#Hiccup seems a bit too young? Though he was only 14 then

[asphodeline-lutea]

Toothless's little face fell incredulously. "What do you mean, you don't know who I am?

“I’m T-t-toothless."

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

Life After Snowpiercer: The World Is Changing

Summary- 6.5k Curtis Everett x You. This is it, the end of Wilfords reign on the Survivors lives, and time to embrace the future, whatever it may hold for the group. 

Warnings- Violence, mentions of rape, executions, smut, swears. 

A/N- This is the last chapter folks. How fitting that its just barely less then a year of working on this Series. I’m sure they will be back though, because the end is never really the end. Thank you to those that read it, commented, shared, let me know there thoughts about it. ❄️❄️❄️

Chapter 14 / Masterlist 

Edit by @angrybirdcr​

Artwork by @hopelessartgeek​

That whole night you tossed and turned, tried your best to sleep. You had been sleep deprived before, knew that havoc it would wreck on your body. But after the hundredth time tossing to your back and tilting your head to look out the window behind you, you knew it just wasn't going to happen. Not this night, or the nights Curtis would be gone.

It was all reminiscent of the revolt, sitting in that train's doorway in the bitter cold with John, thinking that Curtis was dead while trying to protect the others from Wilfords men, when you were surviving just because your adrenaline had yet to crash.

Again your chest felt heavy with the not knowing, so much that you kicked off the blankets and sat on the edge of the bed. Drawing in deep gasps, or trying to. But it was a vice in your chest, and tears brimmed the edge of your eyes. Before it was all about keeping the kids alive, working on those injured and watching over everyone. You didn't have that this time. The kids were all safe in another car, there was a doctor who was far more trained than you were, and you all were safe. Snowpiercer wasn't under attack by Wilford. 

So why couldn’t you breathe? 

A knock against your door made you gasp out suddenly, a rush of air filling your lungs and you brushed the wetness that had hid in your lashes to call out. “Who is it?” 

“It’s Yona, you’re needed or else I wouldn't be bothering you so late.” the young woman said which prompted you to push up to a stand and slip behind the door, cracking it just enough to see her bright eyes peering at you from the shadows beyond your door. “Timmy, he had a bad dream, and now the rest of the kids are all a bit worked up. They keep asking for you. I’m sure they can feel the tension on here with everything going on.” 

Your mind immediately shifted from your inner turmoil to taking care of the children. “Of course, give me a moment to get redressed and I will be right down.” You slipped back to close the door and gathered your clothing, finishing it off with one of Curtis’s smaller coats since you didn't know how long you would be, plus it was warmer. That's how you rationalized it, but then you pressed your face against the collar and that all too familiar masculine scent warmed your senses when your breath pressed into the fabric and you smiled to yourself. It smelled just like Curtis. When you opened the door, the moonlight from the window spilled into the dark alley of the train and Yona blinked at the sudden silver of the light, shielding her eyes till you closed it behind you. 

“I will join you.” She hooked her arm through yours in a friendly way and you two headed through the car to pass into the other one. Familiar now with the narrow passageway, and passing other doors that you knew had sleeping occupants behind them, safe in the beds. More of that anxiety started easing away, Yona talking in soft whispers about what she suspected Timmy had a nightmare about to fill you in. When you two reached the door and eased it open, you were greeted with soft snores and sighs of the kids having fallen back to sleep. The only thing out of place was Timmy sitting up on his mattress, sniffling while running his hand across his face. Both you and Yona moved to the small bed, and you moved to kneel down on it, tilting your head at Timmy a moment. “Hey bud, what's wrong?” Timmy’s eyes gleam from the tears in the bit of light there is in the room. 

“I miss my mom.” His little shoulders shook with an uncontrolled sob. “I had a bad dream and now she's not here Y/N.” You and Yona glanced at one another, as this had been the first time he really talked about Tonya. You shifted across the bed, and moved to sit next to him, your back leaning against the wall, Yona moving over next to him on his other side, and rubbing his back. 

“My mom used to tell me stories of the outside.” You said softly while lifting your arm and Timmy pressed into your side, sniffling as his hands curled into your coat as to hold onto you. 

“Mom used to tell me about when she was a kid.” Timmy said and you tilted your head back, letting your fingers scratch lightly at his scalp while brushing through his curls. Yona continued to rub his back through the hiccups he had after crying. 

“When I was a kid, I used to ride my bike everywhere with my friends…” You started when Timmy perked up. 

“Whats a bike?” His head tilting up and you chuckled softly, remembering when Edgar had asked you the same thing as a child. Yona looked curious as well at you and you went into descriptions of a bike, continuing afterwards and sure to pause to describe things on the train. You did your best, describing houses and yards, what roads were. And eventually halfway through you could feel Timmy had nodded off to sleep. Going quiet, you grasp the blanket half fallen off him, and tug it back around his shoulders. 

“That was a lovely story.” Yona said and you nodded. 

“I wish you all could have seen it all. Gotten to live a life away from this hell.” You admitted and Yona shrugged softly. 

“You can’t miss what you don’t know right?” Yona passed a smile and you had to give it to her, she was right. “But it won’t always be like this. Already things are changing.” She said while stretching her legs out in front of her and moving Timmy's blanket to cover her to, cuddling in closer to the sleeping boy. 

“What do you mean Yona?” You asked curiously as she closed her eyes, appearing to attempt sleep. 

“I don't know, a feeling… I don’t think all those things you talk about will be far off for earth. But what do I know, I am a train baby living in a world of dreams.” She scooted down into the blankets and you just blinked at her curiously before turning back to a sleeping Timmy who’s eyelids twitched in his dreams and he gave soft snores. You knew at that point you wouldn't be leaving the childrens car, and let your own head tip forward to relax and this time you had no trouble breathing before sleep. 

***************

Curtis stopped the group just after morning when they reached train again, towards the back end where their hostages had been staying before. Right now the group was dead on their feet, clearly exhausted and Curtis didn’t dare continue pushing them, leaving them vulnerable. Especially if the rag tag group of hostages decided to turn on them in a last attempt of freedom. They had to know what was coming, there were no more chances. After everything that has already happened, Curtis was tempted just to kill them on the ice, let the snow claim their bodies and never speak of it again. 

But there were the victims they had to answer to, which he had promised them. Most had moved on, used to such hostile conditions. But then he thought of You, his girl who still had to fight with your fears in the simplest moments. Like when his hands rested on you intimately, or late at night when you forgot that you were no longer in the tail end. Those times you had to have him stop, clutching to him and trying to remember that he wouldn’t hurt you. Those were the worst, that you could ever be scared of him. Why what he did when he overpowered you in anger gnawed at his chest darkly, because that time he deserved your fear, even though you assured him later. 

Some of ending was for himself, because he wanted to make every single one of them pay for siding with Wilford, perfectly fine with keeping them trapped in the iron box for 17 years. That anger simmered below the surface as he remained quiet, not daring to open his mouth and say anything more than what was necessary. Everything about him was to remain cool and collected, even though inside was a rage that simmered brutally.

Sitting in an open doorway of the train care, the ax sat nearby propped against the wall, and his rifle was stretched across his lap, keeping an eye on the huddled hostages trying to keep warm but not daring to whisper while he had a keen eye on him, they seemed so subdued. But Curtis couldn't find it in himself to let his gaze break from them or let his guard down. 

Edgar was nearby, near a fire that John had fed some of the train garbage to to keep it light up, stretching his hands to the flames while squatting next to it. He glanced at Edgar who was vividly watching Curtis across the fire. 

“What’s on your mind kid?” John finally asked which Edgar snapped his gaze down, using his sleeve to buff at the head of the ax as if he was cleaning the blade from earlier. Already it had been taken care of, but the motion allowed him to be quiet for a moment. John did not push, waiting to see if Edgar would open up on his own. 

“You’ve known Curtis long enough now. What do you think of him?” Edgar finally asked and John looked at the young man and then to the man taking it on himself to watch over their hostages by himself while everyone else rested. 

“What do I think? I think he is very self sacrificing to the point it might end up killing him one day.” John said matter of factly and Edgar huffed as if in disagreement. John’s gaze lifted to him and continued. “I heard what had happened to your Mama, and I’m sorry about that. But Edgar you really don’t know. I’m not going into details, because our Car had it better than the tail end did, but we were close to losing it too. So what do I see when I look at Curtis? A man who did what he had to, and has lived just about everyday trying to make up for it. He will do whatever he can to make it better for the whole group, even if it means he doesn't survive to see it. Try holding the weight of all our survival on your shoulders Edgar and hating what you have become to do it.” John said before turning back to the fire to watch the flames dance different colors from the various things they had burned. 

The words sunk in even though Edgar wanted to reject what he said, wanted to still let that hot anger stay in his gut since he felt he had been cheated in life. He no longer wanted to kill Curtis, not like he had when he first found out. But part of him felt that the tail ender hadn’t suffered in the way he deserved. That raw part of his anger still rolled in him although he once more followed him into the fight. Edgar was thoroughly confused about what he felt, conflicted to follow the man he has for years, and to hate him for everything he has happened in his lifetime. Edgar stared into the flames, letting his mind wander. 

It wasn’t long until Curtis got them moving again, moving slower then they had before with the extra people, but  most of the trail was cut from when they had followed them before. Each car they managed to pass, the prisoners started to slow down a little more, sure that their fate was sealed. 

Which it was, this really was the end of the line for them. Curtis and the rest of the people couldn't afford to live with being attacked over and over. They had managed to get past the differences of the past, but these men. They firmly believed in Wilfords vision and were unwilling to change, including Matt. That was the hardest part for Curtis, knowing it was your brother. Would you have changed your mind in the time he was gone about what had to happen? Would you be able to forgive him for having to kill him? Could he live with you ever hating him for protecting you?

Brushing those thoughts away, Curtis glanced in the dark entrance to a car, recognizing it as one they had hauled everything out of weeks ago. They were closer to the front then he realized. Johanna was leading ahead, using the scope on the rifle to keep sight well ahead of them when he heard her call out that she could see the camp. Using the butt of his ax, Curtis pushed the prisoner who was just ahead of him forward, his tone unforgiving but not with anger, just with sincerity. “Keep going, no use in stalling any longer.” 

***************

You heard someone shout from outside that the party was back, and you glanced at Yona who was also spending time with the kids. She gave a nod that you should go and she would stay with them, not wanting any of the children to go outside and see the terrible things about to commence. You were quick to go to your room to grab your coat and stuff your hands in a pair of gloves before making your way outside of the train. Swinging down and joining the crowd as they worked their way around the fires to greet the returning group. You went around, looking over familiar faces of friends, and past those that were being held captive. You weren't ready to see Matt for that matter, or to possibly recognize your attacker from before. Swallowing hard to keep your cool, you searched out for two people. The first being Edgar, he gave a slight nod in your direction when he caught your eyes, mouthing ‘Where’s Yona?’ from over the heads of others. You pointed to the train and he split from the group to go inside. You stalled a moment, wondering what that was about, but then you went back to searching out for Curtis. 

You finally caught sight of him in the back, bringing up the rear. You split wide around, not giving anyone an opportunity from the prisoners to make a grab for you, and came up to his side. The charges he was taking care of were collected just as you reached him and he carefully set the rifle and ax down to lean against the side of the train before turning to you. He seemed hesitant at first, just as he had done since he got a bit rough with you before, and you stepped into his hold so he wouldn't have to wonder any longer, sliding your hands under his jacket to feel along his sweater-clad chest. “You are not hurt are you Curtis?” you asked softly as you continued your inspection. So far he seemed fine, just tired in his face but no signs of being in pain, which you were thankful for. 

“No, it was a lot easier then we expected.” His hand went to your face, brushing back the heavy long hair over your shoulder, his fingers cold to the touch at first having his hands bare out in the cold. “They are worn out and the fight is basically out of them. They know there is nowhere for them to go, and have to face their fate.” 

Hearing him say that was a lot easier than you expected. Your gaze left Curtis as you glanced over at the rag tag group kneeling in the center of the mob of people. The group that had brought them in guarded over them, each person kneeling staring down the end of a rifle or the end of a gleaming ax. Your throat closed a moment when you saw Matt sneering up at Edgar, flashing back to a time they were both just kids playing together. But that was long ago, and now you knew he would kill any of you over showing mercy. 

As long as he was alive, none of you were safe. “Then it's time.” You said simply, turning back to Curtis, whose fingers were just starting to warm up against your cheek, and you could see the resolve in his eyes mirroring your own. Kissing your forehead, Curtis stepped away from you, picking up his ax again as he descended on the group. 

“What will it take to spare us.” One of them near Matt piped up, shuffling to his knees, and his face turned up to look at Curtis. You had followed behind Curtis, and when the man's face lifted, you stiffened. His face was horribly mutilated right now, one of his eyes missing, and having healed over. 

Flashbacks of that voice taunting you while pinning your body underneath him. “He aint coming for you Lovely, but you're a good little whore ain't ya… gonna come for me right now. I know you like yourself a real man.” 

Recalling the memory of his hands all over you as he raped you made you gag, and Curtis heard you heaving behind him, looking over his shoulder to see you trying to take deep breaths to calm down. The prisoner tilted a bit to try and look around Curtis, his eye narrowing to see what had distracted Curtis when he was trying to plead their case. 

“Fucking hell…” The man stuttered, Curtis ignoring him while he turned to you, his hands cupping your face and making you look at him. 

“Y/N, Babygirl breathe.” He said to anchor you. You took a deep breath and felt his hands gentle on you, reminding you that you weren't back in that car and at the bastard's mercy. “You got away, and I'm not going to let him touch you again.” And that was it, immediately the bile disappeared and you felt your racing heart start to slow. You pressed your forehead against Curtis’s chest for a moment and took a deep breath, letting your senses fill with him. Under your fingertips, his strength became yours, the smell of the wool of his sweater that was slightly damp from the snow centering you to the here and now, the deepness of his voice turning gentle with your name. Heavy hands braced against your back, calm as they rubbed slightly. He was right, you had gotten away, and now he the bastard couldn't take your power away from you. 

From behind Curtis, Matt started laughing, shaking his head. “Weak, fucking weak Sister. He is helpless before you and you're still shaking with fear.” You felt Curtis’s fingers tighten their hold on you in anger at Matt. You eased his hold loose on you and reached in Curtis' jacket, pulling out a blade you knew he kept on him. 

“No Matt, that is not true. I survived, which is less then I can say for you because you are so fucking corrupted, you cant see any other way.” Your hand fisted around the blade and Edgar made a grab at your rapist who was struggling now to get away from you. Your hand fisted in his hair, tilting his head back to stretch out his neck. Leaning in close to whisper to him, your face twisted a bit in disgust at him. Curtis hovered behind you, his hand resting loosely on your back just so you knew he was there. “You tried your hardest to break me, make me yours. Do you remember taunting me, how you thought you ruined me, that Curtis was dead. Was ready to pass me around to others. Look at us now.”

“List-listen girl, I was just doing what I was told to do by him.” His head tilted towards Matt. “Him and Wilford told us to do it, to make you all suffer. I was just carrying out orders.” Tears welled up in his eye, fear making his chest rise and fall as his breathing quickened. He jerked his shoulders trying to break out of Edgars hold and your blade further into his skin, red beads welling under the blade. “I swear I’ve changed, just let me go and I will go far away from here.” 

“You didn’t show any of us mercy when we were begging. Be grateful I'm making this quick, which is the least I can say you did to us in the tail end.” 

His eye widened, pleading with you as his tongue stuttered in his mouth, and you let the pressure behind the knife slice forward, the blade sharp because Curtis had spent hours caring for their weapons. Blood steamed hot as it burst into the cold air and his scream was cut abruptly. Before you could drop the blade, Curtis caught your hand in his and removed the knife from your trembling hand. Edgar held on till he was sure your rapist couldn't do anything other than strangle on his blood and loss of oxygen, letting his body fall into the snow to turn it pink. 

Matt nearby watched the whole thing, an unreadable expression as he looked at his comrade. You looked Matt up and down, the loyalty you had for him finally gone. “Goodbye Matt… I'm sorry you had turned into this.” 

Turning away and pressing your hand against Curtis’s chest, you gave a slight smile. “I will be inside when you all are finished.” He drew you in momentarily, dropping his head to whisper. 

“I will be in soon Babygirl.” Pressing his lips warmly against your forehead, he released you. The crowd split to let you through. As you left they closed back up, enclosing the prisoners in a human wall once again. Matt now panicked, seeing just how real the situation of his execution had become. 

“Y/N, Come back!” He screamed. “I'm your brother! You can’t let me be killed! Y/N! You left me to Wilford. I did what I did to survive!” He screamed. 

But you were already inside the train, stiffening your back to his cries behind you. That was the past, that was when you were a victim of the tail end. Stepping into the room with the group's children, this was your future. They didn't need to be tainted with the evil behind you. 

***************

Curtis hefted his ax up, his features hardening as he advanced on Matt. “It's over Matt, finally.” Matt sneered up at Curtis, hissing at him in his last attempt of survival. “You think Y/N will really stay with you knowing you murdered her brother? Can't stop can you, this is what you will always be Curtis, why do you think Wilford chose you to take Minister Masons place. You are a killer through and through but you can change.” 

“You don’t think I haven’t already thought about all that Matt.” Curtis said with a roll of his shoulders to loosen his tension, his tone matter of fact. “Truth is I am always going to be exactly this. Doing what has to be done for us to survive. If Y/N hates me... but shes safe, I will learn to live with it.” Matt’s features fell, dread coming across his face at Curtis’s words. Nothing could change the Mans mind now, no matter what Matt threw at him, and Matt knew it.

Curtis raised his ax for a maximum swing. “You have no more power over any of us, not anymore.” With a downward swing the ax came down with a killing blow, Matt crumpling under the blows Curtis dealt. It was like the initiation the group needed to destroy the last of Wilfords men. The group broke over the others, their executions swift. The screams quickly died out, and the icy landscape had once again seen blood. 

Once it was over, Curtis stepped back, feeling exhaustion wash over him. His hand dropping the ax in his hand. Edgar came over, shaking himself in adrenaline. “You okay Man?”

Curtis let himself have a moment to compose himself from the rush, there was just one thing he needed right then and there. “I will be.” He said as he simply walked away, going to the train, going to you. 

***************

You had left the children in the capable hands of Yona, with the understanding they needed to stay in their train car that day. You made your way back to your own section that you and Curtis have turned into home. Just entering, you saw Curtis just standing there. Some blood streaked across his face, but you knew this time it wasn't his own. He also looked a bit lost in the moment, not entirely sure of what to do next as his eyes fell on yours and breathed out your name, like he was looking for something to really hold onto. “Y/N…” 

“Is it finished… really finished now Curtis?” you shed your outer clothes, dropping them to the bed top before approaching him to ease his jacket off his shoulders, your hand reaching up for his beanie and slipping that off as well. All his layers, so many layers he traveled in. You shed each one from him to get to the man underneath, knowing that he needed the help right now, needed support after everything he had to do. The one thing you knew about Curtis, was that he would carry all of it personally like a festering wound, slow to heal. 

“It's all over, everyone connected to Wilford is gone and won't be a danger to us anymore.” Curtis didn’t try to stop you as your hand fell to his belt, unlooping it. You pulled his belt out and his hands fell to your hips, flexing his fingers through the layers and his hand caught the hem of your shirt which you lifted your arms and let him draw if off of you. Marveling at your warmth as you pushed at his shirts. He stilled you, his hands catching around your wrists to bring them to his face, your hands cupping around his jaw as he pressed the gentlest of kisses against the thud of your pulse. “You can forgive me, someday Y/N?” 

What you wouldn't give to be able to read his mind right now as you looked in his eyes that looked older than he actually was. Fingers grazed through the bristles of his beard and you gave him the tiniest smiles to ease the worry in them. “There is nothing to forgive. Thank you for doing what I couldn't ever do Curtis. For not letting me do that.” 

Some of the worry melted from his eyes, and you eased your wrists from his hold, cupping the back of his neck while brushing fingers along the short bristles of his hair, knowing it was a soothing feeling for him. “Let me warm you up Handsome” You said in a way you knew he wouldn't deny you, in  which he released you to shrug the last shirt off. Your fingers curled in his pants and pulled him into the bathroom, continuing to slide clothing off your body. 

He followed suit, taking cues from you till you were both naked, flushing into him to grasp his cheeks and go to tiptoes to slide your nose against his own, your lips just resting against his in a gentle kiss before smiling at him. “Thank you for coming home to me, again.” You broke into a smile. 

Curtis let his hands fall to your hips, his thumbs sweeping over your softness and fingers curling into you, holding onto you. “Babygirl, always I will come back for you. You are home.” Pressing you back to step into the shower, the two of you pressing into the tile of the shower, kissing each other with a deepness further then lust, pouring everything you two shared into that kiss. Your hand curled around his neck, arching to tip toes as you reached behind you for the showers knobs and turned on the water to spill over the two of you. 

The warm water ran rivets over your naked bodies as two collapsed into one another, Curtis grasping the back of your thighs to lift you to wrap around his waist, spreading kisses slightly scratching down your neck and over your collarbone, all the while raspy voiced. “You've always been it for me Babygirl.” Sure to tattoo those words into your skin, your eyes closed as you arched for him, his mouth claiming a breast. His mouth had you gasping lightly as he continued to take you higher with passion. 

The water felt like it was washing it all away for Curtis, the last of the tail end. The sweat and blood from the last days swirling away down the drain, leaving just him and you behind. And as he said before, it's always been you for him, just you. He didn't want to live this life without you at his side. 

The fire in your belly started to kindle, your thighs clenching tighter around his waist to lose any space between the two of you. Finally you gasped out, digging your fingers into the muscles clenched on his back to hold yourself to him. 

“There couldn't be another Curtis.” You whimpered out, feeling him tighten his chest against yours to hold you still and his hand fit between your bodies, his fingers dancing so intimately in your folds, right where you ached for him so much. Curtis let his forehead lean against yours, blue eyes staring so intently at you that the first push into your aching entrance had you squeezing your eyes shut. 

“No Y/N, look at me, let me see.” He demanded with a deeper tone, and it was that of a leader, your leader, your partner and lover. You couldn't deny him such a simple request. Immediately they opened again, trying to focus as Curtis touched you in the way only you ever wanted him to. Each stroke brought you closer and closer to coming undone. When Curtis felt you just about to come, his mouth crashed against yours swallowing your cries as his own while you came completely undone, tensing between him and the wall, then sinking into bliss while Curtis supported you. “I got you Babygirl, I won’t let you go.” 

6 Months Later

Life settled for the group after the final execution. They flourished without the fear of being attacked hanging over them. Food was abundant, the greenhouse tended and cared for, seeds stored away, fruits and vegetables were in abundance. The animals they had were treasured, cared for with the utmost care. What was predicted as springtime, they were blessed with a newborn calf that the children were all fascinated with, as well as the egg laying chickens left with gaggles of chicks running around after the mother hens. You were frequent in those cars, teaching the kids the responsibility to helping life thrive, how they helped one another survive. You all protected the animals and kept them fed, the cattle gave you cream for butter and cheese, the chickens provided eggs. 

Curtis himself worked on the train with the engineer, learning the ins and outs of how to keep the necessities running as long as possible, maintaining the battery that was still running the train for now and watching over the water supply, learning to filter water back into the tank using the snow. Groups of people would scavenge metal from the ruined cars to enforce the area they were living in.

They explored beyond the train, going in the opposite direction from the city to see what could be found. Miles away they came across trees, tall forests of ice covered trees but underneath that snow and ice they were green and alive. Curtis pulled at a branch to smell the sharp scent as he crushed the needles between his fingers. Somehow managed to get enough sun to continue growing in the extreme cold. Underneath the branches was the next surprise. Tracks, animal tracks to be exact. Curtis studied for a long time, looking for what could make them, and then with trained eyes he saw it. White rabbits would dart from where they blended in the landscape, equally white weasels with beady black eyes ran up to his boot, chittering at him angrily before they scurried away. Pairs of ptmartigans screeched in flight as they burst in front of him, landing close by to huddle again, and tuck their heads into their backs to fight back the cold, quickly blending into the landscape once again. There was life on the surface, it gave them all hope.

