#That old lady did the same thing Mama's doing now and it is terrifying!

[clover-the-awesomest]

Oh...

OH.

Kay great thanks for hurting me-

when big mama and donnie talked off-screen during the egg saga, this is what happened.

[ part two ] [ gemini au ]

[teamhappyme]

to care for you

rafael barba x female!reader

referenced cases from S17E04 and S17E16

word count: 4k

a/n: this is my first fic that I’m letting the world see and I’m... terrified. i hope whoever reads this gets some joy out of it. shoutout to @qvid-pro-qvo and @hurricanejjareau , y’all got me roped into loving the SVU boys, and this would not have been created if I hadn’t found your blogs. big inspiration over here. alright, here we go friends.

****

“Well you’re going, right?” 

“I haven’t decided.” “Haven’t decided? It’s Liv and Noah, Barba. A christening for the cutest little boy and the most deserving mother. They’ve been through hell this year, they deserve our support. Besides, you’re a devout Catholic, you should be all in for this.”

“First of all, he’s getting christened in a Unitarian church. Second, I wouldn’t exactly use the term devout. The last time I went to church was with you and Carisi after that trafficking case last year.” He said while grabbing another slice of pizza. In your three years since joining the SVU this was the first time you saw Rafael Barba eat a slice of pizza. 

“Careful. You might get some grease on that thousand dollar suit, Counselor.” He glared at you before taking a bite. “If you’re worried about the priest smelling your absence out, Carisi and I have enough devotion to pass on to you.”

“I don’t want any of Carisi’s Catholic guilt.” “You need me to take your confession?” You asked with a smirk. 

There weren’t many people that could get away with pushing Barba’s buttons without getting chewed out by the ADA in his next breath. And when you first started out with the squad, there were many occasions where you and Barba had some heated arguments.

Getting transferred to SVU was an overwhelming experience. You were thrown into the understaffed department right along with Carisi, so the two of you had to step up pretty quick for the unit. There was no adjustment period, trust wasn’t built, it was forced upon the squad. It took about two months for you to really trust the other detectives, but once you did, the unit got into a groove. Cases were being solved left and right and you started to understand the routine of the SVU. 

Until you had to testify. It was six months in, and it was your first testimony with the unit. It was also the first rape case you worked with minor victims. There were four fifteen year old girls accusing their history teacher of rape, two of which disclosed to you. 

You prepped with Barba for an hour the night before, making sure you knew the case inside and out. You felt confident in your answers, and were ready to take the stand. Until the following morning. On your walk down to the courtroom with him, you rushed into the ladies room to vomit up your coffee and your anxiety. Public speaking was never one of your strong suits, and Barba had cautioned you to be prepared for Buchanon’s toxic cross examination.

As you washed your hands and cleared your face, Rafael stayed outside the door, even deterring a woman from coming in. Once you exited, he was waiting at the side, pulling a granola bar and stick of gum out of his blazer pocket. You took the food, as he gave you a nod and waited for your okay to continue the walk down to the courtroom. A slight nod of your own and weak smile got his feet moving again. 

That trial was the first olive branch extended between you and Rafael. He wasn’t one to offer warm greetings, and since you were often glued to Carisi’s hip, it was hard for him to separate you from the enthusiastic detective. There were passive aggressive comments relayed back and forth while trying to indict a perp, and long nights spent deliberating probable cause at the round table. But it wasn’t until you accompanied Liv to One Hogan Place, in a particularly bad mood when you sassed the ADA back after he made a comment about your witnesses being incredibly unreliable, not having time for the shenanigans. 

After that moment, Rafael knew that he could trust you. The passive aggressive comments yielded, but the sass continued. The repertoire the two of you were slowly building drew quite the audience, Carisi and Rollins almost always feeding the fire with more topics to discuss. 

About a year into your tenure here, you started to check in on Barba. The first time you stopped by was originally a business call. Liv needed a warrant asap, already staking out the apartment of a suspect. You rushed over to the courthouse, trying to find any ADA’s secretary when you saw Barba still in his office at midnight. According to Carmen, he rarely went home before 9:00. After that night, you made it a habit to check in on him at least once a week. The DA’s office was a cutthroat environment, and Barba’s office was an even lonelier place. 

Thursday nights were penciled in for your unofficial drop ins, almost through the week but still burning the midnight oil. You would show up around 10:00 with pizza for you, and sushi for his expensive taste every time, knowing neither one of you had time to eat dinner yet. Most of the time, the two of you would work on your respective cases, sometimes sharing notes if the work overlapped. But if it was a slow week, sometimes the two of you would just, talk. It was nice to be able to talk to someone who understood the demanding nature of the job. Your family in particular couldn’t understand why you loved this career so much, but your squad could. It was reassuring to have their support.

“Alright, enough with the holier than thou attitude, Detective. I actually wanted to talk to you about the case.” Sitting up a little straighter in your chair, you wiped your hands on a napkin as he pulled out a manila folder. “I’ve been encouraged by the D.A. to drop the charges against Bobby D’Amico and Noel Panko.”

“What?” “And I have a motions hearing scheduled for Friday morning to dismiss the charges.”

After everything the squad had done for this case, what you saw Amanda put herself through. It was all for nothing.

“Barba, you can’t be serious. We have three victims, two willing to testify. We have footage of them attempting to rape Rollins for crying out loud.”

“Kristi Cryer has changed her story too many times. She was raped, then it was consensual, it was Panko, it was Panko and D’Amico. A jury will never believe her story.” You crossed your arms over your chest. “The jury won’t believe her or you won’t?”

“Hey, you know this isn’t about what I think. This isn’t a case we can win. We have to look at the optics.”

“The optics,” you muttered as you stood up from your seat. “Multiple women were raped by two well-known men in New York society, and the D.A. doesn’t want to make any enemies, right?” 

“You’re taking this worse than Liv did.” You scoffed. “Am I? Good. Because for the rest of their lives, those girls will have to live with the fact that their rapists are still out there. Not to mention their reputations will be ruined. People are going to call them liars, and whores. Their lives are never going to be the same. All because you won’t stand up to the D.A. and do what’s right?” 

Rafael stood up now, his loosened tie swinging from the sudden movement. “If this goes to trial, it will not go our way.”

“What about when you went after DCFS? You went after Musio, Grayson, Sheridan,”

“That was different,” “Why because it was Liv?”

“Because the department was a mess, and there were months worth of evidence of neglect and backdating reports. You were there, and if I remember correctly you were fighting alongside Liv to get me to prosecute.”

You ran your fingers through your hair, not willing to accept that this case was over. “These girls deserve justice, Barba. You were there when Panko went off at Dodds, he knows he’s done.”

“I want these guys just as bad as you do, Y/n. But we do not have the evidence. It’s a he said she said case, with one other accusation from a year ago without a rape kit. Not to mention Rollins went undercover without notifying a superior, tainting the whole investigation. We will make a fool out of ourselves and lose this case in court.”

“And it’s all about winning for the D.A.’s office, isn’t it. Can’t do anything out of the kindness of your hearts, can you?” You knew you crossed the line as you saw Rafael’s shoulder’s drop the slightest bit, his jaw clenched in place. 

“Maybe if you passed the Bar instead of failing three times you could understand why we can’t pursue this. We can’t bring a case to trial based on our emotions. This isn’t your tissue loaded desks, this is a courthouse.” 

You broke the tense eye contact you were holding after his statement. Insulting your academic failures and empathetic tendencies in one foul swoop. That was a low blow, even for the counselor.

Rafael knew his words pierced you. He pushed his chair back and let out a breath, getting ready to back track. But you beat him to the punch. 

“You know, my capability of empathizing with victims is the reason why you’ve put so many rapists away. If they had to speak to you, there would be no cases for you to even prosecute.”

This wasn’t a normal spout between the two of you. Things rarely got personal, and if they did, they were never this spiteful. 

“Then I guess there’s a reason I’m prosecuting in front of the judge and jury and you’re dealing with the victims.”

You scoffed at his final statement. You knew he was cocky, but you didn’t think he would use your insecurities or shortcomings against you. Especially not the fact that you failed the Bar Exam three times, which was only disclosed to him once Carisi opened his big mouth.

Covering your head with your beanie, you made your way to the door before either one of you could do more damage. You fought the urge to apologize, knowing you would need space before you could think of a response.

“Have a good night, Counselor.”

****

“Oh my goodness, Benjamin! Look at that tower you made with Maura! Did you show Luke?” “No. Mama saw it!” You smiled at the two year old through the phone, his own grin lighting up the room even over facetime. “Benjamin, is mama there? Y/n/n wants to talk to her for a minute.”

“I can bring you to her!” Maura took the phone out of the toddler’s hands, but you quickly protested so you could say goodbye to your godson. “Bye Benny, I love you buddy.” He blew you a kiss and you caught it as your little cousin brought you across the room. 

“Auntie Leah! Y/n/n wants to talk to you.” She handed the phone over while settling in next to her aunt. You saw your older cousin’s calming face, and couldn’t help the tears in your eyes.

“I haven’t even said anything and you're already crying,” You let out a laugh and took a sip of water. “Sorry. It’s been a long day.” 

“Y/n, are you at the precinct? It’s 8:00 your time on thanksgiving, what are you doing there?”

“There was some work I needed to get done. If I can’t be with you guys, I can at least get a head start so I can come home for Christmas.” The squadroom was empty now, but it had only been filled by the desk sergeant and a couple uni’s until five. You’d been here since noon, not succeeding in spending the holiday alone in your apartment. “Besides, I’ve been able to ignore all of my mother’s phone calls with the ‘I’m working’ excuse. Has she called you guys yet?”

“Just mom once. You know she doesn’t mean it to hurt you, she just wishes you could spend time with family for the holidays.” “I know.”

Your family meant the world to you, and having missed the last two years of holidays was hard on you. Sure, you saw them eventually, but Christmas and Thanksgiving weren’t the same alone.

“Since I’ve already started Christmas shopping, is there anything Benjamin needs or wants from his godmother?” “He has requested, and I quote, ‘y/n/n’s nummy cookies’.” The smile that spread across your face was so big it almost hurt. That baby boy was probably your favorite person on the planet, besides your own nieces and nephews. “Alright well hopefully he can help Y/n/n make those nummy cookies in a few weeks. If not, I’ll send a box out, along with an amazing present.”

“What about me?” Maura asked, and you just shook your head. “Hey, I’m not made out of money here girlfriend.” She laughed at that.

“Have you at least eaten anything today?” Leah asked, trying to steer the conversation into a more meaningful direction. She could read you so easily. “Yes, I have. I’m not going to be here much longer, so I’ll grab something for dinner on my way home.”

“Y/n/n,” The eight year old interrupted again, and you couldn’t help the smile that etched across your face as you rolled your eyes at the silly nickname. 

“Yes, Maura.” 

“There’s a fancy man walking towards you.” 

You turned your head and saw Barba walking through the squadroom. “I gotta go, Leah.” 

“Is everything okay?”

He pulled over Carisi’s chair, raising a brow to make sure it was okay. You nodded.

“It’s okay. Just a colleague. I’ll talk to you later.” “Okay. We love you and miss you.” Tears pooled in your eyes again as Maura hopped on. “Love you Y/n/n!” A tear fell from your eye as you let out a laugh. “Love you too guys. Bye.”

You ended the call, quickly wiping your eyes now that you had an audience. It was only last night that you had your rather animated argument, and neither of you had reached out. Being stubborn was one of many traits the two of you shared.

“Can I help you, counselor?” 

He held up a brown bag with a receipt stapled to the fold. “It’s thursday night. It’s usually you making trips to the office, but I figured I could take the field trip tonight.” 

He opened up the bag, pulling out cartons of Chinese food. Your hand immediately reached for the fortune cookies, ripping the plastic wrapper off. 

There was a lingering tension in the air, unresolved conflict, and hurt feelings, but it still felt okay. Mainly because the two of you knew you were both to blame. 

“How did you know I was here?” You asked while grabbing the carton of lo mein. “I called Carisi. He said you were supposed to be in Minneapolis for the holiday, but got wrapped up in the case. Said he offered his family to you, but after hearing the commotion over the phone, I understand why you declined.”

“I didn’t decline because of their raucous personalities. I just wanted to get some work done.” 

He digressed, retreating into his carton of fried rice. “What about you? Why aren’t you eating pie and decorating for Christmas with your lovely mother?”

“She volunteered this year. Since Abuelita died, she hasn’t been a big fan of holidays.” You nodded, knowing how hard it was for Rafael to grieve his abuelita last year. 

“How has she been doing?”

He shrugged. “She has good days and bad days. She blames herself most of the time, but she has her school, and her kids to keep her upright.” “And you.” His eyes met yours for a brief second, the corners of his mouth turning up the slightest. He always wanted to do more for his family. 

“Was that who you were on the phone with? Your family from Minneapolis?” 

“Yeah. I was supposed to go out there for thanksgiving, but when we caught Kristi’s case, I cancelled. I thought,” You stopped, knowing any mention of the case would bring up last night’s conversation.  

“We were going to trial.” He finished the sentence and you nodded.

If everything had gone according to plan, Panko and D’Amico would’ve been indicted this week and the trial would’ve begun the following week. You’d already started prepping Kristi with Rollins, making sure she knew her story backwards and forwards. But it was all for nothing it seems.

“Y/n, what I said last night,” You shook your head. “We both said things we didn’t mean. I started it, and was completely out of line.” 

“You weren’t. You were fighting for Kristi, and your case. I just, I didn’t want to hear it.” He ran a hand through his hair, not perfectly quaffed like usual. “I shouldn’t have brought up the Bar. It was low, extremely low, and you didn’t deserve it. You and Carisi could take me out in court in a day. And if you ever tell him that, I’ll deny it until I die.” You laughed while taking an egg roll, crossing your finger over your heart. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

You let the apology sink in for a minute before starting your own. “I know you would’ve brought this to trial if we had enough evidence. I know that you care about the victims just as much as we do. I’m sorry that I said you didn’t.”

Poking around the container, he let out a scoff. “You weren’t that far off. I’m the D.A.’s puppet, letting him decide which cases I prosecute or not. We don’t have a lot of room for an emotional influence. I know how cold I can be with vics and witnesses.”

“That doesn’t mean you don’t care.” 

“Tell that to Kristi Cryer. She posted a vlog today, ripped me a new one for not believing her. Called the D.A.’s office, and I quote, ‘a bunch of spineless jellyfish.’ She’s not wrong. I mean,” He let out a humorless laugh. “I went to law school so I could help people. At least, that’s what I’ve been telling myself the last twenty years. But in reality, I’ve been climbing the bureaucratic totem pole, pushing myself further and further away from that kid in the Bronx.”

“You don’t seriously believe what Cryer said do you?” He shrugged, not meeting my eyes. You sighed, placing the carton on your desk, leaning over to rest your hand on his arm. “You are the Assistant District Attorney for the Sex Crimes division. People do not last here if they don’t care about the victims. I’ve seen you in court, in testimony prep, hell even in interrogation. You care about every single person that needs our help. Does it suck that the law is not the most accommodating to rapists and pedophiles? Yeah, it’s really shitty. But you didn’t write the law books, as much as you like to believe you did.” A smile crept onto his face. “You care about your mom, your abuelita, everyone that helped you in the Bronx. I know you care about us, even Carisi, although you’d never admit it. You are not a spineless jellyfish, no matter how fun it is to say.”

“You really believe that?” He still couldn’t meet your eyes. It always amazed you how easily the most put together people could fall victim to their insecurities. 

“Rafael, I would not be spending every Thursday night for the past two years with you if I didn’t believe that you were one of the most kind-hearted people I’ve ever met. I care about you.”

His green eyes finally met yours as he moved to gently hold your hand that was previously resting on his forearm. He gave it a soft squeeze as you smiled, trying to ignore the butterflies that started blooming in your stomach. The same butterflies that rested there every time your hands brushed when you were walking down the hallway, or when his hand rested at the small of your back to escort you into the courtroom. And after tonight, and the way he was looking back at you, you knew he felt them too.

You spent the next ten minutes finishing off the takeout, sitting in a comfortable silence, not needing to fill the moment with anything else. The two of you kept sneaking glances at one another, breaking out into a sheepish grin if you were caught. 

Once you were done eating, Rafael cleaned up the food as you got all your belongings together for the long weekend. It wasn’t until that moment you realized he wasn’t wearing an expensive suit; he had on a navy blue quarter zip, black jeans, and some loafers. A smile crept up on your face knowing that you got to see him in casual clothes.

“Ready?” He asked as you slipped on your gloves and pushed your chair in behind you. “Ready.” 

You lived close enough to the precinct that it was only a ten minute walk. Rafael lived in the other direction, but still insisted on walking you back to your apartment. An Uber could pick him up from there, he said, because that man would not be caught dead walking across the city in his loafers.

He called for a ride as you approached your block, not wanting him to wait in the cold too long. As you approached the brick walk up, you started to fidget with the keys resting in your pocket. 

“Thank you for dinner. And a double thank you for not making me eat your sushi.” He smiled. “You’re welcome. Thank you for being such good company.”

“Anytime.” A sharp gust of wind hit you, causing you to duck your head into your coat for a few seconds. When you looked back up, Rafael’s cheeks were rosy red and wind burnt, and absolutely adorable. “I’ll see you next week for a warrant, I’m sure.”

“I’m sure. Make sure to get me a coffee on the way, listening to you list the legal reasons why you need the warrant always makes me sleepy.” 

You smiled.“Deal. Goodnight, Raf.”

“‘Night, Y/n.” 

Despite the farewell statements, neither one of you moved. You couldn’t bring yourself to look away from his warm eyes, and it wasn’t until you felt his fingers brush against yours that you moved closer. 

His eyes flickered to your lips for a second, before looking back at you. You took another step towards him, waiting for him to close the gap between you. When he did, all you could feel was the warmth of his lips on yours, and the cold tip of his nose resting against your cheek. 

It was short, the two of you pulling away after a few seconds. But one smile from you had him leaning back in, resting a hand on your cheek as he kissed you again. It was slow and careful, but full of adoration. You couldn’t help but smile into him, bringing your hand up to rest against his own. After a few more seconds, his own smile made it impossible to stay connected. 

