with a T. Tania? Tasnia? No, Talia was the name. Mr. Dusan’s sister.

“Ms. al Ghul? What are you doing here?”

“You don’t remember?” She sets the bowl down on his bedside table, in easy reach, and hands him the glass. “You called the number Dusan and I gave to you sounding delirious. We were worried but Dusan had some pressing business to attend to, so I came on my own.”

“Oh.” The drink was heaven to his parched throat. “How did you get inside?”

Her eyes—a unique shade of green—sparkled with mirth. “I have my ways.”

“Oh-kay .” He rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. “Thank you. For coming all this way, I mean. You really shouldn’t have to come and take care of some kid you just met.”

“Nonsense, Danny. I could hardly leave you alone in such conditions, it would be against my instincts as a mother.”

“You have kids?”

“I have one,” she said, then paused as if contemplating something. “No, I had two.”

Danny bit the inside of his cheek, thumb wiping away the condensation on the surface of his now empty glass. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Talia let out a sad sort of chuckle. “Thank you, though it’s not needed. He’s— my eldest son—isn’t dead. Certain circumstances forced me into the position to give him up for adoption. He’s alive and well, hopefully, though he probably doesn’t know that I exist.”

Oh. Danny didn’t know what to say to that.

“You didn’t try to get into contact with him?”

“What would be the point? He has his own parents now, a life free of complications. The best I could hope for was that he kept the memento I gave him.”

“A memento?”

“A necklace.”

Danny stilled.

It was stupid. Foolish even, to think about it. There are like over seven billion people in the world.

“What kind of necklace, if you don’t mind me asking, that is.”

Talia smiled, eyes glazed as if in memory. “It was a present from his father. A beautiful work of art, it was. It was a sapphire necklace— with two rows of sapphires, to be exact, cut in perfect circles and polished to a shine.”

The velvet bag Danny had tucked beneath his pillow burned at the back of Danny’s mind. It can’t be. That was too much of a coincidence.

“Each sapphire was surrounded by gold, though there were small diamonds that surrounded the larger sapphires.”

Oh god, oh god. What was his life?

“Though beautiful, my favorite part of it had to be what was within the middle sapphire. It was possible to open it, you see. And engraved inside were the words—”

“‘ For the greatest happiness you have given me.’”

Talia looked at him, green eyes wide. “How did you know?”

Danny found himself unable to look at her. Gingerly, he set his glass bedside table, next to his cooling bowl of chicken soup, and retrieved the velvet pouch beneath his pillow. He held the bag to her, almost reluctantly, but relinquished it once it was in her grip.

Talia opened the bag and drew out a necklace. Two rows of sapphires inlaid in gold, with the largest ones surrounded by tiny diamonds. It was beautiful, though perhaps it no longer shone as it once did.

She beheld it in silence, fingers tracing the exquisite craftsmanship as if, at first, in disbelief, then in reverence. She stopped at the large sapphire on the bottom row.

After a moment, she opened it.

“My parents told me I was adopted when I was six,” Danny said, unable to take the silence any longer. He tangled his fingers together, clasping and unclasping them. “They gave me that necklace— said it was from my birth mother. They never knew who she was, and the orphanage they got me from had no information either.”

Tucker and Sam once asked him if he ever wanted to know who his birth mother was. Danny wasn’t sure what he wanted, really. Sometimes he wondered about it, but he was content with not knowing for the most part. His parents were his parents, blood relation or no, and he looked similar enough to Jack Fenton in coloring that most people didn’t question why his skin wasn’t as light as theirs, or why his features were a lot sharper than theirs.

(Tucker and Sam never knew about the necklace. It was hard to explain why he never told them considering he’d tell them just about anything else— but it was different. It was…something just for him. A cold comfort in knowing that, at one point, he was someone’s ‘greatest happiness.’)

He coughed into his elbow, a shiver racking his spine.

Warm arms enveloped him into a hug.

“ It’s you, ” Talia whispered. “ It’s you.”