The group started to try and make snares and traps, wandering away from the safety of the train to try and catch some of their food. After several trials and errors, traps started filling with protein, providing them with fresh meat and fur that could be used for different things. Others on the train were skilled in leather making and clothes making. 

On top of all this, Curtis was happier. He no longer had the leader role that had been been thrust upon him in the tail end, now the responsibility was shared among others, the council they started forming into the people making the future choices, all sharing the responsibility. 

Things were as strong as ever between You and Curtis as well. Since that day you had taken back your own honor from your rapist, it unleashed something in Curtis. He simply couldn't get enough of you now, and although he checked frequently to be sure you were okay with it, he was no longer worried that he would be too much for you as he was before. Curtis often pulled you to the side to press his love into kisses, whispering against your neck how wild you drove him. To say you didn't enjoy how attentive he was to you would be a lie, you blossomed under his love and support. 

Today had you pinned against the metal door of your room, your legs locked around him, one hand grasping his shoulder and the other against the door frame as he thrusted hard into you, the muscles in his ass and thighs taunt from the back and forth snaps. Curtis’s hands dug into that space between your hips and ass, moving you to meet him. It was rough, hard and in the middle of the day, and you were giving the filthiest moans, spurring him on. "Fuck baby, cant keep quiet can you?" You heard him smirk where he was sucking on your collarbone to leave a mark. “You feel so fucking good Babygirl.” He groaned as you tightened around his cock, loving the way you were unable to contain yourself, nor felt the need to anymore. 

"Shit baby, I'm about to cum* he grunted, shuddering under your hands when you fluttered around him, hiding your face in his shoulder, whimpering as he ground his hips against yours, pressing his cock deeper if it was even possible to fill you even more.

"Touch me Handsome, its all I need." You finally were able to find the words and Curtis tilted his head to sloppily kiss your while reaching between you. A vigorous messy rub had you clenching and cursing against his mouth, your hands digging into his back and you shuddered over and over as that sweet delicious tension riddled you into a blissful gasping state. A hand slid to your thigh and he tapped the muscle to get your attention as he was at a slight loss of words trying keep himself reigned in. It registered what he wanted and you unlocked your ankles, allowing him to move and lower you to the mattress with a slight drop. Curtis jerked his cock over you, although he couldn't come in you, he could cum on you, and heavy spurts landed on your thighs and belly. He collapsed beside you on the bed, panting with deep chest raising breaths. Tipping your head to look over at him, he looked peaceful. Eyes closed, relaxed.... It made you smile.

Slitting one eye open, he glanced at you watching him so intently "What is it Dahlin’ ?" He drawled out, the grin on his face plastered almost permanently for the time being. 

"Nothing, you're gonna find it silly" you state and fall back to stare upwards.

Well now he had to know, and rolling enough to lean over you, he pulled at your lips in a kiss. "You will when you're ready” Curtis simply said as he pushed off the bed to go for a cloth in the bathroom, and returned to clean himself off you gently, far more gently then when he claimed you earlier. Your eyes closed while you relaxed under his touch till he moved away again to take care of himself. Afterwards he returned to stretch on the bed next to you, shifting to lean over you once more.

Dropping lower, he kissed down along your collarbone, grazing his beard to tingle between the valley of your breasts and resting his head underneath the curves, his hand possessively wrapped over your hip.

You had remained quiet this whole time, instead you focused on those freckles on his shoulders, trailing a nail along them while he settled, your gaze falling down along his back, marked with tiny scars. You planned on kissing each one someday.

You both were riddled with them, years of rough living would do that. But it just showed you survived hell to get here, and fuck if you would trade this for anything. You loved being able to be with Curtis in the most intimate of ways, being able to see him sated in the afternoon light that dabbled across his back as he truly relaxed without fear of Wilford or the front end. 

“I was just thinking how good all of this is Curtis, how far we have come. A year ago we were barely staying alive, and now look at us.” You said softly, and you felt Curtis arm tighten slightly around you, lifting his head enough to look up at you. 

“Because we did it together.” You felt his lips brush a kiss into your ribs, the slight scratch of his chin tickling you before he shifted to lay up next to you, seeking your lips for himself. This time he pulled you across him, which you easily settled into him, your hand sliding up and down his chest while your head rested on his shoulder. “I'm really proud of you Babygirl, I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you.” 

You hid your face against him for a moment, silence washing back over you. The warmth falling from the sun beams was making you two fall into a half sleep that came with afternoon naps. It wasn't till you heard a steady dripping above you that made you twist in his hold to look up, streaming down the windows was water. Rivers across the glass that broke up some of the sunlight. Nudging Curtis to open his eyes, you pointed up at the window pane. 

“The snow… its melting Curtis.” 

He tilted to look up as well, a smile curling his lips. “The world is changing Babygirl, just as Nam said it was. He told me that the snow was coming to an end. That this kind was ready to let go.” 

Now was the time for a new way of life, the time after Snowpiercer finally came to a stop.

[cameroncreative]

Lost But Not Forgotten

Cross Posted on my Ao3 if you want to read it there instead!

Title: Lost But Not Forgotten

Word Count: 2658 words

Summary: What if Eri got hit with the quirk erasing bullets?

Izuku quickly rushed the little girl in his arms to the closest ambulance. He gently laid her on the gurney. “Thank you, sir. We can take it from here.” They went to remove him from the ambulance but failed.

“I’m not leaving her. She is at a high risk of being targeted again, and I need to get to the hospital as well. It would be logical to let me ride with you and solve both of those issues at once.” He made sure to a level head and give a logical explanation to stay with Eri.

“Okay sir, but we don’t have another gurney for you.” She told him as a last-ditch effort to get him to leave and seek help himself.

“That’s fine. Please focus on Eri, I’ve dealt with worse. I just need some gauze to help stop the bleeding, and I’ll be fine until we get to the hospital.” Izuku sat in the corner of the ambulance to make sure he stayed out of the way as they helped patch up Eri.

----

Izuku uses little bursts of One For All to avoid the spikes shooting out of the ground. Eri clung to his back like a koala, as well as secured with Mirio’s cape. Her quirk rewinding the injuries just as fast as they happened.

Looking around she noticed one of the men start to sit up. He looked around and spotted the gun from earlier. Izuku landed the finishing punch to overhaul, as the other guy loaded the gun with the other red bullet. Izuku untied the cape from around her and placed her on the ground to check for any injuries. He still had his back to the man and hadn’t noticed that he had woken up.

Eri saw him go to pull the trigger and tried to move her hero out of the way. To try and save the person who was able to save her. She heard Izuku scream before she felt the sharp burn in her arm where the bright red bullet embedded its self.

Mirio quickly knocked out Nemoto and place cuffs on him, but the damage was already done. Eraserhead did the same to Overhaul. Izuku picked up Eri into his arms and ran to the ambulances. If tiny sparks of green lighting buzzed around his legs, no one noticed.

----

As soon as they got to the hospital they rushed Eri off to remove the bullet and heal any injures that needed healing quirks to fix. One of them directed Izuku to a nurse who helped patch up his remaining injuries. He had cuts and hairline fractures in both of his legs. Recovery girl was on her way and would be able to fix him up quickly as long as he laid there and didn’t aggravate or worsen his injures before she arrived.

Every time a nurse or doctor came in he asked about Eri.

How is she?

Was the surgery successful?

Can I see her?

Did she make it?

None of them had any answers for him. Finally, Aizawa showed up. Eri was to be put in his care after she recovered since he could help control her quirk, but something he said made Aizawa stop before leaving, “But she doesn’t have her quirk right now?”

“What?”

“She got hit by one of the red bullets. The ones they said permanently erases someone’s quirk. The only thing is that we know the bullets were made with her blood and quirk, so I’m not sure how she’ll react to it. Maybe-”

“Why wasn’t I informed of this before now?”

“Well, I wanted to make sure she didn’t lose too much blood. Especially since Kai and yakuza were already taking her blood to make the bullets. So I quickly got her to an ambulance. I’m sorry I didn’t inform anyone, but I’m not sorry about trying to save her.” Aizawa sighed.

“You did the right thing, Problem child. Recovery Girl arrived and she's helping some of the more critical patients, as well as Eri. Don’t move until she gets here. If I learn anything before then I’ll let you know.” Aizawa left to wherever Eri was, as Izuku laid back into the bed. Even as the adrenaline wore off his thoughts never slowed.

Is she okay?

Did she lose her quirk?

Will the bullet affect her differently since it was made from her blood?

Why did she try and save me, when I was supposed to be the one saving her?

Will I ever get to see her again?

----

Thankfully everything worked out. Eri did lose her quirk, but there doesn’t seem to have any other backlash from the bullet except a small starburst shaped on her arm. She was really happy when she learned that she was able to match her hero with their scars.

Aizawa and Yamada sill adopted her. Hitoshi and her are adorable playing with the cats. Plus, Aizawa emotionally adopted Izuku as well as being Hitoshi’s boyfriend. Izuku and Eri have become unofficial siblings.

Recently though, Eri’s been really tired and even passed out once while they were playing. They brought her to a good friend of Recovery Girls’s whose quirk is that she’s able to touch a person and see their entire medical history from surgeries to the paper cut you got at eight years old.

Eri’s body had been using her quirk to undo the damage Overhaul did when she was with him. Someone can only be taken apart and put back together so many times. Now that she doesn’t have her quirk her body is failing. “Is there any way to reverse it?” Izuku asked at the same time Aizawa asked, “How much longer does she have?”

“Aizawa! You can’t, no no no. There has to be a way to fix this!” Izuku plead. The doctor looked at him sadly.

“The damage isn’t something even Recovery Girl’s quirk can heal. Image having a scar that was heal and reopened constantly. Her quirk was able to go back before the scar was even there and remove it. But we can’t heal the scar once it’s healed. Based on how fast this happened and how long she was in his care, she probably has about one to two months left. Even then she will probably be in excruciating pain if she lived longer than that.” Izuku just sat down and held Eri who had fallen asleep earlier and cried.

One to two months.

Excruciating pain.

Can’t be healed.

‘I can’t lose her. She just started to warm up to us. I was supposed to save her! I’ll do my best to protect you. Make every day the best you’ve ever had. I promise. We’re lucky the league of villains already killed Overhaul or we might have had a repeat of the stain incident.’

The next month and a half passed way quicker than anyone wanted.

Picnics in the park.

Ice cream after school.

Movie nights with all of them cuddled together.

Makeover night with class 1A.

The spring festavatle.

Eri smiling.

More doctor visits.

Nightmares and screams.

Pain…

----

They woke up to the loud screams coming from Eri’s room. They all rushed to see what happened. Izuku reached her first and quickly woke her up from the nightmare. As soon as she was awake she grabbed onto Izuku like her world depended on it. Aizawa, Yamada, and Hitoshi were quick to join the hug.

Aizawa started to hum her favorite lullaby to help her get back to sleep as Izuku gently rocked her in his arms. As the song came to a close, the hiccupping sobs had stopped and her breathing slowed. The rest of them took and breath and relaxed. Crisis averted.

Izuku looked back to the sister he promised to protect. She looked so peaceful, almost too peaceful. She wasn’t moving. He quickly moved his hand under her nose to check if she was breathing.

Nothing.

He jumped up with her in his arms. And placed her on the floor. “Get Recovery Girl! She stopped breathing!” He faintly heard Hitoshi yell at Aizawa, but couldn’t focus on what they were saying as he made sure her airway was open and started chest compressions.

1 . . . 2 . . . 3 . . . 4 . . . 5 . . . 6 . . . 7 . . . 8 . . . 9 . . . 10 . . . 11 . . . 12 . . . 13 . . . 14 . . . 15 . . . 16 . . . 17 . . . 18 . . . 19 . . . 20 . . . 21 . . . 22 . . . 23 . . . 24 . . . 25 . . . 26 . . . 27 . . . 2- he felt himself be pulled away from Eri as recovery Girl quickly attached the patches of the AED on her body and yelled “Clear!” as they charged up and shocked her lifless body, but ti was no use.

It was too late, She was gone and they could all feel it. Even though Recovery Girl whispered it after the second shock, it was heard loud and clear in the room.

Time of Death, 2:33 am

You could hear the tump of a body hitting the ground as Izuku fell to the ground by Hitoshi’s feet. Hitoshi sat down next to him and held him as they both cried over the loss of their sister.

Even though Aizawa and Yamada, and even Hitoshi a bit, had accepted that she didn’t have that much longer with them, Izuku still was trying to find a way to heal her. Izuku took her death the hardestest. He still wanted to believe that he could save her. He couldn’t accept that this was the end for her.

All Might showed up and help Recovery Girl bring Eri’s body to the infirmary until she could be buried. The rest of the Erasermic family ended up in the living room. Crying and holding each other until they passed out from exhaustion.

The next day they were nowhere to be found. Midnight and Nezu took over their classes. No one but All might, Recovery Girl, and Nezu knew what happened last night. The remaining members of the Erasermic family ended up at the Midoriya house in the morning for some much-needed food and comfort.

----

Inko was sitting on the crunch reading a book when she heard a knock at the door.

Did Mitsuki decide to come over?

Did Izuku need something?

Is Izuku okay?

She opened to door only to see a green blur capture her in a hug. She panicked until she notices the familiar dark green bird’s nest buried in her shoulder. Looking back to the open door she noticed the other three standing there as well. “Shota, Hizashi, Hitoshi, please come in.” Her son hesitantly let go and was immediately latched onto Hitoshi’s side. Even when Izuku was young he was always comforted by physical touch. This was made worse as he started school, and the bullying started. He distanced himself from her so she wouldn’t worry about the cuts and burns that started to litter his body.

Of course, she noticed, but she hoped he would come to her about it. Instead, he became touch starved and now craves physical effect, but only trusts certain people to touch him. Hitoshi lifted his boyfriend up and carried him to his room. As soon as he laid Izuku on the bed and cuddled close to him, Inko laid the weighted blanket over them.

Five minutes later Izuku stood up and came back with a white and red unicorn plush. He placed it between them when Hitoshi realized that it was Eri’s weighted and scented plush that she left here. The smell of candy apples started to fill the room as Izuku grabbed his hand placed it over the unicorn. He quickly caught on to what Izuku wanted and intertwined his hand with Izuku’s and rested it on the plush like they used to do when they cuddled with Eri on nights her nightmares got really bad.

“Would you two like some tea or coffee?” Inko asked the two gentlemen cuddled on the couch as she walked back into the living room. Yamada spoke up.

“Just a black coffee for Sho, and earl grey tea for me, thank you.”

Inko placed the kettle on the stove. Both men joined her in the kitchen. “So I noticed Izuku is extra cuddly today. Did something happen to him? Is that why you’re here?” She made sure to be blunt and straight to the point like she knew Aizawa preferred.

“Early this morning Eri passed.” Inko dropped the teaspoon she was holding for the tea. “Izuku’s not taking it too well.” Inko went over and engulfed both men in a hug. The tree of them had gotten closer. Aizawa had emotionally adopted Izuku, Inko emotionally adopted Hitoshi and Eri.

“H-how, how-” She took a breath before continuing, “How did she pass?” she asked gently.

“We went to comfort her after a nightmare. As she fell back to sleep her breathing stopped. We got Recovery Girl as Izuku started CPR, but it was too late.” Hizashi informed her.