This time when you pulled away, you rubbed your thumb across his red, wind burnt cheek, not even trying to suppress the stupid smile on your face. And you were happy to see him grinning the same way.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” He said, shifting his head just enough to press a kiss to the palm of your hand. Neither one of you is willing to ruin this moment with any talks about what this means. “Okay. Get home safe.” “I will.”

One more look at his rosy red cheeks, and you let out a laugh before you let yourself pull away.

“What?” He asked, completely dumbfounded by his affect on you. You shook your head in response. “Nothing.”

He returned your laughter before lightly kissing your lips one last time. You could get used to this. 

“Goodnight, counselor.” You said once you pulled away, lightly shoving him toward the ride that just pulled up. 

“Goodnight, detective.”

****

[ssson-of-sparda]

Strawberry Sundae

Summary: It's story time! Have you ever wondered why Dante affectionate strawberry sundaes so much? Well Patty has and luckily for her, he is about to tell her. It will just cost her a small favour. A man got to pay his debts remember.

Tags: ANGST (but with some very cute moments) / Dante’s childhood /  childhood trauma 

Author’s note: This is my take on Dante’s origins and also my first time writing for the Devil May Cry fandom. I hope I did it right and that you will love it. Set whenever you want but definitely after the DMC Anime. I made the reader female (in case I write a sequel. I have ideas for one, just tell me if you want one), but it can definitely be read as Gen!Reader if you make some small changes.

           To most people Patty Lowell looked so cute and angelic with her girly lacy dresses and her silk ribbons in her baby blond hair they’d think butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. But to Dante, she was the most annoying brat that ever walked this earth and, even though he would never admit it, also one of his dearest friends. And like all his friends, he owed her big.             “I’ll erase that from your tab.” She said as she swallowed a spoonful of vanilla ice cream.   “Oh c’mon! You keeping counts now?” Dante harrumphed and watched the kid wipe her mouth like a very distinguished lady. “You spend too much time with Lady.”   “Not too much. Just enough to know you owe me a trip to the beach, two dresses, a dozen ice cream cones and six strawberries sundaes” She counted on her fingers and Dante sighed as he slouched in the fake-leather seat of Freddy’s diner. “Well, you can’t have it all now, can you?”       “You’ve been saying this for months. And for months you’ve been eating hundreds of sundaes and bought none for me.” She grumbled, staring at him with a pout as he nonchalantly took the strawberry on top of his sundae to eat it, eyes closed to savour the sweetness of the fruit in his mouth. “What’s with your obsession with strawberry sundaes anyway?” She asked, genuinely curious. After all, even after spending so much time with Dante, watching him evolve in his natural habitat (meaning the Devil May Cry) and coming to the conclusion that Dante was a very unique species of man, one that whose diet was only based on pizzas and strawberry sundaes and that knew nothing of women, Patty still hadn’t figured why he was the way he was.   Dante opened an eye to see her impatiently waiting for an answer. “If I tell you, would you consider erasing … let’s say six sundaes of my tab?” He smirked, knowing Patty would not resist the curiosity to know more about him.             “That could be arranged. But your story better be good!”

STRAWBERRY SUNDAE

                 One more step and this would be the furthest Dante had ever been from his house. Of course, he had dared follow Vergil down to that weird old man’s house to secretly spy on his brother, wondering what was so interesting and fun in keeping a wrinkly company but he had never stepped a foot in the city. Never could. The only time he had tried and had somehow managed to go down the hill of his red home without tumbling down the steep rocky stairs and lay even just a toe on the urban pavement he was now standing on, his father and his sharp demonic earring had found him and brought him back home with a firm grip around the collar of his white shirt. Sparda had scolded him so much that day that even Vergil hadn’t dared smirking.       But here he was. Wet, trembling and cold, under a pouring rain, wondering where to go, what to do, both feet on the pavement, his tiny arms holding on tight to his father’s sword which was way bigger than he was. He had never been so terrified, so alert, his blue eyes widened and scanning all his surroundings in every direction possible like a poor defenceless animal fearing for its life, wondering if a deadly predator was secretly watching him crouched in the thickest shadow, the same kind of predator that took his mother and brother away from him.                 He wanted to call for help, ask someone, anyone for guidance but he didn’t know whom to trust or if he could trust anyone. All he knew was that he had to be strong, that he had to be a big boy, a man. That’s what his mother had told him before leaving, before … A tear streamed down his childish face. Not the first one tonight. He wiped it with his sooty knuckle but a new one appeared, bigger and more painful. It stung his eye and he cried harder. A devil should not cry but he was so tired. And he wanted his mama. And he wanted his big brother. But they were gone and behind him, his house up the hill was just a pile of smoking ash and burnt bricks.            

“Why are you crying?” Dante jumped and his small yet strong grip grabbed a hold of Rebellion’s hilt. It took his eyes a short second to fall upon the face of a little girl holding a green frog-shaped umbrella above both their heads. “Are you lost?”  She said as she tried to catch a glimpse of Dante’s face hidden behind layers of soot and wet hair. “Is it a real sword?”         “Don’t touch it!” Dante growled, pressing his father’s sword tighter against his chest, shielding it from the curious child as she tried to put her fingers on the legendary weapon. It had seen Vergil do that countless of times. And though it never worked with him, it formidably worked with the child in front of him. “It’s my dad’s.”         “Is your dad a knight?” She questioned with amazed (colour) eyes, imagining heroes in shining armours resembling the ones in the stories her mother would read her before bed. “My dad is the Legendary Dark Knight.” Dante spat, scowling behind his silver hair falling over his eyes, a pitiful and vain attempt at sending the little girl packing. After all, to her eyes, he didn’t look impressive at all, more like a wet small kitten that someone had abandoned in the street.     She shrugged “My dad doesn’t have a sword and he is not a legendary dark prince or whatever but he has a mighty spatula and his strawberry sundaes are the best in the whole kingdom!” She exclaimed with an over-the-top enthusiasm that made Dante’s weary frown even more pronounced. “That’s the name of my father’s diner.” She pointed at the pinkish red neon sign across the street. Kingdom’s diner. “You’re hungry?” Dante thought he wasn’t until he heard a rumbling in his tummy. Yes, maybe he was even though his heart was preoccupied by other things than hunger. “Come on. Follow me.”         He hesitated for a few seconds, watching the girl cross the crowded street in her way-too-large yellow oilskin - which was probably not hers now that he thought about it – and feeling the rain pouring on his shivering body again. “Well? What are you waiting for?”           With one last look at his destroyed home up on the hill, Dante finally took a step towards the girl waiting for him by the warm neon lights of the diner. And he took another step, and another, feeling a weird weight forming in his stomach. A mix of apprehension and hope. Apprehension of what’s waiting in this unknown land and hope that his father would suddenly appear and bring him back home. But once more, Sparda never showed up and the child was left alone.   Dante had never ventured that far away from home but he had no home anymore, right?

                 The diner was warm and cosy, with red plastic booth seats and speckled grey linoleum-covered tables that were incredibly clean and shiny. On the walls there were vintage-like pictures of old cars, old advertisements and old Hollywood stars who were almost all complete strangers to Dante apart from a glamorous blond woman with a weird mole and another one with a tiara and a cigarette holder. Pretty sure he had seen them both in some boring movies he had seen – or slept through - with his mother and Vergil. Mama. Vergil. He missed them already. Terribly.

A new tear fell along his cold cheek and Dante looked down, devastated that he would never see them again; guilty that he could not save them, angry that his father had not been there to protect them. And with his wet sorrow came scorching flashes and piercing screams. But soon they were covered by the sound of weird music sizzling in a machine that looked like from another time. “I always listen to music when I feel bad. I like music. Do you like music?” She was impossibly chatty but deep down Dante knew it was only to take his mind off whatever she thought he was thinking about. After all, he would use the same trick on his brother. “There are a hundred of songs in this jukebox.” So that was this hellish machine was. A jukebox. “Pick one. I’ll make some strawberry sundae” She smiled and disappeared behind the counter which was way too high for Dante to see what she was doing. “Oh but don’t play the music too loud. My parents are sleeping upstairs.”  

He didn’t know how it worked but he thought that pushing a button would do the trick. And so he did. And he almost fell on his butt when the jukebox started shaking and doing weird sizzling noises. Had he just broken it? “I… I” He mumbled pointing at the machine and the girl’s childish head popped up from behind the counter a bit like a funny rabbit leaves his hole. “Kick it!” She said and Dante looked at her, harrumphed and unsure he had heard right. His mother never allowed him to kick anything … especially not Vergil … and he kicked Vergil a lot … because he deserved it.                 “There!” The girl approached and gave the dying machine a small yet firm kick that made it come back to life. “It does that sometimes.”

“What’s with all the racket?” A loud voice growled and a man with tousled and sparse black hair appeared from upstairs. Only wearing an old navy blue robe over a white t-shirt and a pair of checked slippers, he looked asleep and yet angry. “Y/N what are you doing … up?” His somewhat aggressiveness turned into confusion when he saw Dante standing next to his beloved daughter.  He blinked a couple times and shook his head to make sure he was perfectly awake and not dreaming. What was this boy doing in his restaurant? All wet and covered in soot? “Who are you?” He managed to voice.       Dante opened his mouth though unsure what to answer. “He’s my friend.” The girl replied. “Your friend?” She nodded vigorously. “I was making him a strawberry sundae.”

If there was two things Mister Y/LN had a soft spot for, it was food – sugary and greasy food – and his precious daughter Y/N. She was his little princess, his only daughter, the apple of his eye (even when there was sleep crust in its corner like right now). He could not refuse her anything and could not stay mad at her for more than a couple of minutes to the great disappointment of his wife.  And even though he knew it was wrong, he couldn’t help it.           “Y/N” He sighed and went to kneel in front of his daughter. “You cannot invite a little boy that late at night. I’m sure his parents must be very worried.” He glanced at Dante who looked down his brown boots hiding his eyes yet again behind his silver hair. What curious hair. “But since he is here, let’s eat those strawberry sundaes.” The little girl grinned and ran back to finish her creamy dessert with an enthusiasm that made the man smile for a small second.

Even though Mister Y/LN was weak for his daughter he was still a man of reason. Something deep in his guts was telling him something was wrong with that kid and the last thing he wanted was trouble. Who was he? Where did he come from? What happened to him? Where were his parents? Was he some kind of street kid? A child of drug dealers from the rough areas of Red Grave? Should he call the police? Maybe so. Certainly so. They would certainly know what to do. It was their job after all. He was just a cook, a sleepy cook. What could he do, except offering that scrawny kid a strawberry sundae? “Why don’t you sit, boy?” He waved at the stool and Dante climbed on it without saying a word. “I’ll be right back.”

“So what’s your name?” The little girl said as she placed two coupe glasses filled with cream, ice cream and strawberries right before Dante’s eyes that immediately ogled at the dessert with greediness. So much sugar, so much cream, so many strawberries. He loved chocolate, but this, this looked like even better than chocolate and his stomach seemed to agree.       Excited to taste it, he went to grab the spoon that was placed by the couple but was immediately stopped. “Wait. I’m not done.” Y/N shouted and, with a frown and the tip of her pink tongue out, cautiously topped both sundaes with a cherry and two pink wafers. “There. Now you can eat it.” She barely had time to finish the sentence that Dante quickly stuffed a generous spoonful in his tiny mouth. OH GOD! If his mother saw him right now eating so much sugar in the middle of the night she would be furious. But this was the most delicious thing in the world. After pizza of course.       He ate another spoonful, and another, humming after each, as he was slowly reaching a comforting sugary paradise. “I’m guessing you like it.” The little girl giggled, laughing at his mouth as round as a balloon and the cream running from the corner of his lips. Dante froze at the laugh and stare at her with a blush creeping up his inflated cheeks until he swallowed with a big gulp. “Yeah.” He confessed and Y/N smiled at the small amount of joy she caught in his childish voice.   “You still haven’t told me your name. I’m Y/N by the way.” She reached out to shake his hand and Dante stared at it for a few seconds, remembering what his mother had told him as she hid him a wardrobe.

You must change your name. Forget your past and start a new life as someone else. But who could he be? And could he be someone else? After all, he had always been Dante, the restless daredevil son of Sparda and Eva and annoying little brother to Vergil who always picked a fight for fun and found ways to be involved in new kinds of mischiefs.               There was a silence, heavy and pregnant, as the boy tried to answer the questions in his confused little head and as the girl patiently waited for him to talk. And only the lively music from the jukebox could be heard in the room. And it sang to Dante ‘Hey there Anthony boy. Why are you in such a rush (go!). The girl, she wanna talk to you. Look at him, how he blush (go!)’ giving birth to his new identity. A new beginning.               “I’m Anthony.” He finally grabbed her hand and she shook it with a smile that he tried to mimic. An effort he thought he would have never done tonight but that he did for her. Calm down, Tony me boy. “Tony for short.”         “Well nice to meet you, Tony. I’m sure we’re going to be good friends.”

And with a new spoonful of strawberry sundae he said goodbye to Dante. Hey there, Anthony boy!

***

“That was a lovely story, Dante. Sad but lovely.” Patty finally declared after being incredibly silent during Dante’s childhood story. A first. “Glad you liked it.” Dante said with a small smile that was barely concealing the sadness that this memory had brought back. “So does that mean those six sundaes are off my tab?”               “I guess so.” She shrugged as she drank the ice cream in her coupe. “Great.” He winked and stood up, throwing a bill on the table before putting his long red coat on.  “So … you love strawberry sundaes because they were the first things that gave you comfort after you lost your mom?”           “No, I love strawberry sundaes because they remind me why humans are sometimes worth fighting for.”

But mostly, he liked them because they reminded him of someone who had helped him build a new life, someone who had given him kindness, generosity and love when he thought that all he could expect from life was sorrow and pain. They reminded him of you.     Yes, that’s why he loved strawberry sundaes.

[imagine-loki]

Soulbonds and Fairy Dust

TITLE: Soulbonds and Fairy Dust (rewrite) CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: 39/?

AUTHOR: nekoamamori ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine one of the fae has been helping the Avengers, jumping in to help them on missions and vanishing before Shield can bring her in.  Loki joins the team and convinces her to come talk to the team and consider joining before Shield takes more drastic measures. RATING: M NOTES/WARNINGS:  This is a rewrite of the original work of the same name.  Also on AO3 here

“Brother,” Thor said to get Loki’s attention toward the end of breakfast.  “I know Lady Sigyn still needs to recover, but we will be returning to Midgard as soon as Mother clears her to travel by Bifrost,” he warned Loki warily.  He knew that Loki didn’t want to return to Midgard at all.  Sig didn’t blame him, but knew that Odin was being stupid about the whole thing.

Loki nodded.  “Alright,” he agreed without a fight.  There was no use fighting over it. He had to return to serve penance after all.  He could only stay home for so long. It was amazing he’d been allowed to stay as long as he had. Sig watched them quietly, relearning all she could about Loki, Thor, and Frigga. 

Frigga gave him a small reassuring smile. “It will still be a couple of days before I can clear your lady to leave,” she told Loki.

Loki breathed a sigh of relief. “Very well.  We will remain in the palace until she is well enough to return to Midgard,”

Frigga gave him a conspiratorial smile.  “The gardens and markets are also fair game as long as you don’t take my charge too far from the palace,” she told him kindly.

Loki smiled gratefully.  “I would very much like to show her the gardens and I might be able to find something to spoil her within the markets. If she’ll let me that is,” he teased while Sig stuck her tongue out at him.  

“I’m sure you’ll manage. You can be quite stubborn when you set your mind to a task,” Frigga told him warmly.  She stood and kissed both her sons, and Sig, on the cheek.  “I will be in the healing wing if either of you need me,”

Loki gave her a bright smile.  “We will see you at dinner, Mother.”  

She smiled warmly and Sig had a feeling that Frigga was having a bit too much fun watching her and Loki’s growing courtship.  Loki returned his attention to Sig once Frigga had gone to her own duties.  “Sig, would you like to go see the gardens with me this morning?”

She gave him a bright smile in return.  “Sure, sounds like fun,” she told him warmly.  Spending some quiet time out with nature would be good for her.  They both stood and Sig took Loki’s arm when he offered it.  There were quite a few nobles awwing over how adorable the pair were as they left the dining hall together.  Sig saw Loki’s smirk at the attention and was glad he approved. 

“Do you remember anything about Asgard from before you were taken?” Loki asked her gently as they walked to the gardens.  

Sig considered and nodded. “I’ve been remembering a lot since we’ve been home,” she told him and a wide smile bloomed on her face.  “Look what I found,” she added excitedly and summoned a picture of her, Loki, and Thor, from when they were kids, shortly before she’d been taken. 

Loki’s smile grew when he looked over the picture.  “How old were we in this? I barely remember this day…”

Sig pondered it.  “I was 200 or so that puts you at 250ish. And the oaf at 600?” he looked to be closer to a preteen than she and Loki did in the picture

Loki nodded.  “That sounds about right.  He looks pretty young in the photo.  We looked so happy. Your disappearance put a dark cloud over many people here. Everyone loves you, Sig,” he told her.  She’d been loved and missed dearly while she was gone.  Especially by Loki.  The picture had to have been taken shortly before she’d been kidnapped from Asgard.  

“We did look so happy. I don’t really remember the picture being taken either, but it’s a great picture,” she paused, not quite sure which question she wanted to ask first and decided on the more important one than just her disbelief that everyone loved her.  “Did they try to leave a changeling in my place? I can’t believe Mama Frigga wouldn’t have noticed if they’d tried…” 

Loki shook his head.  “There was no changeling. Everyone was horrified and scared when you disappeared which is why the Allfather sent out his best trackers to try and locate you,”

“I’m sure you and the oaf were the first freaking out too…” she felt bad for how scared they must have been when they’d caught up to where she was supposed to be to find that she hadn’t been there.  And how awful it was for them to have to tell the adults that they had lost her.  She’d been their responsibility. Even if they were only children themselves. 

Loki nodded.  “Especially me. You were and are my best friend, Sig. I was terrified when I lost you,”

“You’re my best friend too,” she told him warmly.  “And have been since we were kids.”  They were best friends when they were kids. Now, their relationship was turning into so much more.