Something inside Danny seemed to click back into place. His core thrummed gently, humming a litany of feelings and words he couldn’t translate. Some are apprehensive. Others are confused. But most of all it felt…happy.

Warm.

◆◆◆

“You know that I’m adopted, right?” Danny said to Mrs. Andrews when they met up again. It was a park this time; she was really adamant about getting him out of his house.

“I am aware, yes.”

“When you mentioned that all my relatives would be identified and informed… does my biological mother count too?”

Mrs. Andrews exhaled between her teeth. “I know what you’re asking about, but I’m afraid it isn’t an option. In adoption cases like yours, the biological parents usually relinquish all parental rights over the child. Even if we did find your biological mother, the court would never let her have custody over you again.”

He shivered, pulling his jacket closer around him, and wondered why he still put so much faith in the legal system.

◆◆◆

It was only a matter of time before Vlad came to visit him once again.

“What do you want, Vlad .”

The black bags beneath Vlad’s eyes were the only thing unkempt about his otherwise neat appearance. Mourning or not, his smile still made Danny’s fist itch to punch it. “Why, little badger, can I not see how the son of my oldest friends is doing?”

“I’m not living with you, you fruit loop.”

Vlad rolled his eyes. “Really, Daniel, this disinclination of yours is getting tiring. Just accept it and the moving process will be much, much easier.”

Danny glared at him, green eyes livid. His teeth bared and gnashing. “I’d rather die than live with you.”

“Well, you’re already halfway there. Need help finishing the job?”

He swung his fist at him, but Vlad caught it with ease. “Get out of my house!”

“There’s no use in being difficult, now. You know as well as I do that the courts will inevitably choose me .”

( Inevitable, Dan had said. Inevitable inevitable inevitable.)

“Shut up.” Danny seethed. “Shut up, shut up, shut up!”

As he tore his hand away from Vlad’s grip, a spark of power burst in between them in a blinding white light and bitter cold. Vlad threw up a shield, but Danny was too caught off guard. He was blasted back, knees hitting the armrest on the couch and nearly making him stumble. When the light cleared, Danny could see swathes of crystalline ice and frost embedded in the middle of the living room.

Frost had crept up Vlad’s shield, coating it in a thin wall of ice which broke the second Vlad released the barrier. Vlad looked down at the ice, face flashing between surprise, confusion, awe, before settling into a patronizing smile.

“Do you see now?” Vlad said, gesturing to the ice. “This is why I’m the only one suitable to be your guardian. I am the only one that can understand you. That knows your needs as a young half-ghost. That can guide you and teach you.”

A bitter cold shook Danny’s body to the core, frost seeping into his bones and the bite of winter in his lungs. A thin layer of frost coated his palms and fingertips. His face is flushed. He feels hot but the shivers won’t stop.

Vlad approached, arms opened wide like he’s approaching some scared animal. Like a little badger.

Danny hissed at him, scrambling to his feet to place the couch between them.

“Come on, Daniel, just let me take care of you.”

“Go to hell, Vlad!”

“Tch.” Vlad dropped his hands, fingers dragging through his hair in exasperation. “Fine. You know what, fine. Have it your way. Perhaps some time experiencing the mania will help you understand my meaning.” He went to the door with a frustrating degree of calm. His suit cleanly pressed, not a strand misplaced in his hair, a total contrast to Danny who felt seconds away from collapsing on the floor.

“Do try to keep a hold of yourself, though,” Vlad said over his shoulder. “Your parents might be dead, but they are hardly the only ghost hunters around.”

He slammed the door shut.

Danny sank to his knees, arms wrapped around himself as he vigorously tried to rub his skin warm. What was wrong with him?

Was his sickness a few days ago related to this? He thought he just caught some sort of bug, or, or it was the stress of it all affecting his body, but the ice—

This wasn’t a normal sickness.

Vlad called it a mania. What did that mean?