She reached up and kissed both men on their cheeks as she pulled them into another hug. All of them we also touch starved and needed each other.

~~~~

Even once they returned to class, Izuku wasn’t the same. Katsuki has started dropping off a bento box where Izuku and Hitoshi ate after noticing Izuku didn’t want to be in the cafeteria but also didn’t bring lunch usually. Eventually, he started sitting with them at lunch. The three of them became closer. Hitoshi learned of their past, and if he made Katsuki do the macarena around the gym during their next class train session, well that’s totally unrelated.

One day they were studying in Izuku’s room when Izuku began to look for his textbook when he found a piece of candy apple red fabric. He had never given it back to Mirio after the raid since it helped Eri calm down after panic attacks and nightmares.

“-uku, Izuku, DEKU!” HE looked up at his boyfriend’s worried face.

“Zuku, you’re crying. What ha- Is that Miro’s cape?” he nodded slowly as more tears fell onto the fabric.

“I couldn’t save her! I promised I would save her!” He leaned into his chest, the fabric falling in favor of hugging him.

“This isn’t your fault. No one blames you, Zuzu. You rescued her from Overhaul. You are her hero.”

“I rescued her, but he still won! I couldn’t stop her pain. I should have never taken my eyes off of them. I could have stopped the bullet from ever hitting her. She would have still had her quirk. She could have healed. She would have survived!”

“Why are you even still with me Hitoshi? If I had done better your sister would still be here. Kacchan, you as well. You probably think I’m pathetic for not being able to save a single kid. I just don’t get it!” Izuku tried to pull away from them, but they just held him closer.

“Zuku, Izuku look at me.” He raised his head slowly. “First off, she was just as much your sister as mine. Second, you’re the reason I got a little sister in the first place. You did you’re very best, and it’s not your fault. The only people I blame are Overhaul and the rest of the Yakuza who sat back and let him do this. You did something about it. You got her out of that situation. I’m still here because of all of that and more. You are so amazing and you don’t even realize it.” He softly kissed Izuku’s head.

“I know I don’t have the greatest track record for sticking by you-” Hitoshi snorted, “Fine! I’m shit at it, okay! I know, but I’m not going anywhere. We’ll be the wonder duo again, plus this purple emo tagging along, hahaha. But seriously, we’re not going anywhere.”

The next day the three boys didn’t show up to class. When Aizawa went looking for them, he found them cuddled together on the floor. Mirio’s cape is on the ground next to them.

[harley-style]

If you still want to do the hijack short prompts: finding a new dragon?

[I know I said I wanted ‘short prompts’ BUT THIS ENDED UP SUPER LONG, SO HAVE A ONE-SHOT INSTEAD.]

It was supposed to be a romantic flight. Hiccup had spent a week preparing for this. Just him and Jack (and Toothless, but his dragon knew how to make himself scarce) and the starry night sky, the world at their fingertips.

He'd made sure everything on Berk was settled ahead of time.

He'd made his dad promise to handle the incoming problems for just a day. He'd done it for 14 years, what's one more day, right?

And he made sure the Dragon Riders were all occupied, courtesy of Astrid and Snotlout. That had been a surprise. He'd never expected his cousin to fully support him on this endeavor, but Snotlout had showcased a surprising amount of maturity.

("He's been snapping worse and worse lately, Astrid! I don't want Hiccup to snap at me next, he might send me back to the Dark Deep and you KNOW I hate going there alone!"

"Oh for Freyja's sake Snotlout, will you shut up and help me ensure Hiccup and Jack finally have some alone time together?”)

So it was the perfect set up. He wasn't busy, Toothless could take him anywhere (so could Jack, but there was something special about flying on dragon-back that Hiccup wanted to share with his intended) and Hiccup had scoped out the most perfect location to just sit back and enjoy themselves.

Of course, plans don't always survive first contact.

It was just his luck that there was a dragon that had made its home on the colder than average island Hiccup had been planning to take Jack to.

And what was worse, even Toothless made a valiant effort to ignore the wailing cries. Hiccup had tried to convince Jack that he'd get everyone to check it out tomorrow, but he'd been pinned with a rather harsh look from the winter spirit, who then promptly unwrapped his arms around Hiccup's waist and purposely fell from the saddle.

Which in turn led to this.

"Aren't you precious," Jack cooed uncharacteristically, cradling the newborn dragon in his arms, the snow dragon mewling back and further curling up in the spirit's arms.

Resigned, Hiccup took out his notebook and began taking notes about the dragon cub they'd found. It looked strikingly similar to Toothless, but it was colored like a glacier of ice, its scales looking like frost had made itself home on the dragon's body.

The wing-tips, tail, and extra fins at the start of the tail were sharper than a typical Night Fury, as well.

One of the reasons Hiccup even pegged it as similar to a Night Fury was due to the damning feline behavior it was currently showcasing to his beloved.

"Maybe you aren't the last of your kind after all, huh bud?" Hiccup caressed Toothless' scales, eliciting a warbling noise in response. Hiccup watched as Jack fawned over the Tiny Tooth, playing with its claws and nuzzling its scales in delight.

Jack was really good with children. Even dragon children, it seemed.

And that knowledge....it DID things, to Hiccup.

Jack just looked so soft when handling kids. He might've looked like a troublemaker to most, but Hiccup knew that underneath all that bratty exterior lay a kind and compassionate soul who loved children just as much as Hiccup loved dragons.

He didn't realize he'd stopped writing in his notebook until Toothless nudged him gently with a questioning grumble.

"Hics, there something you wanna say?" Jack teased, peeking at him slyly from behind a curtain of white hair. He'd evidently caught on to the fact that Hiccup had been dumbly staring at the spirit for more than a few moments.

But Hiccup was nothing if not quick on his feet. Foot. Foot and metal prosthetic.

"Oh, nothing much, just waiting on you," he replied, grabbing hold of Jack's waist and pulling him against his chest. Gently, of course, he didn't want to startle the little one. "You're quite taken on him."

"Her," Jack quietly corrected, seeing the dragon in his arms peek curiously at the Viking, but not having enough bravery to leave the spirit's arms. The little dragon burrowed further into Jack's arms once Toothless crawled closer to the couple, curious about the young dragon as well.

"Huh. You can tell?" Hiccup asked, leaning his head against Jack's tuft of white locks. He absolutely loved the height difference between them now that he'd grown into his age. Call it a small petty payback from when Jack used to use his own head as an armrest.

Besides, if he wasn't getting his ideal date, the least he could do was shower his Snowflake with affection.

Jack nodded, staring up at him fondly, knowing exactly what Hiccup was doing, and not giving him any malice from it. That was another thing Hiccup loved about Jack. He clearly loved jokes, played them all the time, and when the joke was turned on him, he was a good sport about it. As long as the joke didn't touch sensitive topics, Jack saw the humor in everything.

"Her kind's a part of my domain..." Jack said, leaning more into Hiccup's hold. "Ice and snow. I don't know how. I can just tell."

"So I see," Hiccup carefully held his free arm out to the dragon, letting it come to him. "Do you want to keep her?" They watched as the ice dragon slowly sniffed at Hiccup's hand, and began to warily nuzzle into it, trusting the human more and more once she saw that Hiccup would not hurt her.

"Can I?" Jack asked, chuckling as the dragon barked curiously at Toothless, fear and caution all but blown to the wind now. Toothless happily warbled and nosed his new friend, yelping when a tiny ice blast hit his face.

Hiccup shrugged. "Sure. What are you gonna name her, though?" There was certainly plenty of room on Dragon's Edge. And Jack was more of a free spirit who hung around Berk merely because his boyfriend lived there. It was never a question about space.

"Elsa," Jack said, smile on his lips. Hiccup recognized the look. It was one of Jack's secret smiles, one that said 'I find it funny, but I know none of you get it and I'm going to sit here basking in the irony of it all.'

It was one of Jack's most common looks. Hiccup knew why the look existed, but his friends and village did not. He had to admit though, it was pretty funny seeing his friends try and fail to figure out why Jack had that particular look about him at oddly specific points.

"Am I getting context or what?" Hiccup nudged Jack.

Jack laughed merrily. "Oh, its not anything big. Just a really, really infamous...story from back home."

Hiccup rose a skeptical eyebrow. "How infamous are we talking here?" It was always fun, gathering bits and pieces of where Jack came from, slowly piecing together a puzzle about Jack's background.

Jack had to turn away and bit his lips from laughing too hard. By this point the newly dubbed Elsa had jumped out of the spirit's arms and was playing with Toothless in some sort of contrived dragon game.

"I'll tell you about it...later," Jack decided, once he finally managed to get his laughter in check. He was clutching his staff tightly, another hand covering his mouth. Hiccup shrugged and opened up his notebook again, seeing as Toothless was inadvertently giving him more information about what Elsa's kind was like.

After a few minutes, Jack spoke up again. "Hiccs?"

Hiccup hummed in response, motioning for Jack to continue.

"I'm really sorry this date thing didn't go the way you were planning it to...I know you wanted it to be only about us."

Hiccup abruptly stopped writing and turned to look at Jack, who wasn't looking at him and hanging his head in shame.

"It's fine, Jack," Hiccup tried to reassure, but Jack made a frustrated noise and held up a hand.

"I'm going to stop you right there dragon boy. Let me finish." Jack rubbed his forehead. "I know how much effort you put into making sure nothing would distract us today, okay? You were busier than ever these past few days." He turned towards Hiccup, leaning against his staff once they were face-to-face.

"I mean...that is true," Hiccup agreed carefully. He'd never lie to Jack.

Jack laughed wryly. "I just had to go ruin that, didn't I?"

Hiccup's brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

Jack pointed his staff at the two dragons. "I couldn't ignore that, Hiccup. You've been looking forward to this date all week and I had to brush it all aside the moment I see a dragon."

Hiccup...gets it, he does, but it would be a bit hypocritical of him to truly be upset at Jack if it were the case. "You don't seem to mind when I do it," Hiccup says.

Jack rolled his eyes. "That's because those dates were all instigated by me, babe. And very impromptu. I fully expect you to veer off-course when there's a new dragon around, you fire-breathing nerd."

"I understand you're speaking words, but I don't understand what they mean," Hiccup snarked in reply.

"Don't be a jerk. Anyway, my dates are clearly spontaneous, very prone to distractions. I don't mind that. But I do feel bad when my boyfriend went through all the effort of planning our perfect little date, only to get detoured by a dragon who, by all accounts, isn't in danger or dying," Jack sighed and looked away.

He only looks back at Hiccup because the viking cups a hand around his cheek and turns the spirit's head towards him. "Look," Hiccup said. "I know I acted a little annoyed when you wanted to check this out, back then."

Jack grimaced but nodded.

"And I appreciate that you actually noticed, and I accept your apology, however long-winded the explanation may have taken for me to get it." Jack snorted at that.

"But," Hiccup lifted his other hand to cup Jack's other cheek. "In the long run, it doesn't matter. Jack, I love you. I love you a lot. And as long as you're with me, and I'm with you, I honestly don't care what we're doing. I just want to do it with you by my side. That's all I could really want."

"You big sap," Jack teased, warmth in his eyes. Frost dusted his cheeks, and the only reason Hiccup knew was because he was still holding Jack's face in his hands. "Are you going to kiss me, or what?"

"It was on the agenda," Hiccup cheekily replied, glad that the doubt and guilt plaguing his boyfriend's mind was finally clear.

Jack let himself get pulled in by Hiccup's arm, until they were pressed against each other. Jack circled his arms around Hiccup's neck, and leaned in.

A few meters away, Toothless began herding Elsa further from the two, knowing they would be fully occupied by each other for a while.

For a very long while.

The things he did for his human.

[A/N: Where’s the tag system why isn’t it here? Anyway thank you for the prompt! It was sitting in my inbox for a few days but I had some motivation today so I figured I could write this. It was supposed to be short, but...clearly my hands have other ideas. For the other prompts I received a while back, maybe send me an ask about it? Thanks.

Also, more notes about this HiJack AU:

-Jack’s definitely from the events of ROTG. He’s not ‘stuck’ in the era of vikings, per se, but he can definitely travel to and fro. Because reasons.

-Hiccup knows Jack’s from a distant future. He just doesn’t know what’s IN the distant future and doesn’t care much about it unless it directly relates to Jack.

-None of the others but Toothless knows about Jack’s situation. Jack’s a little shit that leads them on and has them guessing. Astrid has stopped trying to attack Jack about it when she realizes Hiccup knows what Jack is hiding. That’s apparently good enough for her to trust Jack.

-This happens roughly before the second movie. I mean, duh. But it happens after RTTE.

-If you don’t know what dragon I used, it’s called the Ice Fury, a fan-made dragon in the HTTYD fanon wiki. Takes a bit of searching to actually find it, but I found a good pic of what I imagine it to look like:

-just imagine a baby form of that, thanks.

-Yes I did indeed name her after Frozen’s Elsa. Fight me.

-I’m of the personal headcanon that not all Night Furies, subspecies or otherwise, are extinct. In this AU, they aren’t. They’re just a lot more south than the Vikings are used to. They’re rather north-bound, aren’t they?

-I honestly don’t know why I put so much thought into a one-shot that isn’t going to be continued in any way. If you want to take inspiration from this AU, go ahead, I don’t mind. Just be sure to credit the appropriate sources. Including me.

[emy-loves-you]

Have Your Name (And Your Back) Chapter 1

(This is a continuation of AU-gust Day 31: Fantasy + Crime, but you don’t need to read it because chapter one is nearly identical to the one-shot)

Patton has never had a happy life, being an abused slave to his own parents, but it's the only life he's ever known. So when he unknowingly gives his name to multiple fairies, essentially giving away his life, Patton doesn't know what to do. Luckily, their head Fairy Roman has claimed Patton as his godson. And while the Fairies have his name, they also have his back.

Masterlist | Chapter 2

Patton grunted as he scrubbed the floors with all the energy he had. He bit back a whimper as his back throbbed from the fresh bruises and cuts. He wasn’t allowed to make a sound until he was asked a question. Patton knew that if he was too loud, his back wouldn’t be the only thing bruised.

“BOY!” Patton’s head snapped up to see his mother at the top of the staircase. Patton made sure to keep direct eye contact, partly because it was required and partly because his mother was wearing nothing but a loose sheer robe.

“Yes, ma’am?” Patton internally winced at the pain in his voice. Showing weakness just meant worse punishments.

Luckily she didn’t seem to notice, making her way down the stairs to the parlor. “Stop scrubbing the tiles. Your work was…” she sneered at the pristine floors, so clean she could almost use it as a mirror. “...adequate. Apparently we will have guests coming over for dinner tonight. Pasta won’t be enough for tonight. Since we haven’t been able to get a new chef yet, you’ll need to prepare a meal for the seven of us. Just cook up a few chickens and serve it with the pasta and salad.” She turned and started to walk away.

Patton whimpered. “The chickens?” That meant that he’d have to… k-kill the chickens.

Suddenly, a hand collided with his cheek. Patton reeled back, falling onto the ground behind him. Patton’s mother stood above him, fuming. “What did you say, boy!?”

Patton bit back a whimper. “Nothing, ma’am.”

She gave him a look before huffing, storming up the stairs. “We better have a perfect dinner tonight, boy! Or you’ll wish for a fate worse than death!”

Patton forced himself to stand up, ignoring the pain as dread forced its way into his system. He grabbed the cleaning supplies and limped his way over to the kitchen, putting them in their respective places. He then opened the door from the kitchen to the backyard, whimpering as a few drops of heavy rain hit his skin. He made it around halfway to the coop before collapsing.

Patton let out a strangled sob as everything hit him at once. The pain in his back from his previous beating. The pain in his knees and arms from scrubbing the floor for several hours. The pain in his face from talking out of turn. The pain from the heavy raindrops hitting his skin and freezing his bones. The pain in his heart from what he had to do.

Patton continued to cry, unaware that the rain had stopped. Or, more importantly, that the rain had somehow shifted to where the area around Patton remained dry; and the area around the manor’s windows increased with vigor, making it impossible to see anything from inside the manor.

Patton heard the sound of a twig snapping off to his left and immediately sat up, forcing his tears to stop flowing (a trick he’d found useful over the years). He internally frowned at the mud on his clothes before forcing a smile onto his face. He turned to look at the person approaching, confusion rising in the back of his mind. His parents had fired all of the staff over the past few years, and the guests weren’t scheduled to arrive until later tonight. And there was no way that his parents would be found outside in the mud. So who could it be?

Standing a few feet away from Patton was a young man, around 30 years old in appearance. He wore a simple black suit with a blood-red undershirt and handkerchief. His dark brown hair was perfectly arranged, and his tanned skin looked flawless. His dark green eyes pierced their way into Patton’s soul. (Patton was so busy observing the man’s ethereal beauty, he didn’t even realize that the man was completely dry). The man smiled at Patton, showing his perfectly white teeth. “Hello, young one.” His voice was deep and smooth, reminding Patton of a warm fire after a long day of work. “What is your name?”

Patton let out a shaky breath. The man was a stranger, and it would make sense not to talk to strangers. But Patton’s learned from experience that he would be in pain if he didn’t answer questions when asked. “My name is Patton, sir.”

The man’s smile widened slightly. “Patton, what a lovely name.” Patton shivered as the words brushed across his skin. “Tell me, Patton, why are you crying?”

Patton started crying again, not realizing that he was more eager to speak than normal. “I-I have t-to kill the chickens.” He whimpered out, wincing as one of his tears rolled over a cut on his jaw.

The man frowned, tilting his head to the side. “Why must you kill the chickens?”

Patton let out another sob. “We have guests arriving for dinner, and mother wants me to cook some of the chickens for supper.”

The man smiled. “Oh, have you never killed a chicken before?”

Patton shook his head. “No, sir. Ever since father fired the cook, I’ve been buying meat from the market. But we were on such short notice, and we have no meat beyond the chickens in the coop.”

The man’s expression darkened. “I assumed that your parents worked in the manor.”

Patton shook his head. “No, sir. My parents are Lord and Lady Hart. There are no more workers in the manor.”

The man frowned. “I was unaware that the Harts had any children. And how do they keep the manor in such pristine condition without anyone to take care of it.”

Patton smiled slightly, glad to prove his usefulness. “I am the only child of Lord and Lady Hart. And I am the one who takes care of the manor!”

The man furrowed his eyebrows. “You keep this entire manor in this condition. You can’t be any older than 10!”

Patton’s smile fell slightly. Yes, he did look quite young, with his blonde curly hair and big blue eyes, freckles scattered across his bruised skin. And maybe he was quite small, around the height of a 10-year-old and so skinny that most of his bones were showing. But it still hurt to be called a child. “I’m 14, sir.”

The man’s face was now blank. “What?”

Patton felt another chill go up his spine, but he forced himself to keep his voice from shaking as he spoke. “I turn 15 in the fall.” It was currently spring, when the rains were heavy and the winter chill was barely letting up.

The man smiled again. Even though there was no difference between this smile and the last one, something told Patton that this one was forced. “Ah, how I love birthdays. How will you celebrate it?”

Patton tilted his head to the side, confused. “Celebrate?”

The man clenched his fist slightly, but his smile and relaxed posture stayed the same. “Well, Patton, I came bearing a gift.” He knelt down to where Patton was still sitting on the ground. “Have you ever heard of a Fairy Godmother?”

Patton thought for a moment before shaking his head. “I don’t believe I have, sir.”

The man frowned slightly before smiling again. “Well, in most tales, a young maiden in need will be blessed with a Fairy Godmother, who helps them achieve their dreams.” He brought his hand up to cup Patton’s bruised cheek. The hand was extremely warm compared to the chilly air, and Patton leaned into the touch. “A Fairy Godfather, on the other hand, is slightly different. They can protect young humans who have been hurt by the people they should be loved by. And you, Patton, have been hurt very badly.”

Patton shook his head. “But sir, I deserve my pain!” He saw the incredulous look he was given, and started rambling. “I slept in this morning and was late to cook breakfast, so Father set me straight. I didn’t have the flavor of jam that Mother wanted out on the table, so she punished me for not being prepared. I didn’t call Father ‘sir’ when answering his question, so I was punished. I spoke out of turn instead of doing my job, so Mother gave me a smack as a warning. She was very generous that time. Just today, I’ve been so disobedient. I’m a horrible son. I don’t deserve a Fairy Godfather!”

“Shh…” A thumb caressed his cheekbone, and Patton melted into the touch, still crying. He hiccuped as the thumb wiped away his tears. “Don’t cry, little one. You are not to blame.” Patton went to interrupt, but the hand grew warmer, and Patton sighed at the blissful feeling. “Patton, you may feel as though you deserved this, but you did not. No child deserves the pain that you’ve been through.” Patton let his head be tilted upwards, and his gaze was suddenly locked onto the man’s piercing emerald gaze. His eyes seemed to glow as he spoke. “Patton, I wish to be your Fairy Godfather. Will you allow me to protect you, to allow yourself true happiness? To end the pain and suffering, once and for all?” The air around them seemed to still at his words, the world itself bending to his will. “Patton Hart, do you accept me as your Fairy Godfather?”

Patton’s instinctive thought was to say no. He deserved his pain! The man would soon see how damaged Patton was, and Patton didn’t want to burden another person! But another, smaller part of him spoke up. It was the part of Patton that yearned for the warmth of this stranger’s hand. The part of Patton that smiled when he heard a happy tune, and cried when his parents stopped tucking him in at night. The part that didn’t want Patton to be hurt any longer. I want to be happy.

Patton let out a sob, nodding his head frantically. The man smiled sadly. “Child, you need to use that lovely voice of yours.”

Patton ignored the way his voice cracked as he forced himself to answer. “Yes! I accept you as my Fairy Godfather.”

The man smiled, his green eyes glowing. “Then it is done.” There was a flash of bright light, reminiscent of a fire, and Patton had to close his eyes. When he opened them, the man was gone, a small ring lying where he once stood. It was a beautiful gold ring with ruby gemstones along the band. He slipped the ring onto his finger, and was surprised to see that it was a perfect fit. Patton slowly stood up, noting that not only had the rain stopped, the pain on his cheek had completely disappeared. He turned towards the chicken coop, dread forming in his stomach from what he now had to do-

Five chickens were laid out next to the coop, all with their necks snapped. Patton shakily made his way to the coop, scooping up the chickens to take inside. Their feathers were completely dry, and so were Patton’s cheeks. He had no more tears to shed at the moment.

Patton lugged the dead chickens inside, checking his face in the nearby mirror. His cheek was still bruised, but Patton couldn’t feel any pain from it. Patton shrugged it off, focusing on the task at hand. He did his best to follow the directions from an old cookbook he’d found on how to properly prepare raw chicken. It took the rest of the day to cook, and Patton had just made the pasta when there was a knock on the front door. Patton ignored it, moving to make the salad. He knew that his father would answer the door, and that Patton was not to be seen by the guests.

Sure enough, Patton heard his father’s voice ring throughout the house. “Welcome! You must be Lord Ignis. It is a pleasure to meet you!”

The person laughed. “You’re referring to my brother. You may call me Viridi. These are my associates. You may call them Anguis and Umbra. My brother had some matters to attend to, but he and our final associate should arrive before dinner begins.”

Patton continued to chop the vegetables as he heard his father speak. “Then, let us wait for them in the study.” Patton heard footsteps moving in the opposite direction and sighed, wiping the sweat off of his brow. He’d been working in this stuffy kitchen for hours now.

The door suddenly swung open, revealing Patton’s mother. “Is the food ready, boy?”

Patton shrunk under her gaze, but continued to cut the vegetables. “The chicken and pasta are ready to be served, ma’am. I’m currently cutting up the vegetables for the salad. It should be ready in a few minutes.”

Patton’s mother glared at him. “It should already be done by now!”

Patton whimpered. “I’m sorry.”

His mother scoffed. “Grab some Chardenney to go with the chicken.”

Patton frowned. “We don’t have any Chardenney left…”

Patton shouldn’t have been surprised by the pain that now bloomed across the back of his skull. He whimpered as he accidentally cut himself with the knife. “Listen here you brat.” She growled out. “You are nothing but a nuisance and a waste of space. If you can’t do your job correctly, you’ll wish for death by the time I’m done with you.” She pushed him forward, and Patton winced as the knife dug into his skin. “Get some damn wine.” And with that, she left.

Patton held back tears as he held his now blood-covered hand close to his chest. The pain was excruciating, and Patton didn’t know what to do-

“Is she always like that?” Patton spun around to see a man sitting on the countertop near the door, relaxed as if he’d been there for hours. He wore an expensive-looking black suit with a purple undershirt and handkerchief. His pitch black hair almost completely covered his amethyst colored eyes. His skin was deathly pale, nearly translucent.

Patton attempted to ignore the pain in his hand as he answered the man’s question. “I’m not sure what you mean, sir-”

“Please drop the formalities.” The man interrupted, examining his dark purple nails. “Call me Umbra.”

Patton bowed his head. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Umbra. My name is Patton.”

Umbra seemed to shudder as his eyes appeared to glow. Patton blinked in surprise, and the glowing was gone. “It’s dangerous to just give your name out like that, Pa-” He suddenly stopped, appearing to sniff the air. His gaze focused on Patton’s hands. “You’re injured.”

Patton looked down, staring at his blood-soaked hands. He’d almost forgotten about his injury. “It’s fine-”

