#Scary Silhouettes Dies | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chaoslovesmisery · 2 months

Text

Chapter 4. Within Reach

"Mephisto, where are you?" a gentle voice calls out. I reach my hand out.

"Don't leave me," I say, sounding more of a whisper. I see a silhouette of a girl but the light behind her is preventing me from seeing her face.

"I would never leave you or Sylus." She says but I know she's lying. The figure begins to change. Growing larger and larger.

"When I devour you both, we'll be together forever." The voice says distorting into something scary. It grabs onto my arm wrapping it tightly and I can hear the sounds of bones crunching but I can't feel anything.

"Mephisto, you devil. You lied to me." The voice says distorted.

"Mephisto! No, don't do it!" A different voice calls out.

My eyes open and I gasp for breath. Beads of sweat drip down my face as I try to recognize my surroundings. I feel a slightly cold hand touch my forehead and my eyes are met with ruby red eyes.

"Sylus," my voice breaks and it's barely above a whisper as my voice is hoarse.

"Shh, don't speak. You've been out for a week," he says and I look around the room confused. This isn't my room. I sit up and he pushes me back down gently.

"Stop," he orders and I stay put. He hands me a glass of water and I drink it desperately gasping for breath. His face is devoid of emotion as he watches me.

"The Ever Group isn't the only one on the move," I say, putting the glass down on the nightstand.

"I'm aware, Luke and Kieran told me, they've pinned this whole thing on us. Things are going to be moving pretty quickly soon." He says crossing his arms and leaning back on the chair he was sitting on.

"She's going to need to resonate with you if you don't want what happened last time to happen again, you know that right?" I say, staring at my twiddling thumbs.

"I know. It'll happen. I'll make sure of it." His voice is icy, sending a chill down my spine. There is a knock at the door and Luke and Kieran enter.

"You're alive!" Luke says, throwing his arms around me.

"You're heavy, get off!" I yell smiling while I mush his face away.

"It's about time to let the N109-Zone that I'm still here, start making preparations," Sylus says standing up. His phone rings and before he answers it he looks at me with a look I can't quite understand.

"You, rest until I give you an assignment." He says before leaving the room to take his call. It's quiet for a moment before Luke and Kieran both have their arms around me.

"We really thought you weren't going to make it, Meph. Apparently you had breathed in a lot of smoke." Kieran says, patting my head.

"It wouldn't be the first time I've died," I laugh dryly.

"It took us a long time to find you last time, so try not to kick the bucket any time soon." Luke says standing up.

"Dying in the space-time prison, then reincarnating as the Overlord's pet-"

"Hey! Can we not bring this up right now?" I say cutting Luke off. I didn't feel like going down memory lane.

"Do you have any idea where the Ex-Prince is heading?" I asked and Luke and Kieran glance at each other. I sit up and they both push me down by the shoulder trying to prevent me from getting up.

"You heard the Boss, you are not on an assignment right now." Kieran says and Luke nods in agreement.

"What do you mean, I just want to stretch my legs and head out for a bit." I say pushing their arms away and standing up. I stretch my arms up and they don't look convinced.

"Where is he headed? Just so I can avoid the area?" I ask and I know they won't be fooled that easy. They don't say anything.

"Fine, then let's go get a drink instead." I say wrapping my arms around each of their waists as their shoulders were far too high for me to reach.

"Should you really be-" Kieran starts to say.

"Ahh- shut up, I'm not dead yet. Anyways, who cut my hair for me?" I ask to change the subject and we walk out of Sylus' bedroom.

"I did!" Luke says excitedly and I pat his head.

"Good boy," I laugh.

"Hey! What about me?" Kieran says and I cross my arms.

"What did you do for me?" I ask and he begins stumbling over his words.

"I-, I'll buy you the first round?" He says and I purse my lips.

"First three rounds?" He asks and I smile brightly.

"That's my boy," I say, giving him head pats as well. We walk down the hall after leaving Sylus' penthouse and head to our rooms. I changed into a pink skirt and black sweatshirt. I throw on some earrings and a black choker before putting on some long black socks and combat boots. I walk out of my room and meet up with Luke and Kieran.

They smile at me and I have to say they look quite cute with their boyish grins, tousled reddish brown hair, and piercings on their face. We head out and they begin fighting over whose motorbike I'll be riding on with when I whistle loudly.

"Last one to the Nest has to tell Sylus that I'm doing a reconnaissance mission without his permission." I shout laughing before transforming into a crow and both of them have the look of fear when I take off out of the garage.

"Damnit Mephisto!" Luke yells and I can hear the revving of their bikes as they try to catch up. I soar above before seeing a flash of familiar light down an alley. I caw three times to signal that I found something interesting. I can see them park their bikes before making their way up to the roof putting their masks on.

We watch quietly as the Ex-Prince kills what I recognize to be one of his previous teammates from Traceback II, though it looks like he was already in the process of turning into a Wanderer. He looks up but doesn't appear to have noticed us. He picks up the Protocore from the floor and steps out of the alley.

We drop down behind the bar we were about to head to and I transform back to a human. My hair is super long once more and Luke hands me a blade but I push it away.

"I'll leave it for now, I don't want to leave behind evidence." I say and we jump down from the building. We walk through the back of the bar entrance. No one says anything as we walk through the kitchen to the front as they know better than to ask questions. One person who appeared was going to say something too but the moment we made eye contact they looked away in fear knowing who I'm associated with.

I walk to the table in the far corner of the bar that gives a clear view of the bartender and the entrance while there are some large leaves keeping us a bit separated from the rest of the bar. The radio playing behind the counter is loud enough for me to hear.

"...Without a doubt, a-P0159's Sterre Energy has been depleted. What we're seeing is a faint glimmer from the farthest reaches of the universe, and echo from 300 million..." I tune out the radio when I hear the door chime, our eyes dart towards the entrance as we watch the Ex-Prince walk in tossing something over to the bartender behind the counter and plops into a corner seat. A loose, wooly hat keeps his face hidden but I can tell who it is immediately but the other two don't seem aware.

"Take a drink," Luke says, placing a shot-glass in front of me and I grab it, tossing it back, feeling the sting down my throat. They place another drink in front of me.

I watch as the bartender looks down at the item which appears to be a Protocore he had picked up earlier. I watch as the bartender uses a bar towel to wipe it clean and they begin to whisper.

"What do you see?" Two voices whisper in each ear and I stand up straight, surprised. I turn to Luke and Kieran and nod my head towards the bartender and the Ex-Prince in the hat. We watch as they begin to whisper and I have a feeling we've been found out. Traces of light begin to coalesce into a longsword in his right hand.

We hear another chime and the opened door allows a bright light to enter temporarily blinding us. We watch as he pulls his hat down further covering his face. The light sword in his hand quickly dissipates as he stands up and heads toward the exit.

"Should we follow?" Kieran asks but I'm already headed to the door to follow him when I see her. What the fuck is she doing here?! I turn around and Luke and Kieran are by my side checking on me. My hands feel sweaty and my stomach is churning. I turn back around and watch as the door is closing and the light from outside is disappearing. I run towards the door but when I open it I can't find any trace of the Heroine or the Ex-Prince.

"Do you think we were caught?" Luke says and there is a hand that pats my shoulder and I jump. Luke and Kieran are in front of me, who?! I turn around and meet angry red eyes and I almost transform into a crow right there to make a break for it but it's daylight and I don't want to attract attention.

"Yes." He says answering Luke's question and the boy's eyes widen while they turn around.

"Luke, check for any updates in the crime database. Kieran, start prepping for an auction and a new arrival. A guest will be here soon offering themselves as bait no doubt." Sylus says, never breaking eye contact with me. They make themselves scarce real quick and I'm left alone with Sylus. I take a step back and before I can make a run for it he picks me up and begins walking.

"Wait! I didn't know they were going to be at the bar! We were just going to have a drink!" I yell whispering trying to avoid people's curious eyes and ears. He doesn't listen and we walk into the Grand Center's shopping center. He makes a left and I realize he's headed to a photo booth.

"No Sylus! My hair is long and you know how much I hate taking photos!" I say more loudly but he's only humming ignoring me. I try to wriggle out of his grip but I can't budge.

"This is your punishment for disobeying me," he says and we enter the N109-Zone's Wink Snapshot Photo booth that is somehow a popular favorite in this fancy shopping center.

"I'd rather starve for a week! Don't do this!" I plead and I turn and watch as he sets up different colored backgrounds.

"It's only four photos, quite a light punishment if you ask me. I could have you take more and they can be on your own as well as with me," he says and I hide behind his head and wrap my arms around his neck as I hear the sound of the first shot. He drops me down and grabs my face while holding up a peace sign. I try to remove his hand when I hear another snap.

He leans in close and I freeze as his face is inches from mine cornering me against the wall of the booth and I can hear the camera adjust before another shutter sound.

"Make this last one count or we'll have to do it all over again." He says and I groan. I face the camera lifting my hand slightly covering my face and Sylus lifts a finger on his chin staring at the camera while leaning against me. After the sound of the last shutter shot he pats my head.

"Good girl," He says and my eyes widen. I turn around but can feel my face and ears getting warm.

"Since you didn't smile in any of the photos you have one more punishment." He says while printing the photos we took, skipping over the editing phase.

"You will have to attend Romero's birthday banquet with me." He says and my jaw drops.

"What! No! You know I hate social events!" I whine.

"You seem to be just fine hanging out socially with Luke and Kieran, " he says, putting the photos in his wallet, not even giving me a copy. He nudges me forward and we leave the Photo Booth before going upstairs. He pushes me in the shop when his phone rings.

"I have to answer this, try on a few dresses." He says and I'm left alone, my mouth agape. Are you serious?! The shopkeeper approaches me and bows, handing me a book.

"Here are our latest designs. Take your time and try them on, ma'am." They say and I flip through the pages viewing many different designs. The more I try to find the perfect outfit, the more overwhelmed I feel. In a room full of dresses, I already have a headache.

I feel buzzing in my pocket and take out a phone that begins cawing at me. What type of ringtone is this? Wait, did Sylus put this phone in my pocket? I answer the phone and Sylus' voice fills my ear.

"What took you so long?" He asks.

"When did you slip a phone in my pocket and why does it have crows cawing as the ringtone, are you making fun of me?" I ask, ignoring his question.

"Right. I almost forgot I changed your ringtone." He says chuckling.

"Did you find a dress you like?" He asks and I look down at the designs.

"Ah, there are just so many to choose from..." I trail off.

"Since you didn't find anything, come to the top floor, the shopkeeper will escort you." He says before ending the call.

"Wait- ugh!" I yell and the shopkeeper is beside me. I jump, startled, and awkwardly laugh before handing back the design book.

"Right this way, ma'am." She says leading me to the back elevators. The elevator is lined in gold and I can tell she isn't using the service elevator for employees but the elevators for VIP clients. Once we reach the top floor she holds her arm out, ushering me into the room where there are candles on the floor and giant peony's, which definitely look like a fire hazard. I see two glasses on a table along with a bottle of champagne and a white sofa, along with robes in the back.

"Mr. Sylus is inside waiting for you, you will not be interrupted. Please ring us if you need anything." she says before going down the elevator leaving me by myself. The music in the hall is playing gently jazz music. I walk in and see Sylus standing before a floor-length mirror trying on a suit. In the mirror, his gaze faces to me. I don't know why but his calm gaze makes me slightly nervous.

"Long time no see." He says and I look at him dumbfounded.

"...What do you mean? I just saw you an hour ago." I am confused.

"And yet why does it feel like an eternity? Does time fly when you're around?" He says nonchalantly and I am left speechless.

"Save your cheesy pickup lines for her." I say rolling my eyes not in the mood for his jokes. Sylus turns around taking a red and blue tie from the rack, and holds them against his chest.

"Red or Blue," he says with a soft gaze. I walk up to him, taking the red tie and quickly tying it around his neck.

"This one is particularly special, and it matches your eyes. They complement each other. A perfect match." I say and his eyes meet mine. He grabs my hand and lifts the tie next to my face.

"The tie matches more of your eyes than mine, that's what makes it special." He says and I avert my gaze embarrassed.

"Then let's pick a suit that matches this tie." I respond and he crosses his arms and chuckles.

"Then let's do just that." He says and begins casually taking off the suit. I turn around quickly, shutting my eyes.

"I heard Mr. Romero invited some high-ranking people from the Hunters Association. We shouldn't draw attention to ourselves." I state, keeping my voice steady.

"If you say so," I can almost hear the shrug in his voice.

"Have you gone through the design book yet? Where is the designer, have you gotten your measurements taken?" I ask one question after another. I turn my head and in the mirror I see Sylus is in nothing but a towel. He picks up a tape measure and gives it to me.

"Since there's no one around. Let's do it ourselves and save time." He says.

"The shopkeeper mentioned we can call and they would be here right away." I mention and he takes a step towards me and my eyes linger on his chest before looking back at him. He takes another step and I take a step back trying to keep the short distance between us from growing smaller. To my surprise, Sylus puts on an innocent expression.

"Is it that difficult?" He asks and I contemplate for a moment before snatching the tape measure. I loop it around his neck and pull him close and stare at him. I can tell he's slightly surprised by my bold movements and there is a glint in his eye.

"If you insist. Your outfit will be made according to the measurements I take and regardless of how it turns out, you must wear it to the banquet. You can't cheat and secretly ask for a designer to modify it." I state while grinning mischievously. The amusement in Sylus' eyes intensifies.

"Deal," he says, chuckling.

"You've been staring for a while. Where will you start?" He asks, smirking at me standing up straight. I remove the tape measure from around his neck and stare at his bare chest fighting my eyes from wandering to the towel he was wearing around his waist. I wrap may arms around his back, adjust the tape measure for his chest measurements and he lifts his arms.

"100 cm" I say and he narrows his eyes looking down and my hands knowing that I'm not saying the number I see.

"How does one wear such tight clothes?" He asks and I look at his chest again. I don't know if I could handle seeing him in a compressed shirt. I may as well say the correct size.

"Chest, 109 cm," I correct myself and he smiles.

"Good. These clothes will be a perfect fit. I'm sure of it." He says and I move my hands with the tape measure down to his waist. My fingers gently brushed against his pale skin. My fingers tremble a little and I gulp.

"Waist, 75 cm" I say and he lifts my chin.

"Do you want me to wear large clothes? Try again, Little Dove." He says and I adjust my measurements. My mind is a little fuzzy.

"Waist, 72 cm," I say looking up at him and he smiles.

"I thought you were good at this. Did you measure it wrong on purpose earlier." I can tell he's already caught on to my plan and I look away sheepishly. I take a step back and he turns around for me to measure his hips. My hands trembling even more as there is just a towel separating me and ...his hips.

"You alright there?" He asks, snapping my back into reality. I wrap my arms around his waist bringing the tape measure down his hips when the unthinkable happens. The towel slips falling to the floor. I gasp, dropping the tape measure and covering most of my eyes leaving a gap to peak.

His laugh echoes through the empty store and I realize he's wearing black fitted boxers and this man is PACKING. I drop to my knees, hiding my face in my hands. I can feel him kneel down next to me picking up the tape measure and he grabs my hands from my face placing the tape measure down.

"You're almost done," He says brushing a piece of my hair behind my ear and I can tell my face is on fire but he doesn't say anything about it. He grabs my hands pulling me back up off the floor and places my hands around his waist. I adjust the tape measure as he turns allowing me to measure on the side of his hips.

"Hips, 95 cm" I say relieved to be done.

"Perfectly done. Although... Did I just hear a quiet sigh of relief?" He says while grabbing a robe from the white chair. I look at his arms and my body moves before I can think. I grab his arm my thumb running across his arm remembering at one point the bullet holes that once plagued this arm in another life. His skin is warm and with his other arm he pressed me against his body.

"What are you looking at? Are you going to measure my arm too?" He says, sounding amused. I let go of his arm and gently pushed his hand from my waist.

"It's nothing...I'm done." I say turning away. I mean he is still in his underwear, he hasn't put the robe on.

"In any case, we're attending the banquet together. Our outfits should match." He says grabbing my arm and pulling me close again before letting me go. He puts his robe on and after a few seconds pass before I realize what's going on.

"I don't need my measurements taken. I tried wearing some of the dresses downstairs earlier." I say backing up.

"Custom-made clothes fit better than ready-to-wear ones. But I suppose you should pick a style first." he says before making his way to lounge on the sofa.

"Also, if you don't like anything here, we can ask to see a different collection." He says picking up a design book. I wander around the store and grab two dresses. I compare them in front of the mirror and in the mirror, I make eye contact with Sylus who's behind me.

"What were you looking for on my arm?" He asks.

"Nothing..." I can't just tell him I was remembering the past when he had injured himself in the last life. Or ask him why he's so adamant on finding me after I die first instead of the heroine.

"Let me guess, you were remembering some injuries that happened a long time ago?" He asked.

"How did you know?" I ask, confused. His eye wasn't glowing and I wasn't even making eye contact with him.

"It wasn't the gaze trying to find tattoos, sweetie." He says and I look at the dress in the mirror. While I know Sylus has always been good at reading people, the fact that he read my mind still makes me feel somewhat uneasy. Thankfully he doesn't seem to know the other thing that's bothering me. I can't dare bring up the past of when he almost died in the space-time prison because of me.

"Should I blame it on you? You're always getting injured and protecting me and I just... Forget it." I don't want to say anymore. He wraps his arms around my waist and we stare at each other in the mirror. He leans his chin on top of my head and I can feel my heart racing.

"Blame me all you want. I'll always protect you and I will always find you." He says gently. I bite my bottom lip looking down thinking of the words in my dream. Was that him who said that to me? When? No. I must be deluding myself.