He shook his head, arm reaching for the back of the couch and hauling himself up. Figuring out Vlad’s words wasn’t his biggest concern; right now, Danny needed a way to get rid of this ice. Talia and Mr. Dusan were coming over soon to go over his parents’ research, he needed to—

They can’t figure out that he’s—

Danny stumbled down to the lab, frantically looking for any of his parents’ inventions that could help get rid of the ice.

No. No. Not that. Not that either.

His arm suddenly went intangible, slipping through the lab bench. The sudden momentum made him lose balance and he hit his head on the side of the bench. He staggered upright, rubbing his pounding head. What was wrong with his powers? They hadn’t been this out of whack since he’d first gotten them in the accident.

A violent shiver ran through him, his breath coming out in a cold mist. Frost had begun to creep outwards from the soles of his shoes.

Danny stepped back. The frost followed.

His eyes darted around the room, mind racing for a solution. His frenzied gaze landed on the ghost portal, the entrance sealed shut by the heavy metal doors. Tucker once said that he noticed that Danny seemed to recover energy faster when he was in the Ghost Zone. They’d tested it at one point by letting the Box Ghost loose on the town and seeing how much energy Danny could recover if he rested in the material world versus the Ghost Zone.

It was still a working theory. Tucker and Sam wanted to test it out some more later.

They never got a chance.

It was a long shot but it was better than nothing.

He ran to the front of the portal where the genetic locking mechanism lay. But as Danny went to push the button, ice sparked from his fingers, freezing the lock solid.

“What? No!” He slammed his fist onto the ice but the ice wouldn’t break. “Nononono, this can’t be happening right now.”

He shivered, eyes holding a manic glint as he looked at the portal. “I’m going ghost!” Bright rings of light enveloped him, and suddenly it became impossibly colder.

Floating in the air, Danny curled in on himself, teeth chattering as he tried to regain his composure. He flew to the portal, willing himself intangible as he tried to go through the doors, but slammed into cold metal instead. Either whatever materials his parents made the door out of completely negated his intangibility or his powers were in really bad shape.

He got up, hands pressed against the portal doors. He willed himself intangible once more, but instead of his arms passing through the doors, a thick sheet of ice sprouted from his hands and started crawling up the portal. “No!”

Danny tore his hands away from the door but the ice kept growing and growing and growing. Stretched across the doors until it covered the entire entrance to the portal. Its jagged ends stopped past the octagonal metal frame and clung to the walls.

Oh god, This can’t get any worse.

“Danny?”

And then it did.

He took a deep breath. Like a deer in headlights, he turned around to see Talia and Mr. Dusan at the foot of the basement stairs. Talia was in front, a hand braced against the wall, one foot on the floor and one still on the step. Dusan, ever the statuesque figure, was right behind, hands still clasped behind his back. Their eyes were, mouth slightly agape at the sight of him.

It was then that Danny registered what Talia said.

The words tumbled out of him, “You recognized me?”

He clamped his mouth shut. Idiot.

Talia took her hand off the wall and stepped completely into the lab. “Of course, I would. You’re my son.”

The words sent a brief spark of warmth through his core. Not even his own parents recognized him when he was Phantom.

“I wasn’t aware that you were a meta, Danny.” She gracefully stepped around the patches of ice on the ground. “How long has this been going on?”

“Um, uh. A few months.” At this point, there really was no point in lying. “Since the start of the semester.”

“A lab accident, I presume.”

“Yeah….uh, how did you know?”

The corners of her mouth quirked up. “No one on my side of the family has the meta gene, and while your father is quite impressive, I’m very certain he does not have it either. An accident of some sort would be the only other option.”

He felt himself start to relax, muscles starting to relax at the sound of Talia’s calm voice. The shivers were still present, but somehow they were a little more bearable.

“Now why don’t you explain to us what happened?”