He smiled and kissed her cheek, pleased that she still considered him her best friend.  

And more.

[eveenstar]

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒲𝒶𝓎 𝑜𝒻 𝒯𝒾𝓂𝑒

𝙰 𝚁𝚎𝚍 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚁𝚎𝚍𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝟸 𝙵𝚊𝚗𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝙸𝙸

Summary:  In 2031, a journal is found. It tells the story of a woman named Y/N L/N, who claims to be a time traveler from 2021. This is the story of her life.

Tags/Warnings: Nothing to add yet.

Note: Also, this is a Javier Escuella x reader. The reader is also female, sorry! 

“What the hell?”  

“Is she alright?”

“Don't just stand there, help the poor girl!”

I remember waking up on a bed, not soft at all, reminded me of a rock.

The rays of the sun made the girl groan and sit on the bed. Rubbing her eyes, she looked around and noticed the strange ambient she was in. A few people walking around, yet none of them noticed she was awake. The woman got up slowly, swaying on her feet, and took slow steps towards her bag left on the ground, until a small voice startled her.

“Mama, the weird lady is up!”

“Already?”

(Y/N) sighed, her head up, and watching as all the eyes were on her. Her mind was still processing the information from the past hours, time-traveling. Right, right, she knew what to do. At least, what she was supposed to do. Her body felt different, probably still adjusting to going through a portal, her mouth was dry and she could still taste a bit of dirt on her lips from the fall.

“Hey, lady, you good?” A silvery voice ringed, waking (Y/N) from her thoughts. Looking at the group of people surrounding her. The man wearing a sombrero got closer to her with a cautious look on his face. The girl didn’t answer, the shock beginning to take over her body. Only know did the poor girl realized what she had done.

“Javier, be careful. She could be…dangerous.” Another voice coming from behind him said.

Dangerous? Well, she kinda is, right? Being a skilled hacker and knowing her way on a gun, but that probably wouldn’t serve much in this era. The hacker part, at least. (Y/N) focused on the loud voices coming near them, they were arguing, and probably about her too.

“Why are we keeping her alive, Dutch? The woman came through that shiny golden circle on the sky and you decide to keep her here?” A blond man waved his arm towards her angrily. (Y/N) recognized him from the old picture the other woman had shown to her; Micah Bell.

“We can’t just kill her, Micah. We need to hear her first.” The other man, Dutch van der Linde, or the dude with fancy clothes, replied. Seemingly annoyed by Micah.

“We have far too many mouths to feed already. We can’t have another one.” A feminine harsh voice announced. “Who comes through something like that in the middle of nowhere? In our camp? She’s dangerous.”

The woman let out a heavy and annoyed sigh. Crossing her arms and looking to the gang, with her brows furrowed. She wouldn’t let them talk like that about her like she wasn’t there. Everyone quickly looked at her.

“If you let me explain myself first before any of you open your mouths.” (Y/N) could see the surprised look on a few faces, but an angry one on the others. Maybe having an attitude wouldn’t do her any good here, probably should get rid of that before causing any problems amongst the gang. After all, she needed to gain their trust.

“I’m sorry, Miss…?”

“(L/N).”

“I’m sorry, Miss (L/N), they can be quite suspicious about strange folks. Of course, we’ll let you explain yourself after…that.” Dutch spoke softly with an educated tune, being the calmest and reasonable of them all. The girl took a few steps back, stumbling on her words a few times, even mumbling in Italian. Everyone’s eyes were on her like hawks, most of them curious but suspicious. It wasn’t hard to understand them, a random woman popping out of a hole on the sky dressed weirdly would any person be suspicious and probably very shocked.

(Y/N) was taking too long. Hearing a click of the tongue made her straighten up and fixing her eyes on the wanted gang.

“Well, err, I am…from the future-“

“The future?! I can’t listen to that bullshit!” Micah replied almost immediately.

“Shut the fuck up I’m talking!” The sudden shout made their eyes widen a bit, but she could still hear a few mumbled laughs on the background. “As I was saying, I came from the future. I’m from 2021. Someone sent me here to…help you all before a big tragedy takes place.”

After seconds of shocked nonbelieving silence, a few loud voices were heard around. Mostly because they didn’t believe one single word she’d just said, others were questioning why Dutch decided to let her live and how they should just throw her on the river. But, one of the girls slowly approached her, more calmly.

“Why you?” The young brown-hair freckled woman asked, one of her brows up in a questioning way. She sounded so gentle when she spoke.

I adored Mary-Beth. I think she was the kindest and most gentle member of the Van der Linde gang.

“Oh. Well, you see….” (Y/N) gazed hesitantly to Dutch for the first time. He was watching her with his arms crossed, with a heavy brooding expression and eyes narrowed. The leader was wearing a black and red vest with a blue and white pinstripe shirt, with gold chains on his vest, with a smart black jacket and a black hat. He was taller than her and stronger; with a thick, black mustache and soul patch under his lips, he also has dark black, slick backed hair that curls at the end. Taking a mental note on his appearance, he seemed far more intimidating in real life.

I recall thinking “Damn, is that my great-grandpa? He’s hot.”. But in a serious note, he seemed to be so cold-hearted but at the same time, kind and trustworthy. He did look like a gentleman. He was an outlaw, and well, I guess it does run on the family.

What was she doing? Why did she take the stupid decision on going back to the past just because someone didn’t like how this gang’s fate ended? Many, many lives didn’t have a happy ending too. So why change only theirs? (Y/N) was already regretting the foolish decision she took, but hey, she still had that block thing to go back. Nothing was lost yet, she just had to justify herself and get the hell out of there before they decide to kill her or worse.

Hearing a forced cough woke the girl from her thoughts. Feeling embarrassed when she noticed she had been staring at him this whole time. Good, just wonderful.

“I’m Dutch’s…great-granddaughter.” The words merely escape her lips and heavens, how she felt like throwing herself out of a cliff after it. A burst of loud laughter was heard, coming from some of the men. A great joke, yes, that’s what this was. They didn’t believe her, not without proof, and she couldn’t honestly blame them.

“You can’t possibly believe this crazy woman’s words, Dutch. C’mon.”

“Miss, please elaborate on that.”

“Dutch? C’mon boss, she hit her head when she fell!” Micah shouted, not very happy with the leader deciding to hear her story before making any judgment. (Y/N) was glad for it, who knows what would happen if he decided to listen to that idiot.

She grabbed her bag and started to look for her phone, it probably wouldn’t work much there but if time traveling is a thing, maybe ghost WiFi was too. Who knows. Probably asking for too much there. (Y/N) took a few steps closer and turned it on, showing them the colorful wallpaper and the date, “2021”, proceeding to shows some pictures of streets and buildings she had on her gallery. It seemed to have worked, has everyone had a terrified look on their faces. Most of them were still a bit hesitant, and probably scared of the unknown.

The girl turned to the leader, she didn’t have any proof about being his great-granddaughter. Wait, she didn’t ask for it too. Damn it, did she just get fooled by that woman?

“I don’t have any proof, sir, but that woman told me I was…your granddaughter and needed me to save you all.” Before he replied, she added. “She did mention a one night woman you were with.”

“If what you’re telling us is the truth,” He began, slowly. Still watching her closely. “I guess you’ll have to stay with us.”

Giving the man a slight smile, the girl nodded. She heard a few angrily mumbles coming from behind them, some of the gang’s members weren’t very happy with that sudden decision. With a gentle pat on her shoulder, Dutch made his way to the middle of the camp and looked at everyone, rubbing his hands together with a serious, yet sympathetic expression.

“Family, Miss (L/N) will stay with us for the time being. I don’t want any complaints about this, she showed us proof of her story and if she’s here to help us, we should give her a home.” Nobody spoke, just silence. Maybe they didn’t want to oppose their leader. “Miss Grimshaw, please help Miss (Y/N) prepare a tent and show her around.”

The older woman nodded, looking at Dutch and then glaring suspiciously at (Y/N).

“Miss (Y/N), I would like to speak with you…privately.” Feeling a sudden jump of beat on her chest, the girl nodded. The serious tune on his voice addressing to her caught her by surprise, she didn’t like that tune coming from adults. Perhaps because every time that happened, they would blame her for something afterward and treat her like a child.

“Don’t worry, he just wants to talk to you about that great-granddaughter thing, ya know,” Mary-Beth said, giving (Y/N) a warm smile. “I’ll catch you later, ‘kay? Someone has to show you around and meet the other folks.”  

“Thanks…?” The girl tilted her head a bit. That’s right, they didn’t present themselves yet.

“Mary-Beth. You?” The young woman replied. Her name fit her perfectly, she looked like the main character of a romance novel.

“(Y/N).”

“Oh, well, nice to meet you, (Y/N). It’s better if you go now, don’t wanna keep Dutch waitin’.” Mary said, already making her way to another tent. (Y/N) nodded in agreement, putting her brave face and walking confidently to Dutch’s tent. Alright, probably not that confident, but she couldn’t let the others think she’s weak or scared now. She had a role to keep! The thought about going back to 2021 was already in the back of her mind and probably would stay there for a very long time.

[kelyon]

Golden Rings 19: A Friend

The Storybrooke sequel to Golden Cuffs

Rumpelstiltskin receives a visitor

Read on AO3

A family stands before him, more terrified than they want to show. The man holds a top hat in both hands. The woman keeps her arms over their daughter.

“Is it true?” the man asks. “What Regina is threatening, can she do it?”

Slowly, Rumpelstiltskin steps toward the huddled family. It is unlike Jefferson to be so serious, unlike Leona to show anything less than brazen self-confidence. The girl may be too young to know what is happening, but she knows that her parents are afraid and that is enough to make her terrified. 

Belle comes up behind him, her hand extended to the child. “Grace,” she says gently, “would you like to visit my horse? Perhaps we could go for a ride.”

The girl looks to her parents. “May I, Mama? Papa?”

“Of course, luv.” Leona releases her grip on her daughter. “Make sure you mind Belle, and don’t get yourself into any trouble you can’t get out of.”

Nodding obediently, the child takes his wife’s hand. Belle gives him an encouraging smile before they go out to the stables. She trusts him to handle the situation on his own. She knows he can assuage their fears. 

Once his daughter is gone, Jefferson leaves his wife and comes up to Rumpelstiltskin. He puts his hands on his shoulders and looks him in the eyes.  “I’m serious,” he says.

“I know you are, my boy.” Delicately, he extracts himself from the other man’s grip. “This is a serious matter.”

“This queen lady told everyone she’s going to destroy the world.” Leona says what they all know but cannot utter. “Does she really have that much power?”

He cannot face them. He turns away, takes long, slow steps around his dining room before he answers. 

“Yes.”  

Jefferson crushes the brim of his hat in one hand. After a moment, he gathers himself. “We’ve seen worlds destroyed before, Dark One. It is a terrible thing.”

“Yes,” he agrees. “Yes, you were with me when proud Atlantis sank beneath the waves. A million lives lost in fire and water and lightning. But Regina’s curse is… different. Her purpose is not to destroy the world, but to destroy happiness.”

Leona’s mouth drops open. “And how is killing everyone not the same as all that? Who would be left to be happy, when it’s all over?”

Rumpelstiltskin shakes his head. “No, she wants us alive. Everyone in this world, everyone she considers her enemy. She wants us alive and miserable and trapped in our misery for the rest of time.”

“Gods.” Jefferson collapses into a chair and hangs his head. Leona stands by him and takes his hand into her own. 

“Regina will end this world, and take us all to a new one--a land without happy endings. We will all be severed from the people we love, or even if we are near them, we won’t be able to love them.”

“But why everyone?” Leona asks. “Why us? I never did anything to this woman! What’s she got against me?” 

Walking over to the couple, he places his hand over where theirs are joined. “You are happy,” he says simply. “The two of you have a love that she will never know--and the love of your child besides that. Regina believes that she will never have happiness as long as anyone else does.”

Leona nods, understanding. “So she’s mad, is she?”

“Yes,” Jefferson answers. His blue eyes look out at nothing as he speaks. “I’ve worked with Regina, before I met you, Leo. Once, she commissioned me to take her and a servant girl to Wonderland. Didn’t tell me that this was going to be a rescue mission to save some old man. You know the rules of the hat, only the number of people that go in can come out again. That was why Regina brought the servant girl. She killed her. Ripped her heart out of her chest and crushed it. As easily as blowing her nose. We left the girl’s body there, in the forest of giant mushrooms. So yeah. As they say in Wonderland, Regina is mad as the March Hare.”

Leona holds her husband in both hands, standing over him as she had stood over her daughter earlier. Wincing at the memory, he rests against her bosom 

“What do we do?” For all her comforting posture, Leona looks at Rumpelstiltskin with steely determination. “Can you stop her?”

He raises his hands in a show of helplessness. “Regina is a powerful magic-user and she is on a war-path.”

Hands balled into fists, Leona breaks away from Jefferson and begins to pace. “If my mother were here, she’d hit that woman upside the head with a cauldron, queen or no!”

“Yeah, well Nanny Ogg is from a different world than this one.” Jefferson stays seated in the chair. His hat hangs loosely in his grip.

“It is not hopeless,” Rumpelstiltskin says. “All curses can be broken.”

“Broken after they’ve been cast!” Leona marches up to him, wielding an accusatory finger. “I want to know if you can stop her, stop this curse from ever happening!”

“Leo,” Jefferson stands behind his wife. Gently, he puts his hands on her ample hips and pulls her close to him. “The Dark One is our friend. I’m sure he’s doing everything he can.”

He says nothing. He lets Jefferson’s faith do the talking for him. Jefferson is a clever man, but less shrewd than his wife. The poor boy wants to believe in him, but Leona Ogg has no such sentimentality. She is wise enough to know that if he wanted to stop this curse, it would never have been able to start. 

“You should leave,” he tells them quietly. “The three of you should go in the hat, find some world far from here where you can live out the rest of your days together.”

“If Regina can destroy one world, she’ll find a way to destroy others,” Jefferson points out. 

He shakes his head. “After the curse is cast, Regina will be stopped. A Savior will come, a force of goodness who will destroy her evil forever.”

“But only after we’ve been cursed?” Leona crosses her arms. 

He nods. “Yes. The only way to avoid it is to flee. Leave this world before it leaves you.”

Slowly, Jefferson turns his hat over in his hands. “That makes sense.” He looks to Leona. “Where do you want to go?”

“Lancre, of course. If we can’t live in the home we made for ourselves, we might as well go to Mum’s.”

Jefferson nods. “What do you say, Dark One? Can I offer you and Belle a trip to Discworld?”

He shakes his head. “I can’t know what form my magic will take on a world like that. There is a risk I’ll transform into something horrible and the good people of the Disk World will have to try to slay me.”

Leona snorts. “And it’ll take a few weeks at least to find any ‘good people’ around. We’re not as black and white with the ‘heroes’ and ‘villains’ as this place.”

“All the more reason for me to stay here and face this curse as it comes.”

“And Belle will stay with you?”

He gives his friend a rueful grin. “I couldn’t make her leave me if I tried.”

Jefferson looks down at his hat and then looks up again. “Do you really think if we go to Discworld the curse will pass us by?”

He puts his hands over Jefferson’s around the brim. “The best I can promise is that you will be safer.”

Leona’s dark eyes narrow. “‘Safer’ isn’t ‘safe,’ Mister Dark One.”

“No.” Jefferson steps back, away from Rumpelstiltskin and toward his wife. In a motion born from years of practice, he twirls the hat to put it on his head. “But sometimes safer is the best you can hope for.”

“I hope you do get away from the curse,” he tells them honestly. “For it will be a very long time before any good can come out of all this. ”

****

It was strange, to wake up in a bed without Belle. Without even Mrs. Gold’s body, warm and soft beside him. In the month since they had started sleeping in separate bedrooms, Rumpelstiltskin still hadn’t gotten used to waking up alone. It had been a bittersweet torture to spend that much time in bed with a woman who wasn’t Belle. Being without was a milder ache, but an ache nonetheless.  

That morning, he met her going up the stairs as he was coming down. Mrs. Gold was still in her pajamas--a new pair he hadn’t seen before. She had a plate of toast in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other. So she would eat in her room before she got dressed. That was the opposite of his routine. Ever since their new arrangement, Mrs. Gold had been going out of her way to avoid him.   

He wanted to speak to her. He wanted to say something innocuous, even just “Good morning.” Something to make her turn and look at him, say anything in response. He just wanted to see Belle’s face, hear Belle’s voice.

But Mrs. Gold turned away, pressed herself against the banister, and brushed past him as quickly as she could.

Rumpelstiltskin sighed. How strange that he would miss that woman, that he would feel their estrangement so keenly. Before, he had taken for granted that Mrs. Gold wanted to please him, that she sought him out and tried to talk with him. But now she would only speak when he asked her a question. Now she kept to her room when he was in the house. She stayed away from the shop during the day. Wherever he was, his wife made a point to be somewhere else.

Considering how he had treated her, it was no less than he deserved. 

After making his breakfast, he sat alone at the far end of a long table. In silence, Rumpelstiltskin read the newspaper and tried to push from his mind how familiar a situation this was. Not with Belle. Once he had her in his castle, she had never avoided him, even when it would have been in her best interest. But before Belle. During those long centuries of isolation, when he had been an enemy of love. When his life was nothing but magic and deals and endless searching for a way to find Bae. When people were nothing but tools to be used, locks to be picked, pieces to be arranged upon a chessboard that stretched out for decades. 

Then, he had spent many mealtimes at the head of a table set for one.

When it was time to leave for the day, Mrs. Gold came down to join him. Every morning he gave her a ride into town. She usually kept her face to the window and didn’t make a sound for the whole trip. 

She wore charcoal today, a sweater-dress that wrapped snugly around her body. Gold would have sent her out in that with nothing underneath, but she had put on layers of camisoles and blouses. Most of her clothes were flimsy and skimpy, so she wore the pieces on top of each other in a haphazard effort to cover herself.

 At least she looked warm.

The clashing dark colors washed out her face, made her look even paler and sadder. She wasn’t wearing cosmetics, or any jewelry besides her wedding ring. Her thick, curly hair hung limply over her shoulders, like a shroud. 