"You shouldn't be saying this to me." I emphasize thinking of the Heroine of this game. Maybe the reason I remembered that part of my past life was so it could put me in my place like now. He grabs me by the chin forcing me to make eye contact.

"I will only say this to you." He says and the aether core in his eye begins glowing. I shut my eyes tightly. I feel him let go before realizing that he is taking the dresses from my hand.

"What one's thinking comes into one's dreams." He says nonchalantly. Those aren't empty words, huh. Thinking back to the dream I had while I was unconscious. I didn't always think of the Heroine of this game as the Heroine or a game character. I thought of her as a sister at one point, someone who I could trust...

His arms reach over my shoulders, lifting each dress in front of me he meticulously compares them.

"If there are more happy moments in your life, will you have more pleasant dreams?" He asks suddenly and I think about today. I meet Sylus' gaze in the mirror and slightly smile

"I can try." I say and he puts the dresses on a hanging rack. In the reflection of the mirror I see him grab his wallet from his front pocket and hold up a copy of the pictures we took today.

"Why don't we start today?" He asks and I grab the photos from him seeing the amusement flash in his eyes. I stare at the photos and I can feel my heart begin to race. Although my hair is long in the photos and I HATE taking photos, I can't help but to think they came out well.

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

A/N: Chapter based off Sylus Anecdotes, Chapter 8 Galactic Sunset: Part 02 - Part 03, Sylus: Within Reach Memory

Read/Played in order:

1. Minor References Sylus Anecdotes 01: High Alert, Pages 02-03

2. Chapter 8 Main Story Galactic Sunset, Part 02: Desecrated Soil

3. Minor References in Chapter 8 Main Story Galactic Sunset, Part 03: Luminous Veil

4. 5-Star Memory Sylus: Within Reach

#chaoslovesmisery #misery loves company #lnds sylus #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace fanfic #love and deepspace #sylus fanfic #otome game #love and deepspace spoilers #lnds #love and deepspace mc #sylus love and deepspace #lads sylus

25 notes · View notes

cheriecelestial · 8 months

Text

Paper Rings

disclaimer *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ angst (?), canon typical violence, gore (?), crude humour, strong language, typos, grammatical errors, cliché moments

genre *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ drama, romance, action-thriller, fantasy

a/n *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ based on this one dream i had and also cuz pjo was my first comfort series and jjk is my current one (only s1)

╰ ┈➤ Chapter List

╰ ┈➤ Master list

Chapter One

Look, I didn't want to be a half-blood.

If you're reading this because you think you might be one, my advice is: close this book right now. Believe whatever lie your mom or dad told you about your birth, and try to lead a normal

life. Being a half-blood is dangerous. It's scary. Most of the time, it gets you killed in painful, nasty ways.

If you're a normal kid, reading this because you think it's fiction, great. Read on. I envy you for being able to believe that none of this ever happened.But if you recognize yourself in these pages - if you feel something stirring inside - stop reading immediately. You might be one of us. And once you know that, it's only a matter of time before they sense it too, and they'll come for you.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

My name is Gojo Kanao . Age fourteen, raised in Tokyo, Japan . As the youngest family member of the Gojo clan , niece of the Gojo Satoru and an aspiring sorcerer - my life was going as perfectly as it rightfully should . Except my uncle got a call from an old family friend three weeks back and before I knew it I were to pack my bags and enroll in a 'summer camp' meant for 'children like me' . And that's really funny because apart from my uncle , I'm pretty much one of a kind . It's not like ever other generation has a six eyes user gifted with limitless. My existence is what most people call an 'anomaly in the power balance of the world' and sparked much debate amongst higher ups but it stopped bothering me after a point considering how uncle Satoru threatens to decimate any person that as much as dared look at me wrongly .

He took me in after my father died when I was four and him eighteen . Following my father's death , the Gojo clan was pretty much reduced to me and uncle since not much was known about my birth mother . The first time my uncle got to know that he, in fact , not only had a sister in law but also a niece from his absentee elder brother was when the fore mentioned "family friend" came knocking to at the Gojo Clan's door with a drooling four year old with white pigtails in tow .

As much as a shock it must've been to know that he was now a single father , uncle or as I call him Satoru nii-san , seemed to have developed a knack for parenting much too quickly with his reasoning being 'the baby looks like mini me and I vibe with that' . And as he liked to say to me and my also-adopted siblings Megumi and Tsumiki Fushiguro "having you kids just adds to my dilf appeal" followed by Megumi deadpanning at him , Tsumiki awkwardly smiling and me audibly gagging. Needless to say , he isn't much liked and not even half as tolerable as he considers himself to be.

"How could you do this to me ?" I mumbled while my eyes trailing the silhouette of the trees passing rapidly by my car windows . Almost inaudible cursing was what my opposition was shamefully reduced to . After much fights , screaming , crying , scratching and attempts at running away I was forced to join this camp . His description of the camp with strawberry fields , flying horses , Greek gods and half goat people was enough for Megumi to call bullshit on it however I couldn't deny its existence because that's where I grew up from birth to age four.

" Nyao-chan , this is the 33rd time you're saying this in the past fifteen hours of flight time . Do better" I could feel nii-san rolling his eyes from the front seat .

" Toru nii don't call me that" I hissed back at him and turned my face with 'hmph' so that maybe , just maybe I could appeal to his conscience. I remember that place and it wasn't particularly unpleasant and under normal circumstances I would really like visiting . However , he simply refused to understand just how it would derail my development as a sorcerer , quoting ' your development as a demigod is just as fundamental to your growth as your development as a sorcerer . Take it as a learning experience. Have fun and for the love of god make some friends that aren't the fushiguros or your pet snake .'

My previous attempt at socialising ended up with the boy calling me a brat and me activating my cursed technique for the first time in attempt to kill him , stunning breakthrough but not a suitable first impression. That meeting ended well for their family and the incident was ruled out as a 'all is well that ends well' . And after that I decided that I had enough and rated the experience 2 stars , do not recommend .

" I mean looking at how much you like small spaces , scratching and hissing you might as well be one . But hey cheer up ! you're going to see your Chiron sensei and Dino oji-san again . Won't it be fun ? Childhood memories all coming back to you. Plus I've heard summer camps are really fun." He shrugged with his emphasis on the names causing me to cringe inwardly .

" What sort of summer camp runs in November ?" I retorted followed by him sighing . It was much later that I found out that my 'Dino oji-san' was actually Dionysus , the Greek god of wine. I could only imagine the emotions he must've felt holding a toddler in his lap , butchering his name to her convenience. The embarrassment of the memory just made me even more unwilling to go . Our satyr chauffeur said we were fifteen minutes away from camp so of course going back wasn't an option.

Before I knew it , the car came to a screeching halt in the middle of road . There was nothing but an empty road ahead surrounding by dense vegetation on either sides . " What happened ? " I asked leaning forward. The saytr looked at me and blinked . Then I realised I forgot to switch to English while talking . Except for my struggles with dyslexia, English was fairly easy to learn . I credited Satoru nii's obsession of Friends and Britney Spears for this but learning , in general , was something that came naturally to me . I never had to try too hard to learn a skill and it puzzled others and even me . Apparently this was the trait of a true Gojo . Being godly perfect . It applied to everything but my cursed energy technique . Sometime back I realised I reached a plateau of my skills and no matter what method I employed , my growth remained stagnant . Maybe that's why he's sending me here .

" She meant why did we stop ?" Nii-san asked .

" We're here" The saytr plainly replied . I looked around in confusion because I saw nothing . He asked us to follow him , and with luggage in hand , so we did .

After a small hike through the woods , we reached a big stone arch . It was partially of wood and stone and looked really old with greek symbols carved at the top and several cracks and moss . I stared at the sign and noticed that the letters began to rearrange themselves . At first I thought it was my dyslexia acting up but the Greek symbols rearrange themselves to spell out the letters 'CAMP HALFBLOOD' .

"You look surprised. What do you see Kana ?" He looked at me . I explained my observations and he smirked and muttered something to himself .

I extended my hand and much like how jujutsu curtains worked by hand went passed the barrier emitting a faint blue light . " Nii-san you try it " I gestured him to do the same . The barrier pulsated against his hand as if resisting his touch . With a faint smile , he retracted his hand and said to the saytr " This barrier is stronger than I expected . I'm impressed"

"Nii-san if you were to break through , how long would it take ?" I asked out of curiosity . If you were to ask anyone to describe Gojo Satoru in one word the word would be 'strongest' . Once he put enough effort into it there was no barrier he couldn't break nor there was any curse he couldn't exorcise . " Hmmm it's strong I'll give it that . But we wouldn't want to endanger a camp worth of kids, right ?" I shrugged in a 'makes sense' gesture.

"It's just her from this point on. You can't go inside." The saytr said. Yeah we noticed. Satoru- nii clapped his hands and smiled," Just give us two minutes. You know I need time to see off my precious baby." The saytr blinked and moved out of earshot wordlessly. Satoru nii cupped my face and cooed as if he was on the verge of crying. I rolled my eyes at his dramatic display," you didn't feel any remorse for the last few days and you're crying now ?"

"It's not easy ! I knew I had to let my baby bird out of the nest because that's what's best for you but I -" his bottom lip wobbled and I was hit with a sense of guilt. I sighed and hugged him," I'll miss you too. I'll be fine."

"Call me everyday you hear me ? And eat and sleep well. Oh my god I'm starting to sound like an old woman !" Gojo Satoru was one man who liked to completely disregard the fact that me, Megumi and Tsumiki had mother -albeit absent, and very seriously behave as if he was the one who carried us around for nine months and birth us. But hey, who doesn't like being coddled ?

I rolled my eyes and gave him the signature Gojo smirk," I'll be just fine, don't you worry."

" I know. You'll be fine. Always. You'll be better than me, I know it." Satoru nii-san's voice dropped to a low and almost wistful whisper. " Even though you're the best there is ?" I asked offering him a kind smile. To that he said something in a tone I didn't expect hearing from him. "You've inherited only my powers , I don't want you to inherit my tragedies too ." The statement left a bad taste in my mouth. People often assumed that since he was the strongest, he had it easy. It’s people like him that suffer the most, so much so that sometimes it has you wishing you didn’t have power at all.

"And lastly. Don't kill anyone, and even if you do. Get rid of witnesses and call nii-san first, Nii-san will take care of it." I raised my brow in questioning. Firstly, shouldn't he be teaching his kid to be nice to other people or something and second of all why is he referring to himself in third person.

"Shouldn't you be saying 'dont bully people and be nice' or something ?" Though what he said wasn't the first of its kind. My brother Megumi had a track record of beating up people in his school but Nii-san never saw a problem because the people he beat up were hardly innocent and he never lost a fight so that was no shame brought to the family name.

"If there's anyone you think shouldn't be alive. Then they shouldn't be. This world is ours, the others are just living in it." One thing that everyone knew what that Gojo Satoru was a firm believer of the Gojo family supremacy. And he's not wrong. "Then what about those sleazy higher-ups ?" I quipped. I knew of his grand plan to demolish the old reign and establish a new jujutsu world, the reason he became a teacher. It was something I looked forward to since the day he showed me the dream of it, but for that I had to get stronger. To become more, to become unstoppable. So I would gladly accept any wisdom the Greeks had to offer and make sure that by the time I’m done here, I’ll be the strongest demigod they’ve had the honour of laying their eyes upon.

“All in due time Kana-chan.”

Taglist: @kentply / @sleepykittycx / @yourpersonalgaybird

#jjk #gojo!oc #percy x reader #percy jackson #pjo #percy jackson x oc #jujutsu kaisen #pjo x reader #pjo x jjk #crossover #percy jackon and the olympians

57 notes · View notes

ghostchems · 1 year

Text

upiór - terzo x female!reader

upiór (n.) - a person cursed before death, a person who died suddenly, or someone whose corpse was desecrated.

a/n: for @petrifyingpapas week one: resurrection! initially conceived this as a one-off but... there may be more to the story here, hehe. mndi, there's smut and scariness and drama. ao3 link.

“The clergy is certainly undergoing a lot of changes.” You muse, almost sounding uninterested as your gaze drifts off to the topiary in the background. A gloved hand falls to your bare knee and gives it a soft squeeze. You turn your head to look at him, nearly flicking him with your hair due to how close he was to you. You figure he’s been carefully inching closer while you’ve been sitting together.

“Good changes, no?” Copia questions, quirking a brow at you. His lips are pulled tight into a pointed smile, his familiar eyes gazing into yours.

“Oh, yes, of course.” You offer a weak smile. “But quite a bit different. I think it will take some getting used to.” His hand drifts up from your knee and takes yours in his, pulling it gently to him as his other hand lightly caresses your knuckles. As good as his touch feels, it doesn’t dispel any of the sadness or pain that is buried deep inside you.

“Ah, si.” Copia murmurs as he keeps his eyes on you, studying your face. “I am very glad we get to spend more time together, cara. I’ve always wanted to get to know you.” Your eyes widen while he brings your hand up to his lips. He kisses the back of your hand gently, once, twice and then again, and you can feel the tickle of his mustache against your skin.

You should feel honored that the cardinal has taken such an interest in you, being the newly appointed leader of the clergy and all, but you are conflicted. The sadness won’t go away. The pain and discomfort you feel in the pit of your stomach as he kisses you never goes away, staying constant. When he pulls away from your hand, his eyes locking with yours yet again, you offer another faint smile. It’s the best you can do.

Later, you find yourself in bed completely unable to sleep. You’ve been tossing and turning for hours. You couldn’t stop thinking about him, your eyes welling up with tears while your brain plays through some of your fondest memories with him. You couldn’t share your thoughts with anyone, though, which is why you are tearing yourself to bits holding all of this emotion inside.

After a while, you sit up in bed and pull your knees to your chest and stretch your t-shirt over them, accepting that you aren’t going to get any rest. A soft sigh escapes your lips as your gaze falls to the window beside your bed, staring off into space. Your eyes focus all of the sudden on the darkness outside when you see a figure. You squint, trying to make out the silhouette.

A shiver runs down your spine. Its head is missing. Or rather, it looks like it could be tucked under the figure’s arm.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

Your head jerks to your bedroom door, holding your breath as the slamming stops. An eerie silence falls over the room. You spare one glance back out your window and notice that the figure is gone.

More banging pulls your focus back to the door. You force yourself to your feet, wrapping yourself in your comforter while slowly making your way over to the door. A feeling of dread washes over you as you inch closer and closer, your hand trembling as it wraps around the knob.

You pull it open, immediately stepping out into the hallway to have a look around only to find it empty. You exhale deeply through your nose as your shoulders relax and you slink back into your room. That is, until the door slams shut, missing your face by a few inches.

A cold hand squeezes your shoulder.

You spin around as a gasp rips from your chest. It’s him. He’s there. The blanket that is wrapped around your shoulders drops to the floor in a heap and you take a step back, pressing your back against your door.

He looks dirty and tired. The hand that had touched you is trembling, still reaching out for you.

“Amore? Amore… what happened?” Terzo coughs a bit, his voice hoarse.

You stare at him, your eyes falling to his neck wound. It’s black and looks rotted. How? How could he be here? Your heart is thudding in your ears, unable to bring yourself to speak. This is impossible.

“Amore, please. Please tell me what happened.” He moves away from you and drops his hand. The space helps somewhat.

“H-how… how are you here?” The words squeak out of your mouth. Your own hands are pressed against your chest in an effort to steady yourself. “You… you and your brothers were killed.”

The words quite literally knock him off his feet. He slowly sinks down so that he is sitting on your bed. You’re able to get a good look at him. You slowly inch close to him as he works through the news.

“I can’t fucking think.” He growls, running a hand through his raven hair. His knee hasn’t stopped bouncing since he sat down, his heel thumping on the floor. You inch closer to him, wanting nothing more than to wrap him up in a blanket.

“W-what can I do, Terzo? What do you need?” You whisper shakily. His bloodshot eyes drift up your body then rest on your face. He reaches a dirty white glove out to you. You don’t even have to think, immediately taking his hand and he pulls you into his lap.

Terzo’s arms wrap so tightly around you and he tucks his head against your neck. You can’t believe how cold he feels, so you wrap your arms just as tightly around him, rubbing his back to try to get him warm.

You’re in shock but there is a creeping feeling of comfort, a feeling that you haven’t felt in some time, washing over you as he trembles in your arms. There is something off about him. You know he’s not the same but the fact that he is here is making you tear up.

“I am so hungry, amore.” Terzo huffs against your neck. He rubs the tip of his nose into it as he slowly lifts his head. A chill runs down your spine as his eyes meet yours and then he quickly captures your lips with his own. You sigh into the kiss, his tongue ice cold but he still tastes the same as you remember.

His hands are roaming your body almost frantically, pinching and groping whatever he can reach. A snarl rips from his throat as he grows impatient and he tosses you roughly onto the bed on your back. You give him a bewildered look, eyes wide while he gazes down at you, panting. You are almost afraid, almost, but the sudden heat pooling between your legs is clouding your reasoning.

Terzo very slowly removes his gloves, almost teasingly, as his eyes never leave yours. He leans down over you, resting one hand beside your head while the other inches up your thigh. The both of you are trembling now, whether it be with anticipation or shock you’re not sure, but you bring your hands to his chest, gently rubbing before resting them on his shoulders.

He hums low in his throat as he presses palm against your clit through your underwear and lowers his full weight on top of you. You groan softly, his touch cold but familiar, and you pull him down to you. Terzo’s lips graze yours, sighing into a light kiss before trailing kisses to your cheek and then down your jaw.

“N-need you. I need you. I need you.” He frantically whispers against your ear as he slips his hand inside the waistband of your underwear. His fingers glide across your already slick folds before pressing two past your entrance. You hiss as they slide inside you slowly, curling them at just the right angle to make your legs tremble.