A hand touched his, and Patton looked up in alarm. Umbra was suddenly in front of him, inches away. Patton felt his breath catch as Umbra whispered. “I’d assumed it was the chicken I was smelling…” His fingers traced through Patton’s blood along the cut, and Patton felt a shiver go up his spine. They stood like that for several seconds before Umbra’s fingers suddenly grazed against Patton’s new ring. “Where did you get this?”

Patton saw Umbra’s expression and looked down at his feet. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

There was a moment of silence before Umbra sighed, letting go of his hand. “The bleeding stopped. Go ahead and rinse the blood off. I’ll finish chopping the vegetables.” Patton was about to speak up, but Umbra beat him to it. “Do it, Patton.”

Patton felt the shiver again as he went to do what he was told, knowing that he could get in more trouble for refusing. He carefully washed the blood off of his hands, making sure that there were no stains from it. He looked back at Umbra and was surprised to see that the salad was done and a bottle of Chardonnay sat next to it. “H-how?”

Umbra smirked. “I am a man of many talents.” He turned and opened the door leading to the dining room. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Patton. I’m sure we’ll meet again soon.”

Patton shuddered as the door closed. He didn’t feel uncomfortable, but something about the people he’s met today…

Patton shook his head, grabbing the salad and wine. He needed to have the dining table ready for dinner!

Patton quickly had the food on the table, each dish covered to keep them warm and/or fresh. He then filled the glasses with wine before quickly hurrying back to the kitchen. Technically, Patton should go to his room (one of the old servant's quarters), but he didn't want to get in trouble for not cleaning up the kitchen. Patton felt his stomach twist in hunger, and Patton wished that he had eaten some of the food before moving it to the dining room. But that would be bad. Patton’s already done enough bad things today. Only good boys got food.

Patton heard the door from the parlor to the dining room open. “My esteemed guests, may I present to you: your dinner!”

Patton whimpered, hugging his knees. He wasn’t allowed to be in the dining room while the guests were eating, and the only other door led to the chicken coop, and Patton wasn’t allowed outside unless he was doing chores! He was stuck in the kitchen until the meal was over!

Patton whimpered as his stomach twisted painfully in hunger. He wasn’t told he could eat tonight, but maybe Patton could have some bread for cooking the chicken well on his first try?

Patton was about to get up and find some bread when he heard a familiar voice. “Thank you for treating us to this feast, Lord Hart.”

Patton’s blood went cold as he heard his father answer. “Please, Lord Hart was my father’s name. We have no need for formalities between us. My name is John, and this is my wife, Elizabeth.”

Patton felt his skin grow warm as the voice chuckled. “Then call me Rubrum.”

Patton forced himself to stand as the discussion continued. “Well, I’ve been introduced to the others, but who’s this young man?”

A different voice answered. “You may call me Glacies. It is a pleasure to be here, John.”

Patton cracked open the door and surveyed the dining room. Patton’s father was closest to Patton, sitting at the head of the table. His back was to Patton, and for that Patton was grateful. Patton’s mother sat on his left. A few seats down sat five men in expensive black suits with different colored accessories. Patton recognized one of them as Umbra, and-

Patton barely held back a gasp, remembering to stay silent at the last second. Sitting at the other end of the table, staring at him from his spot behind the door, was Patton’s Fairy Godfather.

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Taglist (Let me know id you want to be added or removed!): @bisexualdisaster106 @self-taught-mess

[luna-almighty-god]

Guardian Angel N°19 [EPILOGUE ]

Hello everyone, here's the Guardian Angel's epilogue! The final point of this story! Have a good read!

===

First Chapter  

Previous Chapter

===

Distant voices... terribly distant voices...

Rustle... feeling...

But it's all... it was all hushed up. Smothered by his unconsciousness.

He had no knowledge of anything. Not his environment, not even his identity.

A deep sleep, devoid of dreams and thoughts.

At times he felt a terrible pain, a pain coming from his chest. A pain due to a lack, but a lack of what? He knew the answer, he was sure of it, but like his own name, the answer did not come.

The darkness... nothing but darkness.

There was a time when he was afraid of the dark, of loneliness, of confinement.

And yet... trapped in that space of darkness... He was not afraid. He felt... ...good. At peace. Free of a weight, as it were.

Yet his situation was not to be envied. He was bathed in total incomprehension.

But he wasn't afraid. He had confidence.

Confidence in those distant voices, voices he didn't understand but knew were familiar. He felt touched, caressed, pampered, pampered. He felt that he was being taken care of, despite his chest, which always hurt.

He had confidence.

Completely confident.

In this total absence of landmarks, both physical and temporal, he eventually realized something. After what seemed like an eternity... he realized that it didn't hurt anymore. The pain in his chest had stopped.

It had ceased to give way... to a strange comfort. Comfort he had never seemed to experience.

[And finally, he woke up.]

The first thing he perceived was a flash of light. The outside light, the soft rays of the sun, filtering through the curtains to come and caress his face. He blinked, somewhat confused, and didn't move at once. He let his eyes get used to this sudden brightness, which contrasted so much with the preceding darkness.

He regained contact with his senses. Slowly, very slowly ... the touch of the fine sheets, the smell of freshly washed linen, the familiar sounds of the castle ...

The castle.

He widened his eyes, straightened up completely to observe his surroundings. He was... in his room at Dreamtale. This room that Nightmare had given him. And that realization warmed his soul with a warmth he'd never known so strongly.

[His name was Nyx]

Yeah, his name was Nyx. He was Nyx. Time traveler, son of Nightmare and Ink, but from another timeline. And as all the events came back to his mind, the misunderstanding grew: what had happened? He remembered talking to his father... but then? The dark, just the dark... He'd crossed the line.

He'd... fallen asleep?

Normally, he'd be worried. But, um... (sighs) But he wasn't. Why wasn't he? As if he was released from something, something too big, too heavy to carry.

He got off the sheets, slowly put his feet on the ground, and shivered. He was only wearing a jogging suit, nothing else, and the contact of his bare bones on the floor caught him off guard. He shivered, was unable to get up, and fell back on the mattress. As if he had forgotten how to walk.

But if falling down like that surprised him, he was more shocked by what was revealed to him. His soul had just slipped out of his rib cage, mischievous and playful, throbbing with strange joy, to come and show itself to him.

His purple soul.

...Purple?

[ But...? ]

He doesn't grasp it immediately. Simply because it involved too many things, too many things.

Black apples. How long had it been since he'd eaten them? They had made his soul blacker than the night itself, and if that blackness had now disappeared ... did it mean that he was no longer in the grip of those cursed fruits? That he... was now free from corruption?

To find out, he turned his gaze to the shadow of his bed and concentrated on making his tentacles appear. But... (sighs) But no matter how hard he concentrated, no matter how hard he tried. It didn't matter how many minutes passed. Nothing was happening. His appendages were not showing.

Wouldn't show up.

He hiccupped, not knowing if he should be happy or panicked, not knowing what to do with this revelation. He was just too confused.

He had been addicted to black apples for years, too many years. Lacking these apples caused him to have terrible seizures, as he had experienced hundreds of times before.

Now he was not having any seizures at all.

Suddenly he had a flash. He remembered the pain he had felt when he was unconscious. This pain that was actually a seizure. A long seizure that he had experienced through his sleep.

A seizure ... that had ended.

He was... detoxed? ... He was just... Just like that?

No, it couldn't be that simple. All his problems couldn't be solved in just one night's sleep.

... How long had he been asleep?

His thoughts did not have time to dither as the bedroom door opened, immediately attracting the attention of Nyx, who observed the newcomer... ... and remained silent in amazement.

A heavy silence fell. In the doorway stood a young skeleton, a teenager about 14 years old. A teenager ... ...far too familiar. With black ink-black bones, pink eye sockets, and yellow and blue pupils.

A teenager who became livid when he saw Nyx sitting in bed, wide awake.

“G-big brother... ? “ stuttered the newcomer.

Even the voice, though slightly muted, was familiar. And the name ...

Nyx widened his eyes:

“... Jammy?”

The nickname pushed the poor Paperjam to the edge of tears, and without warning he threw himself into the arms of the elder, pressing him against the mattress with all his weight, coming to curl up against him, the first salty drops sliding down his cheeks.

"You are awake... ! You're awake... ! "sobbed the smallest one, holding himself tighter and tighter against Nyx, as if afraid that he would disappear.

And this only confirmed what the older one feared: he had slept a long time.

[Much too long]

His throat became tied and he came feverishly to respond to his younger brother's embrace, tenderly caressing his back in the hope of calming his tears, but also to reassure himself. A multitude of questions came overwhelming him and he dreaded having the answer. What had been going on all this time? What had he been missing? Were his loved ones well? Or was he thinking of going back in time to change some new event?

“... J-Jammy... what is... ?”

The cadet sniffed softly before standing up, feverishly wiping his eyes without really succeeding. Nyx also straightened up to bring his face closer to his own and put his hands on his cheeks to dry his tears with the back of his thumb.

“It's going to be all right... calm... I'm awake now... I'm awake now, and I'm okay. Okay?“

He gave him a sweet smile and Paperjam sniffed a second time, before slowly nodding his head. Nyx took the time to calm down before daring to question him:

“ ... Jam, do you think you can quickly explain to me everything I missed?”

The youngest nodded his head once more, before coming back to curl up against Nyx and hide his face in his neck:

“Y-You... Oh, that was a while ago... You jumped into the portal to help Oshoku... But when Papink and Nightmare left to help you, they brought you back unconscious...

- A-And my father?

- Oshoku was with them... he was worried about you. He tried to cast his spell to keep you awake, but Lux and Yumerai wouldn't let him. They said you needed to sleep, even if it took a long time... but we missed you so much... Nightmare kept you in the castle. Me and my dads came to live here to look after you. We all took turns looking after you!”

Nyx felt his soul squeeze, moved by the words of his younger brother, whom he questioned a second time:

“And... how long have I slept... ?

- S-Six years...”

Although he expected worse, Nyx petrified, the length hitting him in the face. Damn it. six years wasn't nothing! And Paperjam thought no less ...

“... a-and... did anything important happen... ? stuttered Nyx with uncertainty.

- Well... Yes !”

Paperjam found a fabulous smile, although his eyes were still watery. He looked at his elder brother with some excitement, happy to be the one to tell him everything:

“Under Shiroken's advice, Cross finally confessed to Epic that he loved him ! They are a couple now! Oh, oh! And we have a new little sister! Her name is Shera! DaddInk and Perror fought over a name, but you'd see her! She's so cute! I have to introduce you to her! And Horror and Dust are a couple too! Ah, Insomnia's all grown up! He'll be so happy to see you! And, uh...”

Nyx had a sweet laugh:

“Take it easy, Jammy, catch your breath...

- Ahah, sorry! But I'm so happy... I'm so happy... I missed you so much, big brother...”

And Paperjam seemed to be about to cry again, but he quickly rubbed his eyes to contain himself, before resuming his story more slowly:

“Also... Shiroken, Yumerai and Lux lived for a while in the castle. But I think they felt out of place .... They said they wanted to watch over this multiverse, but on their own side.”

Nyx fanatic smile almost immediately:

“...you... you mean they're gone ... gone?

- Yes, they're gone... I'm sorry, maybe I'm coming at you too abruptly ... We're... We haven't heard from them in a while. But Nightmare and Dream don't seem worried, I think they're still feeling their emotions. So that's all good for them, isn't it?”

The older one did not answer, but bit his tongue to contain the bitterness that was taking hold of him. His uncle... His cousin... His master-of-arms... They were gone. Again, they were separated. And Nyx somehow blamed himself for not waking up sooner, if only to thank them for stepping in. If only to thank them... for taking care of him.

He swallowed his saliva, heavy soul, before feverishly asking another question:

“...and... about my... ?

- ... parents? Oshoku and Etsuko ?”

Paperjam took some time to think. He could see that it was a lot for his elder to assimilate...

"Well... They disappeared too. Etsuko... Etsuko didn't talk anymore about seeing his memories. I think he's... bugged... ? I don't really remember, it was a few years ago... You'll have to ask Papink. But for all I know... he and Oshoku and the Horror and Dust of the Future have closed the portal to your original timeline. I don't know if they stayed in our timeline or not though... Nightmare and Yumerai didn't seem to want them to stay.”

Nyx's soul missed a beat:

“ ... They ...

- I can't say anything for sure, big brother, I'm sorry...”

The eldest son fell silent, feeling a wave of emotion drowning him. He looked away, but his pupils turned blue, showing his inner struggle. Paperjam looked at him sadly before coming to embrace him delicately:

“ ... You can let go Big brother ... I'm right here, I'm right here. You can ... You may no longer have your timeline, nor those who were connected to it ... but now you have a new timeline. You have a new family. And... it's... it's not so bad, no... ?”

A first tear escaped Nyx as he responded to the embrace with trembling, his voice rising in a hesitant murmur:

“Jammy...”

A second tear slid down his cheek as he squeezed his little brother tighter:

“...not so bad... Are you kidding? ... I couldn't have wished for better.”

Both of them suddenly jumped when the door slammed again. Surprised, they straightened up and, through his blurred vision, Nyx saw a small skeleton about 7 years old, with black tears and a terribly familiar azure look in his eyes.

“ ... S-Somnia... ?” he stammered.

Little Insomnia had grown up, just like Paperjam. And if his memories of an awake Nyx went back a long way, he had immediately recognized his emotions, just as he had felt the emotions of Paperjam.

Confused, the child did not have time to speak that Nightmare suddenly arrived, having also felt the emotions that emanated from the room.

He petrified at the sight of Nyx. His mouth remained half-open, in a silent hiccup, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing... and finally he turned around, only to return a few moments later in the company of Ink.

Ink rushed over his two sons and hung them in his arms:

“Oh Nyx! Nyx!” he exclaimed with emotion, caressing the elder's head, kissing his cheekbone, cuddling him as a father would have done if he had been too attentive.

Nyx was unsettled, not having expected such a reaction from the painter. Especially since his last memory of Ink was when he had disowned Etsuko?

But Ink showed him such tenderness that he felt himself melting under his caresses, and when he felt Nightmare hugging them in his appendages as well as Insomnia joining them, he cracked.

He sobbed, and then broke into tears against his youngest son, clinging to him as if it were the most precious thing in the world. And despite his hiccups, his groans of pain, his tear-ridden face...

Nyx smiled.

He smiled sincerely.

[Today was a new beginning.]

=== THE END ===

Thank you for following this story, I hope it took you on a journey! See you for future stories, hope you will enjoy it!

Don’t forget, you can support me on Utip by watching ads! ;)

Have a nice day!

[coneygoil]

The Home We Built Together, part 35

Two young Vikings. An arranged marriage. Hiccup always wanted to win the girl of his dreams, but not like this. Now he and Astrid must learn to live together and maybe one day, learn to love…

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9| Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Part 24 | Part 25 | Part 26 | Part 27 | Part 28 | Part 29 | Part 30 | Part 31 | Interlude | Part 32 | Part 33 | Part 34

Astrid couldn’t recall a time when she felt more alive than she had riding on Stormfly’s back. The rush of the wind had pulled her hair and stung her eyes, but she welcomed it. She urged Stormfly on, testing the Nadder’s speed. Stormfly did not disappoint. She tucked her wings and streamed along the surface of the sea at speeds Astrid couldn’t have imagined she’d ever experience. She squeezed her knees tightly to Stormfly’s body, the Nadder showing no signs of her rider’s cling bothering her. Hiccup and Toothless maintained the same speed, soaring along beside them at a short distance. Astrid glanced over at their merged silhouette lined in the moonlight. Astrid wasn’t sure how far or for how long they’d flown. All she knew was that her heart thumped wildly when she thought about doing it again.

***

“I can start work on making saddles. We can take the gang up one at a time. Get them used to riding and the feel of how to work with their dragons. One of us could fly with them on the initial flight. I mean, every dragon is different, and it could be good for us too to know how to fly them—”

Hiccup chattered away as they trekked to the arena to feed the dragons. Him and Astrid had flown the better part of the night before, barely getting a few hours of sleep afterwards. The lack of sleep had been worth it. Astrid was still rubbing sleep from her eyes, but somehow, Hiccup was as energetic as ever.

Astrid laughed to herself. She readjusted the basket of food for the dragons that she insisted on carrying, despite Hiccup’s chivalrous protests.

Hiccup was about ready to burst. “We should tell the gang today!”

Astrid would have agreed if not for the all too familiar bellow that reached them before it reverberated off the cliff-face. It snapped their attention to where the great horn resided near the harbor.

“They’re back,” Astrid gasped, catching sight of the three ships in the distance.

The ship at the head of the small fleet was coming in rapidly, having lines of rows sailing it to shore. Crowned at the bow of the ship was a massive figurehead that they both knew well. Stoick the Vast nobly stood, his fur mantle swooshing in the misty sea air.

The ship docked and the gangplank lowered. The first body to lumber off the ship was none other than their mighty chief. His body held the weight of more than just his physicality. He carried a burden on his shoulders that could be seen even as far away as the cliffs. Gobber greeted his old friend with a hearty slap on the back. They exchanged bits of dialogue that was most likely questions concerning the campaign, which judging by the ships was a sore topic. Stoick suddenly paused at something Gobber said. They exchanged more dialogue before moving on and disappearing under the shadow of the cliff edge. Right before they were out of sight, Stoick’s somber mood had seemed to lift just a tad. Astrid wondered what Gobber had said to make that happen.

They were so caught up in viewing the ship’s arrival that Astrid didn’t come back to herself until she heard an audible swallow next to her. She glanced at Hiccup, but his eyes were still glued to the happenings below. Vikings ambled off the ship as the other ships began to dock along the harbor. One blonde Viking in particular caused Astrid’s heart to leap. A smile spread across her face.

She tugged Hiccup’s arm. “Come on! Let’s go! If we hurry, you can catch up with your dad and I can see my dad.”

Hiccup stayed rooted to the ground, the basket abandon beside him. “You go ahead and find your dad.”

Astrid’s brow furrowed. “Don’t you want to see your dad?”

Hiccup shrugged as if it was no big deal even though it was written all over his face that it was. “I do. I guess. Just not right now.” Astrid could see him visibly deflate. “The dragons need to be feed. You go ahead, Astrid. Go see your dad. I know you miss him.”

Astrid didn’t push. She knew how strained Hiccup and his father’s relationship was. She offered a small smile as she wrapped him in a supportive hug and gave him a quick squeeze. She smiled to herself when he sought a little comfort nuzzling into her neck.

With a promise to catch up with him later, Astrid dashed down the pathway to the docks. She weaved through the crowd of disembarking Vikings finding their land legs once more, carrying weapons and crates and bags of supplies. It appeared the fleet had engaged in some trade along the way, as well, with wares that were not found in their part of the Archipelago.

Excitement bubbled up in her gut as she spotted the one person she had trekked down there in search of. Halsten Hofferson was a man of medium stature. He was of rather slender build, but his shoulders were broad and strong. His head of golden locks favored his daughter’s and brushed his neck in a short braid. His beard was thinner and shorter than most. He didn’t quite fit the standard of Viking men on Berk, but he was a force to be reckoned with, just like his daughter.

Astrid called out to him and practically launched into her father’s arms. Halsten caught her up in his capable hold. Astrid’s boots left the wooden planks of the dock as she embraced her father. Halsten set her down after a significant greeting. He cocked his head at his daughter, a little bewildered but happy to see her.

“Astrid,” he chuckled out, surprised but delighted, “what was that for?”

Warmth crept in her cheeks, and she was embarrassed that they were most likely stained an obvious pink. “I’m glad you’re back.” She’d never been one to display such shows of affection publicly. If she hugged her dad – and she did, despite her outwardly stoic upbringing – it would be within the confines of their home where only Ingrid Hofferson witnessed the loving affection between father and daughter.

Halsten patted his daughter’s back, encouraging her to walk with him through the swarm of people and off the crowded dock. “How’s your mother?”

“She’s well. I don’t get to see her very often, but I know she stays busy.” Astrid recalled the times she’d spent with her mother since her father had shipped off on the campaign. Those times were too few and far in between. “I know she’s missed you.”

Halsten nodded his head, solemnly. “I’ve returned and she will not have to do without anymore.” Astrid could feel her father’s smile as he leaned toward her. “How’s my daughter?”

Astrid had so many things she wanted to say. So much had happened since the campaign had launched two months prior. Astrid felt a twinge in her chest. She couldn’t tell her father any of it. She had to keep her excitement to herself. She settled for something vague. “I’m fine.”

Halsten’s face fell just a bit. “Is the Chief’s son treating you well?”

She could clearly hear his concern. Halsten had not been the most thrilled person to have Hiccup Haddock as a son-in-law. Whereas Ingrid Hofferson carried a glimmer of hope that the hapless son of the Chief could change his course to a better direction, Halsten had strong reservations. Maybe because the Chief’s son was married to his only daughter. His hand had seemed to be stuck in a casing of rock when he had signed the married contract, reluctant but persuaded by his Chief to give his only daughter away.

A smile broke out on Astrid’s face. This was one area in her life she could share. “Hiccup is treating me good.” She ducked her head, trying to conceal her blush at the very thought of her husband and their discovered affection for one another. “We’ve really gotten close.” She paused for a short beat, reigning in her wayward thoughts so that she could face her father again. “I’m happy with him, dad. I really am.”

The village came into view as they rounded a corner of the path. Halsten watched her, searching for a proof of her claim. When he thoroughly examined her, he clapped a hand on her back. “Good to hear, Astrid. Maybe my mind can rest for the time being.” He tugged the end of her braid, teasingly.

Astrid shooed him away, laughing. “Will you stop!” A happy bubble of emotion rose in her chest. She didn’t realize how much she had missed her father until this moment. A question filtered through her head. The images of the burnt spots on the ships and the evidence of a dragon attack answered the question she was about to inquire of.

“How did the campaign go?”

Halsten’s features drew into a somber shape. “We were no closer to seeking the beasts out than before. We sailed around the initial fog that always plagues us, but it seemed to be wrapped around that place so tightly, we could never find a way passed it. Stoick knows the dragon’s nest must be in there. It is the perfect hiding place.”

Astrid knew all too well how perfect of a hiding place it was. The area around the nest wasn’t called Helheim’s Gate for no reason. It was a treacherous way of passage through the dense fog and jutting sea stacks. All on top of surprise dragon attacks.

“They found us. The dragons. We fought—” Halsten paused, seeming at a loss for a moment for the right words. As if he were checking his memory to be sure he was remembering correctly. “The dragons seemed strange. Like, they were trying to chase us away instead of obliterating us as it had been on the last two campaigns.”

Astrid hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath as her father recalled the experience. She knew in her gut that the dragons they’d encountered had to be the Nightmare’s rebellion. They were the only group of dragons there that would possibly do such a thing. She longed more than anything to tell her father why the band of dragons had chased them away instead of fighting them to the death. She longed to tell him that dragons were good. That they could live in peace with them. She wanted to share her secret, but no, this wasn’t the time or place. It wasn’t her secret to tell. Hiccup deserved to reveal the good news. It had been an unexpected fortune when the rest of the teens discovered their secret. But, Hiccup deserved to be the first to tell others besides their little group.

“We were fortunate to not lose a soul,” Halsten continued, drawing Astrid back.

“Yeah—” she replied, carefully, “you were.”

Astrid suddenly wanted to get back to Hiccup more than ever – as if an invisible string was yanking her in the direction she’d last seen him. She embraced her father once more, promising she’d stop by to visit within the next day or so.

She rushed off to the arena thinking she’d find Hiccup there, possibly still feeding the dragons or even gathered with the other teens. She jogged to a halt when she found the arena empty. The basket of food they’d brought for the dragons sat against a wall. She lifted the lid to find it empty. The dragons had been fed, but where had her husband ran off to?

Astrid made her rounds through the village to all the places she knew Hiccup could be. Many Vikings that had come fresh off the campaign greeted her. Their elation and relief to being home after such a long journey was evident on their faces. When she didn’t find Hiccup at all his usual haunts, she had a sneaking feeling exactly where he’d gone. She was just about to dash off in the direction of the forest when she heard her name.

“Astrid! There’s my daughter-in-law,” hailed Stoick, “but where is Hiccup?”

Astrid mustered a smile that she didn’t quite have the emotion to create at the moment. Her mind was solely on Hiccup. He wasn’t anywhere in the village. There was only one other place she knew he had to be. She didn’t know why she was so anxious over the idea that he’d disappeared again. If he was with Toothless then he was safe. She trusted the Night Fury with her life, but especially with Hiccup’s. But, just the thought that he’d disappear without telling her again made her stomach churn.

“That’s who I’m looking for,” Astrid played it off nonchalantly. “I’ll let Hiccup know you’re looking for him. Good to have you back, Chief!” She hurried away before Stoick could inquire any further.