Again, Rumpelstiltskin wanted to speak to her. But what could he say? Any comment on her appearance would seem like an attack, any inquiry to her wellbeing would be an invasion. What do you say to someone you’re no longer even pretending to love?

“What do you think you’ll do today?” he tried once they were in the car. 

She shrugged and sank further back into the seat, her arms folded over her chest. 

“Do you need money?” It seemed a heartless, mercenary solution, but it was all he could safely offer her.

And it worked. Straightening up, Mrs. Gold spoke: “Sure.”

At Storybrooke’s only stoplight, he pulled out his wallet and handed her a wad of bills.

She put them in her purse. “Since you’re paying me, I guess that means you’re satisfied with what you’re getting out of this new deal.”

Rumpelstiltskin gripped the steering wheel. No, he wasn’t satisfied at all. But he wouldn’t be satisfied until Belle was sitting next to him, talking to him. Lonely as he was, he couldn’t ask for Mrs. Gold’s time or attention. It would be too cruel to demand any devotion, when he knew he had no intention of doing the same. He couldn’t love Mrs. Gold. It would be too unfair to ask her to love him again. 

He parked the car next to the shop.“You’re doing everything I expected you would, Mrs. Gold.” 

“Great.” She zipped up her purse. “That must be why we’re both so fucking happy.”

By the time he turned to look at her, she had already unbuckled her safety belt and slammed the door. 

Rumpelstiltskin watched Mrs. Gold walk away. He could go after her, even on his cane. He could shout to get her attention. He could drive up to her and insist she get back in the car. He could make an effort to talk to her, to get her to talk to him. He could try to understand this woman, this curse-creature who occupied Belle’s body, but who seemed to have a mind of her own. He could try to get inside that mind. He could try to see who she was, now that she wasn’t pretending to be what she thought her husband wanted. 

But he did nothing. Rumpelstiltskin was a coward down to his bones. No good would come of getting to know Mrs. Gold. He couldn’t risk finding out what she thought of him, what she wanted out of this relationship. They didn’t have a relationship, they didn’t relate to each other.

He had made sure of that. 

So Rumpelstiltskin did what he had been doing every day since he’d been let out of the jail cell: He opened the pawn shop, and conducted his business, and waited for the Savior to break the curse. 

****

 It was dark outside, when the bell rang over the shop door. A spring storm was picking up. Wind sent leaves and debris skittering over the road and sidewalks. Thunder rumbled and heavy clouds pressed down upon the town. 

Rumpelstiltskin was polishing the collection of silver on the side counter. At the sound of the bell, he looked up. 

And froze. 

Jefferson.

It was Jefferson. The tall, broad-shouldered young man who had transported him from world to world for a handsome fee, who had accompanied him on dozens of adventures, who had reminded him that physical pleasure could come with personal affection. The boy who had paved the way for Belle to enter his heart.

How was he here? Hadn’t he taken his family and escaped to the Disk World? Wouldn’t they have been safe there? Gold had no memories of the man who stood before him. He had no idea what Jefferson’s life had been like under the curse. Where was Leona? Where was Grace?

The longer Rumpelstiltskin looked at Jefferson, the more he saw the changes in him. He wasn’t smiling. The boyish good humor was gone. There was no dancing light in his slate blue eyes. He used to stand with his head jauntily cocked to one side, but now he looked straight ahead, level and deadly serious. The man before him looked burdened, weathered and hollowed out.

He was dressed like himself, as much as Storybrooke fashions would allow. He wore a scarf at his throat, as he used to wear a cravat over the leather collar that matched his wife’s. The clothes were well-tailored, expensive. His gray, rain-soaked overcoat had gunmetal leather lapels, very much like a coat Rumpelstiltskin had given him as a gift back in the old world. Jefferson’s scarf, shirt, and waistcoat were all different patterns, all in gray and black.   

He wasn’t wearing a hat.

The first time Rumpelstiltskin had met Jefferson, he had entrusted him with a magical hat. The boy had been running away from a woman he didn’t want to marry, a life he didn’t want to live. In his hopelessness, he had sliced a line across his throat with a knife. His dying wish had been to find a world where he could be happy. 

That was when the Dark One had made himself known. He had healed the boy’s wounds and given him a hat that would take him to every world with magic. Surely somewhere there would be happiness for a young man who had never fit the mold he had been made for. 

And ever since then, Jefferson had been at his service.

Brow lowered, gait heavy, the man approached the counter. He set both hands upon the glass top. A few of his fingers wore wide, silver rings. But no wedding ring. Was he not married in this world? What had happened to Leona Ogg? 

“Are you Mr. Gold?”

Quickly recovering from the shock of seeing Jefferson--and seeing him so changed--Rumpelstiltskin returned to his work. “That is the name on the front of the building.”

“But is it who you are?” Jefferson’s voice was different too. His tone was pointed, accusatory.  

If he was Mr. Gold, he wouldn’t put up with being spoken to that way. Rumpelstiltskin braced against his side of the counter, arming himself in businesslike courtesy. “And who might you be?”

Jefferson’s face changed as though someone had flipped a switch. He put on the mask of a wide, toothy smile that didn’t meet his eyes. Pushing back from the glass case, Jefferson took exaggerated steps around the shop. 

“They call me Dodgson around here.” His voice was too bright. “Chaz Dodgson. I’m a pilot. Normally I fly out of Boston, and I go all over the world. But lately--almost for as long as I can remember--I haven’t been able to leave this tiny town in Maine. Do you think that’s strange, Mr. Gold?”

He made his introduction with rapid-fire delivery. A machine gun, that was what they had in this world. That was the image that came to mind. Wild shooting that blasted forth in short bursts of dazzling, horrible, light. 

Then you waited for the smoke to clear, to see what would happen next. 

Rumpelstiltskin kept his composure. He made a show of looking down at the silver platter he had been polishing. He saw Jefferson’s reflection in it, warped and distorted. 

“I suppose you could say that Storybrooke is rather a strange place, Mr. Dodgson.”

A laugh then. No, a cackle. Rumpelstiltskin had done enough cackling in his time to know the difference. Jefferson let out an agitated, throaty sound that had nothing to do with humor. 

“You’re very right, Mr. Gold!” He pointed at him with a manic grin. “Maybe righter than you know!” Then his expression darkened and he turned serious. “Or maybe you’re exactly as right as you know.”

Putting down the polishing rag, Rumpelstiltskin looked up at Jefferson. “Can I help you with something, Mr. Dodgson? Is there something you’re looking for?”

“I’m looking for a lot of things,” he whispered. “And if you can’t help me, I don’t know who can.” 

What kind of game was being played here? What did “Dodgson” want with Gold? Obviously, Jefferson was speaking in a cipher. But was it his code? Or was it the curse’s? How should he respond?

He held the man’s gaze and didn’t look away. “What are you looking for?” he said softly. 

Jefferson took a step closer. He didn’t look away either. “I hope to every god it’s here, but I just don’t know.”

Finally breaking the gaze, Rumpelstiltskin began to put the polished silver away. “Do you need a gift for someone? Your wife perhaps?” 

With a smirk, Jefferson shook his head. “No, this is something I need for myself. What made you think I was married?”

“Oh, aren’t you? I apologize for the assumption.”

“No, I am.” He brought his hand to his throat. “But my wife is, uh, out of town, for now.”

“Traveling?”

“Living with her mother,” Jefferson said. “At least, I hope she’s still there. It’s been a while since I’ve seen her.”

Leona Ogg hadn’t been born in the old world. Jefferson had met her on an absurd flat planet called the Disk World, where her mother was a powerful hedge witch. Rumpelstiltskin had told them to go to that world, he had thought they would be safe there. If he could believe what Dodgson was telling him, he had only been half-right. 

Or maybe two-thirds. One of Gold’s memories flashed into his mind: A little girl, plump and blonde, with merry dark eyes. The very image of her mother. Grace. But in this world she was Paige Lewis, the adopted and cherished daughter of Tim and Mia Lewis. 

Why did he have no memories of Dodgson? Where had Jefferson been all this time, while his daughter was being raised by someone else?

“So is this an item for your children, perhaps?” He asked carefully. 

Jefferson looked at him, his blue eyes steel and stone. “No,” he said. “I told you before, this is something I need for myself, Mr. Gold.”

Shrugging, Rumpelstiltskin locked the silver behind the case and limped to the other end of the store by the cash register. “Tell me again what it was?”

 With a heavy tread, Jefferson moved to the middle of the store. “Tell me what you have.”

Rumpelstiltskin raised his hands and grinned like Gold would. “The shop’s inventory is rather extensive,” he said. “If I were to go through an itemized list, we’d be here for quite some time.”

“Alright then,” Jefferson said grimly. “Tell me what you think I need.”

He looked him over again, more than willing to play this game. “An umbrella, perhaps? The rain looks quite nasty.”

“Oh, it’s mad as a March hare, as they say. But I don’t need an umbrella.” He took a step forward. “I need something quite personal. Long-lasting, durable.”

“Maybe a set of luggage then. Didn’t you say you were a traveler?”

“I haven’t gone traveling in a long time.” Jaw clenched, Jefferson took another step closer to Rumpelstiltskin. “For a long time, I wasn’t even able to leave my house.”

Not able? For how long?

“Were you ill, Mr. Dodgson?”

“Yeah.” He grinned without humor. “I was sick in the head. An absolute nutter. I suffered from delusions. Memories that weren’t mine, a life that I had never lived. Can you imagine that, Mr. Gold? Can you imagine?”

“No,” Rumpelstiltskin lied. “Though it looks like you’re doing well now.”

“You trust your eyes?” Jefferson let out a short, stuttering laugh that sounded like he did actually find something funny. “I thought you were smarter than that!”

He straightened up. “What are you looking for, sir?” After a moment’s hesitation, he added, “I can’t help you if you aren’t honest.”

The last few steps to the counter were a stagger. Jefferson almost fell against the display case and stayed bent over. “Don’t you want to know how long I was trapped in my house?” He looked up at him. His eyes were soft now, teary. “How long I was trapped in my own double-mind?”

Rumpelstiltskin’s mouth opened. It couldn’t be. Surely Jefferson couldn’t have suffered like that. Surely even this curse was not that cruel.

He set his hand next to Jefferson’s, not quite close enough to touch. “My boy,” he whispered. “Tell me what you need.”

“Not a spouse, I have one of those.” He seemed exhausted, breathless. “Not a child either. Not a lover or an employer or a benefactor.” Desperate eyes poured into him. “I don’t need a loan shark or a pawnbroker or a landlord.” Still staring, Jefferson took Rumpelstiltskin’s hand and gripped it with all his strength. “I don’t need a genius or a wizard or the fucking Dark One!” That last phrase was said in a gritted whisper. It seemed to take everything out of him. “So you tell me,” he panted. “What do I need?”

For a moment, Rumpelstiltskin said nothing. For the second time in just a few minutes, he felt the shock of seeing Jefferson again. And this man was Jefferson, inside and out. He was awake. He was suffering. He needed…

“A friend,” he answered the question at last. “Is that what you came in here to find?”

Slowly straightening up, Jefferson nodded. “Is there one here?”

“Yes.” If it weren’t for his cane and the glass case between them, he would have embraced the boy like he used to. “Yes, Jefferson. I’m here.”  

He covered his face with his hands and broke down sobbing. For a moment, Rumpelstiltskin couldn’t move. How should he respond to this? What could he do?

He could do what he couldn’t do with Mrs. Gold. He could comfort this man. His friend.

Ankle throbbing, he walked to the other side of the counter. Jefferson looked up, his blue eyes brimming with tears. This was the Jefferson that Rumpelstiltskin had known. The boy he had rescued on that fateful day in the forest. One of the rare souls whose desperation filled his dark heart with pity, and not contempt.  

“My boy,” he whispered. He opened his arms and Jefferson embraced him. 

Though Jefferson was taller than Rumpelstiltskin, the Dark One had always wielded the power in their relationship. It was the only way he had felt safe. Their physical dimensions hadn’t changed, but marrying Belle had rearranged Rumpelstiltskin’s perspective on safety and power. He let the bigger man hug him, envelop him in his need. He drew strength from Jefferson’s strength. Even though Jefferson was younger and bigger and fitter than Gold, he had come to him for help.

And Rumpelstiltskin would do everything he could to help him. 

When they parted, he held Jefferson’s face in his hands. Coarse stubble prickled against his palms. Full lips parted slightly. Rumpelstiltskin wiped away his tears with his thumbs. 

“How did this happen?” he asked softly. “Why didn’t you go to the Disk World?”

“We did.” Jefferson sniffed. Rumpelstiltskin took the silk pocket square out of his suit coat to give him. “We left as soon as we could. We lived there for months. But one night, I went to sleep next to Leo in Nanny Ogg’s cottage, and the next morning I woke up alone in a massive house I couldn’t leave.”

“You said that before. You couldn’t leave?”

He shook his head. “For twenty-eight years!” His face twisted and he pulled away. Rumpelstiltskin didn’t lower his hands. “You were locked in the curse, but I was locked in that house. I knew who I was, I remembered everything, I remembered too much!”

He rested his hand on his damp coat. “So that’s where Dodgson came from?”

Jefferson nodded, took a breath. “I had two lives in my head,” he whispered. “They both seemed impossible to the other. There were… months where I didn’t know what was real. In Discworld there was a poet who dreamed that he was a butterfly, and when he woke up, he didn’t know if he was a man who dreamed he was a butterfly, or a butterfly who was dreaming he was a man. That was my life. For a very long time.”

“Jefferson.” He squeezed his arm. “I’m so sorry.”

He looked at him, his expression drained. “No one else in this town was like that. Believe me, I had a lot of time to look around. Any theories as to why I was so lucky?”

He shook his head. “It’s Regina’s curse, maybe she--”

“It’s your curse,” he interrupted. “I’ve had some time to think about that. Regina is powerful, but she couldn’t have made something like this. That had to be you.”

He took a step back, resting both hands on his cane. Twenty-eight years of isolation, of knowing that time wasn’t moving, but being aware of every moment. Twenty-eight years in a world he didn’t understand, separated from the people who mattered most to him. 

Utterly alone.

No wonder Jefferson had changed. 

He couldn’t fool him anymore. He didn’t want to. The poor boy deserved better than that. He deserved the truth.

“It was my curse,” he admitted. “Regina cast it, but I created it. That doesn’t mean I have any control over it.”

“How is that possible?” Jefferson growled. “How can you, of all people, not have control  over everything?”

“Because, my boy, all magic comes at a price. The curse that destroyed our world and created this town is the most powerful piece of spellmaking I’ve ever touched. Part of casting it was sacrificing the heart of the thing you love most--and there are more prices yet to pay. I’m not willing to lose everything, but Regina was. So it is her curse. She rules this land until it breaks.”

Jefferson’s jaw clenched. “You said something like that before, back home. You said something about a Savior. It’s that Sheriff, isn’t it? The woman with the yellow bug?”

Rumpelstiltskin blinked. “How did you know that?”

“She came to town in October. That’s when things started changing around here. The clock on the library started moving, people started doing things they haven’t done before--not in twenty-eight years of living the same lives. Now there are people in town now I’ve never seen before.” 

“Who?” Rumpelstiltskin asked. “The only new person I’ve seen is Emma.”

Jefferson shrugged. “There’s the guy carrying on with the schoolteacher, I don’t know who he is.”

“That’s Prince Charming,” he explained. “He was in the hospital until just after Emma came to town, in a coma.” 

“Weren’t you all?” Jefferson said dryly. “Okay, I’ve got another one for you. Around New Year’s, a guy rode in on a motorcycle, definitely an out-of-towner. He stuck around too. Do you know who he is?”

Rumpelstiltskin’s lips parted, but he said nothing. A stranger came into Storybrooke? That shouldn’t have happened. This place was supposed to be isolated from the rest of the Land Without Magic. The only people who could enter were people who were already connected to the old world, people who were born there. 

But if there was a young man who could enter the town freely, who had willingly stayed in this cursed place...

Before he could ask Jefferson more questions, the bell over the shop door rang again. 

“My God, it is cats and dogs out there!” Mrs. Gold stood on the front carpet. Water dripped off the plastic shopping bags in her hands. The rain had plastered all her thin layers against her skin. She looked bedraggled and cold, and Rumpelstiltskin’s first desire was to get her out of those wet things and into a bath, to give her hot chocolate and wrap her in a blanket.

It was only when Jefferson took a step back that Rumpelstiltskin realized how close they had been. Too close for any two men to be standing together in this world, and far too close for Gold to allow anyone who wasn’t wearing handcuffs. 

Mrs. Gold’s crystalline eyes took in the sight of them. Jefferson clutched Gold’s pocket square in his fist. Rumpelstiltskin’s hands still held out in mid-air, reaching for the younger man’s body. In an endless instant, he saw the shock on her face, the realization, the anger.

Then he saw her close herself off. It was like the turn of a lock, or the extinguishing of a flame. She went dead behind the eyes. When she spoke, her voice was thin.

“Sorry to interrupt your business, Mr. Gold. I just needed to come in out of the rain.”

“Of course,” he said automatically. He was too stunned to move. “But you weren’t interrupting anything, Mrs. Gold.”

Her lips pressed together at that. She said nothing, but looked up and down the length of Jefferson’s body. Then she moved past them both to get to the back of the shop. 

Once she was behind the curtain, Rumpelstiltskin allowed himself to sigh. Closing his eyes, he shook his head. Though that was not the worst way this situation could have gone, it was still far from optimal. 

Jefferson let out a low whistle. With a meaningful glance to the back office, he said: “So can I expect your call about the merchandise I requested?”

Limping back to the cash register, Rumpelstiltskin pulled out a notepad and a pen. He passed them over the counter to Jefferson.  “Certainly, Mr. Dodgson. If you’ll give me your address, I can have it delivered to your house.”

He wrote down a series of numbers and an address: 316 Angus Drive. “Just let me know when it’s ready.” His voice lowered. “I’ll be waiting.”

Rumpelstiltskin nodded. “As soon as I can, my boy.”   

[sammy-gvf]

We get along (for the most part)

Chapter 2 

OC X Lee Bodecker

———————————-

Warnings- a little angst and cursing. 

Plot- The local rebel badass girl and Lee Bodecker have had run ins, lets see how it goes, shall we?