Terzo pumps his fingers in and out, his lips moving down your neck. At first, you hardly notice the small prick of his teeth against your skin, too focused on the sinful feeling of his fingers. Then, he bites down hard. You scream, your hips lurching forward on his fingers, the scream slowly turning into a deep moan as your nails dig into Terzo’s shoulders.

His tongue flicks against the wound, moaning softly as he laps up your blood. He grinds his already hard cock against your leg and adds another finger inside you as you whine. Your entire body is trembling, teetering on the edge at the increased speed of his fingers working you apart.

Terzo’s moans become more guttural, more rough against you, his teeth pressing into your tender flesh yet again. You whisper his name, as almost a plea, but he ignores it and tears into you again. You scratch at his shoulders, your back arching while a broken sobs rips from your throat, reaching your peak.

“You have no idea how good you taste, amore.” He picks his head up, the bottom of his face covered in your blood. His eyes glow a faint red as he licks his lips, giving a soft moan. You’re still panting, eyes half lidded while your legs tremble beneath him. Terzo’s hand falls to your flushed cheek, thumb brushing over it gently. “Did it hurt?”

“Y-yes.” You breath shakily. You can’t help but lean into his soft touch.

“Mmm. But you came.” He grips you by the chin roughly. “Didn’t you?” Before you can say anything, his lips capture yours. You can taste your own blood in his lips, his tongue immediately invading your mouth. Terzo growls into the kiss and lets go of your chin. He frantically reaches between your legs again, bundling up your underwear and tearing them clean off of you.

You gasp against his lips and he takes the opportunity to suck your bottom lip between his teeth and bites down. Your fingers scratch at the fabric of his shirt, a low moan rumbling from your chest. He releases your lip, a smug grin plastered across his face, which was promptly wiped off of it as you touch his cock through his pants.

You stroke him slowly, watching his face twist with pleasure. Terzo pants and groans, then positions himself between your legs. You take the hint and start to undo his pants, his hard cock springing free. He grabs you by the hips with bruising strength and presses the head against your slick entrance. The feeling makes you whine, your back arching and your hips pushing forward while he pushes into the hilt.

Terzo holds himself inside you, his eyes wide gazing into yours and bloodstained lips parted with soft pants pushing past them. He’s pinning you down now, fingers laced in yours and pressing them hard against the bed. You feel lightheaded, your eyes half lidded and you chew on your lower lip as you squirm against him, trying to create some kind of friction.

“Oh, amore, you want me? You want me to take you?” He sounds wild, almost giggling at you. His hips snap hard into you and the two of you groan at the sensation. You try to tug your hands away from his but he’s too strong. “No, no, no, no fighting, amore.” Terzo smiles wickedly and rolls his hips slower this time.

Your eyes flutter, jaw going slack as you whine, bringing your hips up to meet his.

“Will you beg for me? To fuck you? To fill you up?” He practically sings, holding himself completely still as his cock throbs inside you.

“Fuck! Terzo, please. Please, please, please fuck me, please.” You babble, unable to take it anymore. Terzo would tease you from time to time but never like this. His hip snaps roughly into you, then again and again, the pace quick and rough.

The sounds of wet, slapping skin fill the room along with your whines and his growls. You feel the pleasure building inside of you again and you wrap your legs around his waist so that he can drive into you even deeper.

Terzo seems pleased by this, his thrust becoming more erratic and he slams into you. Your body is trembling at the feeling of being fucked so thoroughly, so roughly.

“T-terzo, I-I’ve… I've missed you so much.” You choke out between moans, tears stinging your eyes. He exhales deeply, his features softening as his pace slows. Terzo lets go of your hands and wraps his arms around you, pulling you flush against him and resting his forehead against yours. Your arms loop around the back of his neck, one hand snaking through his hair.

His eyes are locked with yours as the pace picks up again, the rolling of your hips matching each thrust. An overwhelming feeling of love washes over you. It’s like you’ve finally made that connection with him again, the one that drew you to each other in the first place.

Terzo presses soft kisses to your cheek, then to the corner of your mouth and down your jaw. Your fingers tangle in his hair and you give it a small tug. He growls against your jaw, his sharp teeth grazing the skin.

“I want you. I’ve only ever wanted you.” Terzo hisses into your ear and you feel his hot breath on you. “Fuck, amore… I shouldn’t have kept us a secret.” You feel your legs start to shake, breathy moans pouring from your lips.

“Only you. Only you. Only you.” He chants into your ear then sucks at the sensitive skin just below your earlobe. Your muscles clench and you cry out, your body trembling as you cum again.

A snarl rips from his throat, his hips jerking into you recklessly now, chasing his own release. Your brain is mush but you manage to give his hair a sharper tug this time. Terzo gives one final snap, a moan rumbling from deep in his chest right into your ear as he cums. You can feel his cock twitch and pulse inside you, spilling his release.

You both are panting heavily, your bodies twisted together as you come down to earth. He slides himself down your body, his cock slipping out from you. Terzo rests his head against your chest as his body relaxes on top of you. You keep your hands on his head, brushing through his hair.

“I’m sorry that I bit you.” He huffs.

“Twice. You bit me twice.”

Silence stretches between you.

“I’m sorry that I bit you twice, amore.” Terzo’s voice is shaky, a mere whisper.. “I… I do not know what I am anymore.”

His words hang in the air.

“It’s okay.” You work your fingers down to the back of his neck and give it a gentle rub. “I’m glad you’re here… are you back now? Or?”

“I don’t know.” He buries his face in your chest, his body starting to tremble again. You pull one of your blankets over him to try to get him warm but you can still feel how cold his body is. All you want is to take care of him but no matter what you do he is still freezing. You feel a tightness in your chest as you come to realize you can’t help him.

“Terzo, please rest. You deserve it. You deserve to finally rest.” Tears flood your eyes as you look down at him, your fingers brushing the hair out of his face. His features are much softer now despite the faint glow of his red eyes.

“Amore, I don’t know if I can.”

***

Copia walked down the hall with a skip in his step. He had a tulip in his hand, the first one to pop up this spring. It was pink and it was for you. He wanted to talk to you for so long but issues always ended up arising, whether it be his own nerves or being unable to find you around the Abbey.

But today was the day. He had his plan: give you the flower and ask you to take a meal with him. Copia also knew where you were supposed to be today thanks to a fellow sibling of sin.

When he arrived at the common area you had been tasked with decorating for spring, he grumbled to himself at the sight of him. Since being forcefully retired from the role of Papa, Terzo typically had nothing better to do than bother any sibling he came across. Copia slipped into a nearby hallway, poking his head out to wait and see if the former Papa would be on his way soon.

Then, he saw the way Terzo gazed at you while decorating, the way his hands lingered on your shoulder and your hip, and the way he eventually pulled you into his embrace. Copia was nearly strangling the flower he had picked for you, especially after watching the two of you kiss and giggle.

Copia couldn’t stand to watch anymore. He stormed off back where he came from, his grip so tight on the tulip that the flower had popped off the steam. His foot smashed it, leaving it flattened against the floor.

Recently, Sister Imperator had floated an idea by him, one that would ensure that he would be named successor to the Ghost Project. Copia had immediately shot it down due to the cruel nature of the idea.

Now, he was reconsidering. He stopped by her office to give her the news. She said she would take care of it. The skip in his step returned as he made his way back to his quarters.

The date had been set. The Emeritus brothers’ fates had been sealed.

Because of you.

#papa emeritus x reader #papa emeritus iii x reader #papa emeritus iii #cardinal copia #copia #papa emeritus iv #this is so unhinged but I’m so proud of it #petrifyingpapas

277 notes · View notes

asexualgilliontidestrider · 2 years

Text

Could you imagine the hero discourse in the prime defenders universe. There’s some Reddit post that’s like

r/askreddit

what was a negative interaction you had with a hero in your life

I’m curious because I see so many people talking like they’re purely good and I personally have seen them do pretty mean stuff

“when I was in the 6th grade silhouette was a TA on a school trip with my class and i told him that I needed the bathroom and he just told me to piss my pants and then ignored me and then when we actually got to the museum he just ditched us and left ms Gilbert to try and handle the entire class alone so I think that says a lot about what kind of person he really is”

“Tide once completely flooded my car that was parked on a bridge while fighting a villain and it had pictures of my grandma who died in a box on my passenger seat and they were ruined and I’m kinda still not over that”

“Pretender once walked straight into me and then just shoved me away and started shouting about how I should have moved if I was real”

“Well since the whole deal where random heroes have been going crazy I think you’re going to get a lot of bad experiences”

“Atlas killed my brother when he snapped that one time”

“This kid hero DC and his group got me fired from work because they literally stood in the middle of the road to harass some villain in a car instead of letting the cops deal with it. I was an hour late because they had to get someone to tow the car and it was totalled when they put it down because one of his friends had this freaky third demon arm thing that crushed it”

“Oh god yeah that kid. Watched him and his buddies dump some dude’s body in a lake. Then when my neighbour tried to stop them they made a call and then did something to him that messed him up for days. He doesn’t even remember it happening shits scary bro”

“Oh damn you live in rockfall too? Those kids are fucking menaces. The purple hair elf kid once just started stealing shit from the store I work at. Like he tried to put a bucket on my head and then in clear view crouched and started taking shit off the shelves and putting it in his bag. Security had to stop him and then he got picked up by Tide later.”

“Dodgeboy called me and my girlfriend a slur once :( I know he was super old but that’s still messed up”

“Saw a red haired hero kid punch out a wall of the dodge boy memorial library once when I was walking home from my night shift. As I was walking away I saw him and his friends harassing some kid with their powers and it kind of pissed me off with heroes in general. Like this is how the next generation of our protectors are being raised? God.”

#long post #JRWI #JRWI prime defenders

247 notes · View notes

negansbackdoorwhore · 1 year

Text

It’s Okay

Summary: Ike has trouble sleeping at night, you try to ease his mind

Warnings: fluff, comfort smut, swearing, dirty talk, daddy kink

I was woken up by the feeling of Ike tossing and turning. Groaning as I sat up to see him sweating under the moonlight through the balcony door. I gently touch his chest and heard his breath getting unsteady.

“Ike, baby. Wake up.” I say just above a whisper to see hear him mumble and his body tensing. After another nudge he sat up with his eyes wide. “Another nightmare?”

“Yeah…” He says relaxing his breathing and rubbing his face. I move closer to rest my chin on her shoulder and wrap an arm around his stomach. I kiss his cheek and ruffle his hair. “I’m sorry baby.”

He only leaned into my hold and slowly relaxed. I see he’s still in his head and I moved my body to his lap. He went to rest his face in my neck, my arms wrapped on his broad shoulders. His skin was so warm and a beautiful tan, along with how his chest hair tickled my skin through the thin night gown.

“I had a dream that you died.” He said with a whimper. I held him and kissed his temple. His arms were holding me in a tight grip and his nose nuzzling into my skin.

“That’s not happening. I’m here with you always.” I say gently moving him away to hold his face in between my hands. My thumbs touch over his freshly shaved cheeks.

“I know but, it was so vivid and scary. Just the thought of not having you with me, breaks my heart.” I kissed his cheek and wrapped my arms around his torso. I rested my head on his shoulder and ran my fingers in his chest hair. “I’m right here. I don’t ever plan on going anywhere without you.” I placed a loving smooch on collar and felt his tension leaving. I moved to start laying soft kisses on his neck and heard him groan. My eyes look to see his eyes shut and biting his lip. I took it further by sneaking my hand below to tease his semi erect cock. My palm giving a firm grip to hear him moan.

“You want me to help you out Daddy?” I say looking up seeing his hazel eyes haboring lust. I adjust my body as I stroke his length. He moaned and his fingers squeezed my sides. I kissed his lips and moved to help him take off my gown. My nude body was exposed once it was carelessly tossed on the ground. His hand pulled me to grind on his cock.

I moaned feeling his body so hard and ready. His flesh touched against my inner thigh and I moan feeling his mouth wrapping over one of my tits. His tongue swirled against me and he was growing impatient. His arms flipped me onto my back and watched him throw the covers out of the way. Our bodies now exposed and seeing the silhouette of his body had me growing more needy.

Ike leaned to kiss me and his cock stroked inside me. I moaned into his mouth as my thighs squeezed his hips.

“Fuck. You’re pussy is so fucking wet baby.” He groaned while biting his lower lip. I go to hold his head between my hands. Our eyes adjusted in the dark as I look him in his dark pupils.

“Your cock feels so good inside me Daddy.” I whimpered as he thrusted deep. His breath hit against my lips as my hips rose to meet his thrusts. His cock warm and sliding easily with my arousal coating him. I moaned hearing the wet noises my pussy was making with each hit from his hips.

His eyes slip shut as on of his arms hooked behind my neck. I dig my nails into his shoulders and moaned loudly at how deep he hit. “Oh fuck. Baby. Y/N, it’s so, so fucking good.” He said in a broken sequence as he was getting closer. I took the opportunity to pull him in for a kiss. He groaned against my lips and I flipped our bodies to have him beneath me. He was caught off guard for a second but his hands landed on my hips. I look at him as purposely grinded on his shaft. He looked down to see how wet I was on top of him.

“Fuck. C’mon baby, I want to come so fucking bad in that tight cunt of yours.” I moan at his words and slid myself back on him. My walls clenched on him and I placed my hands on his chest. He growled as I tugged his chest hair and his hands moved up to hold my tits. His fingers massaged me and I moan as I grinded on him.

“Shit. Baby.” He moaned his head fell back and I leaned down to kiss his neck. A weakness he had that I used to my advantage. My lips sucked a hickie on Ike’s hands gripped my ass as I fucked myself on top of him.

“Y/N. I’m so close.” He whimpered. “I know. Come inside me baby. I want to feel all of you Daddy.”

With that his hips rose up and I kissed his lips. He gasped out my name and I felt him spilling inside me. His arms held my waist to keep still. I shuddered as he pulled out of me. My walls were coated by him and waves of my orgasm hit. Ike smiled and traced patterns with his fingers on my back. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he caught his breath. I moved to lay on my side and his arm hooked around my shoulders. I rested my head on his shoulder and he kissed my head.

“You took care of me, now I’ll take care of you.” He whispered and turned on his side to face me. I watch him sit up and moved me over his body so he could carry me. “Let’s enjoy a nice hot bath. And I’ll give you a nice massage when we’re done.” My arms held his neck and I could feel the overwhelming security and love from my husband.

“I love you Ike.”

“Love you too Y/N.”

Taglist

@defiantsolitarygirl

@ashleysboomstick

@negansmithsupremacy

@peachifemme

@neganswoman

@hail-yourselves

@igotmajordaddyissues

@lolablack666

#jeffrey dean morgan x reader #jeffrey dean morgan #ike evans #ike evans x reader #magic city #jeffrey dean morgan fanfic

144 notes · View notes

ynisreal · 10 months

Text

wires (5) - michael afton x reader

author’s note: 2 chapters in a row???????? hehe

summary: You and Michael spend the day together. You receive an unexpected guest.

Chapter Five

You and Michael decided to start your workday by inspecting all the rooms of the old animatronics. They were spacious rooms, with empty stages and stored tables. The polite man who had interviewed you told you that the establishment had been intended to be a restaurant, but for security reasons it had been decided to turn it into an animatronics rental facility. That's why it was so spacious, making you feel a little sad. After all, what was supposed to be the start of a reference in fun and entertainment had turned into dark, empty and dusty rooms. You still couldn't understand the lack of animatronics, Henry's lie had been that they had been transferred, you couldn't understand why he would lie about the real reason for the lack of robots. Perhaps it was company confidentiality?

"Did you ever meet them?" You ask Michael, who is opening the door to the circuit breaker room. The man immediately stops in his tracks, a little surprised by your question. With your task of counting how many boxes and what materials were in them, you weren't looking at the man's silhouette, not noticing Michael's fearful posture.

Michael couldn't lie, after all, he has no reason to lie. He had already told you that he had worked in the establishment before you arrived, and indeed, he worked here before he died, in fact, his working here is what killed him.

"Yes," Michael tries to hide his own discomfort in his voice, which hasn't worked very well, but with your lack of attention, you don't notice it again.

"What were they like?" you ask, with a totally different tone from Michael, your voice full of curiosity and excitement. You had seen several posters and images of the establishment's stars in the corridors and in the elevator, they looked colorful and modern, which caught your attention.

"Hm", Michael tries to think of a sincere answer that isn't odd or frightening, "Big?", he replies insecurely, sounding more like a question than a definite answer.

"Big?!" you snap, dropping the pen you were writing on the report for Noah. You look at Michael with wide eyes, your curiosity only growing about the characters you faced every day in the elevator.

"Yes, bigger than any grown-up," Michael smiles at your surprise, finding your naivety at the whole situation cute. "It was a little scary," Little? Michael thinks, remembering the fear his younger brother felt when he met the original animatronics. They were big, noisy and had mechanical voices. Sister Location's animatronics were modern, metallic and with more refined gestures.

"They must have been incredible," you smile back, a little impressed by the fact that they were so big. You had seen the remains of replaceable or broken parts at Parts & Service with Michael, and indeed, they were heavy and complex, but the size of these robots was something you hadn't thought about.

"Yeah, they could have been incredible," Michael replied with the same dry tone as before, not wanting to get too deep into the topic. The idea on paper was revolutionary, animatronics made for the purpose of caring for and entertaining children, but Michael knew that wasn't how it worked out in practice. The man could still remember the emptiness he felt in his chest when he met Circus Baby, frustrated at only being able to touch and see metal parts, not Elizabeth's smile or beautiful hair.

"Cass would have liked it," you wonder, "Well, not now, at her current age, maybe when she was a bit younger."