She dashed off toward the forest. Her feet carried her without hardly a thought as to where she was going. She knew the path well.  She weaved through the boulders that made a natural barrier around the cove and came to a halt at the drop that led into the cove. She peered around and listened for any signs of life. Her shoulders slumped at the same time her heart dropped into her stomach.

He was gone. Again.

Tags:  @martabm90​ @chiefhiccstrid @drchee5e

[okageshadowkingfannovel]

Book 1: Chapter 14

“Greetings, I am the fortune teller!”

Ari jumps at the sudden, loud voice that accosts him as he takes a first timid step into the Gulp tavern. He’s so distracted by the strange high-pitched sound that at first, he doesn’t quite register what’s being said. If you took a rat and told it to do chores for the next four hours, the sound of its whining and complaining would probably come close to sounding like this voice.

“Huh?”

“There’s a reason I can’t reveal my name. But ‘Love Fortune Teller Number 1’ Is what most people call me.”

Ari’s eyes finally land on the speaker. An extremely short - woman? He thinks it’s a woman anyway - wearing a muted purple dress with black and yellow stripes along the hem. The weirdest element though is a curious sack-like mask with jagged eye and mouth holes that covers the woman’s face.

“Love Fortune Teller Number 1 seems a little … different.”

“My boy, just one look at the crystal and I’ll identify exactly who loves you the most!” At this moment, she reaches into a pocket and slips out a huge crystal ball, seemingly filled with smoke.

“Am I in the right place?”

He looks around to be sure. It’s not a place he visits much, but Ari’s been in enough times to fetch his father to know what it should look like. Even midday, the place is fairly low-lit. Moody oil lamps cast a warm orange glow that goes perfectly with amber colored beverages in clear glasses. Immediately before the door there’s the bar. A grouchy looking woman, the bartender, stands behind it, eying Ari and ‘Love Fortune Teller Number 1’ with skepticism. This is the right place.

“Oh, are you not interested?” Love Fortune Teller Number 1 asks, wiggling stubby fingers over the crystal ball. “What a sad thing - a young man not invested in his love life.”

“Um, no, that’s not …”

“Great! Here we go!”

Love Fortune Teller Number 1 intensifies her finger wiggles, passing her crazed digits over the crystal’s surface.

“Hey! Hey! Hey!” she starts in a strikingly un-majestic way, “Show me, my crystal ball! Show me the one with whom this boy’s life is entwined … hmmm … yes, yes! Ah, it’s coming to me through the fogs of the beyond. Yes, yes.”

“Uh … ma’am, I really have to go-”

“Whoa!”

“What?”

“A childhood friend! Let’s see. Begins with a J. Jodie … Janice …”

“Julia?”

“That’s the one! Yes, her love for you … it shines through the fog … though it sometimes gets obscured by the confusions, the frantic ups and downs of adolescence.”

“I see.”

“Despair not, boy! Do not give up hope!”

“Oi! Love Fortune Teller Number 1! Leave the kid alone,” the bartender suddenly yells.

“Despair not,” continues Love Fortune Teller Number 1, as if nothing just happened, “people inevitably change … as does the love between them.”

Ari stands there for a moment, the words weighing heavy on him with their surprising insight.

“Go home, lady! You’re drunk!”

The fortune teller finally whips towards the bar, and nearly tips over like an unbalanced top.

“I am not drunk! I’ve only had a few! I’m saving love lives here!”

The bartender says nothing, but emphatically points towards the door.

“Fine. Young man, come see me should you ever need some clarity on matters of the heart. I’ll be at the Parm Inn … probably sleeping.”

With that, the little masked fortune teller drops the crystal ball back into her pocket and makes her way tipsily out the door.

“Sheesh!” exclaims the bartender, “she’s been doing that all day. I know we’ve been closed for a long while, but people need to pace themselves. It’s the middle of the day!”

Ari just nods, mildly distracted by the fact that this makes two people now who’ve told him that his childhood friend, Julia, has been harboring a major crush for him.

“Anyway, what can I do for you, hun? Your dad hasn’t been in if that’s why you’re here.”

“No. Uh … actually, I was wondering if anyone … I mean, have you heard anything about a …” Ari feels obligated to lower his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “… a map of evil kings?”

The bartender stares at him for a minute, but then turns and nods her head towards the other side of the bar. “That one’s been going on and on about it since we reopened.”

Ari follows her gesture and finds …

“Is that the ringmaster?”

Further into the bar, the oil lamps give way to sunlight leaking in through two small arched windows set high in the wall. Most of the tables sit empty, waiting for the late evening when drinking heavily is a bit more socially acceptable. However, at one table tucked away in the corner, there sits the rotund figure of the circus ringmaster. His mustache, his wide empty eyes, and his tall top hat are unmistakable. The bartender nods, but then sighs with disdain.

“Once he starts to drink, he really gets drunk. Don’t know what to do with him.”

The rotund man shifts to readjust his seating and then dramatically tilts his head back to put away another drink. The sound of a deep, guttural burp crosses the bar. Ari grimaces.

“Thanks, ma’am.”

Forcing the disgust from his expression, Ari makes his way to the far off table. When he finds his place just behind the ringmaster’s shoulder, the smell of sweat, peanuts, and stale popcorn hits him one hundred fold and he has to painfully stifle a gagging cough.

“Stupid troopers,” mumbles the ringmaster to himself, “ugh, leaving without me …”

Another burp punctuates his lament.

“So this is the lowlife who’s spreading that swill!”

Suddenly, Stan pops up out of the floor.

“Hey you! I hear you’ve been spreading tall tales that there’s more than one Evil King!”

The ringmaster jumps and spins round in his seat.

“What?! … o-oh … you’re that kid … the one I saw the other night, with the shadow.”

“Yeah,” Ari confirms.

“Now that I got a good look,” he says, getting up from his chair and stumbling closer to Ari, “you’ve got an interesting shadow with ya there.”

“Interesting?! Agghh, fine! Whatever! Just know this, fat man - if you speak of this ‘Map o’ Evil Kings’ rubbish again, I may just shut that mouth of yours permanently!”

“Oh?” replies the ringmaster with a hiccup, “you want it? Sure thing.”

He reaches into his waistcoat and retrieves a tattered, crease patterned sheet of parchment the color of over steeped tea. Ari takes it gingerly.

“Lately, they’ve been saying a fearful Evil King’s shown up in Madril. I swear, it’s true. Ha ha ha, it’s funny really. So, what are you going to do about it, Shadow Evil King?”

The words make time stand still. Ari stares at the ringmaster, re-evaluating the man behind the polka-dotted waistcoat and the peanut smell. Even the village elder thought Stan was just some weird magic trick, but the ringmaster … he knows?

“Shadow Evil King?” repeats Ari dumbfounded.

“Curses,” spits Stan, “you’re more than just some drunk mortal, aren’t you? who are you?!”

“Ugh, I think I’m gonna barf …”

Ari scrambles back a step.

“Heh heh, too much fun last night.”

“Answer me!”  barks King Stan.

But the ringmaster pays him no mind and falls back into his chair.

“Barkeep, give me 10 minutes and then bring over another bottle, would ya?”

“Not today, ringmaster! I’m cutting you off. You’ve got 5 seconds to get out of my bar and back over to the Parm Inn.”

Feeling that his interrogation of the ringmaster has decidedly come to an end, Ari moves back towards the tavern entrance before he can get caught in the bartender’s last nerve.

“Hey boy, wait! Why don’t we take a look at that map.”

“Oh, right.”

Ari almost forgot about the limp piece of paper still clutched in his fingers. He looks around, notices the bartender irritably making her way over to the unbudged ringmaster, and decides to slip over to the opposite end of the tavern. He turns up the flame in one of the oil lamps and holds the map up to catch the orange light.

The map has been folded and unfolded in a variety of different ways, each leaving a sharp hill or valley in its memory. All the world is there, rising and falling with the abundance of crinkles and creases. Ari’s eyes immediately fall on his home country, a shape like a dribbled glob of gravy. Around its edges are nameless squiggles and lines representing only God knows what. But to the north in the gravy glob country, there is Tenel, shown by a tiny little dot.

“Eh? What’s this? 1 … 2 … There are more Evil Kings than myself?”

Scanning his eyes over the expanse, Ari notices the other, more unusual map markings. Little black crowns are stamped all across the world. One blocks the dot labeled Madrid to Tenel’s southeast and another covers Rishero, a place further south that Ari’s never heard of before. But not just towns, they cover all over, haphazardly, without rhyme or reason.

Ari can’t help but notice that no such black crown appears in Tenel.

“On top of that, where’s my crown?! I’m not even on this stupid map! James! James! Where are you?!”

In the next moment, a glowing white portal blossoms up from the floor, spitting wind and mist into Ari’s face. James slowly emerges from the mist, but backwards, facing away from his master.

“Like the setting sun … the glistening moon …”

The evil butler spins around, seeming startled by the change in scenery. He quickly recovers and genuflects.

“Oh, Master! How might I serve?”

“James!” Stan barks, flailing about in classic Stan fashion, “straiten this out, will you? Am I not the one and only Evil King? The successor of the great Evil King Gohma? Who are these other Evil Kings?!”

“Hmmmmmm,” muses James as he gazes upon the map, “well, Master, I will tell you. These others are impostors. Encroachers. Evil Kings only in name.”

“Fake Evil Kings?” asks Ari.

“Precisely. While you were inside the bottle, my Master, they must have stolen your powers, and then went about claiming to be Evil Kings. That must be it!”

“You got all that just by looking at the map?”

James shrugs. “How else could such a thing be? There is only one Evil King and that is my Master.”

“Hmmmmm, I see. I knew something was wrong. These Tenel villagers called me - me - my dark majesty, a … ‘nice guy!’”

“Well, you did get that one lady’s hat out of the tree …”

“Shuddup! Naturally, if my power were at its peak, they would have wept and groveled before me. Yes! That must be it! So it was all the doing of these usurpers! These self-proclaimed Evil Kings were stealing my power!”

“How did they-”

“There is just one thing to do! Slave, you know what that is, don’t you?!”

“Uh …”

“Master!” James exclaims excitedly, “Of course! Of course!”

“Indeed! We’re going to take out all of those phony Evil Kings and get back all of my dark powers!”

“Oh … uh …”

“Then, the whole world will tremble and kneel before me as they rightfully should! Slave, let’s do this! An expedition of conquest!”

“But, um, K-King Stan … uh … Julia … girl …”

“You have nerve, slave! I may not have my full power, but you disobey me and a three hour tickling torture will be waiting for you!”

“Tickling?”

“Master,” James intervenes, “if I may, the teenage girl, Julia, has a bit of a crush on your slave.”

Ari stares at James. Even the evil butler knows?!

“For a kid as uncool as you,” James continues, “this could be your last chance for romance. That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?”

“… well, I wouldn’t have put it quite like that …”

“Touching …” Stan says flatly, “But you’re my slave. You are stuck with me! Ha ha ha! Enough of this romantic rot! We must pack for the journey! To your house! Come on, Slave!”

“But …”

“Oh, that ‘Map o’ Evil Kings.’ How infuriating! Don’t lose that, Slave. It should keep us on the trail of those upstart impostors!”

Before Ari can cough up any more half-formed protests, Stan slips back down into the floor and James bows himself back into the whirling portal. He is left alone with the crushing defeat of having lost love before it could even begin. Feelings of uncoolness settle over him.

Chapter 1 • Chapter 2 • Chapter 3 • Chapter 4 • Chapter 5 • Chapter 6 • Chapter 7 • Chapter 8 • Chapter 9 • Chapter 10 • Chapter 11 • Chapter 12 • Chapter 13 • Chapter 14 • Chapter 15 • Chapter 16 - Finale

NOTE: Okage Shadow King is owned by Sony Computer Entertainment and Zener Works. This novelization is purely a fan-work and the writer claims no ownership over the characters, general plot line(s), etc.

[banashee]

Found Family

 Funnily enough, life with 5 kids around instead of fully grown Avengers kind of adjusts itself over time. They get into a rhythm, learn how to approach things and what to avoid. It is very much a work in progress, but still a lot better than anyone would have thought before. And as it turns out very quickly, Thor would let them get away with murder while Phil, more often than not, is the designated holder of the single shared braincell.  

 Believe it or not, they do have a system. Mostly - there are hiccups still.

 At least that is how it starts out. The more time goes on, the more the kids escape almost-disasters in their own household, the more concerned even Thor grows.

 Usually, he loves the chaos and is always up for a fun time. But especially when one of the kids is in danger of getting hurt, he worries - human kids are a lot more breakable than asgardian children, and he is constantly reminded of it.

 “I wonder what would happen if I put this into the microwave.” Steve wonders out loud one day, which, sadly enough, is not at all unusual for his 10-year old self in the 21st century.

 Tony, who is solving a sudoku with Bruce on the kitchen table snorts and absentmindedly says,

 “Sure, try it.”

 But when a few seconds later, the sounds of clattering metal and the beeping of the microwave fill the room, he jumps up in a panic and yells,

 “Wait, no! I was joking!”

 which startles a series of movements from several different directions, with Tony and Bruce both making a mad leap for the plug to pull it out and Thor sprinting in from the other room, grabbing Steve to pull him away and shield him and the other children from a blast that, thankfully, doesn’t happen.

 A sigh of relief comes from all of them. Only Steve, who hangs in the middle of the air held up by Thor, seems to be entirely unconcerned, although very much apologetic.

 Half an hour later, Clint enters the kitchen with Natasha hanging off of his back. Both of them are to be covered in tiny pieces of paper, glue and glitter - no surprise there, since Nat loves crafting and she loves spending time with him. Clint, for his part, is happy enough to keep her company and help her build whatever it is she has set her mind on that day.

 This, and climbing up the walls in the gym are amongst their favourite past times spent together. The only reason that he hasn’t taught her archery yet is simply the fact that they don’t have a bow small and light enough for her.

 Secretly, everyone else agrees that this is probably a good thing, because these two as kids are just as inseparable as they are as adults, and who knows what would happen if Nat had a bow and arrow in her hands - she may be a tiny 6-year old, but it never serves well to underestimate her.

 Right now though, she looks happy and peaceful, snuggled up on Clint’s shoulder while he is looking for snacks.

 “Hey, I could heat up some Bagel Bites…” he starts out but stops in his tracks when a loud, unison choir of “NO!” interrupts him when he is about to touch the microwave.

 “Jeez, guys. What’s the matter?”

 “The microwave may or may not explode - Stuff happened. We didn’t plug it back in yet…”

 “Aw, no…”

 “Sorry!” Steve pipes up, shooting him a bright, innocent smile. He really is lucky he’s cute.

 With a giggle, Natasha jumps off of the older boy’s back and scurries over to the table. She climbs onto a chair next to Steve and looks at him expectantly.

 “What happened?”

 As chaotic as most days are, they have slowly but surely grown together as a family. The fear and distrust from the kids has almost disappeared. Not completely - they’ve seen too much for that - but it’s about as good as it’s going to get for them, they figure. It surprises all of them, especially seeing the children slowly grow closer to the adults as well.

 They have reached the point where some of them are okay with being touched by either Phil or Thor as well as the other kids. That wasn’t always the case.

 Some kids have tried to avoid any kind of physical contact - especially Clint, and he’d made it clear that people would lose fingers if they’d try it. No one doubts that for a second - they would be stupid to.

 He’ll let the other, younger kids pull on and climb all over him or let them use him as a pillow to snuggle with, no problem. But any adult who tried to come near him would be met with resistance if they were lucky, or with sharp objects if they were not.

 Phil, Thor and Pepper never tried, making it clear that they wouldn’t do anything to hurt either of them, unintentionally or not. It works - the fact that he is willing to sit right next to either of them speaks volumes.

 Natasha, for her part, is young enough to crave love and affection from a caregiver, but is already damaged enough to fear it. It’s painful to think of, and even though they’d known her file, and Phil especially knows her history, seeing the effects firsthand in the little girl just about breaks his heart.

 For days and even weeks, Natasha would lurk in corners and doorways, as if hoping that no one would notice her while simultaneously wishing for someone to hug her, just this once.

 Phil suspects that this might be one of the reasons she’d immediately stuck like glue to Clint. The fact that the two of them have always had a close bond is probably one of those reasons, since the kids display very similar relationships to each other as they are as adults. But Clint is the oldest of all the kids while also being young enough to not be threatening like adults are.

 Phil carefully tries not to think too much about that, as well as the fact that Clint is providing something for the younger kids that he knows he rarely if ever had in his own life.

 Bruce is heartbreakingly similar to these two: distrusting, afraid of getting hurt. He is slowly warming up though, and despite everything, he’s seeking out hugs from Thor on a regular basis now.

 As huge and imposing as the god of thunder looks, he is much more gentle than that, and kids in general tend to love him. His age regressed teammates are no exception.

 Tony, as mouthy and suspicious as he can be, at least knows from experience that not all adults suck. Sure, plenty of them do, like his Dad, but there are also people who are loving and kind, like his Mom, Edwin and Ana Jarvis or Auntie Peggy.

 He is slowly warming up, if the way he is leaning against not only the other kids but also either Phil or Thor when they’re watching movies is something to go by.

 Steve, luckily, is a ray of sunshine. He knows differently, despite all appearances, because his own father, from what they know, did not treat Sarah Rogers kindly.  But he’s not as distrustful in general, and overall easy to get along with. That boy is trouble, sure, but never with malicious intent. He, too, trusts the adults relatively easily.

 Dinner that night is a joyful event. They laugh and argue, just like any other family would, and it feels natural by now.

 It’s days like this when Phil thinks that things aren’t nearly as bad as they could be. Sure, most of the Avengers are still kids, and there is no way to get a hold of Dr. Strange or anyone else who could be actually helpful in reversing this mess. But the kids are happy - they laugh and move freely, more or less trusting him and Thor to keep them safe.

 It’s more than he would have wished for at first.

 Early the next morning, however, Phil is about to rip his hair out again. It’s not even the kids fault - who would have guessed that it is a jar of ground coffee that is the culprit. It looks just like the other container, only it has a red lid.

 Clint doesn’t think anything of it when he pours it into the coffee filter that morning, preparing half a pot for himself and Tony - just because they’re 12 and 14, doesn’t mean they’d walk through life with no caffeine. It’s a bit unsettling, really, but it’s nothing they didn’t expect with those two.

 The problem?

 Their regular coffee is in the jar with the green lid. This jar, however, is empty - no big deal, Clint thinks, there is a whole other jar of coffee grounds right there. Only, said jar with the red lid? It contains a devil's mixture that truly deserves its name, what with the threefold amount of caffeine in it.

 Long story short, it is a near-miracle that neither of the two boys has a heart attack, although Phil might just be close to having one.

 Usually, no one touches that specific brand of coffee, unless serious business arises, or if your name is either Tony, Bruce or Clint on any given day - if they’re adults, that is.

 Phil himself is no stranger to living off of nothing but coffee and willpower either, but even he would have to pass if this stuff was his everyday beverage. Nope. No way.

 Later that day, Tony and Clint are trying to run off some energy and literally climb the walls in the gym. Phil is on one of the benches, filing paperwork while keeping an eye on the two over caffeinated boys.

 It probably says something, about their state, that Thor is very much concerned about them, rambling with worry for several minutes straight and then interrupting himself with,

 “Odin's beard, I’m starting to sound like Phil.”

 “Hey! That is not a bad thing I’ll have you know!” the man in question calls back from the stove - part of him hopes that a hearty breakfast might help, at least a little bit.

 The coffee jar with the red lid miraculously disappears out of the kitchen that day - Phil locks it into a cupboard in his office, just to be sure. He’ll happily hand it back when all residents of the tower are legal adults again and know what the hell they’re getting themselves into. Until then, he’ll keep it just where it is. There is no need for another incident.

 For now, Tony and Clint run circles in the gym, Natahsa has joined them just for fun and Steve is hanging out with Bruce on the side - they don’t talk much, since both of them are busy reading books, but it is a comfortable silence. The two of them get along well, and at least with books, they can’t hurt themselves.

 Thor arrives later, bringing a tupperware container with him.

 After spending so much time here on midgard, he picked up a habit or two. Stress-baking being one of them - he passes cookies to everyone, sitting down on the bench in between Phil and the quietest two of the kids. Bruce looks up when the container of cookies appears in front of him, and he happily takes two, handing one over to Steve.

 Then, he scoots closer to Thor, leaning against his arm as he finds a new, comfortable reading position.

      *+~

22 - Shielding

[trashyslashers]

Hey I have a request. If you could do it I would be very thankful. It's for 2007 michael. So one day a nurse has to bring his sister with her so she can fill her position when said nurse takes the maternity leave. S/o meets Michael and when she fills her sister's place she get assigned to be Michael's personal nurse. For some reason she and Michael click and he gets a crush on her. He ask Loomis for help . And Loomis decided to help them. In the end Michael ends up living with so happily.

I think this is actually the first time I’ve written specifically for 2007 Michael!! Fun fact, the 2007 remake of Halloween was the first of ANY of the movies that I saw, and I saw it when I was like… 12 or 13? I spent the next several years thinking that that was how the original story went, so when I was like 14/15 and found out that it was actually completely different… [insert surprised Pikachu]. 

So to be honest, I had trouble figuring out how I could realistically write Loomis encouraging a romantic relationship between Michael and nurse!reader and then allowing him to live with her (given how I doubt they’d release him), so I kinda changed it a little bit and had it so Loomis encouraged a sort of almost-friendship between them (while they still secretly had a romantic relationship going on), and they continued said relationship as time went on. 

———————————————————————————————————–

The first thing Michael notices about you is how soft spoken, gentle, and kind you are towards not only him - but all the others there. Even the most violent, rude of the patients weren’t treated awfully or scorned by you, and something about that tugs at his heart in a way he’s never felt before. It reminds him of his mother, almost - she was always kind, smiling, loving to him, even when Ronnie was ranting and raving. 

You were young, probably the youngest nurse in the ward, and you were shadowing your older sister to learn the ropes so you could fill her place while she went on maternity leave. It was odd, but something about that rouse a desire to get close to you, in him - like he needed to protect you. 

The day came where you were on your own as your sister had to take her leave, and given how compliant Michael seemed to be with you, with your OK you were assigned to be his personal nurse. Your job was to make sure he was alright - escort him to and from appointments, bring him any meds that you were directed to, assist him with anything he wasn’t authorized to do on his own, and the like. 

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t slightly intimidated. Though it happened when you were still relatively young, you’d heard about his history, his murders, and that combined with his silent, hulking nature and his reluctance to show his face unnerved you to some degree. Though intimidated, you didn’t really feel threatened, surprisingly. The doctors as well as your sister had given you the rundown on him; only very brief, minor altercations with staff and other patients in the past that usually were provoked by them were the extent of his criminal history while in Smith’s Grove, and you hoped it would remain that way. 

A recent, newly found pro of constantly wearing his papier-mâché masks 24/7 was that they, along with his unkempt hair, provided ample cover for his eyes and he was able to leave them focused on you without your notice. It wasn’t a lustful or hostile stare from him; rather it was one of curiosity and blooming feelings of warmth. Sooner or later, Michael had developed a crush on you. He wasn’t well versed at all in romantics and had no idea that the warm feelings of adoration he suddenly felt for you were romantic, but if anyone had been able to read his mind, they’d be able to call it immediately. 

Though Michael never spoke during his sessions with Loomis, Loomis was able to note subtle differences in his general demeanor. A mention of your name resulted in him, very subtly, perking up; a slight tilt of his head, his head lifted ever so slightly, his shoulders not so sunk. It didn’t take too long for Loomis to realize that Michael was harboring some positive feelings towards you.

Dr. Loomis wasn’t ignorant to what as going on - though he wasn’t aware of the extent of it. He was completely shocked by how compliant and docile Michael was with you - for the most part it usually took a bit of convincing from any staff member to get him to do anything, but all you needed to do was say “Ready, Mikey?” and he seemed eager and willing to do whatever it was you needed him to do. It was a change, and it was the sort of breakthrough-esque change that baffled Loomis enough to encourage a sort of relationship between you and Michael. Not romantic, though, of course - it was illegal, unethical, and Loomis still stood by his word that Michael was still almost entirely an empty vessel of evil. 

You would’ve been full of it if you’d said you hadn’t begun to feel something awfully similar to a crush, and as the weeks went on and your 1 on 1 time with Michael did nothing to stop it. You noticed that Dr. Loomis had been acting somewhat odd, as well; asking more and more questions about what you and Michael do when you’re with him, if he’s spoken to you, shown his face to you, what you think about him, and so on. You couldn’t help but find it a bit odd, the amount of interest he seemed to have, but nonetheless you’d tell him snippets every now and then, enough to make him think he knew a lot, but in reality it wasn’t even nearly that.

Before you knew it, you found yourself in a sort of romantic relationship with Michael. It’d started one night; you were being relieved early as you had something else to attend to, and Michael sat somewhat slumped at the desk in his room as he put together yet another one of his infamous paper masks. With a deep huff, you ducked down, and pressed a quick, chaste kiss to the rough and dry cheek of his orange mask - the pumpkin mask he seemed to like wearing more than the others. 