Word count : 2,705

MINORS DNI! THIS STORY WILL EVENTUALLY GET 18+. PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS. I DO NOT FEEL LIKE GETTING IN TROUBLE FOR YOU BEING STUPID. THANKS. 

 CHAPTER ONE IS PINNED ON MY PROFILE!

Sunday morning.

Slowly, I woke from my slumber hoping that I slept through church. Unfortunately, the sound of footsteps coming towards my door tells me differently. Knocking at the door, I hear a quiet voice come through the crack of my door.

“Maggy, are you up? Mamas goin have a fit if you aint up for church.” 

That's my brother John, he is always there to wake me up on sundays. He enjoys going to church. I’m not really into it, i usually try to go back to sleep but my parents barely ever let me sleep through church, small town equals gossip. No matter what you do, someone is always talking about you. Sat the wrong way? Gossiped about. Sneezed during church? Gossiped about. Literally anything you do is talked about among the town residents. I was the talk of the town when I was in high school, everyone knew I was sneakin around with Arvin. No one  liked it obviously, bein called every name in the book. I didn't care clearly, it didn't bother me or Arvin. 

I groan and slowly get out of bed, stretching and looking out of my window. It's a beautiful sunny day in Knockemstiff, I never thought I would ever describe this run down town like that, it's quite beautiful here though. Open fields for miles, I could see why no one would want to leave. I mean in old age, you could just do anything with your land and live off it. 

Getting up, I feel my feet hit the cold wood floor of my room. Everyday, I hope I don't get a splinter from the floor so I wear slippers throughout the house. I head to the bathroom to look at myself in the mirror. My hair is disheveled and almost out of the bun that I had it in the night before, my eyebrows are out of place and the bags underneath my eyes are prominent. I sigh and splash some cold water on my warm face. I grab my toothbrush and go for it, spitting out the toothpaste and flashing my teeth in the mirror to make sure I didn't miss a spot. 

I heard my parents and brother moving around pretty quickly so I looked at the clock near my bed. It's 9:30 am, church starts in about 20 minutes and it takes 10 to get there. Quickly, I put my hair in a low bun, slapped on some powder and a plain lip color, a rose color to compliment my fair skin. Hopping around, I grab a plain flowy blue dress that goes up to about the middle of my thigh and a pair of white keds, quick and simple. 

I step out of my room and grab my clutch so I have something to hold while in church, I usually can't keep my hands still. I shut the door behind me and head out to the living room to see everyone quickly eating some toast off their plates in the kitchen, I hop over and steal a piece of toast and bacon off Johns plate and then we are out the door. 

Hopping in my dads truck, the ride there is quiet. We don't talk much in my family, only at dinner once and a while and sometimes when my father drinks. Which is only when he is done work on Fridays. I make sure I'm out of the house on fridays, he never stops talking when he is drinking. My parents and I have never been that close really, kind of an unspoken family thing. Mother stays quiet and does her motherly duties as us women are expected to do once we pop out a few puppies. I refuse to be like that. 

The ride to church is scenic,open fields for miles and so many animals to look at. I enjoy the breeze coming through my hair but I just wish it was from me driving my car out somewhere I have never been. Like maybe California, it's probably beautiful. I have never been to a beach, as a matter of fact I've never been out of Knockemstiff before. I envy everyone who leaves this place and never comes back. As soon as I can get out of here, I will. I swear on everything I love. 

The car stops and I get out, my feet hitting the dirt road below me. My keds are gonna need a cleaning after this. Stepping around the car, I separate from my family and hop around the back of the church to smoke a quick cig before I go through the church doors to act like I'm holy for 2 hours. 

Stepping to the left side of the church, I put my clutch on a bush and grabbed a cigarette from the pack stuffed in my bag. Quickly I light it and suck on it as quickly as I possibly can to just get a moment to myself. Looking out into the distance, I always forget that the cemetery is this close to the church. Graves for as far as the eyes can see. That distracted me to the point where I forgot how quick I was smoking and ended up inhaling too much smoke at one time, leading me to cough quite loud. I throw the cigarette on the floor below my foot and crush it quickly. 

I hear an oh so familiar voice in the distance as I finish my coughing fit. 

“ Ms. Lane, what a pleasure to see you on this fine sunday.” He says, walking towards me with his fingers hooked around the belt loops of his pants.

Same uniform everyday, never fails.

“Say, what are you doin here behind the church all by your lonesome? “ Lee says as he stands next to me, I can smell the tobacco and mint on him the same as I did last night. I look over at Lee with an exhausted look on my face from the coughing fit I just had.

Lee looks down at the ground and a grin forms on his face, sneaky bastard never misses a beat. 

“Ms.Lane-” Lee begins to say and I stop him

“Please, for the love of christ call me Maggy. I am not 16 anymore, Lee.” You say as you start to walk past him. He grabs your arm and stops you. 

“Maggy Lane, just know I know about your little reputation.” Lee says as he still has you by the arm, kind of digging his nails into your soft skin as you try to pull away a bit.

“As a matter of fact, I was there when you began your little shenanigans. Be careful of how you talk to your sheriff, little lady.” You look at him in disgust as he tries to intimidate you. 

“ Also, I told you those cigarettes was bad news, you're lucky I don't stop on over and talk to your pop about your little habit.” Lee says with a smirk on his face. You finally wiggle out of his grip, your arm dropping to your side with crescent shaped marks on your arm. You rub the spots where Lee's fingers were just digging into your upper arm.

Looking up at him, he tips his hat at you and starts to walk away. You spit on the ground near his feet and he turns around on his feet, quick. 

“ I hope you know you're a prick, Bodecker.” You spit out at him. 

Immediately, you are backed up against the wood boards of the church, both of Lee's arms on either side of your head. Your heart is racing and your breath is hitching. You're frozen. 

“Listen to me, you little bitch.” Lee inches closer to your face, your noses almost touching. You turn your head to the side hoping that he won't really notice but he grabs your face and holds it so you are looking him directly in the eyes.

“Your little mouth will get you in trouble, especially with me.” Your breath hitches as he gets closer. Your heart could explode. You were terrified. 

“ Lee, church is starting. We better get in there before we miss anything” A voice in the distance yells. 

 Instantly, Lee lets you go and strides back to the unknown voice. 

You stand there with a shocked look on your face, as if you had just seen the devil up close. You were frozen in your current position but as soon as people started going in the building you sank to your feet and sat there for a minute breathing heavily. You fixed yourself up and stood outside the door of the old church, taking a deep breath before going in and finding your seat next to your family. 

 Church dragged on and on, I felt like I was going to fall asleep. A screaming preacher, so many people in such a small space. Half way through, I got up to go to the bathroom and caught Lee staring at me and he gave me a small smirk. Creep.

Stepping into the bathroom, I look at my face in the mirror. It's still slightly red from where Lee had his disgusting hand around my chin. I pushed on the spot and it felt like it was going to bruise. 

“ Fuck” I whispered to myself as I turned my head side to side to look at the red around my lips and on my chin. This is for sure going to bruise. 

I splash some water on my face to refresh myself and then I step out of the bathroom to bump into something in front of me. 

“Shit, I am so sorry” You say as you back up into the oak door and look at the person in front of you. 

“ Oh, no worries hun.” the woman in front of you says. 

You look at her quickly as you step aside, sticking out your hand and you say “I don't think I have met you before, I’m Maggy Lane.” 

She sticks out her hand and shakes yours firmly, she is a very pretty woman with short brown curly hair. 

Thin and very well put together, can't be more than 25 years old. 

“ It’s very nice to meet you sweetheart, I’m Ruth Har- I mean Bodecker.” She says smiling as she pulls her hand back from the handshake and puts it back on her clutch bag. 

“You the sheriff's wife?” you say as you cock your head to the side questioningly. 

“Yes, I am.” she smiles, “ We've been married now for about a year, a very fine man he is.” She says as she steps aside to talk to you for a minute before she steps into the bathroom.

You were shocked, Lee actually was married? He was such an asshole, you didn't think anyone would want him. As you had said the previous night, you would tell his wife if he had called you another pet name but she looks so sweet. He doesn't deserve her. You had just said that assumin he even had a woman at home. 

“ Thats nice, say you ain't from around here, are ya?” You say in a little southern drawl, she aint from these parts. You can tell by the way she says certain words. 

“ No darlin, i'm from Tennessee.” she smiled “Met Lee out there while I was workin in a bar.” she blushed a bit.

“ Huh, well look at that.” you say as you cross your arms and lean against the doorframe of the bathroom. “ Lee does get out of town then.”

She chuckles and you look at the time, church is going to be over soon.

“ Well, it was very nice meeting you, Mrs.Bodecker.” You say as you turn your back and start walking towards the stairs to go back to the chapel area. 

“ You too, darlin.” She says waving at you. 

“ See you around” You say as you head back up the stairs. 

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

Chapter 2 already? I’m crankin shit out lol 

Hope yous like it so far! Dont forget to leave opinons/replys and as always dont forget to like/reblog!

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[justjessame]

Starting Over Chapter 12

“Brooke?”  I shook my head when I heard Connie’s voice on the other end, the sounds of cartoons playing in the background told me she was home.  “Are you alright?”  The worry in her voice made me feel guilty for not calling more often, or checking in at least.  

“I’m fine, worrywart.”  I settled into my spot on the couch, smiling as I caught a whiff of Bucky’s scent.  “I -”  I took a deep breath and bit my lip.  “I’m sorry I haven’t -”

Connie shushed me.  “Stop,” I closed my mouth, worried that she was going to tell me that she didn’t have time for fairweather friends and that she had a family to take care of now.  “You don’t have to explain anything to me, Brooke.”  It felt like my heart restarted.  “I can’t imagine how you must have felt coming back.”  I heard a rustling in the background and then the noise that had sounded like cartoons went away and it got quiet.  “Sorry about that, Bryn wanted to watch Tangled again.”

I smiled, my goddaughter, or she would have been if I’d been here to do the honors was three years old.  “Tangled is a good one.”  I was happy that Connie was willing to talk to me, that she was willing to make time, even if I’d pushed her away.  “Is that her favorite?”  

Connie laughed and I was happy to hear that it was as familiar to me as my own.  “She likes all of the princesses.  Joey is thinking we’re going to have to push up the trip to Disney by a year.”  I was grinning at the thought of Joey Amoruso playing girl daddy through the Magic Kingdom.  “Don’t worry, I made sure she got to see Beauty and the Beast, too.”  That got a laugh out of me.

“I can’t help loving Belle,” I argued, and listened to her snort.  “How’s your mom?”  Connie worked at her mom’s beauty salon, she’d started as soon as she was tall enough to reach around a customer’s head into the sink to wash their hair and after high school didn’t blink about going straight into cosmetology school.  

“You know Mertle,” her mom’s name was Ismerelda, but some hard of hearing old lady had misheard it once and called her ‘Mertle’ to our forever hilarity.  I laughed.  “She makes me do Mrs. McGillicutty’s hair now, every damn week, just because she got tired of doing the same style over and over.”  I remembered Mrs. McGillicutty, she was a sweet lady, but a little dotty.  “Today was my half day, Bryn’s preschool runs a half day every other day.”

“Who keeps her on the off days?”  I got up to grab a drink and listened as Connie told me all about the nightmares of finding childcare, even with an extended family like hers.  Falling back into the type of conversation that two friends have, if one had gone away for a while.  I grabbed a glass of water and my eyes landed on the flowers that Bucky brought me, a smile finding its home on my lips again, I sat down at the table and talked to Connie while I pulled the vase closer and played with the petals.  

Before we said our goodbyes, a good hour and a half after we’d started talking, Connie finally asked the question that I knew she had to have been burning with since she saw my name appear on her phone screen.  

“Not that I don’t LOVE hearing from you, Brooke, but what brought this on?  Why now?”  I’d wandered back to the living room, curling into the chair that Bucky sat in, letting the residual scent of him cradle me.  

“I met someone,” she squealed, causing a tiny mimic to happen from the background and I chuckled.  Good God, she had a mini me.  “You’d know him, actually -” I bit my lip.  “EVERYONE knows him or knows of him.”  I squinted, shit, should I tell anyone?  

“Tell me EVERYTHING.”  But then I heard a male voice, Joey her husband.  “Shit, the conquering man returns.”  I snorted.  “You are NOT off the hook, Brooke.  I expect details and a NAME.”  I promised she’d get both and then we said goodnight.  

I’d missed a text while I was on with Connie.  Another attempt at a selfie, this time it had part of another person that I found out was supposed to be Sam when I read the accompanying text message.  “See UR cuter.”  I was grinning, but the next message made me sigh.  “Stuck w/ Sam. :(“ 

Sad face emoji indeed, I thought.  Contemplating what type of reply I could send to a 106 year old without pushing him away or over a cliff, I went back to the kitchen where his flowers were still holding tight.  Thinking about how creative I felt like getting, I found the largest bloom, went to the bathroom and brushed out my hair. I tried to remember what the women from Bucky’s younger days might have done to look tempting.  Dramatic eye, red lip, then putting the flower behind my ear I hoped like hell that I didn’t look completely ridiculous before clicking off a shot and sending it.  

“Too bad. Sam’s a lucky guy. :*”  

I was washing off my work and thinking about reheating some more leftovers for dinner when my phone chirped.  Glancing down I was left smiling by his answer.

“No, I am.”  

Dinner, a shower, then bed.  Well, after a LONG staring contest in the mirror where I did my own personal pre-bedtime mantra.  It was rote, and I did it with the same vigor that I’d done it with every other time.  And I was just as certain that it would work as well.  

Without Bucky, I had my bed remade and I was settled back on my pillows.  The soft blue glow of the television had been a nice addition, so I flipped it on.  Turning the volume down so it was the same murmur that was soft enough to not keep me awake, I hoped it would work as a surrogate for the anchor that Bucky’s presence seemed to be.

The flashes came red, blue, unnameable colors. The feelings of pain and suffering, darkness and terror creeping closer and trying to pull me back.  I still couldn’t see what caused it, where the pain came from, what was so terrifying that I felt trapped by it.  What or who was trying to drag me back to wherever I’d been was still as unknown as it had been when Thanos snapped his gold encased fingers and after the Blip the answers were still unavailable.  I didn’t feel as pinned down or as in danger or being yanked away from home, so I was still tethered to reality.  I just had to wait through it, to survive the feelings that I couldn’t figure out, until the flashes of colors came to let me know the end was coming and I was waking up - coming home again.

I woke to a text from Connie.  

“It’s McGillcutty’s day. Come visit me. PLEASE.”  I shook my head at the plea, but it wasn’t like I had plans or a job to get to.  I hoped she knew I wasn’t planning on spilling ALL while she was cutting hair and styling the neighborhood ladies, because I hadn’t been gone so long that I’d forgotten how fast gossip travelled.  

“Fine.” I hit send.  I got ready and grabbed some toast and a bottle of water.  My bag with a book, my earbuds and a charger for my phone, just in case, and I was out the door and heading to Connie’s mom’s salon.  

I was at the salon by the time both slices of my toast were finished and most of my water was gone.  Tossing the napkin I’d wrapped my breakfast in in the trash when I walked in, I almost missed the hush that fell over the entire room when I entered.  Almost.  Shit.  Standing up I realized that all eyes were on me.  Great.

“Brooke!” Connie beckoned to me from her station at the back of the shop, one she’d picked out when she was still washing hair.  “Put your eyes back in your heads,” she rolled her eyes.  “It’s JUST Brooke.”  I shook my head, only Connie would try to brush off the fact that I just walked into the neighborhood hen coop after steering clear of it for a full six months, and I looked five years younger than I SHOULD.  

Her mom grinned at me and called out a “looking good, Brookie” as I passed, getting a little red added to my cheeks, but aside from that Connie had shamed most of the clucking hens into at least pretending that they weren’t amazed by the very sight of me.  I made it to Connie’s station and found that she’d prepared for my visit by grabbing one of the waiting area chairs and brought it back so I wasn’t stuck leaning against the wall or counter.

Plopping down, I watched as she went about styling Mrs. McGillicutty’s hair.  After I’d said a polite hello to the elderly woman, of course.  It was almost mesmerizing, watching Connie wrap each curler with the blue washed thinning hair of the bird thin woman.  And as she wrapped she talked.  

“You remember how Tawny and Sam were planning on getting married the year after we did, right?”  I told her I did, and she snorted.  “Yeah, that went south so quick.”  I heard Margaret Andrews pipe up from two chairs down that it wasn’t all that surprising.  

“They were on again and off again so much growing up, I’m surprised either of their mamas let them make that much of a plan.” She offered up.  I bit my lip, the hen house was raring to go.  

Connie’s eyes met mine and I could see them sparkling with mirth.  And we were off, the mission seemed to be to get me back in the swing of things and she’d brought the troops.

I got another ‘selfie’ in the middle of my visit with Connie and I glanced at it and bit my lip.  It was marginally better.  Bucky was at least visible and discernible this time.  I couldn’t tell where he was, but the message wasn’t optimistic about my odds of seeing him soon.  

“Baltimore w/Sam.”

A sigh escaped and Connie glanced up from where she was cutting Kelly Taggert’s hair.  Since Kelly was someone who wasn’t exactly in our sphere prior to leaving school, much less before the Snap, Connie held her curiosity at bay.  Too bad Kelly didn’t get the memo.

“Bad news, Brookie?”  I glanced up, thinking about reminding Kelly that very few people had the privilege to call me that, and she most definitely wasn’t one of them, but held back.  This was Connie’s place of business after all.  

“Not really.  Just spam.”  Fuck it, why give her any grist for the mill?  Connie could smell my bull from a mile away, but Kelly didn’t know me from Adam.  

“I hate that, there should be a way to input a block for those automatically -” and she was off.  I grinned at my phone as I typed a reply to Bucky. 

A selfie was out of the question, not with this crowd.  “I’m socializing. Willingly.”  

Kelly was still telling everyone, because her voice could pound a nail into a wall it was so fucking loud and annoying, all her ideas for dealing with spam texts, emails, telemarketing calls and on and on.  I almost felt bad about setting her loose.  Until my phone chirped and I got another selfie from Bucky looking shocked in answer to my text.  