"Yeah, maybe," Michael can't help the discomfort in his voice as he imagines your sister around any of these robots, after all, it hadn't gone well for either of his siblings.

You go back to writing down the items in the last box, leaving the weekly delivery report ready for Noah to analyze. The architect had asked for some special requests, requiring certain items or boxes to be in specific rooms to facilitate the team's creative process. You finish writing them down and start walking to the circuit breaker room, which is where Michael was.

"Watch out for the wires," Michael says with his back to you, knowing that it was in your nature not to look at the floor and end up tripping over the thousands of wires exposed in this small room. Michael tries not to look too far into the dark corners, still afraid of seeing Funtime Freddy peering through the darkness. Nowadays, it was Michael peering into the darkness to avoid being seen, *how the roles had changed.*

You proceed with caution, Michael's warning serving to draw your attention. "I don't usually go in here much," you reveal, "It's a bit scary." Michael lets out a small laugh, because frankly, you were right, Michael also found this whole establishment scary. The circuit breaker room was very dark, so the man didn't back away when you came closer to look at the buttons he was analyzing.

"It has some features - well, different features, is the phrase," Michael says, smiling as he presses the player so memorable to the man. The room floods with the robotic voice of the "Mascot Response Audio", which startles you with its abrupt loud noise.

"What the fuck is that?" you ask, hand placed over your racing heart. Michael laughs at your fright, used to the screeching sound of the audio that was used to ward off Funtime Freddy's attacks.

"It's pre-recorded audio to be used for the old Funtime Freddy," Michael explains without much detail, not knowing how to tell you that it was used to distract the animatronic from ripping his head off.

You nod, seeming not to have understood much, but you were still running on adrenaline from the scare, frightened by the noise and the darkness of the place. "It's creepy, I think that's the word," you say in reference to the one Michael had commented on, which brings another smile to the man's face.

"Good point," he replies, making his way to the exit door. The two of you make your way to the control room, with the intention of leaving your report in the room. Michael, motivated by your questions, was deep in thought about the first time he arrived at the facility, a man with a beating heart and driven to find his sister and the other souls trapped in this franchise.

"It used to be quite different," he says, interrupting the silence that was forming between the two of you. You leave your pen on the table and turn back to look at the man with a mask and hood. "What do you mean?" you ask, confused by what he's saying.

Michael smiles at your look of confusion, "Here, I meant, there were no corridors," he explains, leaning on the wall opposite you. "This control room was quite different too," the man adds.

"It didn't have corridors?" you ask, not understanding how an establishment like this wouldn't have corridors, "How did you get from one room to another?".

"There were ventilation ducts," Michael replies sincerely, not realizing the absurdity of his answer. Michael only notices the ridiculousness of his answer when he hears you laugh a little.

"What do you mean?" you laugh, not believing what you're hearing. Michael smiles back, loving hearing your laugh so early in the day, the decision to have spent the day with you seeming more delicious now. He had the privilege of seeing your eyes still a little puffy from sleep, hearing your voice and laughter, as well as seeing you concentrating on the tasks of the day, it was cute. Seeing you so early like this only made him more greedy and ambitious.

"I'm serious," he says with the least serious face possible, smiling and bringing his hands to his chest, as if pointing to his dead heart would bring credibility. "It was a nuisance having to crawl to work every day," Michael adds, making an uncomfortable face.

"I can imagine," you reply, still not quite believing him. After all, it was a bit strange to imagine any employee crawling through ventilation ducts to get to work.

"I'd like to see you crawl over to me," Michael adds, a confident smile on his face. Even if you couldn't see his smile, you could hear the teasing tone in his voice.

"In ventilation ducts?" your voice comes out a little slurred due to your embarrassment, but the image is too bizarre for you to pass up.

Michael shakes his head in denial as he laughs, after all, your surprise at the whole situation was admiring, he thought. Your reactions to the information Michael was telling you were cute, and it was impossible for the man not to laugh, overwhelmed by happiness for being with you. Thinking about the time spent with you was a foreign feeling for Michael, after all, until a few weeks ago he thought he would be stuck in the establishment, living out the remains of his unhappy life in the shadows, paying for the sins he didn't commit. Michael didn't like hiding, he didn't like the situation life had forced him into, putting him in the shadows while his father was still out there. However, as much as his situation hadn't changed much, still being trapped in the establishment and in the shadows, Michael couldn't bring himself to think of him as unhappy. Michael was happy in your company, he had abandoned any future predictions or thinking about the million impossibilities of your relationship working out, because he wanted to enjoy what he had now. What he had now was: you in the establishment during working hours. Michael had to be grateful for this, since this was what brought life to the long **dead** days of the man.

You put the report away in one of the drawers, taking your eyes off the man hidden in the shadows of the corridor, his silhouette slightly illuminated by the yellow light of the control room. You smile at the man, happy to be able to spend more time with him. As much as you'd like to spend that time trapped in the control room lost in the pleasure of his lap, you have bills to pay and a sister to look after. "We have to clean the Funtime Auditorium, given that Noah is scheduled to come tomorrow," you comment crossing your arms, "I believe he's going to measure the room."

"Hm, is he critical of cleanliness?", Michael asks, even though he knows the answer, constantly hearing the man's complaints seep through the walls of his hidden room.

"He is, and as much as the establishment is in good condition thanks to you and me," you smile, remembering the late afternoons you spent cleaning every inch of the place, "I don't want to risk it, to avoid the headache it would be to hear him criticizing my work," you flinch in irritation, already imagining the authority and rudeness in Noah's voice.

Michael is immediately irritated too, it's already unbearable to hear the way the architect treated his coworker, Alice, but if he spoke to you like that, Michael wouldn't be able to stop himself from leaving the establishment and smashing Noah's entire car. The masked man almost smiles as he remembers the many times he did just that in his teenage years, perhaps being a teenager with unaddressed anger issues had come in handy. "Okay, come on then, let me get the cleaning materials," Michael stops to stand in the archway at the entrance to the control room, "I don't want you accidentally dropping bleach on your skin."

"Like you're going to be able to carry all the materials in just two hands all the way to the auditorium," you complain, even though you know he could. Michael was strong, hiding his muscles under so much fabric to conceal his skin. But you can't help being frustrated that he takes all the heavy lifting upon himself, which makes you feel a little helpless and guilty about your lack of participation. "After all, the bleach can also get on your skin," you point out, starting to walk behind the man, respecting the distance he wishes.

Michael grins again, even though he knows that all smiles are invisible to you. "My skin wouldn't be affected," the man says with a confident tone, teasing you. You let out a small chuckle, unimpressed by the man's words. However, you feel a feeling you've never felt before take over your entire body. Your body or your mind, you can't pinpoint it to this day, has always reacted in a standard way when people are lying to you, whether it's intuition or heightened lucidity, you can easily spot lies. But for the first time in your life, you felt the truth. Your mind telling you that what Michael had said was true. It was a sensation so different from anything you'd ever experienced before that it stopped you in your tracks. You began to silence the world around you to try to hear and understand what your body had to say. But it wasn't a feeling that lasted, being present for a few seconds and then disappearing completely, as if it had never been sensed. Did you imagine it? Or did you misinterpret it? Maybe the feeling was just lack of sleep or hunger.

Michael noticed the silence of your footsteps, turning his head towards you to understand what had made you stop in the middle of the corridor. Your eyes were focused on the floor, a confused look on your face. Michael flinches when he sees that you seem frustrated about something. "Y/n? Is everything all right?" he asks, immediately causing you to raise your gaze to him. You nod a little frantically, not wanting to worry the man. In all honesty, you didn't take into consideration what you had just felt, as it was too new for you to assume or draw conclusions. Michael noticed your somewhat distracted and nervous posture, but decided not to press you to explain yourself or tell him what had happened, knowing that he had no right to ask for clear answers from you. If you were letting him live with his secrets, he would try not to be bothered with yours either.

"I just remembered how much I want to pour bleach into Noah's mouth," you reply, jokingly trying to distract Michael from the increasing heartbeats hammering in your chest, almost becoming detectable in the silence of the corridor. Michael smiles, laughing at the aggressive lie in your speech.

"Don't count me in as an accomplice," Michael says, walking ahead of you in search of the cleaning products. "It seems like a lot of work," he continues, finally reaching the shelves that hold the materials. Michael may be joking, but he knows that at this point, by how happy you made him and how much you brightened up the man's dull days, he would be an accomplice. All so he wouldn't have to stay away from you.

You stretch out your arms to Michael, hoping he'll give you some materials to help him carry. Michael stares at you, considering your offer to help for a few seconds before handing you the washcloths. Just the washcloths. You roll your eyes and let out a sound of frustration, something Michael seemed used to hearing every time he refused to make you carry heavy things or do manual labor. Perhaps Michael has become addicted to hearing those sounds and that look coming from you.

The two of you make your way to the auditorium, Michael by your side carrying the products and you with the cloths in one hand. The Funtime Auditorium was the same size as the Ballora Gallery, the only room for the animatronics being relatively smaller than both was the Circus Baby Gallery. Neither you nor Michael entered that room very often, because of the mess that had accumulated. Michael had lived every day after his death in the establishment, he cleaned and organized the whole place, knowing that having a routine or something to be responsible for would soothe the voices in his head. However, he didn't have the courage to go in there, so the mess had piled up, and there were probably still pieces of animatronics and some electronics scattered around the gallery. You didn't like going in there, frustrated by the extreme mess, always being reminded to set aside a day to tidy up all the objects that had gathered in the small room.

"Hm, Michael," you say, as you bend down to clean the tiles on the floor with the brush, taking care to only do so on the tiles that Michael had already swept clean with the broom, "Since Noah isn't coming today, we can clean up the Circus Baby Gallery together". You suggest, knowing that the job of cleaning the entire room would be much quicker with the man's help.

Michael froze, not knowing what to say. He didn't want to go in there, not out of fear or anything, because he knew that the animatronics, or rather Ennard, were no longer here. Michael had felt them all come out of his mouth as they left him to decompose in a dark, damp alley. The animatronics had fled somewhere, leaving the establishment empty for Michael's return. But the Circus Baby Gallery was an emotional place for the man, being the place where his sister had died and where they had been reunited. It was a reminder of the hope Michael had felt when he heard his little sister's voice, metallic and robotic yet soft, for it to be completely lost and destroyed in the scooping room.

"Can we do that another day?" Michael replied softly, letting his mind take control of his mouth. Michael didn't have the strength to lie when it came to his siblings, he felt his weakness and vulnerabilities coming to the surface, "Not today", it comes out almost in a sigh, voice hoarse and full of emotions that take you by surprise.

"Of course, we don't have to do it today," you say, trying to maintain a neutral posture, not wanting to make the man any sadder, "We can do it another day, we can set up a time," you continue, a smile on your face. Michael felt relaxed by your affection, happy to know that you had respected the limits that his heart and mind could handle today.

You return to your repetitive tasks, Michael sweeping the tiles while you carefully wipe them down with a cloth full of product. A silence fell, and Michael knows why, you were curious, you wanted to ask why he had never cleaned the Circus Baby Gallery, even though he had worked here before you. Ever since you arrived, the room has been disgusting in contrast to the other rooms, which were always shiny and fresh because of Michael's hard work. The man notices the gears turning in your mind, your puzzled face being a little too cute, showing your frustration at not getting the answers you wanted. You want to ask, but you both know how this conversation ended last time. Yeah, maybe Michael wants you to ask again, just so he can blindfold you and leave you without any answers whatsoever.

"Do you know about the rumors?" Michael decides to put an end to your stress and take mercy on your curious mind. You stop your movements, already knowing where this conversation was going. Your sister had told you, a little too excited to be sharing scary conspiracy theories she'd heard from her friends at school. You weren't frightened, you really weren't, but this story made you double-check the dark corners of the establishment just to make sure there was no one there.

"I heard about it, it's famous among kids my sister's age", you replied in a neutral voice, not wanting to show your obvious fear, given that you and Michael were in a closed room and didn't have a completely accurate view of all the dark corners of the auditorium. Michael notices your stiffness, being used to seeing people afraid, it was a sensation he had to learn to cope with for many years. He didn't like to see such a recognizable feeling stamped on your posture.

"This establishment proceeds the franchise's shady reputation," Michael sighed, as if he was tired of reliving the same story over and over again. He had relived this story many times during his life, after all, the little conspiracy theories that children told their friends in order to scare them was Michael's reality, it was the documented history of his life and those around him. "A few years ago, this establishment was a restaurant," you nod, knowing this information from your interview with the older man and a little internet research, "However, there were some reports of a gas leak, which caused the restaurant to close, becoming a place to rent animatronics," Michael continues, voice a little quieter than usual, having to take a few breaks to calm his mind from memories of his childhood and the effects of the gases, how they could make any sane child into a small form trembling in fear and paranoia.

You didn't know this information, and frankly, you had no interest in knowing why the restaurant had closed, assuming it had been due to some accident or lack of funds. Well, now your curiosity has been piqued, curiosity and fear as a matter of fact. "Soon after, the animatronics started having some maintenance problems, which caused in one," Michael paused in his sentence, waiting for the right word to come to mind. The word that wouldn't cause a more emotional reaction from Michael, "Well, let's just say a small accident, which is why the animatronics are no longer in the establishment". He finishes the story, waiting to hear your response, given that, he hadn't lied, he told you what happened, he just hid the fact that the little accident involved him dying and the animatronics taking over his body to roam the streets. They were small omissions, Michael told himself.

"And you don't enter the Circus Baby Gallery out of fear?" you ask, sincerely curious and interested in the story. Michael is surprised by your reaction, thinking that you would laugh in his face or mock him for believing in children's stories, but your reaction is genuine. Of all the information he told you, you were worried about why he didn't want to enter the gallery. You were worried about him.

"It may be fear, but I think it's something else," Michael tells you, not even realizing that he was responding truthfully. He was so used to lying to you, but he had no one but Henry to talk to about the events that had traumatized him forever, the events that had taken his sister away from him and taken his life. Michael couldn't hold back the urge to share the darkest parts of him with the light you brought into his life, it was as if by getting too close or knowing a little more, you could burn those memories away, erasing them with your light. "It could be the memories I have of that room," Michael sighs, feeling the discomfort of oversharing.

"Hm," you vocalize, confusion evident in your voice, but you won't pressure him, knowing he'll open up when he's ready, "I see." That feeling takes over your body again, Michael was telling the truth. Well, you're now able to confirm it, not being taken aback by a new sensation, he was being honest with you, and as much as you don't know what that means or what memories he might have with this establishment, you were glad to see him being honest with you.

Michael doesn't look at you, he just goes back to sweeping the floor, which he hadn't even realized he had paused on. Michael is grateful that your reaction was neutral, that you didn't want to delve any further into the box of memories and traumas that is Michael's mind. You were letting him take his time to open up to you, being careful with your words and your actions, not wanting to stress him out like you did last night.

"It's sad," you comment, breaking the silence once again. Michael looks at you in surprise, not knowing what had made you say that. "Well, the rumors are sad, I can understand why people are scared," you continue, a little unsure of your statement now that Michael's non-visible face is pointed at you, a bit of his all-black eyes becoming apparent. "I am too, but I'm sad as well, it's unfortunate to think that children are the victims of all this, souls so full of light and innocence," you continue, staring into Michael's dark eyes, accustomed to the total darkness that fills them. "It's a good thing they're just rumors, I wouldn't be able to work here if they were true," your train of thought comes to an end, and you go back to cleaning the tiles that were forgotten during your conversation with the man in front of you.

Wow, that's new.

Michael knew you'd have a sense of what had happened, or what the children seemed to gossip about the locations. But you told him in a voice so full of sadness and comfort that it almost made Michael fall into your arms, longing to be consoled too. He hadn't even noticed that his eyes were a little too apparent, letting you find them during the conversation, the dark, totally black eyes you had sketched. You oozed softness, no matter how clumsy you were and how many swear words would occasionally come out of your lips, you brought solace to his life.

"Can you close your eyes again?" Michael asks, a little too excited to notice how his voice had come out a little desperately. You immediately blush, remembering the events of last night, and how a simple request from Michael had turned into you begging on the man's thighs as he kissed your neck.

"Michael, I'm still on the clock," you reply, your cheeks red and your eyes shining with arousal. Michael smiles as he watches the scene, after all, you're down on your hands and knees, your face showing all the reactions Michael can make you feel.

"I'm not going to do anything extra," Michael continues, moving a little closer to you, breaking the safe distance he promised himself to keep every day, but seemed to be breaking several times. "Trust me," he continues, voice soft and sweet, so sweet that you could feel his kiss on your mouth again.

You nod, a little too responsively for the situation, but you couldn't help it, especially when it was Michael asking you so lovingly. A sigh leaves your lips, and you close your eyes, feeling the darkness that took you in its arms last night return. You felt the vulnerability return, the feeling of helplessness and your walls of protection come crashing down, leaving you once again at the mercy of the man in front of you, the one you couldn't see the face of. The conversation earlier left you a little frightened, and now, with your sight taken from you once again, you can't help but reach for Michael with your arms, wanting to feel his presence bringing you safety.

"Sh, sh, I'm here," Michael replies, his voice so close to you, one of the things you missed about yesterday. Feeling him close was nice, it made you forget the thousands of secrets and barriers Michael kept between the two of you. He takes your hands and guides them into his arms, the two of you sitting on the freshly cleaned floor of the auditorium. You feel a sense of security invade your body, knowing that Michael is close to you, putting a solid wall between the two of you and your childish fears.