From then on, it was settled. Given how Michael didn’t harshly reject you, shove you away, hurt you, or anything like that, you took that as an invitation to continue and he seemed to enjoy it. Though he never really did reciprocate apart from wrapping stiff arms around you if you hugged him, every now and then he’d vaguely gesture to the part of his mask that you initially pressed your lips to as a way to ask for another kiss.

Loomis, in his endeavor to try and figure out more about Michael, his psyche, and what about you caused the sudden change, made sure that you were the one with him the most. Any time you were in the hospital, you were assigned to him - no one else. Not even the large, burly men that used to escort Michael to and from appointments in case he acted out - their presence was unnecessary now as Michael seemed much more content with you. Any time anyone spoke negatively about the situation, questioning if it were smart, if you were too young or too inexperienced to be one on one with someone like Michael, and so on, were met with an almost dismissive Loomis as he told them not to worry, he knew what he was doing, it was part of Michael’s treatment. 

Eventually, your elder sister returned and you were unable to keep such long shifts with Michael, instead swapping out with your sister. Despite this small hiccup, it was still insisted by Loomis that you work with Mikey whenever it was possible, and that was something both you and Michael were more than content with.

[babsxkean]

jimbabs playlist - teenage edition 

From Day One to Forever

April 14, 1992 

She’s always hated coming to these parties. 

Her parents stuff her into some hideous tulle confection that her mother has the temerity to call a dress, curling Babs’s red hair -- her best feature, according to Mrs. Kean -- and painting her face so that it looked dewy, one of her mother’s favorite words to describe her appearance and therefore one that Babs loathes with particular intensity. They steer her around like a dog at Westminster, and Babs is forced to smile while men old enough to be her father leer at her, and women praise her looks and her figure and her sweet disposition, as if she’s nothing more than a doll, rather than a young woman burning with resentment and with a longing for freedom.

But then again, it’s at one of these parties that she meets Jim Gordon, so in retrospect, she supposes they aren’t so bad after all.

She manages to sneak away for a cigarette, leaning against the balcony railing with the cigarette poised between her fingers, a thin tendril of smoke curling up into the sky. Staring out at the familiar cityscape sprawling far below her, she wonders what it would be like to live anywhere else. L.A., New York, Miami, Seattle...anywhere would be better than Gotham. 

Specifically, anywhere would be better away from her parents. She’s been raised in the lap of luxury, in this beautiful house, but this place has always been cold, more like a museum than a home. And she’s simply one of the exhibits.

Babs hears footsteps behind her, and she sighs, expecting it to be one of her parents come to collect her. When she turns around, though, she sees an unfamiliar face -- and, she can’t help but notice, a rather gorgeous one. A shaggy blonde fringe sets off bright blue eyes, which study her framed by sculpted features and a strong jaw. 

“Who are you?” she says, and her life changes.

April 28, 1992

Two weeks later, and they’re inseparable -- but he still hasn’t kissed her yet.

It’s driving her crazy, and she’s starting to worry that he actually doesn’t like her all that much. Although why else he would be coming to her house, risking the attention of her parents, she can’t even begin to guess. So he must like her, but if he likes her, why won’t he kiss her?

They’re sitting by the Kean family pool, their feet in the water. Jim has chivalrously lent her his jacket, draped around her slender shoulders. She’s listening to him talk, or at least she’s trying to listen -- but all she can focus on is how very much she wants his lips on hers, those warm, broad palms of his settling on her waist as he pulls her closer.

He’s in the middle of saying something about the baseball team, which she frankly has never paid one bit of attention to before now, when she reaches for his face and turns it toward hers. “Jim,” she sighs, her tone a mixture of affection and impatience.

She kisses him, wrapping one arm around his neck and curling her free hand into the material of his t-shirt. As she hoped he would, he grabs her around the waist and tugs her closer, kissing her back with flattering and reassuring enthusiasm. 

It seems that he does like her after all.

June 14, 1992

“I love you,” she says.

If she’s being honest, she’s wanted to say it before tonight. But she kept telling herself that it was too soon, that she would scare him away. And even by the night by the pool, she knew that losing Jim would break her heart.

But it’s been two months, and they’re alone by the bay, Jim holding her from behind and his chin on her shoulder, both of them facing the water. It’s easier to say it when they stand like this, when she can’t see his face. 

She’s forming a vague plan to just throw herself into the water from the bridge when he kisses her cheek and says into her ear: “I love you, too.”

August 22, 1992

Their first time takes place only yards away from their first kiss, on the foldout couch in the pool house. Maybe it’s not the most romantic of places, but it’s theirs; her parents almost never come in here. The doors lock and Babs has the only key. She thinks they’ve mostly furnished this little house because it’s a status symbol -- not only to have a pool house, period, but to have it fully bedecked with elegant furniture, including a TV and a VCR. 

They spend most of their time here when Jim comes over. Usually, they just curl up together on the couch, Jim’s arm around her and her head nestled against his shoulder as they watch TV or a movie. More than once, when they sit like this, Babs thinks that she’s never felt so safe.

Of course, cuddling and watching television isn’t all they do. Every time Jim kisses her makes her feel like she’s burning up in the most wonderful way, and so she’ll often pass an evening or a Saturday afternoon in a state of feverish pleasure, kissing him over and over again. Lingering, sweet kisses; playful pecks between their conversations; deep kisses that have an edge she is entirely unfamiliar with but is more than willing to explore.

It’s these kisses that take them further than they’ve been before. Often when they kiss like this, it’s Jim who pulls away. He doesn’t want to push her, he says. 

But tonight, as he pulls back, she winds her arms around his neck and kisses him again. “I don’t want to stop,” she says, almost pleading. 

He looks at her for a moment, studying her eyes as if trying to ascertain if she’s serious. She bits her lip and looks up at him, nodding. “Jim, please,” she says. “I mean it. I’m ready, I swear.”

Even more than a physical desire, which is undoubtedly there, she wants the world to narrow down to just the two of them. That’s all she ever wants now. To be swept up in this strong, steady boy who loves her, if only for a little while; and maybe when she comes back to herself, she can carry some of his strength and steadiness with her.

Afterward, they curl together under a blanket, like they’ve done hundreds of times before. The difference now is that she is vitally aware that nothing separates them beneath the blanket, that every inch of her skin is exposed and brushing every now and again against his, each time with a thrilling little frisson. 

She hurts, a little, but it’s not bad. Definitely not as bad as some of her friends made it seem like it would. There’s an ache, and she thinks the difference between her and many of the other girls she knows is that, for them, it’s the ache of something taken; whereas for her, it’s the ache of something willingly given that has left behind something new and tender. 

“Are you okay?”

It’s the fourth time he’s asked this. 

She turns her head to kiss his cheek. “Yes, Jim. I would tell you if I wasn’t.”

They fall asleep like that, and she has to wake him up and kiss him goodbye in a rush just after midnight. Even with this small moment of panic, in which Jim dashes out of the house with, somehow, his shirt on backwards, she doesn’t think she’s ever been happier.

January 5, 1993

She can’t stop crying.

“I’m sorry,” she says, over and over. She can’t stop. Her arms are around Jim’s neck and she’s hiding her face against his chest. She can’t look at him. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”

She’s ruined his life, she’s ruined hers. At least that’s what her mother says. Mrs. Kean had wanted Babs to get rid of it without even telling Jim, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t get rid of it at all. 

Because it, for worse or for better, was a baby. Hers and Jim’s baby. Her greatest fear, her only fear, is that Jim will leave -- or his parents will make him leave. The Gordons have never been anything less than kind to her, but right now, she can’t think straight. 

In between desperate, hitching sobs, she tells him, because she won’t do what her mother wants her to do, her parents have kicked her out of the house. “I don’t have anywhere else to go,” she whispers.

Jim manages to pry her off his neck, and even though it feels like forcing boulders out of her mouth, together they tell her parents. “She doesn’t have anywhere to go,” Jim says, clasping Babs to his side as if he’s afraid someone will try to take her away from him.

She’s stopped crying, but tears are still trickling intermittently down her cold cheeks. Mrs. Gordon approaches her, tilts her chin up with one finger, and wipes the tears away with another.

“She’ll stay here,” Mrs. Gordon says firmly. 

Babs looks up at her. “What?”

“You’ll stay here,” Mrs. Gordon repeats. “You’re family now. And I can promise you this, dear, we’ll treat you with the love and support you deserve. Your parents clearly never appreciated what they had in you, but we will.”

Babs hiccups, and then manages to find a smile.

September 23, 1993

“I want to name her Barbara.”

“But your--”

“I know what my own name is, Jim. That’s why I want to name her Barbara. If she was a boy, nobody would think twice if we named her James Jr., so why can’t I name her after myself? I’m the one who was just in labor for 49 hours. What did you do?”

Jim laughs, even though she’s being completely serious. “Well, okay,” he says. “We’ll name her Barbara Lee, how does that sound?”

“Barbara Lee Gordon,” she says softly. “Yes, that sounds nice.”

April 14, 2000

She puts the flower basket into Barbara’s hands, kneeling down in her white dress so that she’s on her daughter’s eye level. “So you know what to do, right?”

Barbara, seven years old with the Kean red hair, tosses her head impatiently in such a Babs-like manner that she has to bite her lip to keep from laughing. “Yeah, I know,” she says. “I grab some petals and I throw them.”

“On the floor,” Babs specifies. “In front of you.”

“Yeah.”

“Not at people.”

“I know!”

“Alright, alright,” Babs says, kissing her daughter’s forehead. “I just wanted to be sure. Today is a special day for all of us.”

She and Jim had discussed getting married a few times since they’d had Barbara, but Babs has always been insistent that it be because they loved each other and wanted to spend their lives together, not just because she’d had Jim’s baby. 

It was one thing to say forever when you were sixteen and caught up in the emotional whirlwind that came with a newborn. She had known, almost from the start, that she wanted to be with Jim for the rest of her life; but she had wanted, almost desperately, for them to be as normal of a couple as possible, despite their circumstances. And a normal couple waited, and spent years together, and grew together before they got married. 

Then Jim had joined the army, the longest two years of Babs’s life. Every time there had been an unexpected knock at the door, her heart had jumped into her throat. Of course, now that he’s home, he’s become a cop, which is only an improvement in that he comes home every night -- well, most nights -- and she knows where to reach him. 

But then again, there was never any doubt in her mind that Jim would have gone into some recklessly noble profession, in order to protect the city that he loves; the fact that she sincerely doubts anyone can really save Gotham is something she does her best to keep to herself. 

She had known he was going to propose almost as soon as he returned home. She hadn’t found the ring itself, but she’d found the receipt; and she’d spent days in a feverish anticipation that became more and more panic-stricken as time wore on. What if he’d changed his mind? Was it possible he’d met someone else? She certainly couldn’t ask him about any of this, because she wasn’t even supposed to know!

And then one night, he took her to one of her favorite restaurants, where the dress code was strictly black tie and the wine was served in crystal glasses. She had expected it to hide the ring in the champagne, or the dessert -- although personally she’d never understood that, considering that seemed like such a choking hazard, and an expensive one at that -- but they ordered both, and no dice. 

Or no ring, rather.

Babs was distinctly put out, and increasingly nervous, so when they got home, she almost didn’t notice. Her favorite flowers were set out in a vase on the coffee table, two lit tapers on either side throwing warm, flickering shadows over the petals and a box of the Belgian chocolates that she loved. 

When Jim cleared his throat, Babs turned around to find him on one knee, the ring box open in his hand. “Oh, I hate you,” she said, starting to laugh and cry at the same time.

But of course she said yes.

They hadn’t really wanted a big wedding, which had surprised people when it came to Babs. The only material thing she really cared about was the dress -- she had longed since she was a little girl to look like a princess at her wedding. Everything else, she was more than happy to compromise with Jim about. 

Only three people really matter today -- first is Babs herself, of course. She is the bride, after all.

And then there’s Barbara, who walks ahead of her mother down the aisle, dutifully scattering rose petals before taking a seat next to Jim’s mother, who sat front and center on Jim’s side of the church. The fact that Babs’s side was nearly empty was something she resolutely pushed from her mind. 

The only other person who matters today is standing in front of her at the altar, wearing a finely tailored suit and a smile so wide it makes her chest hurt. God, he was handsome. For eight years, he had been such a rock for her, the first person in her life to ever really show her that she was worthy of love, to love her at all.

Her own parents aren’t here, but she doesn’t care. Jim’s father walks her down the aisle, and she feels like the pace is too slow; she just wants to be married to him already. Suddenly, it seems like she’s been waiting for this particular moment forever, and she realizes she wouldn’t care if it was just her, and Jim, and Barbara here with the minister.

She doesn’t realize her fingers are trembling out of sheer nerves until Jim’s hands are grasping hers, and he steadies her. Just like he always has. 

“I, Barbara, take you, James…”

Has she ever called him James before? Anyway. Focus, Babs.

“...to be my lawfully wedded husband. To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse…”

The vows seem to take forever, especially since she’s terrified of flubbing and coming off like an idiot. Which is so entirely not the point right now, but she is who she is.

Then finally, finally, the minister says, “You may kiss the bride.”

And she kisses her husband. 

[petals42]

If you ever got the inspiration to, could you write more headcanons about Shitty and the Zimmermanns? Like do you think Shitty has each of their individual cell numbers and how did he get them if he does? Or something? I ADORE the way you write them and I always think Alicia, Dad Bob, and, to some extent, Shitty are characters that are criminally under-explored in fic.

Alright, anon, you sent this three months ago and so BAD ME for taking this long (especially since I’ve had this idea for like 6 months) and it’s still not done all the way BUT, here it is:

5 Times Shitty Calls the Zimmermanns (& 1 Time They Call Him)

1. February, Freshman Year

It’s strange to think that Alicia Zimmermann used to be one of those people who kept her phone on silent. Not even on vibrate. Sure, the light would flash at her if she got a text or email but there were no alerts or ringtones or alarms. People were always surprised when she told them but, as she told the story often enough, at a certain level she found the beeping and the buzzing entirely too much. It was all she could do to get through ordering a coffee uninterrupted. And even when some of her friends in the fashion industry told her to just buy a second phone–one for work she could keep silent, one for her personal life–she had laughed. She had grown to hate her phone and buying a second seemed completely ridiculous. She would check her messages and emails when she had the time and if people needed her, well then they could just leave a message.

She and Bob had worked out a system. She knew he called her two hours before any game that he had and she called back (and expected to be answered) forty-five minutes after the game. Win or lose. He also called her before and after any plane travel and she liked to text during her lunch break and Jack never was much for talking on the phone but he knew to try Bob’s phone first and she knew that if he were going to call, it would be around 8PM.

That was before, though.

Now… Now Alicia keeps her sound on the highest setting at all times and even if they go to a show, she keeps it on vibrate and in a pocket where she can feel it because she needs to be near her phone, always, because if she’s not, she might miss the call, miss it like she missed the last one that something is wrong, that her life has changed, that Jack has–

She doesn’t think she will ever forgive herself, really, for missing the call from the hospital. And missing the first four from Bob. When she finally called him back (14 minutes after the first call came in), he had been panicking and Jack had been unconscious and both of them had needed her and she was 14 minutes late because she didn’t like being interrupted.

(She’s lucky it was only 14 minutes. She’s lucky she had wanted to look up that one guy’s name from His Gal Friday at that particular moment. Now, she can’t decide if she hates that movie or loves it.)

So as she sits across the counter from Bob, who is narrating his cooking as usual and her ringtone starts blaring from her purse, it’s no longer unusual. People do call her a lot. Bob goes quiet and Alicia glances at the screen (because her ringer is on but you better believe she screens) and its Jack.

It’s 8:45. A little after his usual window, but not too late.

“It’s Jack,” she tells Bob.

“Remind him we land on Wednesday,” Bob tells her, turning back to what she thinks is going to end up as soup at some point.

“Hey, Jack,” she says, nodding and lifting the phone to her ear. “How are–”

“Uh, Mrs. Zimmermann?”

The voice on the phone is not Jack’s. This voice on the phone is young and high and fast and Alicia doesn’t know what her face does but Bob is by her side in an instant because she doesn’t recognize the voice on the phone and the last time that had happened–

“It’s Shitty. Jack’s friend. I- um- I- something is–”

He is panicking. Next to her, Bob spins to find his keys but can’t seem to locate them. Alicia needs to not panic.

“Shitty,” she says. She remembers him. She met him when she went to Parent’s Weekend. Young, shorter than Jack. Funny. Loves her son. Polite at first around adults. Then gets comfortable. Made her laugh. Made Jack laugh. “Where’s Jack? Tell me what’s wrong. Is he breathing?”

Please let him be breathing. Please, God, not again. Let him be breathing.

“He’s right here,” Shitty says. “Yes, he’s–” She hears Shitty take a deep breath and calm himself down. “Jack is sitting next to me and he’s like… breathing too much and too fast and I don’t know what to do. He managed to say Call Mom so I grabbed his phone and I did and he is having like a panic attack, I think? And I just… he said to call you. I don’t know what to do.”

Jack is breathing. Jack is not passed out. Jack has not overdosed.

Jack is having a panic attack. The relief that hits her is so staggering, she doesn’t know what to do for a moment.

“It’s getting really bad,” Shitty had not actually stopped talking. “I don’t– am I supposed to touch him? Or not touch him? He’s not answering questions anymore and I–”

Shitty is only 19. Alicia is going to have two panic attacks on her hands if she doesn’t pull herself together.

“Okay, Shitty,” she starts, grateful that her volume is on loud enough that Bob heard. He stops looking for keys at least. “Jack is just having a panic attack, okay? He gets them sometimes. It’s going to be okay. You’re gonna help him through it, alright?”

“Okay,” Shitty says. “Okay, yes. Just… tell me what to do.”

Alicia reviews. Jack– Jack is usually okay with touching during a panic attack. At least, he lets her and Bob grab his shoulders or hold his hand and based on their interaction when she met them–the two of them always tangled together, Jack reached out and steering Shitty like it’s nothing, Shitty constantly grabbing and pulling her son to fit his needs–she is going to guess Shitty is on that level too.

“Alright. Put me on speaker and put the phone down. Take his hands. Talk to him while you do it so he knows it’s you.”

She wants to talk to Jack directly but he won’t hear her right now. Not over the phone.

There’s a scuffle and then a beep and then she can hear Jack’s labored breathing. Bob is pressed to her side now. She would put her phone on speaker but she doesn’t want to take the time to pull it away from her face and hit a button.

“Hey, buddy,” she hears Shitty say. “It’s me, Shitty. The one with the brown hair. Growing it out too. Uh– just gonna grab your hands. That’s right, gotta get you to stop messing up your hair there. There you go. I’m coming closer. Oof, well now I’m straddling you a little bit here. At least I’m wearing clothes, right?”

“Okay,” Alicia says. “Now you just wanna try to slow down his breathing. Have him match you. In for three, out for three.”

“Alright, Jacky-boy. It’s gonna be okay. We’re all gonna be okay. Just… here breathe with me for a second here. That’s right– look up at me. I’m beautiful. You’ve said so yourself. Many a time. Okay, okay. Here we go. In for three.” Shitty takes an exaggerated breath then and Alicia hears Jack try to mimic it but only get to Shitty’s count of two and then hiccup and go faster and her heart breaks because she should be there but there’s no time to offer advice because Shitty seems to know what to do, now that he has a bit of a directive. “Hey, wait up now. It’s okay if you can’t do it on the first try. Let’s just try again, Ready? Alright, there it is. Nailing this now. Look at us go.”

After about five minutes (maybe, Alicia doesn’t really know), Jack gets the hang of three seconds and she prompts Shitty to try for five and the worst has passed now, she knows that but maybe it’s comforting her, listening to Shitty’s steady stream of counting interspersed with stories of Yeah, we’re doing this. We’re even better at this than that piggy-back race we entered and I still think we technically won that. I mean, sure, I was falling over, but I threw you forward so we had that and suggestions like Out for five. Just think of the two of us on a beach somewhere. You, under the umbrella and whining how it’s too hot. Me, probably sunburned building sandcastles. The rest of the beach, looking at that ass of yours. Especially when you come help me with the sandcastle.

Shitty’s style is different from hers. Alicia goes for the more direct, it’s going to be okay approach. Repeats it like a mantra. Shitty… sometimes she’s not sure the counts are perfectly even because he rambles through them but–

“I bet a polar bear wouldn’t even fight you. Like it would eat me for sure, but you– you’d just get this nod of respect, you know? Like fucking Canadian beauty to Canadian beauty. Meanwhile, I’m being fed to the cubs as a training exercise–”

There. A sharp little intake of breath that could be a laugh. Jack’s laugh.

“Oh, sure, laugh it up. You could have at least tried to save me, asshole.”

Jack is still keeping his breathing in tight control but, “Would– Save– You.”

“Well, I would hope so!” Shitty brings Jack into the conversation as if he hadn’t spent the last 15 minutes monologuing while Jack panics. “All the pranks I’ve taught you. Do you want some water? I’m gonna get some water. Here, talk to your mother.”

Another scuffle. Then, “Hi, Maman. Sorry.” Jack’s voice sounds gravelly and slightly slurred and he’s tired. She knows that.

“Oh, baby, it’s okay,” she says. “It’s okay. You did the right thing, telling Shitty to call.”

She wants to ask him so many questions. She wants to ask what brought this on (though she knows it’s probably the upcoming string of hockey games) and if he’s been talking to his therapist and taking his meds and is this the first one? Or has he been feeling this way for a while? Does he want them to come there? Does he want to come home? Can he please, please come home?

“Are you feeling better?” is what she settles for.

“Yeah,” Jack says. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just tired.”

“Of course,” she says. “Of course. You get some rest.” Jack lives in a single, she remembers. He will go to sleep and be alone and it would be ridiculous, right? Ridiculous to ask Shitty to stay with him. He’s a grown man. The worst is over. He can–

“Water delivery!” she hears. “I even put it in your favorite green water bottle. Drink up.”

She listens as Jack does and then there’s a thud through the line as Shitty helps Jack up and there’s a garbled few sentences that she misses and Jack’s quiet huff of laughter. Then,

“Alright, dude, I’ll just– uh, head out now.” Shitty says and suddenly he’s awkward again. “Uh, bye, Mrs. Zimmermann!”

“Shits,” Jack says. “It’s late. Why don’t you stay over?”

It is not late. By Alicia’s glance at the clock, it is only 9:33. But there is no beat of hesitation.

“SNUGGLE SLEEPOVER!!!” Shitty all but yells and then there’s a crash and a yelp and from the sound of it Shitty has already launched himself into Jack’s bed.

They are going to have to snuggle. Alicia knows how big those beds are and her son is not a scrawny person. She can’t stop smiling.

“You have to wear clothes,” Jack says and he’s still tired, Alicia knows, still exhausted even but he sounds like he might be smiling too.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he says back into the phone.

It’s been a horrible moment, but Alicia leans her head back into Bob’s shoulder and doubtless whatever he was making is ruined but they’ll order takeout or eat ramen and it’s okay. It’s all going to be okay.

“My phone will be on.”

[kimjongdaely]

My Pet Human [Chapter 12]

Vampire!AU

Pairing: Chen x Reader

Warnings: mention of blood, violence, slavery and sexual situations.

Summary: Every wrong step, every wrong turn led you to this moment. This moment where you would belong completely, utterly to the vampire Kim Jongdae, who never even wanted you in the first place.

Prologue│Chapter 1│Chapter 2│Chapter 3│Chapter 4│Chapter 5│ Chapter 6│Chapter 7│Chapter 8│Chapter 9│Chapter 10│Chapter 11│ Chapter 12│Chapter 13│Chapter 14 [M]│Chapter 15 [M]│Chapter 16│ Chapter 17│Chapter 18│Epilogue

You wake up feeling heavy. Your head is pounding, the world spinning the slightest bit.

You groan, pressing a hand against your forehead in hopes to still your jumbled mind. Where are you? Obviously you’re in a bed, but when you look around it’s not your room.

Jongdae.

It’s Jongdae’s room. Everything from last night flashes in front of you like a movie. You panic, sitting up and looking down at yourself to find that, indeed, you’re naked.

Oh my fucking gosh.

You turn to your left, finding Jongdae sleeping peacefully. His hair is disheveled, and you can’t help but remember how they felt between your fingers. You flush, burying your face in your palms.

You think you passed out, so what happened after that? Did…Did Jongdae actually…?

You feel yourself begin to shake, sobs clawing their way from your throat. You clutch the sheets closer to your body, trying to cover yourself as much as possible, trying to cover that shame. How could this happen to you? How could you let this happen? Granted, even if you fought back, you probably wouldn’t have won, but you just let him!

Jongdae shifts, groaning. His eyes slide open, blinking in the light and hissing, “What’s that sound?”