Tucking my phone away, I set back and let Kelly rant until Connie finished her hair.  

I stayed until closing and it wasn’t as bad as I’d thought it would be.  Connie told me that her sister-in-law was keeping Bryn after preschool, and we had some time to just relax and chat.  I had a feeling she made those specific plans after we talked on the phone, she was just that freaking curious.  

She grabbed two cans of soda from the breakroom and plopped into the swivel seat her customers usually sat in while she played fairy hair godmother.   “Spill.”  I rolled my eyes as I cracked open my can.  

“You only invited me to hang out today to ply me for information about my personal life, didn’t you?”  I squinted over the top of the can as I took my first drink.  She grinned and nodded, not the least bit shamed.  Swallowing, I dramatically sighed.  “Fine.” I couldn’t stop the smile that started growing at the thought of Bucky.  “Do you remember when Mom and Dad took us to the Smithsonian?”  

She was staring at me like I was crazy and didn’t know where I was going to go with the trip down memory lane, but she nodded as she opened her own drink.  “Yeah, we were like ten.”  

I bit my lip.  “We were,” it had been a fun trip, just Connie, me and my parents.  For Connie who had siblings and me as an only child - we both had a blast.  “We went to the Captain America exhibit.” 

“God we went to ALL of the exhibits it felt like, your dad was gaga over the Air and Space one -” she stopped, suddenly HEARING what I said.  “Wait, the -”  Her eyes met mine and went wide.  “NO.”  

“I bumped into him,” my hand went to my chest, still a little bit tender.  “He’s - he’s amazing.”  

Connie leaned forward and looked almost exactly like she had when we were 15 years old and I told her that Todd Garrison kissed me behind the bleachers during the pep rally.  Wide eyed and excited, she bit her lip.  “Is he -” she looked like she couldn’t quite decide what to ask first.  “Tell me EVERYTHING.”  So I did, within limits, sort of. 

[bellatrixobsessed1]

From Chin To Yon Rah (Part 42)

It doesn’t hurt anymore, in fact everything is very cozy. There is a warmth that spreads all over her body from her head to her toes, down her arms and up her legs, over her spine and throughout her chi points, straight to the fire chakra in her belly. Azula doesn’t think that she has ever felt so pleasantly warm. That is the first thing she acknowledges.

The second thing is the smell, it is like turnips and strawberry and luxurious incense.

The third thing she notices is the forest. A strange forest and a turnip field at its center. But the turnips are strange--they grow larger and inverse with their leaves beneath the soil and their bounty atop. The turnips themselves glow. The entire forest is lit by fungus and mosses.

Her musings are interrupted by the clicking of a tongue. “I shouldda tol’ you to be careful, girl!” She sighs and holds out a bony, disfigured hand. “Come on now, follow me, I think that you’ll want to see what I have to show you.”

“I’m dead, aren’t I? This is the Spirit World.”

“Something like that.” The old woman nods. Azula studies the woman’s lumpy face as she continues, “think of it as...nevermind, I’m not supposed to tell you that. Just follow along. I’ll show you what I need to show you and then I’ll send you on your way. Just like last time.”

Like last time… Azula’s brows furrow, “Go-Hara?”

The woman chuckles, “good to see you again, princess.” She pauses. “Sort of, I thought that you’d last longer than I…” The woman takes her deeper into the forest where both the tree and turnip fields are more plentiful.

“Go-Hara, how long did you last after I left?”

Go-Hara swats the back of her head, “manners, girl! You’ve been back at the palace for a while now, surely you remember them.”

She remembers them as well as she had forgotten how vexing Go-Hara could be during their brief time together.

“You wait here.” The old lady changes the subject. Before Azula can protest she steps into the sunlight. In its rays Azula realizes that the lumps on her flesh are no longer fleshy and bulbose but woodsy and teeming with life. Her twisted fingers are rich with leaves and mosses and elegant little gemstones. In death, the woman is more alive than most of the living.

She bursts into a spray of leaves, straw, and flutterbats. And Azula is alone again. Alone and confused.

She is dead. Very much so. She simply must be. She has seen a place like this once before. But she isn’t sad. How can she be sad when  the world is so warm. When Go-Hara has become so enchanting. When she, after several long minutes, feels a familiar hand on her shoulder? She is not sad.

But he looks distraught, terribly so. “What happened, Azula?”

Her tummy flutters--so he had noticed the blue fire. He did get to know who she is before…

“You aren’t supposed to be here so soon. You didn’t…”

She shakes her head. “I went to the poles, Hajime.” She says as if that would clear everything up.

“And then what did you do?”

“I got caught in a blizzard…” It’s a story that tells itself but regardless she adds, “firebenders don’t do so well in the cold, ya know?”

She doesn’t know why he is chuckling. “Still got yer accent.” He ruffles her hair.

She swats his and away and folds her arms across her chest. “Shut up. I didn’t die just to have you…!”

She hadn’t realized that her spectral body could be shoved over until she was on the ground. “Rikka!” Atsu shouts gleefully. “Rikka you’re here!”

She plucks him off of her and sits back up.

He tugs at her arm, “c’mon we gotta go tell Ojihara! We gotta go tell Seukhyun and Min-Min and Poyang, and everyone!” He gives her another tug. “Everyone misses you, Rikka!”

Everyone misses her… She wonders if the same is true in the physical world.

It dawns upon her to look for Sokka. “Hajime have you seen any Water Tribesmen anywhere?”

He shakes his head. “Not ‘round here.”

And she is relieved. If he isn’t here then she hadn’t died for nothing. And if his father isn’t here then he will have someone to confide in. Her heart still pangs though. And then a second time when she thinks of Caihong.

“C’mon, mama!” This time his tug is more forceful.

“Give her some time, Atsu.” Hajime laughs. “She’s still a little out of it.” He takes her hand and her disoriented feeling grows. Though the sensation is not unpleasant. Quite the opposite really. She had missed his hand in hers. Missed letting him scoop her up and into his arms. It is good to be there again and better still to know that he is holding Azula and not Rikka. That he still loves Azula. She nuzzles her head against his chest.

She doesn’t know where he is taking her--perhaps he is officially leading her into the Spirit World--but she doesn’t particularly care. Especially not when Atsu is holding her hand. When they come to a stop it is at the very center of a turnip crop wherein a large tree also grows. Hajime sits her down and props her up against the tree. “I’ll be right back.”

She wants to tell him not to go, that they have only just reunited and that she doesn’t exactly want to navigate the Spirit World on her own. But Atsu crawls into her lap and most of her objections fall away. She leans back and stares at a sky so vibrant she can only barely comprehend it. The lights are still there twisting and curling in curtains of teal and purple.

Azula closes her eyes. She doesn’t open them again until the delicate smells of lily and smoke tickle her nose. Hajime carefully shifts a familiar bundle into her arms. A bundle that radiates buttercup smoke. “Alright, let’s go see Ojihara.” He says and at his words, Atsu springs from her lap.

Azula clutches the bundle tightly to her chest as she follows him along.

“So, why don’t you tell me all about your journey?”

Azula shakes her head, “it’s a sad story, I’d rather not.”

He nudges her. “There has to be something that made you happy?” He tilts his head.

And there was. There were a few things, she realizes. It was the sound of a pipa echoing through the woods under the moon. It was nighttime chatter and the crackle of a fire. It was the smell of strawberries. The feeling of wet clay smudged on her cheeks. And even at the very end there was beauty, an enticing display of other worldly light. And even at the very end there was love. She was loved. He held her until she could no longer feel his arms.

And so she tells Hajime all of it. She wonders if he will resent her for moving on. Occasionally she pauses her story to answer Atsu’s questions--mostly centered around Caihong and Bao.

They come to a bridge. Agni, she missed standing on this bridge. But the water she looks down upon are wispy and glittering in a way that she has never seen water glisten. She could swear that those lights dance beneath its surfaces in unison with those in the sky. She holds the bundle to her chest and watches its own buttercup light dance. It is so pure, so untainted...

When she looks up from the bundle she sees Go-Hara standing on the other side of the bridge.

“Have you met Go-Hara, yet?” She asks.

“The tree lady!” Astu grins. “She’s a lil’ funny.”

“You better go talk to her.” Hajime says, giving her a little nudge.

She steps forward only to have him gently pull her back. He presses a small kiss to her lips before letting her carry on. With a small smile she makes her way towards Go-Hara. Her tummy flutters, she isn’t sure what she is nervous about, only that she is vaguely apprehensive. She looks back to Hajime for reassurance but he is not there. Atsu is not there.

The bridge is crumbling and the air is growing cold. Dread fill the absence of warmth. She hugs the bundle as close to her body as she can. Closer and closer until it is sealed away within herself. It is the only warmth that she has left now as she creeps closer to Go-Hara.

“Are you ready?” Go-Hara asks.

She doesn’t think that she is.

“Come on, dear. It’ll be alright.”

She swallows. She isn’t so sure…

Where is she? What is she? What’s going on...

.oOo.

The trip home is something of a haze. Mostly he remembers the snout of a polar bear dog, it's hot breath on his neck. He remembers hearing Bato's voice, maybe uttering words of reassurance.

He remembers asking for his dad before desperately gesturing towards Azula. He had been so terrified that she was dead. She was as still as death. But he doesn't think that they would have lifted her with so much urgency and swaddled her so tightly if it were only a corpse that they were lifting. But her body was so so… He shudders. She didn’t look alive.

He doesn’t think that the image will leave his mind anytime soon. The frost on her lips and lashes. The blackish blue of her fingers. The tears frozen to her cheeks. And her eyes, her glassy eyes...she had been staring at him, unseeingly.

So why would they have bundled her up so tightly? Why would they have wasted the blankets?

“Where’s dad?” He asks again. Even a day after coming home they won’t tell him. No one wants to speak of Azula either. He is at his wits end. He doesn’t mean to snap but he needs to know, “they’re dead aren’t they!” He bellows. “Just tell me that they’re dead and get it over with!”

They’re dead and it is his fault. If only he had waited to show her the glacier. It would have been there, where would it have gone? He is so stupid and his stupidity had gotten two of the people he cares most about killed. And the third is probably angry with him for having gotten their father stuck in dreadful weather.

If she is angry, she certainly doesn’t show it. Instead she kneels down and hands him a bowl of sea prune stew. “I know that it isn’t your favorite, but it’s the healthiest and it’ll warm you up the quickest, so you better eat it.”

He has no qualms about sea prune stew, not when his stomach is rumbling something fierce. “Where’s dad? Where’s Azula?”

“Bato and Pakku are looking for dad.” Katara says softly.

“Azula?” He studies her face for a trace of sorrow or pity. He finds none and maybe it is that she really doesn’t care at all about Azula’s fate. But she would feel sorry for him, wouldn’t she? Finally she sighs, “finish your stew.”

His stomach sinks. He finds it hard to fill it with stew when it is already overbrimming with dread. But for the sake of appeasing Katara he forces down spoonful after spoonful until she decides that it is good enough and takes the bowl from him.

“Can you stand?”

“On my own or with help?” He asks.

Katara rolls her eyes and helps him to his feet. He feels numb and tingly all over and he has to lean against her for the entire trip to the medical tent. The medical tent--his belly flutters with hope.

Katara pulls back the flap and gestures him inside. “She isn’t in good condition, Sokka. Gran-Gran and I have been working on saving her fingers and toes. She hasn’t really woken up yet…”

“But she woke up?”

“I don’t know if I would call it awake.”

Sokka wanders over to Azula’s bedside. The sight of her is only slightly less disconcerting. At least there isn’t a sheen of ice coating her skin anymore at least there is some pink to her cheeks again. But she is still so deathly pale and her fingers are still unpleasant to look at.

Her body still shivers quite violently. It looks so terribly small. Small and scarred but powerful all the same.

He notices the bandages wrapped around her arm and then he makes not of his own bandages. The wolves had gotten her good but they had gotten him better. It occurs to him that his ribs, right arm, and right leg are bandaged. And that is a cue for the wounds beneath them to begin stinging. He grimaces.

“We should get back home, you need to…”

He shakes his head, “I want to stay here.”

“Sokka…”

“She didn’t leave me.”

“Sokka, she’s not even awake.”

“I know that you don’t like her but…” but what? There are so many things that he can say in her defense. So many amazing things. And yet for some reason he finishes as lamely as possible, “she took off her coat for me, Katara.”

Perhaps his finish wasn’t as terrible as he’d thought, for Katara sighs. “Go back home and get some rest, I can have Gran-Gran get you when she wakes up.”

He shakes his head. “I want to be by her now.”

Another sigh. “I guess that I can bring you your pillows.”

He musters up a grin, “you’re the best Katara.”

“And you’re the worst.” She rolls her eyes as he gets himself cozy under the covers with Azula. He carefully wiggles as close to her as he can and holds her head to his chest. Her shivers are violent enough to vibrate his own body. He holds her until they slow. Until the chattering of her teeth isn’t so audible. Until her rugged breaths become more even. It is comforting to feel them upon his chest.

He chances a glance at Katara. He wonders if she knows how much her help means to him. Wonders if she knows how much the woman she is helping means to him.

Azula gives a weak little hum.

Perhaps she isn’t anywhere near lucid and alert. And perhaps she is perilously closer to death than life but she still has a spark. And her sparks tend to blaze quite mightily in the end.

[captainjimothycarter]

Steggy + picking apples

“Stevie? Do you have her? I can pull the wagon.”

Peggy looked behind her to see her slender, asthmatic boyfriend pulling the wagon that held their eleven-month-old baby girl and a few baskets. She wrapped her scarf firmly around her neck, smiling when Steve finally reached them. She adjusted her boyfriend’s pale blue scarf and the wool hat over the tips of his ears, kissing the tip of his nose.

“You always flush,” she teases, rubbing her gloved fingers over his flushed cheeks. “Look at you - you’re going to make yourself sick, darling. Let me pull Sarah. We still have to go up the hill.”

Steve’s eyes followed Peggy’s towards the rising hill that looked taller by the second. He took in a large breath and tried to hide the fact he needed to airy cough it out but Peggy was looking at him with a purse of her lips.

“Okay,” he sighed, handing her the rope they’d wrapped around the handle. “You win, but only because I wanna carry Sarah up the hill.”

There was no argument in that regard, only because she worried about Sarah tumbling out of this red-wagon that obviously had been Steve’s since childhood. It was well-loved and cared for, so she didn’t worry about it falling apart. Plus, Peggy knew how much her boyfriend had been missing their daughter with his newly recent job tour guide had kept him away from home more often than either of them would like. 

Sarah giggled at her daddy’s new attention diverted to her, grabbing two tufts of his blonde hair in her fists. He didn’t even make a face as she pulled on them and let out a shrill of laughter as she settled onto his shoulders.

“Dada! Dada! Aples! Ma!”

Their little girl, having been born so early, so small, and in such a rush had grown more and more each and every day. Steve would take each moment of eye-watering pain that came from her pulling on his hair over the knowledge he’d nearly lost her. His hands wrapped around her legs, gently jostling her as they walked beside Peggy.

“Yeah, baby,” he breathed, giving an airy laugh. “We’re goin’ to get you apples, so daddy can make you apple pie! Mama Sarah will make you apple sauce!”

The little girl responded in loud screeches of apple sauce, sounding closer to ‘sauses’. It just made both adults laugh as they walked over the hill, Peggy pausing on the top to take in deep breaths of the cool air. The view down below was just breathtaking.

Down below this steep, grassy-green hills were rows and rows of neatly aligned apple trees, sectioned off in groups of their hybrid types. The smell of them was fruitful and woodsy, wafting from the fields down below. The sound of families already below, their laughter, and the sounds of heavy thuds from apples hitting the forest grounds can be heard.

“What kind do we want to start with?” Peggy asked on their slow descends, looking down at the app on her phone. “They say right now they have five available. granny smith, pink pearl, fuji, Honeycrisp, ooh, and pink lady.”

“I’m prone to granny smith. Oh, don’t make that face.” Steve snorted when Peggy’s face pinched, in her detest for sour apples. “You like them in my apple pie!”

“Only in your apple pie, otherwise they’re banned from the household.” Steve’s eyes rolled. “It’s not my fault we had so many during my pregnancy or I craved them. If anything, it’s your fault.”

The granny smith apples were the closest to the end of the hill, following the chained and beaten path towards the granny smith section. Peggy made a pleased noise, glad to see each tree had a ladder secured to it. No need to worry about carrying one or climbing.

“Mammms!” Sarah made grabby hands at Peggy, Steve dipping down so Peggy could scoop her up. “Mums! Maaams!”

The little girl screeched as Steve climbed the ladder and disappeared into the trees with a basket in hand. Down below, he could hear Peggy and Sarah, the new mum whispering to her daughter about the plants and things around them.

All Sarah knew was that her mother was giving her attention and she loved it. 

“Look, Sarah, look at the butterfly. Oh, he loves you.” Sarah’s excited shrill of laughter made Steve smile as he held onto the branch, shaking his head.

God, he loved them. He loved them more than anything, more than life itself. He loved both Peggy and Sarah more than himself. He thought he knew love when he met Peggy, the sacrifice that came with wanting to date someone, with wanting to do anything for them, to make them smile, to bring them happiness. He thought he knew love until he laid his eyes on his tiny daughter, fighting for her life in the incubator. 

He knew love then, he knew love came with a sacrifice. He knew that within just a matter of seconds he would kill for her. He would destroy the world if it meant his daughter’s happiness.

He had a plan for when Sarah was born to ask Peggy to marry him with her assistance, a ring around Sarah’s neck, but that was put to a pause when Sarah was born three months early. They’d focused so much on her survival and put every effort into it that Steve put it on the back burner. Now that Sarah was for the most part, in the clear, Steve decided no time was better.

“Steve?” Peggy called, drawing Steve from his thoughts as the last apple fell from the branch and into his basket. “Are you okay, darling? You’ve been up there for a minute.”

“I’m coming down!” Easing the basket down on first, Steve followed after and landed on his feet with a flushed smile. 

“Daaaa!”

Steve caught Sarah in time as she lunged at him, kissing over her face and grinning into her flushed skin. “Daddy wasn’t gone that long,” he laughed.

Sarah thought otherwise, mirroring her mother’s pursed lips and patting his flushed cheeks. 