You grip the fabric of Michael's sweater, letting your fingers feel the muscles in his biceps in conjunction with the small pieces that felt like wires, which, at first, you had found odd, but now, they seemed to fit Michael, your desperation for his touch making you get used to the new sensation. You feel Michael's cold palm meet your skin, placing his bandaged hand over your eyes to make sure you don't open them again. The man feels himself smile as he feels your warm skin for the second time, happy to feel the life and warmth in your body, which creates a delicious contrast to his cold, dead body. Seeing that you had calmed down and let Michael have the freedom to do as he pleased, he moves closer, feeling your soft breath against his face.

Michael brings his hand up to his mask, revealing the man's purple lips, and moves closer to your face. With a calm unaccustomed to Michael, he kisses you, softly and romantically, a new experience compared to the kiss you two shared yesterday. It was a soft touch of Michael's lips on yours, a kiss of comfort, you know that the previous conversation had made the man reactive and nervous, so he was seeking solace in your touch. You weren't the only one who seemed to seek safety in it.

It was a short kiss, purely for you to put your anxieties and fears aside, a touch that calmed Michael's nerves, so when he took his hand away from your eyes, he didn't realize he was still too close, letting the mask return to where it was before he lowered it, covering his lips. When you open your eyes, letting your vision slowly return, you could see Michael's eyes, without any shadows to cover them or obscure your visibility.

And no, you weren't confused or tired that day. Michael's eyes were undeniably dark. Completely black.

When Michael went back to drop off the cleaning materials near the main hall, you tried to calm your heart by the scene that was installed in your mind. Michael's eyes were completely black, just like in the drawing you made of him, it wasn't the shadows of the hood he wore, he really did have black eyes. Did he wear contacts? Or did he have some rare condition? You let the questions flood into your head, even though you know you won't ask the man any of them. You weren't supposed to see it, opening your eyes too quickly and not letting the safe distance between the two of you return. You don't know how Michael would react if he knew that you had managed to see the eyes he was hiding so much.

Before you can think of anything else, you hear a loud noise coming from a door inside the Funtime Auditorium. You get up from the floor, staring at the door that has been locked for your entire time working here. You never found the key to that room, and you tried to enter it several times to check what it was or so that Noah could analyze the small room. But it was always locked. As it didn't seem to be anything important, you never asked Michael what it was that was kept there or why the room was locked. However, with the loud noise that has just been revealed from inside, fear returns to your veins.

"Is anyone there?" you ask, your voice loud enough for anyone in that room to hear.

Suddenly, the door opens, creaking from the lack of movement for what seems like months. The door opened slowly, extending the high-pitched creaking noise, almost making your ears hurt. You begin to take cautious steps, making your way into the mysterious room. When you reach the archway of the newly opened door, you find something you never thought you'd find here. A scooping room? You think, given that neither your interviewer nor Michael had ever mentioned this room to you. The light was off and the air was damp, making you sniffle. It was a heavy, almost gloomy air.

You entered the room carefully, looking for the source of the sound that had startled you a few moments ago. The huge windows brought a little light into the room, given that you had tried the switch and it didn't seem to be working, since no light was present. The windows seemed to lead into the control area of the mechanical arm in the middle of the room, which was quite scary to have something so big and dangerous in the midst of such an establishment. That must be why the door was kept locked, you imagine.

"Is anyone here?" you repeat, wanting to find out who made the sound. Or what made the sound. Your brain betrays you with such a dark thought, making you break out in a cold sweat. You start to hear Michael's footsteps echoing through the empty corridors, so you decide to go back through the door you came in, but as you turn, your heart stops beating for the first time in your life.

There was an animatronic. Was it an animatronic? You didn't know, you'd never seen one up close. It had a metallic body, full of apparent wires and pipes, unlike the photos and posters that were scattered around the elevator. Its face contained white metal plates that seemed to open and close, highlighting the other pipes and wires that completed the mechanics of its face. Its eyes glowed in the dark like two flashlights, exposing the small hat on top of its face.

You raised your hand to your pounding heart, which had apparently started beating again a few seconds ago. You had to hold back your giggles to stop yourself from bursting into laughter at your fright. It was just an animatronic, perhaps one they had tried to disassemble or it was out of use and they had left it here, forgetting about it. The thought almost makes you feel sympathy for the large piece of what looked like metal junk in front of you.

"Damn, they must have left you here," you whisper quietly as you approach the wrecked robot in front of you. It was on the side of the door, almost completely hidden in the dark corner if it weren't for the eyes that illuminated fractions of the room you were in. "I'll have to call headquarters tomorrow, so they can come get you," you tell the robot, making a mental note of what you'll have to do tomorrow.

When you hear Michael's footsteps entering the auditorium, you walk out the door, closing it, leaving the animatronic alone again. You can see Michael walking past the entrance door to the Funtime Auditorium, and when he sees you with your hands on the handle of *that* room, he starts to run. Running like your life depended on it.

"Y/n!", Michael shouts, startling you, immediately backing away from the door. Michael runs towards you, bumping into the various chairs or tables that were stacked up inside the auditorium, but he didn't seem to care, his goal being to reach you.

When his body collides with yours, he wraps his arms around you from behind, lifting you into the air. "Michael! What the fuck?" you ask, flapping your legs in the air, stunned by the man's strength. Michael doesn't answer, just carries you to the middle of the auditorium, where he had left you. "Michael! Put me down!" you scream once again, your arms immobilized by the man's grip.

Michael puts you down gently, quickly positioning himself in front of you, and before you can calm down and look at him clearly, he lifts his hand to cover your eyes. "Michael! What's gotten into you?" you ask in frustration, grabbing his arms and trying to pull them away from your eyes, still surprised by the man's abrupt reaction.

"Easy, calm down," he whispers repeatedly, waiting for you to stop trying to pull his arms away, not that you could, the man in front of you being so much stronger than you.

"Michael, what happened?" you asked, your voice still a little frantic, but your demeanor calmer, your hands relaxing on the man's arms that still covered your eyes. Michael was close to you again, you could feel his knees brushing against yours.

"Don't ever go near that room again," Michael replied dryly, a hoarse, authoritative voice filling your ears. But that voice didn't fool you, Michael was afraid, he was worried, there were even hints of sadness in the man's voice. It made you calm down immediately, aware of the mental state of the man in front of you. "Please, Y/n, not there," he continued, the farce of an authoritative, dry voice escaping from the man's voice, sounding as if he were begging. What the fuck, what was in there?

You can't bring yourself to question the man, letting your instincts to console and comfort Michael take over as you reply: "Okay".

But Michael, unlike you, can't tell when others are lying to him.

#fnaf fanfic #fnaf michael afton #fnaf movie #fnaf x reader #michael afton #michael afton fanfic #michael afton x reader #michael afton x you #scooped michael #five nights at freddys

36 notes · View notes

i-love-ulysses-butterflies · 19 days

Text

Nico dies (not really) au

What if in the final battle, instead of Gaia falling to "storm or fire" she gets killed by the death kids

what if Hazel and Nico try to do what hazel did in the 1940's (they're father helps them because they are both greek and roman) and bring up lots of amethysts'. But right before she falls asleep she tries to take them with her

Nico with the last of his strength pushes Hazel away to safety, as Gaia drags him underground. Picture a weak and tired Hazel, slowly crawling and reaches her hand out grabbing onto Nico who is sinking into the ground, she grabs onto his wrist when his other hand is trapped underground, he does whatever he can to free himself and manages to scratch/bite her wrist the let go of him, before he gets pulled into the ground

The battle was finished this was the final showdown, and the demigods were watching this happen. The battleground completely silent.

This battle didn't have many deaths so there was enough time to properly mourn him. They were surprised at the amount of people who came to the funeral, he was always so quiet at camp

Years later when they all grow up and move on. They still come and visit this spot, have picnics, and what not. Sometimes when the kids stray just a bit too far, a quiet breeze and soft words guide them back to their parents. when a new camper comes running through the woods, they see the silhouette of a boy guiding them. When they finally get to camp they're told that's Nico di Angelo, they're told stories of his life and bravery in death. But no he's not dead, he's been trapped for years.

As the seven's kids get older they see the figure of a boy he looks scary but reassuring in a way, but whenever they ask they're parents, they get very quiet. Eventually They see the boy and suddenly, he doesn't seem so scary he was small, only 13 barely a teenager,

#nico di angelo headcanon #bianca lives au #nico di angelo #hazel levesque #the seven plus nico #dead nico di angelo #well sort of alive #it's complicated

9 notes · View notes

st4rbe0m · 3 months

Text

SUMMARY ▸ 20 years ago, a gruesome murder shook the town hard. A type of murder that should've never happen, much less in their quaint town. A lovely family killed in cold blood with an unforgiving axe wielding maniac - a mother, a father and a little girl. It's been 20 years down the road, hasn't it? Then why are these 11 teenagers stuck in a loop of the same day, being haunted by a little girl who died 20 years ago?

PAIRING ▸ Park Jongseong (Jay) x reader ; additional pairings between characters as well , multi chapter story

TAG LIST ▸ open!! send an ask to be added

WC ▸ 2.2K

WOULD YOU LIKE TO CONTINUE THE BODY SEARCH ?

▊ yes -> CHAPTER 3

▊ no -> CHAPTER 1

BODY SEARCH MASTERLIST

Kim Sunoo. Nishimura Riki. Park Jongseong. Uchinaga Aeri. Lee Heesung. Sim Jaeyun. Ning Yizhuo. Y/N Y/L/N. Park Sunghoon. Yang Jungwon. 10 teenagers. 10 minutes past midnight. 10 minutes since they’d found themselves mysteriously at the chapel of their school - none of them having memories of how they could have reached there. No, the only memory they had was of a set of jarring texts from an unknown number requesting that they find her. Who the ‘her’ in question was, was not revealed at all.

“Guys, seriously, this is creeping me the hell out. Where are you guys going?” Giselle voiced her frustrations. Seriously, who the hell splits up like this? Haven’t they watched horror movies? “What’s your favorite scary movie?”, the teasing voice of Lee Heesung whispered into the shell of her ear, not only making goosebumps appear near her skin, but lurching her into a scare. Smacking him with a pout on her face, while the boy just laughed while clutching her hand, the couple that had been dating since the beginning of freshman year just walked behind trusted Park Jongseong, who was also trailed by Y/N and NingNing. NingNing’s nervous eyes kept flitting between Jay and the gloomy darkness around her, a contrast from her confident and approachable appearance at school. During the day, atleast. Who knew what night, this night, in particular could bring?

“Sunghoon’s wandered off”, Jake mentioned. There was an edge in his voice as he said it, and it even made Jay’s eyes harden under the milky light of the moon. “We’ll find him guys. Let’s figure out what’s happening first maybe?”, NingNing chimed in. Biting her nails, she added, “Even the two underclassmen have wandered off somewhere, and so has Yang.” We’ll get them soon.

“Look, there’s Sunghoon!”, Y/N said, her voice almost lost like a wisp in the wind. Luckily, Jay and Jake caught on to it, and turned their heads to where Sunghoon stood, in the middle of the soccer field. Motionless, yet slightly trembling. They jogged up to him, the boys yelling out his name. “Sunghoon, Park Sunghoon! Come here!”

Sunghoon turned around to the sound of their clamoring voice, pale skin having dewy drops of sweat beading his forehead. But perhaps, what was most characteristic about him, was the expanding patch of red on his crisp white school uniform.

He opened his mouth slightly, yet no sound escaped him. He slumped forward while they looked at the garish scene before them. Because it was only the top half of Sunghoon’s body that had slumped forward, jaggedly dismembered torso falling forward onto the blackish grass.

“What the fuck?!”. “Fuck!”. A scream. And just a gaping jaw. Those were all the reactions the 4 could muster up. With legs propelling them forward at insane speed, Jay and Jake ran to where their deceased friend lay, halting harshly when they saw that Sunghoon’s body wasn’t the only entity on that field.

“Who is that?”. It was Heesung who asked this time. He and Giselle ran over as soon as they’d heard the screams and shouts, and even Sunoo and Riki and Jungwon were running over to them.

It was obvious who Heesung was referring to, but no way to answer. She looked about 9 years of age. A small silhouette of a girl. There were no discernible features on her face, and all they could make out was a mop of unkempt black hair, greasy and dragging till her ankles.

None of them wanted to stick around for answers. Not when the little girl took a step forward, barefoot and crunching against the ground. That’s when they felt it, the extreme and spine-chilling bolt of terror. Each of them took off almost immediately, running into the school building, ready to hide in there then have to cross the girl who, despite her size, acted almost like a barricade against the school gate.

Park Sunghoon was dead. Park Sunghoon was dead and she was probably next. That’s all Y/N could think of as she ran into the school, breathing heavily, trying her best to enter the art classroom, the room she was most familiar with. What Jungwon said while they were running is what plagues her mind.

“It’s happening. It’s the Body Search.”

What the hell even was a Body Search? And frankly she wasn’t planning to stick around here long enough to find out. If it was anything that required what just happened, she’d rather not know. There was a dead silence around the room where she crouched, keeping an eye out by the door. That’s when she heard it.

Pit. Pat. The sound of two little feet approaching the room she hid in. Pit. Pat.

Pit.Pat.Pit.Pat.Pit.Pat. The feet were running. Running to where she was, ready to tear her apart.

Her mouth opened, ready to scream, until a veiny, large hand covered her mouth. Wide eyed, she turned to where the hand emerged from. Jay. Crouched under the desk right next to her, he raised a slender finger up to his lips, to signal what she had to do. To be absolutely quiet. To survive. To think. Slowly nodding her head down, she turned back to where the door. In another time, in another situation, she would have blushed hard at what had just happened. But a near-death experience leaves very little room for crushes.

The feet seemed to be distancing from them, making both Jay and Y/N feel a sense of relief. A relief, that was short lived. Not with Jake’s and Giselle’s simultaneous screams piercing the air. Abruptly getting up from their positions, survival be damned, the two made way down to the hallway where She saw a frozen Giselle, a Jake bleeding out at the landing of the staircase, neck bent at an angle and eyes slack. And Lee Heesung. A Lee Heesung who seemed almost suspended midair, until their eyes traveled down to where the jagged end of the wooden frame of a classroom door seemed to have been struck right through the middle of his chest, blood unceremoniously pooling down to the floor just below him. It’s when her eyes shifted to where Giselle was that Y/N let the scream bubbling inside her go.

Because, standing with Giselle was a little girl, barely 9 or 10 years old. Matted black hair that reached her ankles, and a body covered in blood. A hand outstretched, that seemed to have passed right into Giselle’s mouth, and emerging from the back of her head - little fingers wiggling in her joy. It seemed that Y/N’s scream delighted her even more, because she gave a Cheshire-like grin on hearing it - pale, crooked teeth forming the most terrifying smile they’d ever seen. Grabbing Y/N’s hand and leaving no second to spare, Jay took off in the opposite direction. He wasn’t going to wait around to see what was to happen to them - in what creative ways this little demented creature could murder them in cold blood. His plan was to reach the chapel where it all began.

Yang Jungwon was dead. Yang Jungwon was dead, and so were Jake, Giselle, Heesung and Sunghoon. NingNing and the juniors were missing. It was only him and Y/N he cared about right now.

Sunoo’s panting hard, and his lungs prickle with the burn of exhaustion, as the adrenaline gives away. He’s running and he’s been running for a while now. He lost their senior NingNing a while back - the red smears at the bottom of the staircase led him to believe so. The low visibility isn’t really helping either. He can’t tell where the little girl is either, or where Riki or Jungwon disappeared off to. Run. Running. That’s all he can think of right now.

He reached the shoe rack, the little white cubicles creating a mosaic in front of him. The burn in his lungs has only intensified. “This is a good place to hide”, he thought to himself.

“Hyung!”

Sunoo jumps violently, organs violently lurching inside him. Still no sound of small feet, only Riki, glad to have found his friend in one piece still. Riki quickly sprints to where Sunoo has crouched, a little wooden cubby meant for storing the smaller sports equipment. Riki’s hands are desperate as they grab on to Sunoo - being alive meant something much more important right now. Riki was scared. The tsundere Riki, their class mood maker, a happy go lucky kid was scared right now, and a sense of despair and hopelessness hit Sunoo right in the heart.

But despair, or any emotion was cut short.

Pit, pat. Little red feet. Run. Hide.

Their eyes grow wide simultaneously. Pulling Riki closer by the arm, Sunoo prays with whatever finality he can muster. She must be getting closer, and it’s all he can do right now. Because no matter where they hid, she’d find them. Sniffing out their fear maybe - the thundering hearts and the tremors that shook in their bones.

It’s dead quiet now, and it makes Sunoo’s ears ring slightly. Everything held a bit of horror in it, including the quiet.

“Where did she go?” Sunoo barely mustered up a whisper.

“Do you think she left?”, answered Riki, in an equally low baritone sound, hoping for it to get concealed with the wind, lest they get discovered.

“We should head to the chapel-”

There’s a crash. That’s all that Sunoo registers. The speed and the totality of it was far too much for him to realize the rest. All he knows right now is that she’s here, there was a sound, and the space where Riki was is empty now.

There’s something dripping on his head. Where’s Riki? Where’s the Little Red Girl? Where’s Riki? Where’s the Little Red Girl?

He looks up to the source of the mysterious liquid dripping onto his head - only to lock eyes with Riki’s lifeless ones.

“Fuck, what the hell is that?”. Jay’s frustrated and scared. So fucking scared. His best friends are dead. “Do you think we might find answers in the chapel?”, the quiet voice of Y/N Y/L/N cut through in the frenzy in his mind. His childhood friend, whom he’d grown estranged from, had no idea what she was like now. But he knew who she was before - a daisy in a lawn. A force of nature that made the shy, new kid in the neighborhood Jay feel more welcome than he ever did when he moved to Korea from the States. She inspired him, in a way, to be the Jay of today. And she didn’t know that at all. Realising his silence, he cleared his throat and answered - “Well I hope. This is all madness.”