You ignore him, hiccuping as you begin to cry. This is so humiliating, so degrading.

Jongdae shifts, sitting up, hand running through his hair. “What—Are you crying?”

“You.” You shove him with one hand, the other holding the sheet securely over you. It was weak and probably didn’t hurt him at all, but you want to show him how upset you are. You scowl at him through your tears, feeling rage grow within you at his stupidly confused expression. “How could you? I’m willing to give you my blood. Go ahead! Drink all you fucking want. But,” you swallow thickly, eyes hardening, “do not touch me.”

Jongdae finally seems to understand as he raises a brow, leaning back on the bed. “Why can’t I? You belong to me; I can do whatever I want to you.”

“No.” You seethe. “I only want to be touched and do things with someone I love, even though it might not happen in this lifetime.” You feel another set of tears coming. That’s right. You’re probably going to grow old here and die as a Pet. With no one to love and no one who loves you.

Jongdae sighs, rolling his eyes and getting out of bed. “Alright, fine. I won’t touch you again without permission.”

He’s shirtless, and you flush, covering your eyes with the sheets as he walks past to get new clothes. From a quick glance, you can already tell his body is lean and fit, so perfectly sculpted.

Ah, you shouldn’t be thinking that.

He throws on a clean shirt, and without glancing at you, walks out the door, leaving you alone in his room. Perhaps he’s giving you privacy, though it still feels rude all the same. You feel like a used doll, held close when he feels like it and immediately discarded when he’s bored. He’s so bipolar—sweet one second and cold the next. It’s so exhausting keeping up with him.

You feel another set of tears sting your eyes, but you blink them away. Haven’t you cried enough because of him?

You push yourself out of bed, picking up your discarded clothes and slipping them back on as you hurry to go back to your own room. You feel absolutely disgusting and cheap, your pride torn and stomped on.

You knew becoming a Pet meant a lot of things. But you didn’t think Jongdae would do such a thing to you. To think you almost thought he was nice.

You take a shuddering breath to calm yourself. Down the hall you can hear a door slam loudly, making you jump in surprise. It’s Yixing’s room, and door-slamming seems very out of character for him.

Curiosity and concern getting the best of you, you tip-toe quietly over to see if anything’s wrong. You don’t mean to eavesdrop or anything, but you lean in and press your ear against the door, wondering if you should go in and ask if he’s okay.

“Jongdae!” Yixing’s voice booms and you flinch, having never heard him raise his voice like that before. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Hyung—” Jongdae’s voice is much quieter, almost a whine.

“How could you?” Yixing demands, his words seething. “What do you treat her as? A prostitute? I always thought you were better than that, Jongdae.”

They’re talking about you. Your stomach drops at the realization. They’re talking about what had happened last night.

“I didn’t—” Jongdae starts almost defensively, and you really want to hear his explanation. “I don’t—” He sighs, trying to collect his thoughts. “It was wrong of me, I know. We didn’t have sex though.”

A wave of relief washes over you after hearing that. Thank goodness. So he didn’t do anything to you after you fainted. Still, it doesn’t change the fact that he did something to you.

“So that make a difference?” Yixing hisses. “What you did was disgusting.”

Jongdae doesn’t speak for a long while, and then meekly says, “I promised her I wouldn’t touch her again without permission.”

“You shouldn’t have touched her in the first place.” Yixing answers flatly.

Another long pause.

“Jongdae,” Yixing sounds much gentler now, as if he realized something. “Did you…Did you do that to scare her off?”

You freeze at the doorway, eyes wide. He…what? But now that you think about it, it could be possible. He’s always hated humans, never even wanted to mark you and keep you. He gave you a choice to leave…but maybe it wasn’t really a choice to begin with.

You wait intently for Jongdae’s reply, nervous and trembling.

“I—Yes.” He sounds defeated. You can feel your blood boil at this. You feel hurt and furious at the same time. What on earth is going on in his head? Why does he do and say so many things, only to contradict them?

You burst into the room without thinking, fuming. “You did that because you wanted to scare me off?” You scream, voice loud and piercing as you stomp up to Jongdae. You see their faces, see the surprise on Yixing’s face and the shame on Jongdae’s face.

Shame? Guilt? You don’t even know. It’s too hard to understand him.

You feel yourself shaking. “How could you? If you wanted me to leave—”

The intensity of your anger makes you lightheaded. The world spins suddenly around you, going too fast and you stumble, feeling yourself falling forward.

And then your vision dims, everything fading away.

Light filters through your eyelids. You slowly open them, blinking at the ceiling. Your eyes glances around, and you realize you’re back in Jongdae’s room.

“Attacks in town?” You hear Jongdae’s voice quietly off by the side. He’s standing next to the window, talking into a phone, his brows furrowed in concentration. “No, I can’t go tonight. My Pet fainted.” A pause as the person on the other line speaks, and then he sighs. “Yes, I think I took too much blood.” He hums in agreement to something, before hanging up.

His dark eyes meet yours, calm and guarded. “Hey.”

“You tried to scare me off.” You mumble, voice still slightly weak. “Why give me a choice then? Just tell me you want me to leave.”

Turmoil flashes through his eyes as he sighs, taking a step closer towards the bed yet keeping a safe distance. “I thought about it, and just as I thought, I’m not fit to keep a Pet.”

“Is it something about me?” You demand, brows furrowing. “Or is it just because I’m a human? Why do you hate humans so much?”

Jongdae looks away, avoiding your eyes.

You sigh. “Tell me, Jongdae. Something must’ve happened to make you like this.”

Jongdae is quiet for a while, and when you think he’s not going to talk, he finally says, “A long time ago, I had a lover.” His face immediately twists into a pained, tortured expression. He exhales shakily, closing his eyes. “We grew up together. She was everything to me. And then…the humans. The humans were always wary of our existence; they hunted us and tried to wipe us out. What happened to her was my fault.” His voice trembles and then cracks. “I couldn’t protect her…they got to her and I couldn’t stop them. I…I wasn’t…I wasn’t strong enough then. I was too young, too inexperienced and I didn’t want to hurt the humans. But—” He opens his eyes, jaw locked and eyes hard, cold. “But they didn’t hesitate when they…they tied her up. Burned her. Did all kinds of things and tortured her. And then finally...” He trails off, eyes misty before shaking his head. “I lost my mind and killed most of them. EXO doesn’t like killing humans, unlike the other vampires, but I couldn’t help it. I just couldn’t believe weak, feeble humans had killed her. Ever since then, whenever I engage with a human, I’m reminded of that. They’re so weak, so easily killed. Yet I couldn’t even save her from mere humans.”

You feel your heart crack as you look at him break apart in front of you. It’s the first time he’s been so honest. 

He’s trembling. His dark hair falls over his eyes as he looks down, trying to control his breathing. You don’t know what you’re doing when you push yourself out of bed, stepping in front of him, cupping his cheeks in your hands. “If you want me to go, I’ll go.”

His eyes look at you, dark and beautiful and so full of hurt. You watch his adam’s apple bob as he swallows, his expression twisting to show his inner turmoil. A raw, unguarded expression you’ve never seen before. He leans down, pressing his forehead against yours, breath fanning over your cheeks. His voice is a broken whisper when he asks, “What are you doing to me?”

You could ask him the same question. Why on earth are you acting this way around him? He’s a vampire—vampires are bad. You learned that when your parents were killed, when you were locked up. Jongdae has hurt you so many times, yet deep down you’ve forgiven him for everything. You can’t help but soften around Jongdae.

He shudders, eyes fluttering shut and his long eyelashes casts shadows over his cheeks. “It’s been so long since I felt this.”

“Felt what?” You whisper, but all words die when he pulls you towards him, closer so he can capture your lips with his. The kiss is slower, softer than the ones you’ve had with him before. So painfully sweet.

Perhaps this is how he truly kisses. How did he kiss his lover? Was it this slow and sweet? It must be more—must be filled with love and want, something you would never feel from him.

His tongue touches your bottom lip and you gasp, feeling yourself melting against him. Feeling yourself slowly lose your sanity and soul to him.

The sound makes him stiffen, and he steps back suddenly, keeping a distance from you. His expression is filled with shame and guilt, lips red and eyes blown wide. “I’m sorry. I promised I wouldn’t touch you without permission again.”

You feel yourself soften with his words. You step towards him, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling his lips towards yours again. He relaxes against you, pulling you flush against his body, and you can’t help but notice how perfect you fit against him, how perfect it feels.

In between kisses he mumbles, almost teasingly, “I thought you didn’t want me touching you.”

You can’t stop the small smile that appears on your lips as you press them against his soft ones again and again. “I changed my mind.”

He pulls away slightly, tilting his head at you. His eyes darken. “Don’t you want to do it with someone you love?”

“I want to do it with you, Jongdae.” You find yourself murmuring against his lips, pressing another long kiss there. You might regret it. You might not. But you want it. He sighs into the kiss, holding you against him gently again before he moves away, trailing kisses down your jaw and neck, and your eyes flutter shut at the feeling.

“One day.” He answers quietly. “But not now.”

It sounded like a promise.

Previous Chapter│Next Chapter

My Pet Human Mini Masterlist

A/N: Dun dun dun! His past is revealed! I hope you liked this chap~

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©kimjongdaely

Talk to me!

[the-most-beautiful-broom]

"I love you but you need to shut up"

Ashleigh!! Sooo I had to change the wording a bit…you’ll see why when I get to it haha it just seemed to harsh. This was another first (domestic!bellarke woohoo) and I hope you like it!

No. 26: “I love you, but you need to shut up” (send me an otp prompt?)

According to the clock on her bedside table, Clarke’s head had been on the pillow for a blessed fifty-four minutes when the wailing started again. 

Clarke blinked owlishly at it, not as much in disbelief as in hazy exhaustion. She lifted her arm to her face, pressing her elbow over her eyes, giving herself a moment longer to stay horizontal. Just as she was starting to swing her legs over the side of the bed, she felt a hand settle over her shoulder, pressing her gently back into the bed. 

“Let me take this one, yeah?” 

Bellamy’s voice was gravelly with sleep, and Clarke turned her head towards his hand, her eyes seeking out her husband in the early morning light. It was too dark for her to distinguish any of his features, but she knew them by heart anyways. “You sure?” 

“Yep.” His hand lifted from her shoulder glanced along the side of her face before the sheets lifted and the bed tilted. 

Clarke knew he couldn’t see her smile, but the corners of her mouth turned up anyways as she readjusted the sheets, rolling over to watch the baby monitor next to the clock on the nightstand.

Jordan’s face was scrunched up with the effort of her screaming, but Clarke’s smile stretched fondly as she watched her daughter. She heard the bedroom door open through the camera, and Jordan’s wailing hitched when she realized someone had come to help her. Sure enough, Bellamy crossed in the front of the camera  to bend over the crib, lifting their daughter into his arms. 

Clarke snuggled deeper into the pillow, her body relaxing as Bellamy’s low voice carried through the house. She couldn’t make out any of the words, but his voice was just as soothing to her as it was to their daughter. When Jordan’s screams quieted to a steady cry, Clarke reached over to turn up the volume on the camera.

“Hey, little princess,” Bellamy was crooning, shuffling around the room slowly, “bad dream or just lonely?”

Jordan hiccupped before drawing fresh wind and going in again. Bellamy shook his head and Clarke heard him laugh lightly.

“Where’d you get these pipes, huh? I know your mom sings to you, but I promise it sounds pretty different than what you’re doing…”

Even though Jordan couldn’t form a word on her own, she seemed to understand what Bellamy way saying, and her lip puckered slightly as she opened her mouth with renewed vigor.

“I take it back, I take it back,” Bellamy said hurriedly, but to no avail.

Clarke had to reach over to turn the monitor down again, and Jordan ramped back up. The cries seemed to echo around their house, and Clarke sighed at the ceiling.

It wasn’t like she could go back to sleep.

She slipped out of the bed, heading down the hall to Jordan’s room, pausing at the doorway to smile at the picture in front of her.

Bellamy’s back was to her, his broad shoulders were hunched as he held their daughter. He was shifting between his feet, rocking her gently, and Clarke could hear his soft voice in the breaks when Jordan paused for air.

“I love you,” he said soothingly, “but you need to hush, baby girl. Your mama’s had a long night, and if we keep this up, she won’t get any sleep at all.”

Clarke pushed away from the door. “Sleep is overrated,” she said softly, slipping a hand around Bellamy’s waist and resting her head on his upper arm.

She felt him shift as he looked down at her, regretfully. “Sorry, I thought—”

“Not your fault,” Clarke interrupted, lifting a hand to the top of Jordan’s head, to play with the soft curls resting there. Jordan’s eyes darted upwards, confused by the new hand, and her wails quieted when she recognized the touch.

Bellamy made a face. “That’s not fair.”

“We can’t all be magic, Blake,” Clarke teased lightly, raising her other arm to take Jordan. Bellamy let her go reluctantly; but he stayed close. Jordan was still making whimpering sounds, and Clarke cradled her close. “Keep talking, Bell, she likes it.”

In the dim light, she still saw his arched eyebrow. “She does, or you do?”

“Yes,” Clarke said noncommittally, crossing the room to sit in the overstuffed chair in the corner. “Come on, what’s the point of a doctorate if you don’t have a story for your two favorite girls?”

Bellamy groaned. “Well how am I supposed to say no to that?”

Clarke beamed at him as he crossed the room to the chair, perching on the armrest. She leaned back into him, her head on his chest, and his arm settled around her shoulders.

“There was once a princess,” Bellamy began, his fingers squeezing Clarke’s shoulder, “She was the goddaughter of the sun, and she saved not only her city, but the neighboring island too.”

“As every princess must try to do,” Clarke supplied, looking down at her daughter, “remember that, sweetie.”

“If she’s takes after her mother at all, she’ll have no problem remembering that,” Bellamy said dryly, and Clarke laughed.

“Okay but the princess in the story…?”

“We’ll call her Ari,” Bellamy recovered, “and her father was king of a small island. Each year, to keep the gods happy, 7 boys and 7 girls from a neighboring island had to come and fight this monster. But they never won.”

“Wait a sec,” Clarke tilted her head back to squint at him, “Ari as in Ariadne? You’re leading out with the minotaur?”

“Well now you stole the punchline,” Bellamy pouted.

“Oh, by all means, go ahead,” Clarke shook her head, “I’m terribly curious how this hunger games of a myth is your soothing bedtime story.”

“Prepare to be amazed,” he grumbled, and Clarke bit her lip to hide a smile, looking down at her daughter. Jordan was still whimpering, and her eyes showed no signs of closing soon, but she was much more quiet.

“The rules were,” Bellamy continued, “that the 14 kids had to just fight. But they were kids, so they didn’t do too well.”

“As has been the case historically,” Clarke interjected helpfully.

“Until,” Bellamy said pointedly, trudging along, “Ari came along. Ari had been watching the event each year, and one year she decided enough was enough, and she had to help. So she picked a champion. A young boy, a prince, actually. But she saved him. She gave him the special tools he’d need to beat the monster, and she told him its weaknesses. She helped him beat he labyrinth, and gave him the sword to kill the monster.”

“Happy stuff, right, Jordan?” Clarke asked seriously and Bellamy muttered something about being underappreciated. Jordan cooed sweetly though, picking up the encouragement where Clarke stopped, and Bellamy seemed placated .

“Ari and her prince were tired of the island, so they ran away, to an island in the sun.”

“Hip hip,” Clarke said helpfully, and Bellamy snorted.

“Yeah, sure. All that island-saving was pretty tiring for Ari, so she took a nap.”

“Must be nice,” Clarke muttered.

“One of these days, we’ll have to try it out,” Bellamy responded in a similar tone, and Clarke heard the smile on his voice before he continued. “But guess what happened while she was sleeping, little princess?”

Clarke shifted Jordan in her arms, lifting a hand to squeeze her cheeks and raising her voice in a pantomime. “Well, Pop, I think Ari probably realized that princes are liars and cowards?”

Bellamy chuckled. “Nice, Clarke.”

“What?” she said in faux innocence, “Not my fault our daughter understands that them’s the breaks.”

He shook his head. “Well, that’s exactly what happened. Ari woke up, and her prince was gone! He’d fled the island and left her there on her own, despite everything she’d done to help him.”

“Ergo the ‘liars and cowards’ bit,” Clarke shrugged.

“Sure, Clarke,” Bellamy said amusedly, before refocusing on their daughter. “But do you think Ari stayed on the island?”

“The island couldn’t hold her, could it, sweetie?” Clarke smiled at Jordan.

“Yeah, your mom’s right. Ari didn’t need a prince for a best friend; she found a new one. A god.”

“Do you have a kid-friendly translation of Dionysus?” Clarke asked smugly.

Bellamy stuttered a few times before shrugging. “Can we just call him Dave?”

“Ari, Princess of Crete, savior of Athens…and her buddy Dave?”

“Okay, the name’s a work in progress, sorry, J.”

“She forgives you.”

Bellamy snorted. “I was really worried there… No, but she makes a new best friend. And instead of leaving her on an island, he takes her to the stars. He offers her constellations, and he takes her far away from the tiny islands. And she becomes a god, too.”

“And they fall in love,” Clarke said softly.

Jordan’s eyes were closing, and Bellamy’s hand tightened on her shoulders.

“That’s right, they did,” he said, his voice soft, too. “She makes him happier than anyone he’s ever met, mortal or divine. He sees how beautiful she is, but also how smart, and how kind. And everyone knows it, everyone knows how out of his league she is, and how enamored with her he is, but he doesn’t care.”

Clarke tipped her head back again to look up at Bellamy, to find his eyes already on her. She shook her head at him, breaking away from his gaze to look down at their daughter. “And they live happily ever after?”

“They did. Some of the only ones among the gods to do so.”

Jordan made a gurgling sound, her eyes fluttering shut. Clarke looked up at Bellamy in wonder, before slowly standing and sliding her away across the floor to the crib. When she set Jordan down on the blankets, the girl wiggled slightly, but her breathing stayed normal. Clarke let out a short breath, her hands hovering over the crib for a moment before she turned back to Bellamy. They tiptoed out of the room, wincing at the click the door made when it shut, then shuffling down the hall.

Bellamy held out his hand, palm up, and Clarke mimed slapping down at it. She stopped her fingers just above his palm to avoid the sound a high-five would make, and instead just slipped her fingers through his, squeezing lightly.

“I stand corrected,” she whispered, following him down the hall.

“Not three words I hear often,” Bellamy whispered back, pulling her in front of him to get back to the room. She let go of him as they went around their respective sides of the bed; Clarke checked the volume on the baby monitor before sliding back under the covers.

“I meant,” Clarke said, her voice a little louder now that there were two closed doors between them and Jordan, “that it was a good story, Bell.” 

“Have to use the doctorate for something right?” he mumbled and Clarke rolled her eyes, reaching for him as he crawled onto his side of the bed.

She found his upper arm, her hands tracing down it lazily until she felt his fingers. She squeezed lightly, and he squeezed back. The house was quiet and the street outside was too; they had another hour or so before the world required they wake again.

As Clarke was drifting off to sleep, a thought occurred to her. “Hey, Bell?” she asked softly, unsure if he was asleep or not.

“Yeah,” he responded, his voice thick, but not bothered.

“Sorry,” she said all the same, before turning on her side to face him. In the darkness, she could make out his profile—the line of his nose, the dip in his chin, the fine lines of his lashes—and she nestled the side of her face into the pillow, watching him. “What about Perseus?” 

His lashes blinked open and she watched a slight indent form on his forehead as he frowned at the ceiling.

“What about him?” 

“Didn’t he kill Ariadne? With Medusa’s head?” 

The furrow of his forehead erased and Clarke watched a grin stretch across his face. She had only a moment longer to enjoy his profile before Bellamy shifted, turning on his side to face her. His free hand fell down to their still-joined hands between them, and he brought her fingers up to his face. As he brushed his lips over the top of her knuckles, she could feel his smile. 

“Remind me,” he teased gently, “that no matter how hard a time you give me about mythology, you’re actually listening to every word.” 

“Every word might be an exaggeration…” she admitted, not quite wanting to concede, before she lifted the shoulder that wasn’t pressed into the bed in a half shrug. “What can I say: you’re a nerd about your ancient Greeks, and I’m a nerd about you.”  

Bellamy laughed shortly, and she felt his exhale on her fingertips, before he kissed them again. “Well, I’m a lucky man.” 

Clarke drew in a quick breath.

Almost as soon as they’d started dating, it’d been like this between the two of them: Bellamy just saying the sweetest, simplest things with the utmost sincerity, and her heart just clenching with fullness. And no matter how many times she’d counter with a like truth, he’d see it as a compliment, not that she was the lucky one. 

“So,” Clarke said, veering back to mythology. “Perseus killed Ariadne…did you lie to our daughter about happy endings?”

Bellamy chuckled, a low rumble in his chest and Clarke felt the bed shift slightly. “Come on, have a little faith.”

“I would, but it’s kind of hard to have a happily ever after when half of your whole is a stone statue, right?”

“Ah, but Princess,” Bellamy said, one of his hands releasing hers and trailing up her arm. “What kind of god would Dionysus be, if he let a thing like death stand between him and his wife?”

Clarke shivered when his hand reached her shoulder, settling there for a moment before travelling up her neck. Bellamy’s fingers wove into the hair at the base of her neck, and she leaned her head into his touch. “What happened?”

“He couldn’t do it without her,” Bellamy’s thumb slipped up to her cheek, a gentle caress to match the soothing rhythm of his words, “The god of chaos and revelry, madness and merriment, absolutely crumbled. Ariadne was his everything. And life immortal, life without consequence, life without limits, without the woman he loved? It was empty. He stormed Hades, brought her to Olympus again, and demanded that she be made a god.”

“Oh.” Clarke’s voice was small, and Bellamy chuckled again.

“He gave her a crown,” he said softly, his hand moving from her cheek to the top of her head, thumb tracing a gentle path above her eyes, “the Corona constellation, a diadem for a goddess. She’s the keeper of labyrinths, and still a hero for anyone who is lost.”

“Sounds like a heavy crown,” Clarke mused.

“Not for Ariadne.”

“Hmm.”

“Hmm,” Bellamy parroted, before dropping his hand from her forehead and rolling back onto his back. Clarke’s hand was still held in his, and he pulled her into his side as he went. She snuggled into his chest. “Sounds like a pretty perfect happy ever after, right?”

“It’s a good story,” she admitted into his tshirt.

“I’ll let Homer know you think so,” Bellamy mumbled, his eyes closing again. Clarke flicked his side lightly, smiling when his response was to pull her closer, rather than retaliate. She was more than happy with the arrangement, wrapping her own arm around his stomach.

Yes, she should’ve been asleep hour ago. Yes, Jordan would probably wake up again before the rest of the county even thought about breakfast. And yes, she’d meant it, Dionysus and Ariadne did make a pretty good story. But this—her arms around him and his around her—this was the perfect happily ever after.  

[emy-loves-you]

Sanders Sides AU-gust Day 31: Fantasy+Crime

Based on a prompt from @writing-prompt-s: 

“Other princesses have Fairy Godmothers. You have a Fairy Godfather. He doesn’t exactly grant wishes in the usual way, but the Fairy Mob always has your back.”

Fairy Godfather!Roman, godchild!Patton

TW CHILD ABUSE AND ANIMAL DEATH 

Day 30 | Masterlist

Patton grunted as he scrubbed the floors with all the energy he had. He bit back a whimper as his back throbbed from the fresh bruises and cuts. He wasn’t allowed to make a sound until he was asked a question. Patton knew that if he was too loud, his back wouldn’t be the only thing bruised.

“BOY!” Patton’s head snapped up to see his mother at the top of the staircase. Patton made sure to keep direct eye contact, partly because it was required and partly because his mother was wearing nothing but a loose sheer robe.

“Yes, ma’am?” Patton internally winced at the pain in his voice. Showing weakness just meant worse punishments.

Luckily she didn’t seem to notice, making her way down the stairs to the parlor. “Stop scrubbing the tiles. Your work was…” she sneered at the pristine floors, so clean she could almost use it as a mirror. “...adequate. Apparently we will have guests coming over for dinner tonight. Pasta won’t be enough for tonight. Since we haven’t been able to get a new chef yet, you’ll need to prepare a meal for the seven of us. Just cook up a few chickens and serve it with the pasta and salad.” She turned and started to walk away.

Patton whimpered. “The chickens?” That meant that he’d have to… k-kill the chickens.

Suddenly, a hand collided with his cheek. Patton reeled back, falling onto the ground behind him. Patton’s mother stood above him, fuming. “What did you say, boy!?”

Patton bit back a whimper. “Nothing, ma’am.”

She gave him a look before huffing, storming up the stairs. “We better have a perfect dinner tonight, boy! Or you’ll wish for a fate worse than death!”

Patton forced himself to stand up, ignoring the pain as dread forced its way into his system. He grabbed the cleaning supplies and limped his way over to the kitchen, putting them in their respective places. He then opened the door from the kitchen to the backyard, whimpering as a few drops of heavy rain hit his skin. He made it around halfway to the coop before collapsing.

Patton let out a strangled sob as everything hit him at once. The pain in his back from his previous beating. The pain in his knees and arms from scrubbing the floor for several hours. The pain in his face from talking out of turn. The pain from the heavy raindrops hitting his skin and freezing his bones. The pain in his heart from what he had to do.

Patton continued to cry, unaware that the rain had stopped. Or, more importantly, that the rain had somehow shifted to where the area around Patton remained dry; and the area around the manor’s windows increased with vigor, making it impossible to see anything from inside the manor.

Patton heard the sound of a twig snapping off to his left and immediately sat up, forcing his tears to stop flowing (a trick he’d found useful over the years). He internally frowned at the mud on his clothes before forcing a smile onto his face. He turned to look at the person approaching, confusion rising in the back of his mind. His parents had fired all of the staff over the past few years, and the guests weren’t scheduled to arrive until later tonight. And there was no way that his parents would be found outside in the mud. So who could it be?