“She’s a daddy girl,” Peggy laughed. “Always was, since she first saw you.”

“She loves you too,” Steve breathed, kissing Peggy’s cheek and earning Sarah smashing her face in between their cheeks to join in on the party. 

--

It was nearing sunset by the time the Carter-Rogers family had slowly trudged up the hill, this time Sarah was laying amongst the many baskets of apples. Steve’s small basket of Granny Smith was buried under Peggy and Sarah’s many varieties. 

“Why don’t we stop here?” Steve asked, taking a blanket and laying it out on the grassy hill. He picked their daughter up and sat her down, laying out their small picnic of apple cider donuts, warm apple cider, and sandwiches.

“Why are you playing with those donuts, darling?”

Steve looked up from where he’d put the plastic container in his lap, finding Peggy using a napkin to clean their daughter’s face from the applesauce Mama Sarah had made them earlier. 

“Oh, uh, nothing.” He could feel his face warming, his ears tinting a shade of pink. Peggy’s pointed look didn’t go amiss. “I...just made these donuts.”

“I know, darling, I was there. I was taste testing the filling the entire time,” she teased, making Steve’s face grow warmer. “What’s really going on? Did you change the apple filling on us?”

“Y-Yes!” The squeak escaping him did nothing to hide the face he was embarrassed. “Yes, yes exactly.”

“Well, I’m sure it’s still good. Come on, Sarah, love. Let’s have one of daddy’s donuts.” 

Steve’s fingers shook as he picked up one precise donut, right in the middle, that looked like all the rest. “This-this is yours. I have...Sarah’s.” He scooped his daughter up, the little girl having no problem in whose lap she was sitting in, long as she got her sweet treat.

If Peggy suspected something, she didn’t say anything. She just took a bite, nearly stuffing half the donut in her mouth. Steve’s breath was in his throat, half focused on Sarah and feeding her torn off pieces so she didn’t choke.

At Peggy’s slight choking noise, Steve’s head shot up, a worried look on his face. He didn’t get to see the love of his life taking the parchment-wrapped ring from the middle of the donut. However, he did get to see her expression.

The blatant shock that etched on her face, eyes wide as she stared down at the unwrapped ring and to him.

It was a simple ring, Steve knew. He’d picked it just for that, simple but elegant. White gold band, with blue sapphire and red ruby’s. Etched inside, with the jeweler's touch was Sarah’s birthdate and the saying our moment in time.

He hadn’t even been aware he was holding his breath until he felt Peggy’s touch to his cheek, their dessert laid forgotten. 

“Darling, are you crying?”

Looking into her eyes, the very same eyes his daughter had, Steve, saw tears in her eyes too. He could just manage a nod and throw his arms around her, Sarah between them as he hugged her.

“I am, because of I-I…” Steve let go to hold her face, kissing her deeply. He tried to convey all the emotions he felt in one single kiss. How much he loved her. How happy he was they were together. How he was so terrified when she was sick with Sarah when he almost lost her and had to make that difficult choice when they had their baby girl and saw how small she was, how proud he was of both of them. 

“I love you too,” Peggy whispered, pulling away and not bothering to wipe either of their tears. “I love you too, darling. Yes, yes darling, yes.”

Steve made a choking sound that might’ve been a sob if Sarah hadn’t made her presence known in a heavy scream of delight, unknowns to the situation, just that her parents were loving one another. He picked her up to their chest level and kissed her face.

“I think,” Peggy laughed. “Sarah says yes too.”

[chelsfic]

Devotions - WWDITS Fanfic - Nandor x Guillermo

Sequel to: Maybe One Day, My Love

WWDITS Masterlist

 A/N: Quick note to let you guys know that I have been writing up a storm, but I’ve posted many fics exclusively to AO3. It is just so much work to format every story for Tumblr. AO3 is such a superior place to read and write. So, check that out to see what you’ve missed. Thanks to @sinaesthete​ for beta reading this fic for me!

Summary: Following a death in the family, Guillermo goes to the park for his weekly "visit" with his ex-master. After two decades of distance and one-sided conversation, Nandor finally steps out of the shadows.

Warnings: Smut, Religious References, Parent Death

---

“You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.” -Mary Oliver, Wild Geese

It’s nightfall once again.

       Guillermo de la Cruz clutches a prayer card in his fist as he strides down the familiar path for the appointment he never misses. Not even tonight. 

       Puddles dot the paved lane; he carefully avoids them, not wishing to ruin his patent leather shoes. He’s still dressed in the clothes he wore to the funeral: a dark suit and tie that make him look somehow older and younger at the same time. Like a little boy dressed up in his father’s clothes. His rigid soles scuff against the cement. The scraping sound grounds him in time and place, pulling him back from the vision of the gleaming white casket heaped with flowers. 

       It’s early spring. The night is still chilly, but the park has begun to transform with the new season. Green shoots of grass peek out between moldy fallen leaves. Crocuses emerge in the flower beds that line the walk. The branches hanging overhead are heavy with verdant leaves whispering in the light breeze. Guillermo breathes in the damp, mildewy scent of new growth. Idly, he wonders if the funeral arrangements have started to wilt.

       He rounds the well-known turn in the path, finally arriving at his forgotten little alcove with its dilapidated bench. The wooden slats of the seat give way to his weight as he sits; the wood is soft and worn. He recalls the hard, polished church pews and decides that this is a much more suitable place for worship. The laminated prayer card bites into the tender flesh of his palm and he releases it, taking his hands from his pockets and letting them rest on the well-loved bench.

       Night sounds fill his ears: crickets murmuring in the grass, distant traffic rushing on the highway, gentle wind blowing through the trees. No matter how carefully he listens, holding his breath and keeping perfectly still, Guillermo will never hear his master’s approach until Nandor wishes it. Instead he begins his vigil, communing with the night, with this place, the setting for his devotions.

  “Let us pray...

I am the resurrection and the life, says the Lord: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever live and believe in me shall never die.”

       The priest’s words float back to him as if conjured by the night wind. Guillermo’s thoughts fix upon his lord. The one he’s worshiped since he was nineteen-years-old. He calls up Nandor’s image with ease, despite the years that have passed since actually seeing the vampire. Dark eyes ringed in fire, bottomless pits into which Guillermo has been falling for the last thirty-seven years. A body as cold and lethal as a winter’s night. Fangs that reap bloody sacrifices from his victims. Guillermo closes his eyes and Nandor is there before him--skin warm in the candlelight, lips relaxed in a rare smile, holding out his hand and beckoning Guillermo to come forward. In his vision, Nandor places his palm on the crest of Guillermo’s head in a blessing. 

  “Blessed are those who mourn,

For they will be comforted.”

       The snap of a twig announces him. Guillermo eyes snap open; he stares straight ahead into the trees on the other side of the nook. He senses Nandor in the darkness behind him, a guardian or a devil. Both. But he doesn’t turn to look, though every fiber of his being is attuned to his master’s cold presence; though he longs to lunge at him and hold him and never let him leave this place. That is not their arrangement. 

       Just this once, though, he wishes it could be different.

       Guillermo tries to speak; tries to perform their ritual as usual. But the words stick in his throat, congealing into a heavy lump that suffocates him. A shaky breath passes through his parted lips and becomes a sob. Suddenly there are tears spilling down his cheeks. He reaches into his pocket, removes the prayer card with Silvia de la Cruz’s beautiful portrait on it, and sets it on the seat beside him. 

       “She… died,” he explains in a shattered whisper, scrubbing furiously at his eyes with his fists. “Mi mam á . She’s gone, Nandor.” 

       For an instant the rest of the words stick in his throat: Guillermo’s not supposed to address him directly. That’s not part of their ritual. Now Nandor will leave; now he’ll never come back. But the grief soon scours away the fear of breaking their rules and Guillermo collapses down to his elbows, hanging his head and sobbing out his heartache and pain. 

       “It happened so s-suddenly, Nandor. I didn’t get to say good-bye or tell her I’m sorry.”

       Guillermo crosses his arms over his chest, hugging and rocking himself in a pitiful attempt to self-soothe. His sinuses are blocked; his face is flushed; his mouth tastes like bile and communion wafers and his t í a’s buñuelos. He’s desperate to get a hold himself, to salvage this evening somehow, but every time he nearly has the crying controlled his mind supplies him with a new torture. The stricken look on his amá’s face when he left home to work for Nandor. The smell of eggs and fresh tortillas in the morning. The sound of her clambering in the kitchen, cursing under breath. Her smile. Her hugs. The way she took him in, without questions, when he came back home covered in blood and hysterical after a decade of being a bad son. 

       Guillermo is so lost in memories, he almost misses the soft, hesitant touch on his shoulder. A hand--solid, strong, cold--closes around his shoulder and squeezes gently. Their first touch in twenty-six years. Guillermo’s breath stutters from his lungs. He freezes, terrified of breaking the fragile sanctity of this moment. He wavers on the threshold of action. Before he can summon the courage to cross it himself , Nandor does so  for him. The vampire’s hands are suddenly clutching, pawing at his shoulders and chest; clawed fingers dig into the expensive fabric of his suit jacket and haul him over the bench. He’s dragged through the spider-riddled bush and then all at once he’s in his master’s embrace. As if it hasn’t been decades since the last and first time they held each other. As if a whole lifetime of experience--sadness, joy, yearning, hope--hasn’t slipped through Guillermo’s mortal fingers. 

     Nandor wraps Guillermo up in his cape, the rich fabric and gold embroidery are clean and well-maintained. Guillermo finds himself wondering if Nandor has himself a new familiar, quickly deciding he doesn’t want to know. He buries his face in Nandor’s strong, broad chest and breathes him in. He smells like rose water, argan oil, and Tide To-Go Pens. He smells like warm candle wax and brassy, spilled blood. He smells like dust and animal pelts and frozen decay. He smells like home. 

  “And I shall dwell in the house of the Lord my whole life long.”

       Guillermo never really left him, did he? Two decades spent building a human life, and with one simple embrace he is back on Staten Island, a nineteen-year-old boy knocking on a pagan god’s front door and offering himself in sacrifice.

     “Nandor,” he cries. It’s a plea, a demand, a tribute, a prayer. Once the name falls from his lips he can’t stop. “Nandor. Nandor. Nandor. Nandor. Nandor. Nan--”

       The vampire shushes him, bringing his hand up to cradle Guillermo’s head against his chest. That voice, rich and deep, rumbles through the fabric of the leather vest and into Guillermo’s tear-streaked cheek. “I am sorry, my Guillermo. Your mama… she was a good lady. She took care of you, kept you safe and happy after…” he trails off, clearing his throat uncomfortably. His arms tighten around Guillermo. “I am so very sorry.”

       Guillermo clings to him, hands fisting in the cape, tugging at the material until Nandor is forced to stoop down. Guillermo closes his eyes, terrified of opening them to find that this is all a dream. Some kind of religious vision that will dissipate in a cloud of smoke if he breaks the spell. Nandor’s face is so close, he can feel the vampire’s cool breath on his cheeks. Guillermo presses forward, nuzzling his face into the whiskers of Nandor’s beard, gasping at the soft caress of long hair against his face.

       “Is this real?” Guillermo whispers; his words are fragile, like moth’s wings fluttering through the air between them. “Master, is it really you?”

       “Who else would it be, Guillermo?” Nandor chides in the same old amused tone that Guillermo has preserved in his heart like dried flower petals between the pages of the family bible. “Who else but me? It’s always me, Guillermo.”

       Thumbs wipe away the salty, stinging tears from Guillermo’s cheeks and the human huffs out a sound that’s a laugh, a sob and a cry of joy all at once.

       “It’s always you, master,” he agrees and seconds later he feels the cool, miraculous brush of Nandor’s lips on his.

  “Almighty God, cleanse my heart and my lips that I may worthily proclaim your Gospel.”

       Guillermo’s eyes fly open. Dark hair and pale, luminous skin fill his vision. Arms--powerful, undeniable--wrap around his soft little human form. He melts into Nandor, all the strength in his limbs bleeding away until the vampire’s strong grip is the only thing keeping him from falling to his knees. He’s resplendent, overjoyed to give himself up to the predatory angel before him. 

     The grief--a hollow, aching hole in his chest--is still there. But with it is a new sensation, at once well-known and utterly novel: ecstasy, fulfillment, completion. To be united with Nandor finally, after decades of pining, feels unreal and yet meant to be. It’s everything he’s dreamed of and denied dreaming of for so long. 

       Nandor’s lips slide against his own, cool to the touch yet soft and welcoming. Nothing like the hard and forbidding marble he’d always imagined. Nandor’s mouth is pliant and giving; it’s not unlike kissing a mortal man… as if Nandor isn’t the untouchable celestial being of his dark dreams, but flesh and--yes--blood. Guillermo flicks out his tongue and traces his master’s full, pouting lower lip. Nandor opens his mouth at once, granting him the entry he seeks. How can this be happening? After a lifetime of longing and supplication?

       “Guillermo,” Nandor says his name like a plea, his lips brushing, the syllables melting into their kiss. “My Guillermo. You’re mine, still, aren’t you? Will you be mine?”

       Guillermo mouth molds to his master’s. Nandor’s beard drags against the soft skin of his chin and cheeks. He pulls himself away long enough to answer. “Yes, Nandor. I’m still yours. If you’ll still be mine. Oh, God , please tell me you’re mine, Nandor!”

       God. For the first time in eight centuries, Nandor feels no pain at the holy word. Instead it dribbles from Guillermo’s lips, melting into their kiss and tasting like sweet honey. Yes, he thinks, finally allowing his hands to roam down his human supplicant’s body. Yes, I am your god, little mortal. And you are mine.

       The words spark in the night air, a spell that will keep them safe so long as they don’t stop touching. “I’m yours, Guillermo. Forever.”

       They tumble to the earth, a tangle of grasping limbs, rolling hips and desperate, longing kisses. Nandor breaks their fall, landing in the dewy grass with a soft grunt and clutching Guillermo to his chest with reverent care. Guillermo is alight with sensation. Prayers fall from his lips, holy words that once would have sent his master hissing and flinching, but which now seem to feed him. 

       “Nandor, my god!” He pulses his pelvis with every repetition of the name. “God, I love you. I’ve always loved you.”

       Love . A word that should bring Nandor as much pain as the other and yet… Guillermo’s heartache, his abandon, his devotion have unlocked something inside of him. He lets himself free. His hands clench Guillermo’s backside and squeeze; he grinds their pelvises together in fervent desperation. Guillermo settles heavily on his chest, sinking his fingers into the vampire’s soft hair and raining kisses on his face. 

       “You will give yourself to me, won’t you?” Nandor whispers, an edge of uncertainty in his voice. “Finally?”

       The weight of ecstasy and sorrow on Guillermo’s soul leaves no room for the exasperation that he should rightfully feel at those words. As if Guillermo has not given himself to Nandor every day for his entire adult life. As if he wouldn’t have gladly killed to be in this position decades before. But here, in this holy place, in the communion of their bodies and souls, Guillermo doesn’t scoff. He presses a gentle, wet, lingering kiss to Nandor’s lips before answering. 

       “You already have me, Master.”

“ Take this... and eat of it, for this is my Body, which will be given up for you.”

       They lay Nandor’s cape out on the grass like a blanket. It’s almost completely dark in the shadowy undergrowth, but Guillermo still blushes as he shrugs off his suit coat and begins unbuttoning his shirt, aware of the vampire’s heightened senses. The darkness presses up against Guillermo’s eyeballs; he strains to see merely the faintest outline of Nandor’s powerful frame. His face is a dark blur except for his eyes. Nandor’s predator eyes drink in every bit of ambient light and reflect it back at Guillermo. They glow. Hallowed, fiery rings in the night.

       Guillermo is no longer a virgin. He feels a small, pitiful pang at the knowledge that he can’t give Nandor that part of himself. He’s slept with a few men over the years. But he’s never truly offered himself to any of them like he’s doing now. Guillermo takes off his shirt, his undershirt. He toes off his shoes and socks and undoes his belt. It’s cold and the cape is starting to absorb the dew and chill from the solid earth beneath, but he doesn’t shiver as he removes his pants and underwear. He lays on his back, nude, flushed, panting and achingly hard. He doesn’t feel the icy wind that raises goosebumps on his arms and hardens the pink tips of his nipples to little nubs. He is a sacrifice; an offering; a tribute. The cold can’t touch him now. Not with the fire of his lord’s eyes keeping him warm.

       Nandor’s hands paint ribbons of freezing flame on his skin. They brush lightly, teasingly across his belly, his chest, his thighs. The vampire drapes himself over Guillermo and the human realizes that he’s also undressed. They both gasp as their rigid, leaking erections bump against each other. Guillermo bucks his hips in uncontrolled desire and he feels Nandor sink his fingers into the ample flesh of his  thighs to hold him still. A huff of breathy amusement falls from the vampire’s lips. He grabs Guillermo up in another passionate kiss, nipping and licking his lips. A keening, vulnerable moan bubbles up from the vampire’s throat. He clutches Guillermo’s tender body against his cold,, cadaverous  frame. Tears--frigid and laced with blood-- fall down his cheeks and mingle with Guillermo’s. 

       “Guillermo!” Nandor gasps, pulling back. His hands trace patterns on the pulsing hot skin of Guillermo’s neck. The human waits and listens to his master’s labored breathing. A plea hangs in the air between them. “Will you give me this as well, Guillermo? Your blood?”

  “With faith in your love and mercy I eat your Body and drink your Blood.”

       For the first time, Guillermo wonders if Nandor comes here every week with the intention of offering worship just as he does.

       “Take it, Nandor,” he commands. His voice is strong, unwavering, loud in the solitude of their secluded grove. He reaches up blindly and takes Nandor’s face between his hands, guiding him down to the cradle of his neck until the vampire’s cool lips press against his skin. “Drink.”

       Nandor whispers something against Guillermo’s neck before biting down. The words are an unintelligible susurrous. He recognizes them as Al Quolanudarese. And though he’s incapable of parsing them, they feel like secret magic words. Words that finally pulverize the last brick in the wall between them. Guillermo knows their meaning in his bones, in his heart, in his soul.