The medbay was silent as they sat there, trying to catch their breaths. The adrenaline was starting to wear off, and the exhaustion was catching on, considering their sweaty bodies and their panting breaths.

“She’s here.”

Y/N says it with grim finality, while Jay still cranes his head to hear where the little girl could be? “How do you know?”, Jay turns to look at the teary-eyed Y/N. Sobs are sputtering out of her mouth now, faster as tears stream down her face. Alarmed by this new development in her emotion, he opens his mouth but Y/N cuts him right off. “Jay, I’m sorry. She’s behind you.”

The alarm is harsh in its morning call. It’s blaring and blaring, and bleary eyed Y/N wakes up drenched in cold sweat. This isn’t right.

“Your dad already left, so I’m planning to drop his lunch off at his office later. I made fried tempura prawns today, way too many I think. Share them with your friends, alright?

This isn't right. This isn't adding up. There’s something wrong. She saw all this happen, in a dream? No. That can’t be. Something’s wrong.

The bus pulls back and the cat yowls, and then students gather near its dead body. It’s wrong already, but she knows something is off when she makes eye contact with a certain Park Jay, who’s eyes mirror the same discomfort on her face.

“What do you know then, Jungwon?”

They’re all huddled by the stairwell - All 10, seemingly alive considering the gruesome ways they all died last night. It was Jungwon asking the question, flanked by Giselle and NingNing on the other side. Jungwon is nervous too - glasses slipping on the bridge of his nose and wringing his hands around. Even the juniors joined them - staring hard.

“Well. I’m not sure about this alright? But I’ve read some books about occult practices and hauntings before. Based on our situation, well.”

“Fucking spit it out.” Park Sunghoon harshly said, his body while seeming nonchalant against the railings, seemed to be shaking in some sort of feeling - fear, but also anger. Maybe the absolute bone-chilling realization that you’re repeating the same day.

“I think we’re participating in the Body Search!”. The words tumble out of Jungwon’s mouth in a nervous ball left for the rest to untangle.

#enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen fics #lee heesung #park jay x reader #park jongseong #sim jaeyun #sim jake #enhypen au #🔍 mine #yang jungwon #nishimura riki #kim sunoo #sim jake x reader #lee heesung x reader #park sunghoon x reader

17 notes · View notes

son1c · 1 year

Note

Now I really wanna know what Windthrow and Mangey would be like together. I'm aware Windthrow is technically on Boscage!Eggman's side, but I'm dying of cuteness thinking of him and Mangey forming their own little pack because Puppies™.

well, i was thinking that, after watching windthrow thru the leaves for however long, the Treetop Crew(TM) becomes well and truly afraid of his darkened and threatening silhouette. and then mangey ends up falling off one of the canopy platforms somehow. and since he doesn't know that he can use his tails to fly, yeah, it's gonna be long drop.

but luckily, windthrow is there! and he catches him. and even though it's not what he was supposed to bring back, well... he's already got him, so, why not, right? and windthrow ends up taking mangey back to the ""egg base"" where the last of earth's surviving population is set up.

the Treetop Crew(TM), of course, sees mangey get carried away by the Big Scary Monster they've been hyping up for weeks with make-believe, grandiose tales of terror and... well, they Freak Out, to put it lightly. like, oh, he's dead for sure. but then after they calm down a little bit, they all decide they gotta go rescue him. they've already lost one friend, after all, and can't go with losing another.

(prim isn't happy about throwing herself into danger, but... she doesn't want the kid to die either, so she sucks it up.)

obviously, mangey is fine. windthrow didn't and wouldn't hurt him. he is, however, extremely scared and confused because holy hydrangeas, what even is this place? there's weird fleshy creatures walking around and so many new smells he's never smelled before... including... edible smells.

he looks toward the table on the other side of the room and-- oh, geez, that's a lot of food. more food than he's probably ever seen in his entire life.

the only problem is that big fluffy monster is standing in between him and the food. and he's scared. but... and now the gears start to turn in his head... should he be scared? mangey sizes the monster up. really looks at him for the first time.

and while he's doing that, windthrow--who rarely talks--asks him this: "you hungry, little buddy?"

and bro it is alllllllllll over. they are INSTANT friends. and mangey has never been happier to have almost died falling out of a tree LMAO

#anonymous #windthrow #text heavy #''''eggman'''' is just shocked to see a survivor come from outside of the base tbh. definitely not something that happens very often.#10verse

71 notes · View notes

cozy-the-overlord · 11 months

Text

The Lighthouse

Summary: Stabbed by Kurse on Svartalfheim and fading away in his brother's arms, Loki expects to wake in Valhalla, having finally died in battle like a true Asgardian warrior. Instead, he finds himself drowning in a sea of inky black, the only light coming from the stoic tower guarding over the darkness. The woman who tends the lighthouse is as mysterious as she is caring, and Loki can't shake the feeling that she knows far more than she's telling …

Word Count: 10,141

Pairing: Loki x Sigyn

A/N: Summer before last I watched a video about a creepy old lighthouse and thought it make a fantastic location for a scary story. Two weeks ago I was going through my notes trying to find an idea for a spur-of-the-moment Halloween fic and I came across it again. This story ended up being quite different than I originally envisioned -- I'm not even sure you can even call it a Halloween fic anymore lol -- but I'm still very happy with it. Also huge thank you and shout out to @lokislittlesigyn, who both researched and beta read for me as well as just cheered me on throughout the whole process. I don't think this story would have come together as well as it did if not for her <3<3<3

Thanks for reading, and happy Halloween!!

Warnings: Injury, grief, death/afterlife

Tags: @lucywrites02 @gaitwae @whatafuckingdumbass @the-emo-asgardian @imnotrevealingmyname @electroma89 @lokislittlesigyn @moumouton4 @theredrenard @justdontmindmetm @lostgreekgod @naterson

If you want to be tagged, feel free to send an ask/message :)

Read it on Ao3!

“I’ll tell Father what you did here today.”

“I didn’t do it for him.”

There’s a light haloing his brother’s face, growing brighter and brighter until his silhouette has been washed away with the barren landscape as his own vision turns white behind his eyelids and even still it grows brighter, so bright it sears his retinas, so bright it hurts–

Loki gasps for air without realizing, breaking through the bitter cold of the water—water? There’s no chance to process it—another wave crashes over his head and thrusts him beneath the inky black of the sea. He thrashes against the current, fighting his way back to the surface even as the piercing pain in his chest explodes throughout his torso. It takes everything to keep himself from going under again. The light has moved—no longer on his face, it cuts through the starless void of the night sky, a glowing beacon in the dark, moving slowly across the horizon. Loki can’t breathe.

This isn’t Valhalla.

That much is clear, and the realization numbs him more than the cold. He died in battle. He died fighting for Asgard, for Thor, for her. She was supposed to be there to greet him. His eyes burn with salt and tears. It’s supposed to be over—he fought and died, why can’t he rest? Why is it not over? Norns, he just wants it to be over!

If not Valhalla, where am I?

He can’t think of any story that told of an ocean waiting beyond death, but he doesn’t have much time to try to remember either because yet another wave is cresting, and he barely has a moment to gulp a mouthful of air before he goes under yet again.

He must get out of this water. He can’t last like this. The light swoops across the ocean once more in the same steady movement. A lighthouse, he realizes suddenly, and curses himself for not making the connection sooner. A lighthouse means land, and people to tend to it. A lighthouse means safety. In this moment, nothing else could matter more.

Loki gasps a great heaving breath and begins kicking towards the light.

It’s a slow process. He has no way of knowing how long he’s been there, thrashing along the surface as best he can with what feeling he has left in his extremities. Between the waves slapping him back and the current tugging him every which way, it’s hard to believe he’s made any progress. The wound in his chest burns with every movement of his arms, a searing pain that zips up his spine and streaks all along his torso. His mouth is dry with blood. And all the while, the light flashes before him, soft and mocking as ever. Perhaps the lighthouse isn’t real, he wonders hazily; perhaps it exists only in his mind, and he’s condemned to suffer these waves until Ragnarok comes as penance for his failings in life.

He’s barely conscious enough to register when his feet scrape against sharp rock, his fingers almost too numb to grasp the stony shoreline. He collapses in a heap where the waves deposit him on the coast, his labored breathing drowning out all other sound. He knows he should crawl up, at least get his lower half out of the water, but his body is leaden and heavy, and Loki can feel himself drifting away.

I’m dead. Above him, the light flickers around a shape, a dark silhouette, a woman’s form. As weary as he is, his heart leaps in relief.

“Mother?” he calls out weakly.

There’s no response. The light is fading around him, and he’s fading with it. I’m dead, he thinks again. What an odd way to be dead…

…

He wakes gradually—so gradually that he doesn’t quite realize what it is he’s doing even as he blinks the sleep from his eyes. There’s the plush of mattress beneath his back, cotton blanket bunched around his waist. He’s in bed. For a brief moment it’s his bed, the one in his palace bedroom just down the hall from Thor’s, and he’s a child stirring awake after having fallen asleep atop the book he stayed up too late reading. But Loki blinks again, and the memory fades back into its place in a past life.

The room in which he wakes is no palatial chamber. It’s small, and quite barren—aside from the bed (which is more of a cot, now that he’s looking at it properly) there’s nothing more than a modest nightstand and a faded rug for furnishing. The stone walls are gray and dusted with age. A lantern flickers on its hook next to the door. The window to his right is draped with thick black fabric, with not the slightest hint of daylight peaking through.

Loki shivers, and it’s then that he realizes his chest is bare. Both his armor and his tunic have vanished, and his torso is wrapped in white cloth bandages. He presses his hand to the spot where the dark elf’s sword pierced his body. The pain is still there, but it’s muted ache rather than a biting hurt—the ache of a wound attended to briefly by a healer’s magic. Loki’s head is spinning. He presses harder and winces.

Is he dead? Alive? Surely a deceased soul would no longer require a healer’s touch, but in the same vein, if he had somehow been rescued from Svartalfheim, would he not have awoken in his Asgardian cell rather than … whatever this place is? And the ocean—had he dreamt that? Or had someone pulled him out? Who healed him? Where is he?

Loki pulls himself up with a groan. His body feels stiff, out of use, and he wonders how long he’s been laying here. Beneath the blanket, he finds that his boots have also been removed, although thankfully his mysterious guardian deigned to leave him his trousers. He sighs, bracing himself against the chill in the air, and staggers towards the door.

It leads him out into a cramped hallway, the right side ending in a wall and another covered window, the left twisting around what appeared to be the base of a staircase and disappearing into another room. Loki’s chest aches with a new vigor, and he leans against the doorframe to catch his breath, glaring daggers at his bandaged torso. It’s ridiculous that such a short distance would demand so much effort, he barely walked his own length—

But he’s distracted from his frustration by the sound that cuts through the silence—a lilting, feminine hum from somewhere down the corridor. Loki freezes.

He knows that melody. It’s a lullaby—a soft, gentle little tune that Frigga would sing to them as children to soothe them at night. The thought brings a lump to his throat. How long has it been since those days? All at once he remembers the woman on the beach.

Could it be?

Loki is too afraid to let himself hope. Instead, he rushes down the hallway with a new urgency.

The space he finds himself in is not much bigger than the room in which he awoke. It’s a small kitchen area, lined with cupboards and shelves and a meager counter space. A simple stovetop rests in the corner, a looming grandfather clock in the other. A table and a pair of chairs sit across from the large window on the left wall, a window covered, just as the ones that came before. On the right, a narrow staircase ascends into darkness.

The source of the humming stands at the stovetop, tending to a whistling kettle. Loki’s heart falls—it’s not his mother. No, this woman is much younger—a slender, almost ghostlike form in her creamy white dress, frayed hem brushing against the floor as she sways gently to the sound of her own voice. Her dark hair rests in a long braid down the length of her back. She wraps the kettle’s handle in a stained cloth as she moves it from the stove with the practiced motion of someone who’s done so a hundred times before. It’s then that she turns to see him standing at the room’s entrance and freezes with a gasp.

“Oh!” Her brown eyes wide, she stares at him as if he’s risen from the dead. Perhaps he has. Her expression turns hard. “What are you doing up?”

Loki stiffens. “Who are you?”

The woman ignores the question, dropping the kettle on the counter with a clang as she rushes towards him. Loki tenses, half expecting a struggle, but before she even reaches his side he finds himself whisked into one of the chairs, landing with a thud against the wood, head spinning.

He grunts. Seidr. It shouldn’t be a surprise—after all, he had known that his injuries must have been treated with magic—but he finds himself caught off guard just the same.

Loki moves to stand up, but the woman is in front of him now, gently but firmly pressing him back into the seat. Her hands are clammy on his bare shoulders.

“You’re not supposed to be up yet,” she frets. “You’ll hurt yourself—” She tips his chin up to peer at his eyes before pressing two fingers to his pulse. Loki flinches away instinctively. Her skin is cold, but it’s not just that—there’s something about her, the ease, the familiarity with which she touches him, that he finds disquieting.

“Who are you?” he demands again. “Why did you rescue me?”

She glances back at him, as if the question caught her off guard. “I-I’m Sigyn. I tend to the lighthouse.” She bites her lip. “You washed up on the beach.”

The lighthouse. Loki remembers the beam of light he had so frantically kicked through the waves towards. So that had been real after all. This ramshackle building must be it. Still, it explains very little of his predicament.

His eyes narrow at his rescuer. “You’re Asgardian.” Sigyn looks as though she is going to argue, but there’s no denying her accent. He continues without giving her the chance. “What is this place? It’s not Asgard.”

She hesitates. “It’s … it’s a kind of in-between.” Her gaze drifts to the covered window. “Not many find their way here.”

“In between what?” Loki asks. “The realms?”

Sigyn huffs a dry laugh, straightening to her feet. “The realms don’t exist here.” She returns to the kettle on the counter to pour a cup of steaming tea, a cup she then presses into his hands. “You should drink this. It will help with your healing.”

Loki eyes the tea suspiciously. The color is normal enough, but it has a medicinal stench about it that makes his eyes water. He has no intention of drinking it.

Instead, he glares back at her. “You didn’t answer my question.”

She sighs, collapsing into the chair across from him. “This is a place in between life and death. Somewhere neither living nor dead.”

Loki frowns. “That’s impossible. There’s no such place.”

Sigyn laughs again, but the sound has a far more bitter edge than before. “I thought so too,” she says. “Then I woke up here. It’s not so bad, though. A bit lonely, but …” Her voice goes quiet. After a moment she smiles, but it seems more of a pained act than anything else. “It could be worse.”

His frown deepens. None of this makes any sense. “But … then … if that’s the case, how did I come to be here?” he asks. “Why am I not simply dead?” He strains to remember his last moments on Svartalfheim, strains to recall anything out of the ordinary that could have happened to cast him here, but there’s nothing. He fell to an Elven sword in battle. There’s no reason why he should be anything but dead.

Sigyn only shrugs. “I don’t know. I just found you.” She’s not looking at him, picking at a splinter on the side of the table. Loki’s gaze darkens, but he doesn’t show it in his voice.

“How did you come to be here, then?” he asks.

His hostess doesn’t answer. Instead, she shakes her head, closing her eyes and motioning towards the tea. “Please drink it.” Her voice is thick. “I promise it will help.”

Loki raises his eyebrows. “And I’m to trust the promise of a strange woman who claims to be neither living nor dead and won’t give a straight answer?”

Sigyn looks back at him, eyes wide. “I couldn’t kill you if I wanted to.” There’s a desperate tinge to her voice as she leans forward. “Death doesn’t exist here.”

“If that’s the case, why bother healing me?”

“I …” She stops, and Loki is stunned to realize there’s tears pooling in her eyes.

“I don’t like to see you in pain,” she whispers at last.

There’s a heaviness in the air that sends a shiver down his back. Loki opens his mouth to question further—who are you really?—but he’s cut off by the sudden ringing of the grandfather clock, a sinister, resonant tolling that seems to echo in his chest. Sigyn trembles, closing her eyes with a shaky inhale. A stray teardrop drips down her cheek. After a moment, she lets out a breath.

“Excuse me, I must tend to the light.” She stands and turns to start up the stairs. “Please stay here. This place—it’s quite a labyrinth, and you’re still injured. I’ll be back soon.”

He watches her disappear up into the darkness, the creaking of her steps echoing throughout the building for several minutes after she vanishes. Loki sets the tea down on the table. This place—it’s quite a labyrinth, and you’re still injured. Was it a threat? Maybe, maybe not, but Loki takes it as a challenge.

The first thing he examines are the many cabinets and drawers lining the walls of the kitchen. He’s not sure what he’s expecting to find—evidence of spellwork, perhaps? Weapons?— but the contents turn out to be fairly ordinary. Really, there isn’t much at all. He’s surprised to find most of the cabinets are bare. It seems she’s prepared to serve a party of two—he finds two plates, two forks, two butter knives, two spoons, the matching teacup to the one he left on the table. Loki frowns. Sigyn had given the impression that she lived alone prior to his arrival. Had she expected him, he wonders?

The grandfather clock reveals little as well. It appears to be of Midgard, and it’s easily the most ornate item he has yet to see in the lighthouse—an intricately carved overlay of mahogany rests above the glimmering gold pendulum encased in glass. The pendulum swings with a soft tick, just as any normal clock would, but Loki is surprised to realize that the clock’s face is completely barren. There’s no numbers, no hands, no way to tell the time—just his own face reflected back at him in the pale slab of metal.

Odd.

Loki supposes that in a world beyond the bounds of life and death, the time would be irrelevant, but the clock’s rings had clearly signaled something for his strange rescuer. Perhaps it served as more of a timer? Regardless, it’s confusing.

He moves to the window, peering beneath the heavy black curtain. It doesn’t make much of a difference. The world outside is just as dark, the whole place smothered in the inky black of night. Even the sky is starless.