“I don’t—” Danny swallowed a lump in his throat. “I don’t even know what’s going on, much less where to begin. All I know is that I’ve been feeling out of sorts for the past few weeks. I thought I was just sick but apparently, it’s way more than that, and I don’t know what to do, I barely even know what I am, much less what’s wrong with me and that fever must have done something because ever since then my powers have been on the fritz and there’s this stupid ice that won’t melt and I can’t keep it under control and if I can’t keep my powers under control how am I supposed to hide the fact that I’m a fucking ghost —”

“Slow down, slow down. You’re starting to panic. Now, I need you to take a few deep breaths for me,” she said, now a few feet away from Danny. “In for four…hold for seven…yes that’s it, you’re doing well…and out for eight.”

Calm began to seep back into Danny with each breath, his mind no longer racing a million miles an hour. “Thank you— thanks, I, um, I feel much better now.”

“That’s good. Now, what was that about ghosts?”

“Uh, that I am one? Sort of? It’s complicated.”

“I guess we can get the full story later. Does anyone else know about this?”

“No, no one.” He paused, then grimaced. “Well, there’s one other person. He’s sort of like me and, before you ask, I can’t tell you who he is. The only other people who knew about me are the other ghosts and…Sam and Tucker.”

“Not your parents?” Dusan, who had been a silent observer till now, stepped closer.

Danny shook his head. “No, I— I never got the chance to tell them. At first, I wanted to keep it a secret because I didn’t want them to know about the accident, but afterward, it just became harder and harder, what with their research and ghosts and the government and I just…” He sank back down to the floor, despondent. “I just didn’t want them to feel…guilty, I guess.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a self-deprecating laugh. “It doesn’t matter now, though. It’s too late to tell them either way.”

“Oh, Danny, habibi. My poor child.” Talia extended her arms out to embrace him, but Danny stepped back.

“I don’t— my powers they’re— I don’t want to hurt you.”

She smiled. “You won’t. Trust me.”

Danny…Danny found himself trusting her. He let the transformation fall, taking one step closer to Talia, his hand stretched out. Their hands touched, and Talia’s words rang true. The ice did not touch her, nor did the frost, and Danny breathed out a sigh of relief.

“Well, this would certainly complicate the matters of your guardianship,” Dusan said, now a few feet away from them. “If I am of the correct assumption that you have no wish for anyone to know of your status. What of the man you mentioned—the one who is like you—could he take you in?”

“No. Never. That man is not an option.”

Talia carded her fingers through Danny’s hair in a soothing motion. “It is a shame we could not make a strong enough case to take custody of you.” She paused, humming pensively. “Although…” Turning to Dusan, she continued. “Do you think father would…?”

Dusan considered it. “Well, he would certainly be delighted at the prospect of another grandchild, especially one like Danny. But you know how he is.”

Danny looked at them inquisitively. Talia turned her attention back to him. “Our father—your grandfather—is a very powerful man. But he is a very secretive man, and much of his influence is in secrets and shadows. Much of his machinations he prefers to keep in the dark. But if you were willing to prove yourself to him, then it is not beyond his power to craft you a new life.”

“You—you’re talking about a new identity.”

“Daniel Fenton could never be with us,” Dusan said. “But Danyal al Ghul on the other hand….”

“I…” Danny lowered his gaze to the floor. Well, he was prepared, on some level, to give up his name. He had plans to run away, and going by ‘Danny Fenton’ would just be putting a target on his back if Vlad decided to look for him.

“We could be a family, Danny,” Talia whispered. “Like we always should have been.”

Family. The words felt warm inside his chest. At the back of his mind, his core hummed eagerly at the prospect. Family-family-a-place-to-belong.

But to give up his name…to give up his life …would he really be willing to do that? But if he wasn’t, then being handed over to Vlad might as well be—

( Red eyes. A looming shadow. Screams unheard because of the explosion. A world in ruin. Inevitable. Inevitable.)

“ I’ll do it.” He steeled his resolve. There was no other choice. “I’ll go with you. What do I have to do?”

Talia grinned wide. Dusan’s eyes gleamed with approval.

“Simple,” he said. “We must kill Danny Fenton.”

#dpxdc #phantom children: redux #my writing

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