#madefate

@madefate asked: ❛ you better run like the devil , cause they're never gonna leave you alone , ❜ / jean @ neil !

there is some part of neil that wants to reach out to jean, some hidden feeling of comfort that makes him uncomfortable. it's not like the two of them are friends, and any proximity they've had was overshadowed by riko's influence. neil STILL feels that shadow looming over him to some extent, but neil isn't going to let that influence how he actually feels about jean. jean's motives feel all over the place, and neil doesn't care enough to get into an in depth conversation over where they both stand or how they feel (not that either of them know how to do that). he's pretty sure jean feels the same way about him, so there's really no love lost there. in another life, they probably could have been friends. that comfort he feels is no more than similar pasts being brought to the open.

at least he doesn't have to hide his identity from jean anymore. that's a bigger source of comfort than being buddy buddy with him.

"yeah?" he challenges, regarding jean with a cool expression, bordering on blank. neil doesn't have andrew's impeccable ability to stare through someone ― he's too hot headed himsel. he can at least try to mimic andrew's apathetic gaze with limited success.

"look at me, shaking in my boots." he holds his hand out, showing how steady his fingers are. "they've tried coming after me, i've gotten a little tired of running." it doesn't matter who 'they' is. the fbi, the moryamas, the butcher, his own teammates, anyone. neil can't bring himself to give a shit about any they who might have it out for him. lowering his hand, he smiles. "it doesn't matter anymore, either. you should try letting shit go once in awhile, might help you out a little."

@madefate : ‘ but who are they to say what the truth is anyway? ’

"It is the truth, though, sir," Moxxie says weakly. "Satan's right. We used Prince Stolas' grimoire when we weren't supposed to. It doesn't matter if he said it was okay; we broke Hell's rules. We reached too high." He shakes his head a little bit. "We're just imps. And if Stolas hadn't stepped in, they would've killed you. That's the truth. Whether you like the rest of it or not, we almost lost you."

blond  hair.  it  always  gets  her.  these  days,  when  she  sees  someone  who’s  blond,  and  tall,  and  even  remotely  reminiscent  of  her  brother,  thalia’s  heart  stops.  it’s  gotten  to  the  point  where  they  prefer  to  use  their  eye  with  lesser  vision  to  look  around,  less  they  trick  themself  into  believing  he  stands  among  the  living,  once  more.  blond  hair,  and  his  blue  eyes,  and  his  laugh  that  always  managed  to  pull  a  smile  from  her,  even  on  the  roughest  of  days,  all  those  years  ago.  

The soft tap of a shoe heel being adjusted echoed in the quiet entryway as the strap of her bag settled firmly over one shoulder. “Goodbye, Mother. I am leaving for school,” she announced, the words precise and even. No reply came. She released a small sigh, the kind that carried more weight than it should, and stepped out into the Paris morning.

So much had changed since she first arrived in this city. What began as something almost unreal had become her reality she was a hero now, Ryuko, fighting alongside Ladybug and Cat Noir. They had brought down Hawk Moth, only for another to rise in his place, sharper and more dangerous. And Adrien… she thought, continuing down the sidewalk with measured steps. She still did not know what to make of it all. She had turned the matter over in her mind again and again.

Ladybug—Marinette—had pleaded with her not to reveal the truth about Gabriel. But secrets like that should not be theirs alone to keep. The city still spoke of the man as if he were some savior, yet anyone who had truly known him understood how false that image was. It was not right.

Lost in her thoughts, she collided lightly with someone. She blinked, steadying herself. “I apologize. I was not paying attention” Her eyes widened. “Adrien.”

Her voice remained calm, but there was a slight shift in her posture, the same focused alertness she brought to the fencing piste. She studied his face for a moment, the familiar ache of uncertainty tightening in her chest. “Are you… all right?”

@madefate

"I'm fine Fakir. Just a bit tired." The fair haired male muttered softly, reaching out to place a hand on his friend's shoulder. His frail health was hardly worth worrying about at the moment. Not with a recital coming up in a few days.

[REVEAL] The sender opens up about the scars on their own body. / jean explaining the II from after kevin left :) | @madefate

They had changed. It was inevitable, Kevin knew that, but it was another seeing a body he once knew as well as his own so different. That in the space of his leaving to the day he would see him again, really see him, that there would be such a stark before and after.

Ignoring the fact he whispered Jean is dead for a year like a prayer. Like a wish. Like his fingers don't dance over his pulse or press for the warmth of California's sun on his skin. Like he can't believe it is Jean sitting next to him, healthier and more alive than ever.

There's the obvious ones; Jean's skin is more freckled than it had ever been in the Nest. A healthy supply of Jeremy's love of outdoors and the sun flushing him cherry kissed from head to toe. He was taller too, an extra inch and nearing a second as his body had to yet stop growing. A proper diet added weight to his stomach and thighs with a workout routine focused on strength over punishment offering muscle where he had been hollow.

The context of touch itself has changed too.

Jean Moreau's body was once one he knew better than his own. He taped, wrapped, sewed, and bandaged every inch of it creating a semblance of a human out of wreckage. Now it is fingers lazily skirting under the collar of Jean's button up meandering in the wake of their kiss. He finds his first attempt at sewing left raised and bumpy along his collarbone. Its twin on the other side, anointed by Riko's blade months after the first, only a flat white scar. His hands shook less then than they do now tapping an apology. A promise. Things his Raven tongue can't say even around Fox teeth.

Kevin's fingers drift lower and he unbuttons one, two, three— Oh.