The only reprieve is the glowing beam of light from somewhere in the tower above him, slowly passing across the horizon with a steadfast resolve. Only through its reflection can Loki make out the choppy waves in the ocean below. He shivers despite himself and moves away from the window.

There’s not much else in the kitchen, so he goes back down the corridor through which he first came, returning to the little bedroom he awoke in to see if there was anything there he missed. There isn’t—the tiny room is just as barren as he remembers it. The ache in his chest is beginning to grow once more, and Loki sits down on the bed to rest a moment as he catches his breath and decides what to do next. He shivers again. Goodness, these old stone walls are so drafty, and here he is in nothing but his trousers. He had forgotten to ask Sigyn what she had done with his clothes. They certainly weren’t down here.

Come to think of it, there were several things that were missing from this level. There was no washroom anywhere to be found, and unless she had tucked him into her own bed to sleep off his injuries (a thought he finds too unsettling to accept as reality), she too must have a bedroom somewhere else in this tower. His thoughts return to the staircase—he had assumed it only went up to the light at the top of the spire, but perhaps it also led to a second level before that. It was a thought worth exploring. With a groan (his body seems reluctant to rise from the mattress), Loki pulls himself to his feet and hobbles back to the kitchen.

The spiraling staircase is steeper than he would have preferred, but Loki forces himself to ignore it. If he (seemingly) survived a sword to the chest, he can manage a few steps. By the time he comes to the second level he’s panting and out of breath, leaning against the wall for support, but he’s pleased to find that he was in fact correct in his assertion.

There’s a long hallway stretching before him, lit only by a flickering lantern dangling on the wall at its end. He can make out the outline of closed doors resting on either side. This is what he had intended to explore, but there’s another, far brighter light flickering above him, and Loki glances back up the spiraling staircase. Was it just his imagination, or did he hear a voice? His brow furrows. That hadn’t been Sigyn speaking—no, that had been a masculine sound. He thinks back to the pair of dishes in the cupboard, the pair of chairs resting on either side of the table.

There’s someone else here.

He can’t hear the voice anymore. Had he even heard it at all? Loki starts up the staircase again—perhaps if he gets closer, he’ll be able to better make out what is happening in this tower. The pain in his chest is almost masked by the rapid pounding of his heart.

To his horror, once he passes the second level, the spiral widens to be the full circumference of the tower. So many stairs. Loki peers up at the lantern room above him—the bright light makes it difficult to tell how high it is, but the staircase stretches nearly beyond his vision. He can make out the shadow of a person moving about the balcony, but if it’s Sigyn’s or another’s, he can’t tell. Loki gulps a breath and continues on.

Just a little farther, he tells himself, just so you can see better.

His head aches—it’s the flickering of the light, it’s straining his eyes and making his vision all spotty. He tries to ignore it, but then his chest sears in pain, so potent that for a moment everything goes white. With a soft cry, Loki leans against the stone wall. His hands are trembling.

It’s alright. It’s alright. He presses his back against the wall, trying to keep his legs from buckling under his weight. It’s alright. He just needs a moment to rest. His legs give out anyway, and he slides to the floor with a hard thump. The stairs are spinning. The whole tower is spinning. His chest is beyond just pain now, it burns, stinging with every heaving inhale he gasps.He gulps, but he can’t seem to find a breath.

“Loki?” The sound is one of shock and terror, and for a moment it pulls him free of his dizziness. Sigyn is standing a few steps above him; even silhouetted by the glow of the lighthouse, the look of horror on her face is clear as day. He’s barely processed the realization that she said his name before she does it again.

“Loki– oh Norns—” She rushes down the stairs to kneel in front of him, hands fluttering to his chest. He follows her frightened eyes and realizes dimly that his bandages have soaked through with blood. “Loki, I told you to stay—”

Loki tries to respond, but his tongue doesn’t seem to be working, and the words turn to mush in his mouth. Sigyn doesn’t seem to be looking for a reply anyways. She presses a hand to where his shoulder meets his neck, and for once the coolness of her skin feels pleasant against his—when did this tower become so unbearably hot? She’s murmuring something, words he can’t quite hear, but the pain in his chest is slowly melting to a dull ache, the fuzziness in his vision fading away. When she looks up at him again, he’s struck by how her brown eyes sparkle in the eerie light.

“Can you walk if you hold me?” she asks, and he can only nod, gripping her shoulder as she guides him with an arm around his torso back down the staircase. It’s slow work, but she’s gentle and steady, her earlier admonishments replaced with soft words of encouragement as he stumbles along.

He’s expecting her to take him back to his original room, but instead Sigyn leads him to the unexplored second level, and he’s grateful to not have to walk as far. The door on the right opens to a bedroom almost as threadbare as the first, although Loki does catch a glimpse of his tunic hanging on a clothesline to the side along with other various articles of laundry. He huffs a laugh to himself as she lays him down on the bed. At least that’s one mystery solved.

Sigyn wastes no time getting to work on his wound, cutting away the soiled bandages with a surgical precision and dabbing the blood with a damp rag. Loki watches in silence as she begins to redress the injury. He’s skilled enough in emergency care—after all, knowing such can mean life or death on the battlefield— but these are the movements of someone who’s been trained with far more proficiency.

She’s a healer.

Loki had already suspected as much, but this seems to be confirmation. However, that doesn’t explain everything.

“You know my name,” he says at last.

Sigyn jerks her head up. “What?”

“You called me Loki. I never told you my name.” He studies her with an exhausted sort of suspicion. She confuses him. There’s clearly much that she’s not divulging, but she seems so sincere in her actions. “Who are you, really?”

She inhales, her gaze planted firmly on his bandages. “I told you already. I’m Sigyn.”

Loki huffs. This woman is a terrible liar. “You also told me that you didn’t know me, and yet here we are.”

She bites her lip. “I never said that …”

“So you do know me?”

“It’s …” The bed creaks as she shifts her weight against it. “It’s more complicated than that.”

“How? It’s a yes or no question.” Loki jerks himself up into a sitting position with a grunt. She lets out a soft cry, but when she moves to push him back down he grabs her wrists and holds them still. He’s had enough of this.

“I don’t know you,” he growls. “Before today, I have never once seen your face. And yet you know me by name. Who are you?”

She’s squirming, still avoiding his gaze. “You’re going to hurt yourself again—”

“Tell me what’s going on here!”

A tense beat of silence passes, but then she sighs, her arms going limp. When she tries to pull away, Loki doesn’t stop her. There’s a shift in the air that tells him he’s won.

Sigyn walks over to the window, runs her hand down the dark fabric of the curtain as if in a trance. She stands there for several moments, immobile and silent. He’s wondering if she’s going to say anything at all when she turns back towards him, an anxious look on her face. “Do you … are you familiar with the concept of … alternate lives?

“The concept of – what?” Loki’s thoughts stutter – he’s not sure what he had been preparing for her to say, but that’s definitely not it.

“I mean – goodness, I’ve never explained this out loud before.” She lets out a nervous laugh and comes back to sit beside him on the bed. “I mean … you’re you,” she says, gesturing towards him, “as you are here today, because you made a series of specific choices, and the people in your life made a series of specific choices, and all the generations of people who came before you made a series of specific choices, and that all lead to you, with your specific set of experiences and feelings and beliefs. Yes?”

She’s looking directly at him, her gaze as intense as it is apprehensive, and Loki swallows. He almost wishes she would go back to being afraid to make eye contact. But he nods.

She studies him a moment, as if deciding whether to believe him. “But if any one of those choices were different,” she says finally, “If you did something different, or your parents did something different, or a person in the distant past you don’t even realize you’re connected to did something different—if anything changed—your life would look different to how it is now. Perhaps it would be a small change, or perhaps it would be such a drastic alteration that it doesn’t look remotely the same. Are you still following me?”

“I believe so …” Loki says, although his voice sounds less certain. He pauses for a moment. “It sounds like Skuld’s Net.”

He’s not sure if it’s a fair connection to make— the matrix-esque symbol is meant to represent the web of fate’s possibilities past, present, and future, but he is very aware that he’s grasping for something familiar to cling on to in this sea of strangeness.

But Sigyn’s eyes light up. “Yes, that’s a good way of thinking about it!” she exclaims. “So now, imagine if every different choice, every variation, every individual thread, exists in its own separate reality.” She interlocks her fingers together, then slowly pulls her hands apart to demonstrate.

Loki’s frowns. “But if that were true – if every infinitesimal difference created a different universe—” Norns, his head is spinning “—that would be impossible to quantify. There would be infinite possibilities.”

She gives a wane smile. “Precisely.”

He’s lost in thought for a while, grappling with her words. A separate reality for every individual thread. It’s too fantastic, too absolutely ridiculous, to be believed. And yet …

“And you mean to tell me that you knew me in an alternate universe?” he asks finally. “That’s what you’re trying to get at?”

“Oh!” Sigyn is clearly caught off guard by the question. She swallows, glancing up at the ceiling. It seems her eyes are misting over again. “A … a version of you, yes.”

Loki is quiet. Does he believe her? Can he believe her? He’s not sure himself.

“How?” His voice feels thick.

“What?”

“How did you know me? What was I to you?”

“You—” She’s definitely fighting tears now, furiously trying to blink them away. Her words come out strained. “My husband. You were my husband.”

Loki feels as though he’s been doused in cold water.

“What?” He can barely dislodge the sound from his throat.

Sigyn gives a jittery nod. “Yes. I, uh –” She reaches under her collar to pull out an oval locket on a gold chain—it’s an Asgardian style, a trinket he remembers as being a popular gift between courting lovers after their first solstice together. Sigyn unlatches the mechanism to open it. It projects a holographic image in her hand, soft and warm in the dismal shadows of the candlelit room. Loki’s heart stops.

It’s him, unmistakably him, gentle curls resting against his shoulders as he beams down at the woman he’s cradling against his chest—Sigyn, he realizes dimly, although it takes a moment to recognize her smiling visage, lively and joyful in a way that seems lost to the haggard woman who sits across from him. Loki stares, unable to take his eyes off of it. It’s me. His chest feels empty. His hologram’s face is crinkled with a jubilance that Loki’s not sure he’s ever experienced in his life. Sigyn watches the projection in silence for a moment before clicking the locket closed once more. She looks over at him, waiting for him to speak. His mouth has gone quite dry.

Loki doesn’t know what to say. He can’t meet her gaze. He swallows. “How did we meet?” he croaks at last. “Or … you and him, how did you meet?”

She lets out a soft little breath—surprise, perhaps? Or was she upset? “I was a novice, in the healing ward. You – him – he was always getting into trouble, always needing something patched up … we just got to talking a lot.” Her voice is drifting away, into something lighter, dreamier, and she lets out a small giggle. “There was this one time, on Alfheim, you took an arrow to the shoulder—it had been dipped in something, so healing spells didn’t work properly, and we had to give you a sedative for the pain, and you completely out of it, just saying the most ridiculous things—”

“Hold on—” Loki reaches out without knowing what he’s reaching for. Alfheim … shoulder … poisoned arrow … Words and images click together in his mind, leaving behind only confusion. Is this what it’s like to go insane? “I remember that – happening to me, I mean.” He gulps a breath. “Thor had gotten into a row with an Elven militia … you weren’t there, though. Eir handled it …”

Sigyn hums—it’s a soft noise, with only just a hint of sadness. “That makes sense. I … I don’t think I exist in your universe.”

He furrows his brow. “How’s that?”

“I don’t know. The circumstances necessary for my birth just didn’t happen.” She shrugs. Her smile seems tired. “Infinite possibilities, remember.”

Infinite possibilities … He’s struck by a sudden thought. “Is my mother alive in your universe?”

“Frigga?” Sigyn sounds surprised. “Yes, of course – or at least she was when I was there.” She lets out an awkward laugh. “I’ve not exactly kept up with current events since landing here.”

Loki stares into space. He feels rather like he’s falling again. There’s a world where she’s alive. Where I’m happily married. Where everything is different. What is reality anymore? Does any of it matter? Is any of this real?

Sigyn reaches forward, resting a cautious hand on his forearm. “I’m sorry – I know this is a lot to take in, all at once. I really didn’t want to just drop it on you—”

“How do you know all this?” he interrupts. “With the different universes, and all the rest? Is this common knowledge in your world?”

“Oh …” she stutters, glancing away again. “Well … no, not exactly. I … I sort of stumbled into that knowledge on my own.”

His suspicions are roused again instantly. “What does that mean?”

“I was …” Sigyn gulps. “I was studying. I was looking for something else, a different kind of magic, and I … I inadvertently discovered all this.” She motions distractedly to the air, and it reminds Loki of their surroundings.

“Is that how you ended up here?” he asks. “Because of your studies?”

“Essentially …” her smile seems anxious, uncomfortable. “I … I disrupted things.”

“What things?”

Sigyn stands abruptly. “It’s … it’s probably better if we don’t talk about it.”

“Why?” Loki stands too, perhaps a bit too fast given the ache in his temples, but he ignores it in favor of maintaining his questioning glare. “Don’t I deserve to know? As your husband?”

She flinches, and he can’t help but feel a bit guilty—he didn’t mean to sound so mocking. But he pushes the thought from his mind. Remember the voice in the lighthouse tower. There are things she’s not telling you.

“What if you get dressed first?” she asks finally. “Get dressed and eat something? Then we can talk more.”

It’s tempting to refuse, to insist that he will not be moved until every secret has been revealed to him, but her words make it difficult to ignore the chill running down his spine.

“Very well,” he relents.

…

Loki never would have expected dinner in a land between life and death to be so delicious.

“What did you call this again?” he asks as he scrapes the last bits of tartly sweet scarlet sauce from the plate. When they had sat down to eat, he had insisted that Sigyn eat a bit from both plates first, to alleviate his instinct to expect poisoning (she had done so without arguing, a slight amusement on her lips, and he found himself wondering if his interdimensional counterpart was similarly prone to suspicion), but now he was almost sorry that he had given up even the smallest portion.

“Kompe with lingonberry compote.” Sigyn grins at him from across the table—it’s the first time he’s seen her truly smile, and he has to admit, there’s something endearing to the sight. “Have you not had it before?”

“I don’t think so.” He licks his lips, chasing a final taste of compote. “I feel I’d remember if I had.”

“In my universe, it was your favorite.” She’s still smiling, but it’s fading into something dreamier, more reflective. “I actually learned to make it because you liked it so much. I surprised you with it once.”

Loki sits back in his seat, gaze drifting to the covered window. It’s strange—how she knows him without actually knowing him, how she has all this history with him, and yet simultaneously not with him. It’s a bit like talking to an omniscient being. He wonders what his interdimensional counterpart is doing right now.

“So we’re very similar, I presume?” he says. “Him and I?”

Sigyn is quiet as she clears the table of dishes. “Yes. It’s … it’s a bit uncanny, to be honest.” She huffs a fond laugh to herself. “He was about as terrible at following my medical advice as you are—never wanted to stay still.” Smirking, she adds, “I threatened to tie him to the bed once.”

“Oh.” How am I supposed to respond to that? “… did you?”

She seems to realize all at once what it was she just said, and her cheeks flush crimson red. “Oh goodness, no, not – no, definitely not.”

He chuckles at her awkwardness, but this train of thought leads another sudden station, and he goes quiet for a moment. “Did … did you and him, did you have children?”

Goodness, what a strange thought. Somehow Loki has never been able to picture himself as a father—even when he was younger, before he knew the truth of his existence, when he thought he would have to produce heirs like any normal prince might, the idea felt like something that would happen to a faceless stranger in some sterile future that didn’t belong to him. Knowing what he knows now, it’s a relief he never had the chance to pass his biological baggage on to an unsuspecting child.

Sigyn places the dishes into the washbasin with a soft sigh. “No … we had been talking about it though.” She pauses. “You—he was nervous. Which was fair—I was nervous too. But I think it would have worked out.” She smiles fondly. “Your poor mother—she never wanted to push, but she was so eager for grandchildren, and with Thor off traveling most of the time she had basically given up on any from him—”

“Thor traveling?” Loki interrupts, frowning. “How’s that?” He can’t imagine a world where Odin would take lightly to his firstborn spending most of the time away from the realm.

“Oh yes, he had a huge falling out with your father several years back.” She leans back with a huff as she recounts the tale. “Odin banished him to Midgard, then changed his mind and said he could come back but Thor was too stubborn to return unless Odin said that Thor had been right all along, and Odin was too stubborn to ever do that, and it just turned into a whole mess.” Sigyn turns back towards him, her brow furrowed slightly at the memory. “It was hard. You got caught up in the middle of it all, trying to be the mediator, and it was just overwhelming.”

“Huh.” Loki’s head feels a bit odd. “Something similar happened in my world but … but that’s not how it ended at all.” He shivers, but for once it has nothing to with the cold. He can feel Sigyn’s quizzical eyes on him, and so he clears his throat before she has the chance to question him further. “If Thor’s not there, then does that make me the crown prince?”

“Oh no, that’s Hela. The crown princess, I mean.” She’s turned back to the washbasin, so she doesn’t see the look of utter confusion on Loki’s face.

“Who?”

“Hela. Odin’s firstborn.” Sigyn glances back, eyes widening. “Does she not exist for you either?”

“I—” Loki’s voice doesn’t seem to be working properly. “She – he – Odin has another child?”

Sigyn nods, leaning against the counter. “At least for us. She was his first wife’s daughter. She’s quite a bit older than you and Thor – I don’t think you and her were ever particularly close.” She lets out an anxious huff of a laugh. “She always rather frightened me, to be honest.”

“Goodness …” is all Loki can manage.

Sigyn looks thoughtful as she dries the plates and puts them away. “I’m really surprised she’s not in your timeline,” she says. “I would have thought – because I don’t think yours is that different to mine? – but I suppose so.”