Standing a few feet away from Patton was a young man, around 30 years old in appearance. He wore a simple black suit with a blood-red undershirt and handkerchief. His dark brown hair was perfectly arranged, and his tanned skin looked flawless. His dark green eyes pierced their way into Patton’s soul. (Patton was so busy observing the man’s ethereal beauty, he didn’t even realize that the man was completely dry). The man smiled at Patton, showing his perfectly white teeth. “Hello, young one.” His voice was deep and smooth, reminding Patton of a warm fire after a long day of work. “What is your name?”

Patton let out a shaky breath. The man was a stranger, and it would make sense not to talk to strangers. But Patton’s learned from experience that he would be in pain if he didn’t answer questions when asked. “My name is Patton, sir.”

The man’s smile widened slightly. “Patton, what a lovely name.” Patton shivered as the words brushed across his skin. “Tell me, Patton, why are you crying?”

Patton started crying again, not realizing that he was more eager to speak than normal. “I-I have t-to kill the chickens.” He whimpered out, wincing as one of his tears rolled over a cut on his jaw.

The man frowned, tilting his head to the side. “Why must you kill the chickens?”

Patton let out another sob. “We have guests arriving for dinner, and mother wants me to cook some of the chickens for supper.”

The man smiled. “Oh, have you never killed a chicken before?”

Patton shook his head. “No, sir. Ever since father fired the cook, I’ve been buying meat from the market. But we were on such short notice, and we have no meat beyond the chickens in the coop.”

The man’s expression darkened. “I assumed that your parents worked in the manor.”

Patton shook his head. “No, sir. My parents are Lord and Lady Hart. There are no more workers in the manor.”

The man frowned. “I was unaware that the Harts had any children. And how do they keep the manor in such pristine condition without anyone to take care of it.”

Patton smiled slightly, glad to prove his usefulness. “I am the only child of Lord and Lady Hart. And I am the one who takes care of the manor!”

The man furrowed his eyebrows. “You keep this entire manor in this condition? You can’t be any older than 10!”

Patton’s smile fell slightly. Yes, he did look quite young, with his blonde curly hair and big blue eyes, freckles smattered across his bruised skin. And maybe he was quite small, around the height of a 10-year-old and so skinny that most of his bones were showing. But it still hurt to be called a child. “I’m 14, sir.”

The man’s face was now blank. “What.”

Patton felt another chill go up his spine, but he forced himself to keep his voice from shaking as he spoke. “I turn 15 in the fall.” It was currently spring, when the rains were heavy and the winter chill was barely letting up.

The man smiled again. Even though there was no difference between this smile and the last one, something told Patton that this one was forced. “Ah, how I love birthdays. How will you celebrate it?”

Patton tilted his head to the side, confused. “Celebrate?”

The man clenched his fist slightly, but his smile and relaxed posture stayed the same. “Well, Patton, I came bearing a gift.” He kneeled down to where Patton was still sitting on the ground. “Have you ever heard of a Fairy Godmother?”

Patton thought for a moment before shaking his head. “I don’t believe I have, sir.”

The man frowned slightly before smiling again. “Well, in most fairytales, a young maiden in need will be blessed with a Fairy Godmother, who helps them achieve their dreams.” He brought his hand up to cup Patton’s bruised cheek. The hand was extremely warm compared to the chilly air, and Patton leaned into the touch. “A Fairy Godfather, on the other hand, is slightly different. They can protect young humans who have been hurt by the people they should be loved by. And you, Patton, have been hurt very badly.”

Patton shook his head. “But sir, I deserve my pain!” He saw the incredulous look he was given, and started rambling. “I slept in this morning and was late to cook breakfast, so Father set me straight. I didn’t have the flavor of jam that Mother wanted out on the table, so she punished me for not being prepared. I didn’t call Father ‘sir’ when answering his question, so I was punished. I spoke out of turn instead of doing my job, so Mother gave me a smack as a warning. She was very generous that time. Just today, I’ve been so disobedient. I’m a horrible son. I don’t deserve a Fairy Godfather!”

“Shh…” A thumb caressed his cheekbone, and Patton melted into the touch, still crying. He hiccuped as the thumb wiped away his tears. “Don’t cry, little one. You are not to blame.” Patton went to interrupt, but the hand grew warmer, and Patton sighed at the blissful feeling. “Patton, you may feel as though you deserved this, but you did not. No child deserves the pain that you’ve been through.” Patton let his head be tilted upwards, and his gaze was suddenly locked onto the man’s piercing emerald gaze. His eyes seemed to glow as he spoke. “Patton, I wish to be your Fairy Godfather. Will you allow me to protect you, to allow yourself true happiness? To end the pain and suffering, once and for all?” The air around them seemed to still at his words, the world itself bending to his will. “Patton Hart, do you accept me as your Fairy Godfather?”

Patton’s instinctive thought was to say no. He deserved his pain! The man would soon see how damaged Patton was, and Patton didn’t want to burden another person! But another, smaller part of him spoke up. It was the part of Patton that yearned for the warmth of this stranger’s hand. The part of Patton that smiled when he heard a happy tune, and cried when his parents stopped tucking him in at night. The part that didn’t want Patton to be hurt any longer. I want to be happy.

Patton let out a sob, nodding his head frantically. The man smiled sadly. “Child, you need to use that lovely voice of yours.”

Patton ignored the way his voice cracked as he forced himself to answer. “Yes! I accept you as my Fairy Godfather.”

The man smiled, his green eyes glowing. “Then it is done.” There was a flash of bright light, reminiscent of a fire, and Patton had to close his eyes. When he opened them, the man was gone, a small ring lying where he once stood. It was a beautiful gold ring with ruby gemstones along the band. He slipped the ring onto his finger, and was surprised to see that it was a perfect fit. Patton slowly stood up, noting that not only had the rain stopped, the pain on his cheek had completely disappeared. He turned towards the chicken coop, dread forming in his stomach from what he now had to do-

Five chickens were laid out next to the coop, all with their necks snapped. Patton shakily made his way to the coop, scooping up the chickens to take inside. Their feathers were completely dry, and so were Patton’s cheeks. He had no more tears to shed at the moment.

Patton lugged the dead chickens inside, checking his face in the nearby mirror. His cheek was still bruised, but Patton couldn’t feel any pain from it. Patton shrugged it off, focusing on the task at hand. He did his best to follow the directions from an old cookbook he’d found on how to properly prepare raw chicken. It took the rest of the day to cook, and Patton had just made the pasta when there was a knock on the front door. Patton ignored it, moving to make the salad. He knew that his father would answer the door, and that Patton was not to be seen by the guests.

Sure enough, Patton heard his father’s voice ring throughout the house. “Welcome! You must be Lord Ignus. It is a pleasure to meet you!”

The person laughed. “You’re referring to my brother. You may call me Viridi. These are my associates. You may call them Anguis and Umbra. My brother had some matters to attend to, but he and our final associate should arrive before dinner begins.”

Patton continued to chop the vegetables as he heard his father speak. “Then, let us wait for them in the study.” Patton heard footsteps moving in the opposite direction and sighed, wiping the sweat off of his brow. He’d been working in this stuffy kitchen for hours now.

The door suddenly swung open, revealing Patton’s mother. “Is the food ready, boy?”

Patton shrunk under her gaze, but continued to cut the vegetables. “The chicken and pasta are ready to be served, ma’am. I’m currently cutting up the vegetables for the salad. It should be ready in a few minutes.”

Patton’s mother glared at him. “It should already be done by now!”

Patton whimpered. “I’m sorry.”

His mother scoffed. “Grab some Chardenney to go with the chicken.”

Patton frowned. “We don’t have any Chardenney left…”

Patton shouldn’t have been surprised by the pain that now bloomed across the back of his skull. He whimpered as he accidentally cut himself with the knife. “Listen here you brat.” She growled out. “You are nothing but a nuisance and a waste of space. If you can’t do your job correctly, you’ll wish for death by the time I’m done with you.” She pushed him forward, and Patton winced as the knife dug into his skin. “Get some damn wine.” And with that, she left.

Patton held back tears as he held his now blood-covered hand close to his chest. The pain was excruciating, and Patton didn’t know what to do-

“Is she always like that?” Patton spun around to see a man sitting on the countertop near the door, relaxed as if he’d been there for hours. He wore an expensive-looking black suit with a purple undershirt and handkerchief. His pitch black hair almost completely covered his amethyst colored eyes. His skin was deathly pale, nearly translucent.

Patton attempted to ignore the pain in his hand as he answered the man’s question. “I’m not sure what you mean, sir-”

“Please drop the formalities.” The man interrupted, examining his dark purple nails. “Call me Umbra.”

Patton bowed his head. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Umbra. My name is Patton.”

Umbra seemed to shudder as his eyes appeared to glow. Patton blinked in surprise, and the glowing was gone. “It’s dangerous to just give your name out like that, Pa-” He suddenly stopped, appearing to sniff the air. His gaze focused on Patton’s hands. “You’re injured.”

Patton looked down, staring at his blood-soaked hands. He’d almost forgotten about his injury. “It’s fine-”

A hand touched his, and Patton looked up in alarm. Umbra was suddenly in front of him, inches away. Patton felt his breath catch as Umbra whispered. “I’d assumed it was the chicken I was smelling…” His fingers traced through Patton’s blood along the cut, and Patton felt a shiver go up his spine. They stood like that for several seconds before Umbra’s fingers grazed against Patton’s ring. “Where did you get this?”

Patton saw Umbra’s expression and looked down at his feet. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

There was a moment of silence before Umbra sighed, letting go of his hand. “The bleeding stopped. Go ahead and rinse the blood off. I’ll finish chopping the vegetables.” Patton was about to speak up, but Umbra beat him to it. “Do it, Patton.”

Patton felt the shiver again as he went to do what he was told, knowing that he could get in more trouble for refusing. He carefully washed the blood off of his hands, making sure that there were no stains from it. He looked back at Umbra and was surprised to see that the salad was done and a bottle of Chardonnay sat next to it. “H-how?”

Umbra smirked. “I am a man of many talents.” He turned and opened the door leading to the dining room. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Patton. I’m sure we’ll meet again soon.”

Patton shuddered as the door closed. He didn’t feel uncomfortable, he’s actually felt better today than he has in his entire life! But something about the people he’s met today…

Patton shook his head, grabbing the salad and wine. He needed to have the dining table ready for dinner!

Patton quickly had the food on the table, each dish covered to keep them warm and/or fresh. He then filled the glasses with wine before quickly hurrying back to the kitchen. Technically, Patton should go to his room (one of the old servant's quarters), but he didn't want to get in trouble for not cleaning up the kitchen. Patton felt his stomach twist in hunger, and Patton wished that he had eaten some of the food before moving it to the dining room. But that would be bad. Patton’s already done enough bad things today. Only good boys got food.

Patton heard the door from the parlor to the dining room open. “My esteemed guests, may I present to you: your dinner!”

Patton whimpered, hugging his knees. He wasn’t allowed to be in the dining room while the guests were eating, and the only other door led to the chicken coop, and Patton wasn’t allowed outside unless he was doing chores! He was stuck in the kitchen until the meal was over!

Patton whimpered as his stomach twisted painfully in hunger. He wasn’t told he could eat tonight, but maybe Patton could have some bread for cooking the chicken well on his first try?

Patton was about to get up and find some bread when he heard a familiar voice. “Thank you for treating us to this feast, Lord Hart.”

Patton’s blood went cold as he heard his father answer. “Please, Lord Hart was my father’s name. We have no need for formalities between us. My name is John, and this is my wife, Elizabeth.”

Patton felt his skin grow warm as the voice chuckled. “Then call me Rubrum.”

Patton forced himself to stand as the discussion continued. “Well, I’ve been introduced to the others, but who’s this young man?”

A different voice answered. “You may call me Glacies. It is a pleasure to be here, John.”

Patton cracked open the door and surveyed the dining room. Patton’s father was closest to Patton, sitting at the head of the table. His back was to Patton, and for that Patton was grateful. Patton’s mother sat on his left. A few seats down sat five men in expensive black suits with different colored accessories. Patton recognized one of them as Umbrum, and-

Patton barely held back a gasp, remembering to stay silent at the last second. Sitting at the other end of the table, staring at him from his spot behind the door, was Patton’s Fairy Godfather.

[aureliasaid]

Four Dalmations

Croatia June 14-22, 2019

Quick summary - 7 days in the Dalmatian Coast - 2 nights in Spilt, 2 nights in Hvar, 3 nights in Dubrovnik. Weather was incredible with blue skies every day, highs in the 80s and lows in the 70s. Much warmer than I expected as winds were nil. See final thoughts after.

Saturday, 6/14

Landed Dubrovnik after a new direct flight from Philly (which apparently is a big deal as all the Croatians knew about and asked us about it. Maybe the only direct flight from the US.) We were driven to Spilt to start our journey. About a 4 hour drive (and through the odd little stretch of Bosnia, which is a pain for passport checks,) it is very picturesque along the coastline seeing the water the entire time, the oyster “fields,” the agricultural valley, and vineyards all along the way. Also lots of open mouth naps en route.

We arrived to a very crowded Split...can’t imagine July and August. We were staying at the Hotel Vestibul, which is a unique and modern very small hotel carved out of the vestibul of the Diocletian Palace, a huge walled former palace of the Roman Emperor Diocletian, built around 230 AD and now Spilt’s Old Town. In the Dark Ages, it became a village within the walls and remains the old town today full of narrow passageways and charming nooks and piazzas. You can dodge the crowds once on the interior away from the Dalmatian singers, cruise ship crowds, weekenders, and waterfront. Once inside, you will find a sophisticated and hip world full of restaurants and shops and millions of sobe (rooms.) The Croats are not dumb with every enterprising option possible for travel to the islands, activities, açaí bowls, etc.

Tip - I’m not an AirBnB person, but Europe apparently is a great place to do it as they are all supposed to be quite nice.

A mix of all its past history, Croatian food illustrates this as evidenced on the menu. Lunch was the highlight after long travels and the hotel suggested Uje Oil, clearly a modern enterprising owner (tapas like olive oil bar) where we landed at an outside table for a perfect meal of trying the Croatian favs including Italian-like arugula pesto pasta, sausages showing the Hungarian influence, and pasticada, the traditional stew over gnocchi for a mix of the two. Known for its wines, fun fact is that Croatia has been traced as the origin of the Zinfandel grape. We dove in with a light white from Istria, the Malvasia grape. Perf. nap. Eat again at Brokeria, a very hip, casual buzzy spot inside the palace walls. A sparkling rose from Istria from the Tehran grape, octopus on the grill, pasta with truffles (in season and not crazy expensive like in Italy,) smoked seafood risotto and sea bass over a cauliflower mash. Nice. (Others to consider are Zoi and Paradox.)

Sunday, June 16

Maja #1 (pronounced Maya - 30 letters in the Croatian alphabet with lots of consonants) met us at 10am for a historical tour of the Diocletian Palace and surrounding area which was quite interesting taking you from the evolvement of all of the Croatian history from the late Roman Empire, to the Dark Ages of the Barbarians to the Middle Ages of the Christians to the Renaissance of the Venetians Empire, through to a short stint of the Napoleonic French through the Austrian Hapsburgs. (Oh and home to some of the Game of Thrones filming.)

Afterwards, we went to the Kozjak Mountain slope around the Kastel township for a private lunch. Most interesting was listening to Maja talk about where she lived. Her family was originally from the area, but her parents had left and moved to Sarajevo for better work opps. Their summer home was still in the area. When the war broke out with Serbia in 1992 invading first on the Dalmation coast, they told family to move to Sarajevo. That was poor advice as then the Serbs invaded Bosnia and Sarajevo. Her family escaped Sarajevo back to the coast. In this area, you typically lived in good size homes, but of several apartments with other family members, with your own bit of olive trees, maybe fruit trees (cherries in season now,) small vineyard, etc. Enough to make your own of each (or have small producers make for you.) Lunch setting was in a peaceful (Biblical) park with a vineyard and church backdrop. The weather was gorgeous, but hot. The five course meal was remarkable with local pairings of wine. Most notable was the Zinfandel and various types of posip and plavac mali wines.

Back for down time, which Relia and I spent in Zara before we reworked our plans of going to Dvor restaurant on the coast and hiring a boat to take us to Trogir, Croatia’s Little Venice. An small island about 30-40 minutes by car and the same by 20’ center console boat, it is a large marina area, much like the old town of charming limestone mass of buildings and not quite as crowded. The recommended restaurant of TRS was booked, so we landed at Trogar, our chef of the day’s restaurant. It was marginal at best, surprising given the sophisticated and creative meal at lunch, but Robert made us welcome with his final offer of carob rakija liquor. (Other restaurant options suggested was Alka and Marijana.) Back to Split by Uber, plentiful and cheap and always an unusual sensation to me at home and really strange overseas. To bed.

Monday, June 17

Thomas, the Atlantic Marine outfitter skipper met us at the town port just in front of the main gate and Hotel Vestibul entrance in a 25’ motor boat. A two hour ride to the Pakleni Islands off Hvar Island for sun and fun. First swim spot was Stonica, (loved the circled up catamarans pumping pop music for a week of partying. On then to Palmizana Island that has 3 restaurants - we chose the Langanini Bar for lite bites, cabanas, bean bags, and tree cabanas. Most expensive meal yet! but a great change up of Asian food. We headed for Havr Grad (town) to check into the Adriana Spa Hotel, right on the main harbor riva (promenade.) Quite modern, perhaps OTT and thus lacking in some practicalities and maybe Fodor’s is right that it sometimes misses on the 5 star with just small hiccups.) BUT still very lux, sleek and incredible views. We didn’t spa, but it seemed top notch if you like that. Serious breakfast buffet included.

Met our guide at 5pm for an 11k walk to the abandoned village of Malo Grablje for a special dinner at the “home” of a former resident’s whose son opened a restaurant here 10 years ago. The hike was beautiful along the coastal path, but could be shortened by taking a car to the path rather than walking from the hotel. Also would be cooler at this hour since the road is exposed to the afternoon sun and rather toasty. Eat a snack before you go and it is rocky so sturdy shoes. The village was just left by all the inhabitants in the 1960s and now too many family members own the buildings, so they can’t agree on selling anything.

The meal was spectacular with the traditional one pot dish slow cooked in the coals of Peka made with veggies, meats (ours was lamb and veal) or seafood, house made wine and warm just-made sugar coated almonds with Proshec (carob liquor) to finish. Taxi home for sure.

Tuesday, June 18

We met Filip, +385 99 8097 097, our new skipper who was funny and confident with incredible English learned from gaming on War Craft. Off to the Blue Cave, which is a grotto from the volcanic island of Bisevo of incredible blues from the light seeping in under the rock formations. Beautiful and unique, but skippable. Its crowded, though they move the small touring boats along quickly.

We were ready to escape the crowds and swim, so we toured rugged and cave areas of Vis and then to Stinivia cove for a swim. Fairly crowded and the water some debris since its a cove, but still the Adriatic color and temp is totally refreshing. The bathing suit and nationality watching is unending entertainment.

Though there is a small cafe there, we bailed and headed to the port town of Vis Grad which Filip described as large, but was actually small and rather sleepy. He made quick reservation at Tavern (Konoba) Vatrica, which was perfect. Covered terrace on the waterfront, casual with ham and cheese, grilled prawns, salad with creamy feta, Vis rose...perfect. Back for a few more swims at yesterday’s caves by way of the WWI tunnels and lookout plus the WWII submarine tunnel hideout since it was an allied base. The Yugoslavs took it over as there military areas post war.

Cleaned up and a drink in the Hotel Top Bar for the views, a few hands of cards and then a walk to the sunset and apres beach scene at Hula Hula. Def. a scene with bride tribes and more. Canceled our dinner at Gariful - tired of sit down spots and headed to Filip recommended Lola, a small, back street, alley outdoor cafe of excellently prepared “street food”, action packed with the young and DJ thumping remix 90s tunes. Filip also recommended Passarola, a cool and hip looking restaurant off the town square alley with several terraced garden spaces. Would have been perf if we wanted a less casual spot. Back for a rooftop finale round of cards...can’t get enough of the view.

Wednesday, June 19

Yay! Back in the boat with Filip to head to Dubrovnik by way of Korcula, Orebic, and Ston. Korcula, home of Marco Polo and the Silk Road, is a charming town and would be a great place to stay a night or two. Then onto Orebic, on the Peljesac peninsula, considering the best wine growing region in Croatia. We had a stop for a wine tasting at Korta Katarina, a winery estate and lux hotel started by Americans. It was interesting, but unless you are really into wine, skippable. On to Ston, home of the best oysters in the world. A short boat ride to an oyster farmer’s private island to learn about how the oysters are grown, and then a delightful starter of oysters and huge pot of mussels alla buzzara (in white wine, olive oil, garlic and onions) under the shade by the water. Also homemade wine and myrtle berry infused grappa, a very typical aperitif throughout. D.I.V.I.N.E.

Back in the van for an hour trip along the coastline to Dubrovnik. If you thought Spilt was crowded, wow. Though a much smaller city than Spilt, it feels WAY more crowded and much more intense because of being located on the hillside as well as the old city attraction....not to mention the Game of Thrones/Kings Landing magnet.

A reservation mix up which had us for 3 nights at the Excelsior Hotel, switched us to their sister hotel Bellevue. Our Croatian travel agency Calvados Club upgraded our rooms significantly as a result and while it is a 20 minute walk to town vs. a 5 minute walk, it is a smaller hotel, larger rooms and totally renovated on a gorgeous cove that made it feel very private (despite the public beach - all Croatian beaches are public.) Lovely indoor pool, unreal views, very hip and cool. We may have turned out better in the long run.

Poor planning on our fault when we booked the Michelin starred restaurant in Dubrovnik - 360 - for dinner after the oyster and mussels fest. But we were ready and it was quite the gastronomic affair with delightful views and service.

Thursday, June 20

Maja #2, met us to take us to the 3 hr kayak tour from the old city by Fort Lovrijenac around the island of Lokrum and back. Very fun. A few dips and viewing of the nudie beach...a head shaker for me. We walked home so Will could grab a recommended xxxcici sammy while the rest of us ate at the Bellevue beachside cafe and lounged Adriatic style at the Bellevue carved out private beach with umbrellas and chaises, and beach boys while watching the cliff jumpers and reading on the rocky beach. The water temp is just perfect and the water is incredibly clear. I am a huge Adriatic fan.

Maja picked us up at 4 pm for a walking tour of the Old Town concluding with the one mile walk around the city walls for amazing views of the yachts, charming houses, islands and Adriatic. Ready for another break from traditional food and restaurants, we hit a bar on the water built into the walls before having “CroAsian” food at Azur in one of the back/side streets. It was casual and delicious. Highly recommend.

Friday, June 21

Off to the Konavle valley, also known for its wineries and vegetable fields, and fruit orchards to Grude for biking through the countryside and vineyards. Gorgeous backdrop of the stone mountains, cypress trees and once gain crystal blue skies. This area was so named for its system of canals used to irrigate the crops....Roman aqueducts brought water to the area. Very bucolic and well known for its wine and history. A two hour on and off road before meeting Maja to go to a local farm in Cilipi at the home of Marin Vukorep (Marin.vukorep@du.t-com.hr) for a delightful meal very similar to Malo Grablje, but maybe more fun with everything consumed from the farm (prosciutto, goat cheese, bread, olive olive, vegetable purée soup, peka, red and white wine and over 10 homemade rakija varieties with fig, walnut, apricot, etc. Lots of fun - gorgeous setting, relaxing, interesting and another gorgeous day. Debated going to the seaside town of Cavtat, but too full and sleepy!

Back for more Adriatic indulgence and a regroup on dinner (again) after such a large lunch. Bailed on Posat wanting a casual place and discussed Bar Bota for mussels, Kamenice, Tabasco pizzeria, Taj Mahal Bosnian food and Levanat in the Lapad area, but ended up at Mea Culpa pizzeria in the Old Town which was perfect. And that’s a wrap.

Saturday, June 22

Well, not quite as William and I were awaiting the Fort opening at 8am to check it out since we could still use our wall ticket. Check. So long for now.

Final thoughts - We loved everything we did, where we stayed, food and history. The two things we might have changed were the Blue Cave and wine tasting. Everything else was great with enough time to sightsee and yet enjoy the summer time water activities. We might change a few things, but it really depends on one’s MO. We might have stayed in Trogir or Hvar and done a day boat trip to Spilt and Trogir for at least 3 or even 4 nights in the islands perhaps with an overnight in Korcula and maybe just two nights in Dubrovnik. The history is incredible dating back to the Greeks and Romans and throughout right up to modern day with the too recent Yugoslav wars. Mid June is already packed and I would not even think about going in July or August unless you stay on a boat or in the islands. May would be too early for me to enjoy water fun, but Sept should still be very good. Plus July and August would be really hot. Climate is just like NC - hot and humid with lots of the same vegetation. The Croatians are very proud of their country and really do tourism well. It is not a sophisticated 3rd world country like Italy, though there probably is still lots of government corruption and low wages. It is a energized and modern that is savvy about its tourism.