“Yes …” Despite everything—the overwhelming, mindboggling cascade of sudden information—Loki finds himself chuckling. “It seems my version received the short end of the stick. I don’t have you, I don’t have Hela, and I don’t have kompe.”

Leaning back against the counter, Sigyn cackles. “The most painful loss of them all!” She cocks her head to the side, still laughing. “Norns, do you not have harvest festivals? That’s always one of the main dishes for us!”

“Oh, we do—in fact I think we may serve every possible dish at them except for kompe.” He shakes his head, grinning. It feels good to laugh. “Although usually the food comes second to the mead. I remember once I was dancing with a young lady who had had far too much to drink, and she ended up losing the contents of her stomach all down my front.”

He’s not sure where the memory comes from, why it’s bubbling to his mind now. He hadn’t thought of it in years but … Norns, that seems a lifetime ago. He had been so young, a boy still, his hand trembling as he held his hand out to her—it had been the first time he had found the courage to ask a girl to dance. Funny how he can’t remember her name now, or even her face. No, when he thinks of her, all he can remember is standing frozen on the dance floor, dripping in vomit, as somewhere to the side Thor howled with such laughter that he nearly made himself sick as well.

Sigyn looks absolutely horrified. “Oh goodness, that’s terrible!” she cries with wide eyes. “Was she alright? Were you?”

Her concern is a baffling thing. “Oh yes, we were both fine,” Loki says slowly. “She was very embarrassed, if I remember correctly. And I was uninjured—I just needed to change.” He chuckles dryly. “Needless to say, it put me off dancing for a bit.”

“Not permanently, I hope?” There’s a sadness to her that he doesn’t quite understand. “Do you not care for it still?”

“I’m not sure I would say that.” Loki shrugs. “I never had any particular talent for it to begin with. And I was never a very coveted partner.”

“Really?” Sigyn bites her lip, crestfallen. “I remember you dancing so beautifully in my universe. The first time you asked – I felt so unworthy of your hand. I remember the other ladies were quite jealous.”

Jealous. He snorts at the very idea. “I’m afraid we’ve stumbled on to another interdimensional difference.”

“I’m sure you’re better than you say …” Her hesitation is a palpable thing, hovering by the counter as she gazes back at him with unsure eyes. “I’d love to dance with you.”

“What?”

“I’d love to dance with you.” As if to emphasize, she crosses the room and offers him her hand. “Now, even, if you’d like.”

He stares at her hand, unsure how to respond. Is she joking? She must be …

“I appreciate it, but …” he glances up at her. “I’m not your husband.”

Sigyn inhales softly but doesn’t move. “I know,” she says. “I’m not asking my husband.”

Loki raises his eyebrows. Norns, she’s serious. “There’s no music,” he says cautiously.

“We don’t need music.” Her smile is affectionate. “I want to give you a nice dance.”

He huffs. This is absolutely ridiculous, and yet … there’s something almost comforting about the way her fingers close around his when he takes her hand. Sigyn grins as she pulls him to his feet.

“You know how to waltz, don’t you?”

Loki smirks. “I did at one point, at least.” His free hand comes to rest on her hip, some long dormant instinct flickering back to life. She’s the right size to dance with, he thinks suddenly. She fits perfectly into his arms. It’s an odd feeling.

Sigyn reaches out to stroke a loose bit of hair from his face, her fingers lingering on his cheek for a moment before placing her hand on his shoulder. “Think you can follow my lead?”

He inhales. “I’ll do my best.”

It’s hardly a proper waltz—there’s not enough room in the small kitchen for a full dance floor, it’s hard to keep a rhythm without any sort of music, and besides, he’s woefully out of practice, but … there’s something freeing about it. They stumble about the room, Sigyn giggling as she tries to count out the beats as he bumps into the chair again, chuckling through his apologies – “You’re doing fine, just keep going, just like this—”

He smirks. “Still think you’d be jealous of my partner?”

She laughs. “Immensely so.”

He bumps her arm as he tries to twirl her and makes a face. “See, I told you—”

“No, no, you’re doing wonderfully, just like this—” Sigyn tries to spin around, but trips and nearly loses her balance. Loki grabs at her in an attempt to hold her steady, but any semblance of balance has been lost and they both go stumbling into the counter, giggling hysterically.

“Oh goodness!” She manages to gasp between fits of laughter, reaching for his chest. “Are you alright? Did I hurt you?”

He shakes his head, bracing himself against the countertop as he tries to catch his breath. “Are you sure all the ladies wanted to dance with me, darling?” he teases. “Perhaps it was you they coveted, with your unique dancing techniques.”

Sigyn collapses into giggles again. “No, I swear, I—”

But she’s cut off by a somber tolling from the corner, rattling the window beneath its cover. Through the course of the after-dinner pleasantries, Loki had forgotten the faceless grandfather clock, forgotten the flickering tower room above them, forgotten everything he had aimed to uncover. How had he let himself become so thoroughly distracted? He glances at his dance partner, who has gone very still beside the counter. The room seems to have dropped in temperature.

“What does that indicate?”

“It …” Sigyn inhales. She looks quite pale. “It means I have to tend to the light.”

“And that means?” When she doesn’t answer, he huffs in irritation. “I want to go with you.”

She shakes her head. “No … no, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?” Again, she’s silent, staring up at the heavy darkness of the staircase. Loki grips her arm, and she flinches. “You promised to tell me everything, remember?”

“I … it’s too many steps. You’ll reopen your wound again.” She won’t look directly at him, not even to try to free herself from his grasp.

“What is up there that you don’t want me to see?”

She shakes her head. “It’s not that, it’s just – it’s best if you stay down here.” There’s a desperate tinge to her voice. “Please, just believe me—”

“Why should I?” he snaps. “What are you hiding from me?”

“I’m not hiding anything, I swear—”

He lets out a puff of air, lets go of her arm. This is getting him nowhere. “I suppose I’ll have to see for myself.”

Her eyes widen. “No—Loki—” She’s grabbing at him, but he brushes her off as easily as a fly and heads towards the staircase. Her pleas are frantic, wild behind him, but he doesn’t turn. She won’t look at him, why should he look at her? “Loki please, just listen to me—” All at once, her voice hardens. “Loki, STOP.”

And then the world goes black.

…

He comes to gradually, the flickering candlelight seeping back through the corners of his vision. Something doesn’t feel right – it’s as if he’s floating. His limbs are numb.

Where am I?

Loki blinks groggily, taking in his surroundings. Stone walls, plush mattress, modest nightstand … didn’t this happen already? He blinks again. No, he’s not dreaming – he’s back in his original bedroom, the one he woke up in earlier. How did he get here? Images and words come trickling back through his mind, memories of the dance, the clock, the staircase …

She used seidr.

His gaze darkens. Of course she had—how could he have been such a fool to think she wouldn’t? He had known she was capable of it, known that she was hiding something, and yet somehow she had managed to bat her pretty little eyelashes and fill his head with stories of an alternate world – imbecile, he hisses under his breath as he rushes to the door. He knows better than this. He is better than this.

The door is locked tight. Of course it is. She isn’t pretending he’s anything but her prisoner anymore. He bangs with his fists, yelling at her to open it, but there’s no answer. Letting out a frustrated howl, he slams the door with his side. Pain explodes across his shoulder. The wood bends but doesn’t break. Loki huffs. So, she didn’t seal it with magic. An odd choice, but one that would work to his benefit. Still, there must be a better way to go about doing this. He glances around the room for something to use as a battering ram.

His eyes land on the nightstand.

A resounding crash later, and Loki is storming down the hall into the kitchen. He hasn’t much of a plan – finding Sigyn is the goal, but what is he going to do when he does? Force her to reveal her secrets to him? Yes, because that worked so well last time. He grimaces, digging his nails into the palms of his hands. At least this time he’s prepared for her tricks.

But it all comes to nothing, because the kitchen is empty – their dinner dishes still untouched on the counter where she had left them. The grandfather clock looms menacingly in the corner. Loki bites his lip, staring at its faceless visage.

How much time has passed since he lost consciousness? He has no way of knowing. Still, he thinks, his gaze drifting to the shrouded staircase, it’s no mystery as to where she’s gone.

The steps seem less steep this time – perhaps it’s the adrenaline pounding in his ears, or perhaps Sigyn’s talent for healing is really that incredible, but he passes the second level far more quickly this time, climbing into the tower without skipping a beat.

The lighthouse chamber is just as eerie as he remembers it, the flickering lantern casting shadows that dance on the stone walls like spindly spider creatures. There’s another shadow too, a figure moving methodically around the light at the top. Sigyn? Or perhaps someone else? Loki slows his pace as he nears the top to hide his approach.

There’s that voice again—Loki cranes his ears to try to make out what he’s saying, but the words escape him. There’s something familiar to it, something he can’t quite place. Is that … are there multiple voices? He frowns. Yes, there’s definitely more than one person speaking, and not in unison—they’re all talking over each other, yelling over each other, goodness, how had he not heard this before? How had he not heard this panic? It’s clearer and clearer as he climbs closer to the top. Someone, multiple someones, are being tortured. His heart jumps to his throat.

Some of them are breathless, gasping, shaky voices weak with injury as they struggle to gulp a last bit of air.

Some of them are calling out, begging, wailing, howling in pain and screaming for help, piercing shrieks that make his hair stand on end.

Some are just screaming.

What is she doing to them?

Sigyn is up there—he can barely make out the sound of her footsteps on the wooden platform through the sounds of agony. Loki kneels on the steps just beneath, hidden out of sight. His knees are shaking. Because there’s something else. Something lingering in the back of his mind, something that’s been there ever the first time he entered this chamber but that he hadn’t been able to recognize, didn’t want to recognize—he presses his palms to the step in front of him, as familiar words break through the cacophony

“I’ll tell Father what you did here today.”

“I didn’t do it for him.”

It’s him.

It’s all him.

All of the voices, all of the pain, all of the horror, it’s all him.

Loki feels as though he’s going to be sick.

He’s not what he’s expecting to see when he stands. The light burns his retinas but he doesn’t waver in his gaze. It’s white, whiter than anything he’s ever seen in his life, searing deep into his skull, but the more he looks, the more he sees the flashing images flickering past his vision. It’s him—they’re all him—different versions of himself that he’s never seen before, drowning, dying, bleeding out in a prison cell, chests crushed, limbs broken, lips shown shut, all strangers to him except one, a gray body on a gray planet, fading away in his brother’s arms …

He doesn’t see Sigyn until she’s practically upon him, grabbing his wrist and yanking him back down into the staircase. He’s too stunned to fight back.

“I didn’t want you to have to see it,” she whispers hoarsely. She’s crying, he realizes suddenly, her eyes puffy and red. “It’s bad enough for me, I didn’t – I couldn’t imagine what it would be like for you—”

Loki gulps, a great heaving gasp as he collapses against the wall. His cheeks are wet – it seems he’s been crying too. “Why – what is it? What are they?”

“Different timelines. Things that have happened, or are happening, or have yet to happen.” Another Loki shriek breaks through the air, and she shudders. “We should go back downstairs.”

“No—” Loki grabs her wrist. As desperately as he wants to leave this place and never come back, he can’t let her avoid her explanations any longer. “Why are they here? What is this place?”

Sigyn swallows, and another tear drips down her cheek. “They’re connected to the light,” she says at last. “You are too—every Loki is. I have to keep the light burning, or else—” her voice breaks. “Please, can we go downstairs?”

He doesn’t let go. “Or else what?”

She draws a shaky breath. Her voice is barely audible. “Or else you’re all erased.”

Erased. The word hits him like a bucket of cold water. His whole existence, every version of his existence, dependent on the burning of this lantern … He stares at her with wide eyes. “Why?”

“It’s … it’s my fault.” Sigyn is trembling, pressing a hand to her eyes as if to block the tears from coming. “The Norns had to do it, to keep everything stable. They made the light show the worst parts of every timeline. They know—” she hiccups a sob “—they know with those stakes I’d never let it go out.”

There’s something in her eyes, something grey and dead that Loki hasn’t seen before. All at once, he realizes the truth.

“This is a punishment. It has nothing to do with me—it’s your own personal agony.” He’s confused – the Norns do not act as judge and jury, nor do they interfere with the lives of those beneath them. To earn their ire … “What did you do?”

“I … I messed with things I shouldn’t have. I wasn’t trying to, I just … I thought I could—” she inhales again, barely suppressing another sob. “I ripped through reality. Destroyed … several timelines. Once it started, I couldn’t stop it.” She lets out a sigh. “So they put me here. To control me. Connected all the universes to fix what I had done, and left me here to tend to it.”

“Oh …” He believes her – there’s a truth in her face that he hasn’t seen before – but he still doesn’t quite understand. “But … what of your universe? Surely it would be changed by the loss of you? Your Loki, is he not affected?”

“He isn’t. He can’t be.” Her tone is uncharacteristically short. It catches him off guard. “He – he’s gone. My Loki, he’s gone.”

“Gone—” Oh. Loki inhales. All at once, the pieces click into place. Her protective urges towards him, the soft air of sadness that always seems to follow her … Loki’s chest is aching, but it has nothing to do with his wound.

Sigyn continues in halting sentences. “That’s why … I thought – I thought I could save him. Reverse time, start it over again, stop it from happening … Because I couldn’t … without him, I couldn’t—” She gulps a shuddering breath, as if shaking away the memory. “But I couldn’t. I just ended up breaking everything. And the Norns put me here. They made it especially for me.” She laughs, but it’s a humorless sound, broken and bitter. “Keeps me out of trouble, and reminds me … reminds me of what I lost.”

“What you lost?” Loki’s voice is soft.

Sigyn laughs again, tears freely streaming down her face now. “There’s two of everything. They made sure of it—two plates, two chairs, two bedrooms. But it’s just me. It’s only ever just me …” she gulps, then nods in the direction of the great lantern. “Then there’s that … I see every version of you, every awful thing that’s happened to you, all of it, every time I come up these steps. I have to look—” her voice breaks. “I have to watch it all, I have to keep the light going, I can’t lose any more of you—”

She looks up at him, her eyes wide and desperate. “I wasn’t trying to pull you here.” Her voice is thick with emotion. “I really wasn’t. I didn’t think it was possible. I just saw you, on Svartalfheim, drifting away … you weren’t dead yet, but you were so close, and I, I just – I’m so lonely—”

And then she collapses in on herself, shaking with the weight of centuries-old sobs. Loki gingerly reaches towards her – this feels like something private, something not meant for his eyes, but once he touches her she melts into his arms, clinging to him like a life raft as she bawls into his chest. It’s a bit unnerving – he’s never been one skilled at providing comfort. But he holds her firmly, cradling her head against his tunic, and it must be right because she tightens her grip, and it’s just the two of them, two broken souls alone together in a broken world.

“It’s alright,” he hears himself whisper, so low he’s not sure she can even hear him. “It’s alright. I’ve got you.”

…

The first thing he notices when he opens his eyes is the dust.

Svartalfheim is as dark and barren as he left it, the dirt like ash beneath his fingers as he stretches and twitches, feeling slowly returning to his extremities. His armor is still stained with blood, but the wound beneath has vanished. He’s alone – Sigyn had told him he’d be alone.

“Thor and Jane go off to find a way off world,” she had said. “They think you’re dead, and they can’t afford to take your body with them.” She didn’t know what happened to them after. The light only shows her him.

They had decided to spend one last meal together – she knew that if she didn’t send him back, it wouldn’t be long before someone came to force him to return, but they wanted to take their time with it. She made kompe once more, since he wouldn’t get to taste it again.

“What were you going to do if I hadn’t found out?” he asked her. “Surely you didn’t expect to keep me here forever.”

Sigyn had sighed. She seemed to have aged a century since their moment in the tower, but there was something beautiful to it – an invisible tension that had melted away. “No … I didn’t really have a plan. I just … I didn’t want to lose you again.”

She wasn’t sure what he would remember when he awoke in his own world once more. Would it be as though no time had passed? Would the lighthouse seem like a hazy dream? “That might be for the best, honestly,” she said with a slight smile. “You won’t have anything to grapple with.”

“Perhaps,” he had hummed, but secretly he hoped she was wrong. He didn’t want to forget.

Waking up on the dark planet’s blood splattered soil, Loki’s relieved to find he still can picture her sparkling brown eyes clear as day.

They had danced, too, one last time before he entered into the light. “We can’t let whatever happened with that first one be our dancing legacy,” he had teased. Sigyn laughed and took his hand.

He wondered about her, as they swept across the room in perfect harmony. Perhaps there’s a reason no one else had ever clicked, no one else fit into his arms like the final piece to his puzzle. Maybe she was right – maybe his Sigyn doesn’t exist, through some cruel twist of fate he had no say in. Or maybe she is out there, somewhere in the world, waiting for something she doesn’t realize she’s been waiting for, just as he’s been his whole life. Wishful thinking, perhaps, but perhaps not.

He had kissed her hand at the end, when they were saying goodbye – it was a gesture that might have seemed oddly formal, but he wasn’t sure how to put his cocktail of emotion into words. Her eyes misted up.

“Thank you,” he had whispered – for the food, for the healing, for keeping him alive in a way he couldn’t put into words. It was a meager thanks, but she seemed to understand. She stroked his cheek with cold fingertips.

“No … thank you,” she whispered back. “I’ll be thinking of you.”

And I you.

Loki sighs, sits up. There’s an emptiness in his chest, but he exhales it away. His stint at death has lasted long enough.

Now, it’s time to live.

#loki fanfic #loki marvel #loki x sigyn #logyn #loki angst #angst #angst with a bittersweet ending #halloween fic #cozy writes #the lighthouse

37 notes · View notes