       Nandor’s fangs pierce and bruise. His bite is brutal and honest. This is Nandor; no hiding, no subterfuge. He is violence and blood and frozen kisses. He is also the tender stroking of fingers along Guillermo’s tear-stained cheeks and the broken sob he makes an instant before the blood begins to flow. Guillermo’s eyes flutter shut and he fists his hands in the cape beneath him. Take me, take me, take me , he begs.

       Blood and body.

       He buries his hands in Nandor’s hair, cupping the crown of his head as nonsense prayers fall from his lips. He invokes every sacred symbol he knows. Nandor’s mouth; his tongue; his hands; his cock. The bedroom under the stairs. The candlelit crypt. The parking lot at the immigration office. The blood-stained robe from Celeste’s orgy. The ancestry reports. Wooden stakes and crucifixes. The claw-foot bathtub. Nandor’s hair oils. His coffin. Bubble gum and mason jars and flashcards and feather dusters and boot polish and ice chips and a portrait made from glitter: two men, impossibly hopeful, naive and in love.

       When Nandor finally retracts his fangs from Guillermo’s neck, he laps at the spilled blood, kissing the soft, torn skin with a grateful, remorseful, worshipful reverence. 

       “My Guillermo,” he cries over and over again, rocking his hips subconsciously and panting as their cocks slide against one another. When he draws up on his elbows Guillermo can see his blood marring those perfectly cruel lips and staining his full beard. His voice is thick with tears. “Your blood, Guillermo. It’s…”

       Guillermo nods, wiping Nandor’s cheeks even as his own tears fall into his hairline. “I know, Nandor. You’re mine now. Always.”

       The vampire bows his head, pressing his lips to Guillermo’s soft chest directly over his rapidly beating heart. “Your blood is rushing, Guillermo. So eager to give me your life.”

       Guillermo sighs, running his hands down the length of Nandor’s sides, squeezing his soft flanks and raising his hips to grind against him. 

       “And what are you eager to give me, Nandor?”

       Nandor brings his hand up to Guillermo’s neck and catches the blood that still flows there. He hovers over Guillermo, balancing on one elbow as he moves his other hand between them and slides his wet, bloody fingers into the cleft of Guillermo’s backside. Guillermo feels the slick of his lifeblood against his sensitive skin as Nandor’s fingers probe and press into his entrance. A shiver wracks his frame at the utter indecency, the absolute sacrilege. 

       “Fuck,” Guillermo hisses as the first finger breaches the tight ring of muscle and enters him. “God! Nandor, yes.”

       Nandor whimpers in gratitude at his human’s praise. He speaks absently, in the grips of religious ecstasy, “Let me show you, Guillermo. Please, let me show you.”

       Guillermo writhes and nods his head, arching his back as another finger joins the first. “Show me you love me, Nandor. Show me you fucking worship me.”

       A strangled growl fills the little grove and Nandor picks up the pace of his thrusting fingers, subtly rocking his erection against the tender skin of Guillermo’s thigh as he goes. His breath mingles with Guillermo’s as he leans in and presses their lips together in a slow, aching kiss. He inserts a third finger, stretching Guillermo out and swallowing the man’s groan.

       “Now, Nandor,” an echo of desperation and sorrow tinges his voice. Nandor scrambles to comply. He removes his fingers, kneeling between Guillermo’s spread legs and placing shaking hands on the insides of his generous thighs, steadying himself.  

       Nandor doesn’t speak, but the sound of his breathing might as well be a love letter. He’s panting, there’s a hitch in his breath, a tremor in his fingers. Guillermo feels the tip of him against his hole and he nearly sobs with relief and joy and loss and guilt and exasperation. Why now? After all these years? Why on the night of his mother’s funeral when he is ragged and raw? Why couldn’t they have had this when Guillermo was still young and so pitifully in love with Nandor that he was willing to tarnish his soul for the vampire’s convenience? He thinks these things with regret, with melancholy longing and wistfulness; but never with anger. 

       This is his Nandor and Guillermo will take him and cherish him until he is buried in the ground. Nandor presses forward, entering him inch by inch. Stars burst in Guillermo’s eyes and amidst the furious physical sensations, a feverish thought flits through his head. When Guillermo is dead he wants to be buried in this very spot, in the soil beneath their naked bodies, on the site of their long-delayed consummation. The idea should repulse him, or sadden him, but instead it just feels right. He pictures Nandor visiting his grave every Sunday for the rest of the time and cants his hips, taking the vampire deeper as the blood trickles from his neck and his cock smears precum onto his belly. 

       Their bodies move together in a rhythm that’s both familiar and wonderfully new. They cling, claw, grab and stroke. Nandor’s length fills Guillermo; the vampire’s fingers wrap around Guillermo’s rigid cock and pump him as he thrusts. The words that fall from their lips are a heady, nonsensical, sacred blend of Spanish, Al Quolanudarese and English. Love is only the beginning. This is yearning, devotion, allegiance, becoming, undoing, transforming. Nandor is god is Guillermo is Nandor. They are whole for the first time in their lives. 

       The climax takes them both at the same time. Guillermo sobs, fat tears rolling down his cheeks as Nandor roars above him. Nandor spills his plentiful vampiric seed inside of him as Guillermo’s cum shoots out in hot ropes that paint his and Nandor’s bellies. He lets his softening cock fall from Guillermo’s body as he collapses down, pillowing his head on Guillermo’s chest and gasping for air that he doesn’t need. Guillermo cards his fingers through his hair and weeps. 

       He’s crying for the boy he once was. The one who loved his amá and wanted to make her proud. The boy who fell in love with a demon. The boy who dreamed and hoped and prayed and was disappointed. He’s crying for Nandor, too, who has lived for centuries without ever allowing himself to acknowledge the soft animal of his own emotions. And he’s crying for his amá, whose heart he broke for a decade and who never, ever stopped believing in him even when he came home at the age of 30, jobless, soulless, and ruined.

       Nandor nuzzles his cheek against Guillermo’s sparsely-haired chest, pressing kisses into his sweat-slick skin and tracing patterns over his stomach with long, elegant fingers. 

       “I can hear your heartbeat, Guillermo,” he whispers. “Did you know I could always hear your heartbeat? It’s not usual. I mean, yes, of course vampires have super hearing, but we learn to tune all that out, you know? But never with you, my Guillermo. I listened to every beat of your little heart for eleven years. I was so afraid one day it would stop…”

       In the soft, sacred dark Guillermo can finally ask the question, “Then why didn’t you ever turn me? You could’ve had me forever, immortal. Why, Nandor?”

       Nandor sits up and his eyes glow as he looks down at Guillermo, a frown in his voice, “I didn’t want it to stop, Guillermo. I didn’t want to be the one to...make it stop.”

       Guillermo shuts his eyes and they are quiet for a long, long time. He holds Nandor in his arms. The chill of the night air finally affects him and he shivers once. Nandor grabs the edge of the cape and pulls it over Guillermo to shield him. They lay beside each other, touching, breathing, listening. Guillermo traces the outline of Nandor’s lips, letting his finger dip inside his mouth and feeling the sharp edge of his fangs. Nandor allows it. Of course he does. He could not deny Guillermo anything. Not in this place. Not anywhere else, either. The knowledge settles in his veins, flows through him like Guillermo’s blood.

       “Guillermo,” Nandor begins, drawing out the last syllable like he used to. “It is not too late…”

       It’s a statement and a question. Guillermo holds his breath, waiting for the vampire to elaborate, but Nandor remains silent. A moment later he feels Nandor’s cold skin pressed to his lips. There’s warmth there, too, borrowed from his body. He tastes blood as Nandor presses his wrist firmly to Guillermo’s mouth.

       “It’s not too late,” he repeats. 

“May this mingling of the body and blood of our Lord Jesus Christ, bring eternal life to us who receive it.”

[lightningstormtc]

Chapter 1: Haruto

“Monster!”

“Demon!”

“You’re a stain on this household!”

“Get out!”

Haruto woke up with a start. Just a dream, he thought to himself. Except it wasn’t. He’s been having the same dream the past couple weeks. A dream remembering his foster family throwing him out of their house on his twelfth birthday. Now he’s roaming the streets, trying his best to survive. How his old foster parents could throw out a child was beyond him, but dwelling on such things didn’t feed or clothe him.

Guess I have my work cut out for me, Haruto thought to himself. He lived in a small town where everybody knew each other. Although the townsfolk didn’t have the same opinion that his foster parents did, they did see him as the asshole kid who would pickpocket them. Lucky for him, he was usually fast enough to evade the wrath of the townspeople. If not… the amount of untreated bruises and marks speak for themselves.

Alright, let’s go, Haruto grunted, the bruises on his calves flaring as he stood up. Let’s start another monotonous day of “work.”

-

Whew, not bad, Haruto thought to himself, looking at the small wad of cash. He wasn’t as cruel as to keep the wallets. He’d usually leave them on park benches close to where he stole the wallet. He was relatively unharmed that day after stealing from a kid his age (he had no sympathy), a middle-aged businessman, and a woman with an obnoxious haircut who he saw shouting at a restaurant owner not long before he stole from her. He stuffed the cash in his pocket before looking for his next target. As he looked from behind a wall, he noticed a couple that he has never seen before. He knows he had never seen the couple before because he would have caught two people with such noticeable appearances.

The taller of the two was a woman with long, pink hair that flowed down her back. Contrasting her hair color, her outfit was completely black. How can someone wear so much black in the summer? Haruto wondered to himself. His gaze wandered to the shorter woman.

The shorter of the two had orange hair, wearing a white shirt and denim short shorts. For some reason, she reminded Haruto of KFP, the international food chain where he usually went out to eat. Since he didn’t have a lot of money most of the time, their affordable 4 for 4 deal was usually what he ate for most of his meals.

These two will be my next targets, Haruto steeled himself. Sometimes, pickpocketing wasn’t as simple as bumping into someone and taking their wallet. Sometimes, he had to stalk his target for a fair amount of time before finding the right time to strike.

“Ne Calli,” the shorter one looked at the taller lady. “Why did you want to come here for our vacation?”

“I dunno,” the taller woman, Calli, shrugged, turned to look at her partner, one of her crimson eyes revealing itself to Haruto. “I guess I just wanted to go somewhere a bit quieter.”

Vacation? Haruto thought to himself before stealthily moving to hide behind a tree. We don’t get vacationers every day. What an odd couple.

Haruto continued to follow the couple, listening in on their conversations. The two had very interesting conversations which tended to entertain Haruto more than anything he had done ever since he got kicked out. “Ne Calli, do you think there’s a love hotel here?” The shorter one, who Haruto learned, was named ‘Kusotori.’

Who names their kid Stupid Bird? Haruto thought to himself. They’re almost as bad as my old ones.

“For the last time, we’re both girls. How the hell are you going to knock me up?” Calli asked.

“Well I did read this interesting fanf-,”

“NO!” Calli shouted, causing some birds to fly away due to the noise. “Absolutely not.”

“Awh, it would be so much fun,” Kusotori pouted. “Maybe we can-, Calli? Where did you go?”

Haruto stiffened when he realized Calli was gone. Huh? She was right there, Haruto thought to himself. Where could she have gone?

“Mind explaining why you’ve been following us for the past half hour?” Haruto almost turned due to hearing Calli’s voice coming from behind him, but was frozen when he saw a curved blade make its way towards his throat.

“Calli!” Kusotori turned, running up to the two. “Why are you threatening a child with your scythe?!”

Haruto would normally correct her (as twelve years old is not the age of a child, at least according to himself), but the scythe to his throat kept him parylized with fear. “He’s been following us for the past half hour,” Calli explained. “I was just asking for him to explain himself.”

“The poor boy looks terrified,” Kusotori knelt down to Haruto’s level before looking up at Calli. “Put the weapon away. We can talk like civilized people.”

“You’re the farthest thing from civilized that I know of,” Calli grumbled, but Kusotori had succeeded in convincing the psychopath into putting away the scythe.

“So why were you following us?” Kusotori asked. Haruto turned his head shyly to look at Kusotori before looking away. Hey eyes were too inviting. It was most likely a trap. It had to be a trap. “Don’t worry. We won’t be mad. Right?”

“S-sure,” Calli stuttered. “We won’t be mad or anything.”

“Need… money,” Haruto muttered.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you,” Kusotori said. Her voice was just as inviting as her eyes. Haruto was convinced that she had nothing but ill will towards him. After all, that’s how his foster parents acted before…

“Needed money,” Haruto said a little louder.

“So you were going to pickpocket us?” Calli growled.

“Don’t assume things like that!” Kusotori looked slightly shocked at Calli’s accusation.

“‘M sorry,” to be fair, Haruto did feel slightly bad for attempting to rob the nice couple blind, but he mostly said it so Calli wouldn’t tear his throat out. He had a feeling that would happen if Calli caught him lying.

“What was that?” Kusotori asked gently.

“I’m sorry,” Haruto looked down, suddenly a lot more ashamed as he had to admit to his crime aloud. “S-she’s right. I don’t have any other way to make money.”

“Oh you poor thing,” Kusotori brushed her fingers along Haruto’s cheek but pulled her hand away when he flinched. Kusotori then glared at Calli, who ended up not saying anything. “Do you have a home where I can take you to? I’ll be sure to give your parents a stern talking to.”

The words ‘home’ and ‘parents’ caused Haruto to tear up a little bit. His expulsion from his old home was still fresh in his mind, considering he was only kicked out a couple weeks ago. “N-no… I don’t have a home. I’m sorry.”

“Why would you be sorry?” Kusotori asked. “There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

“I…” Haruto was about to apologize again, but decided better.

“Ne Calli, can we keep him?” Kiara looked up to Calli, a pleading look in her eyes.

“W-what?!” Calli exclaimed exactly what Haruto was thinking.

“Just think about it,” Kusotori said, a malicious yet playful smirk revealing itself on her face. “It’s definitely better than two people being after your milk-,”

“Fine! Fine! We can keep him!” Calli shouted, walking around to stand next to Kiara. “Just don’t regret it later.”

“W-what’s happening…?” Haruto thought aloud. This weird couple… was adopting him?!

“We’re adopting you!” Kusotori exclaimed. “My name is Takanashi Kiara and this is Mori Calliope. Feel free to call us Mama and Papa. What’s your name?”

“I…” Haruto’s throat hurt. He didn’t realize how unused to talking he was, considering that he barely said a word in the past two weeks.

“What was that, sweetie?” Kuso- Kiara asked.

“I thought your name was Kusotori…” Haruto admitted. Kiara fell over laughing while Calli looked away, covering her burning red face with her hands.

[imagine-loki]

Soulbonds and Fairy Dust

TITLE: Soulbonds and Fairy Dust (rewrite) CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: 36/?

AUTHOR: nekoamamori ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine one of the fae has been helping the Avengers, jumping in to help them on missions and vanishing before Shield can bring her in.  Loki joins the team and convinces her to come talk to the team and consider joining before Shield takes more drastic measures. RATING: M NOTES/WARNINGS:  This is a rewrite of the original work of the same name.  Also on AO3 here

Loki looked impressed. No wonder she could truename so much stronger than the other fae.  “Are you the only one with that power?” he asked.  He was always so curious and that didn’t change now.

Sig nodded. “I am, which makes it more dangerous when I truename things and when oaths are sworn in my presence,”

“Why is that?”

She paused and considered how to best explain that.  “Well, I can identify anyone and anything’s truename, which is dangerous enough, since that gives me at least some power over that being, as you saw me do to Jareth,” Loki was nodding along, so she continued.  “The other thing very, very few people know I can do and it takes a lot of power to do so, but I can change something’s true name, change their nature entirely,” she told him softly, sharing one of her secrets with him.  No one outside of Underhill knew she could do that and she wanted to keep it that way.  

Loki’s brows furrowed in confusion and disbelief. “Change their nature? That shouldn’t be possible,” he protested.

“And yet, I can,” she told him with a shrug. “I’ve only done it a couple of times, and it’s not something to be done lightly, especially since it takes a lot of power to do, but I can,”

“That is quite impressive,” Loki commented and thought it over before he found his next question. “What natures have you changed?” he asked gently, feeling that it might not be an easy story.   

She sighed before she started, but she had agreed to answer questions, and she wouldn’t hide her past from him.  “Once by accident when I was a child, I changed the nature of one of the hunt hounds so it would be my friend instead of the savage hunter it was being trained to be.  I didn’t understand what it was I’d done at the time,” she explained.  Loki nodded.  Accidental magic among children was common and understood.  She hesitated before she continued.  “The other time, I’m not proud of…,” she told him softly, letting him know how difficult this story would be to tell.

“Tell me when you’re ready, darling. I won’t force you into anything,” he reassured her quickly, making sure she knew that he wouldn’t force or pressure her to tell him things that she wasn’t ready to. He was here to support her, not pressure her.  

She sighed, but pressed on.  “It was when I was being evaluated for my place in the court when I came of age.  One of the gray ladies had an evening with one of the lords of the unseelie court and her child wasn’t up to seelie perfection.  She claimed she had been unable to see through his illusion, but that didn’t change that the child was born covered in feathers. I was told to change the child’s nature to fit the standards of the seelie court or she would be killed for her imperfection,” she told Loki, admitting what she’d done with sorrow in her tone.  She hadn’t wanted to change her nature, but there had been no choice.

“What happened?” he pressed gently.

“I gave the child a new truename,” she told him simply.  She’d changed her to be seelie perfect as required.  It had been the only way to save her life. “The last time I saw her, she was a toddler with bright gold hair and eyes,” she told him, then sighed.  “Her mother catches her staring longingly at the sky though and I know I took it from that girl.  She will never fly, because of my meddling,” she told him softly, sorrow haunting her eyes at what she had done, though it was awhile ago.

“I’m sorry, love,” Loki told her gently, pulling her into his arms.  

Sig let him, accepting the comfort he offered.  “As I said, I’m not proud of it, but it was a choice between changing her nature or letting her be killed.  I made the only choice I could,” she said with a hitch in her voice.  It had been a difficult decision at best and she knew she cost the girl her wings and stripped the sky from her.  

“I understand, darling,” she heard his own haunted past in his words. “Some choices are not easy but they must be made,” he told her gently.

She nodded, glad that he understood, though she wouldn’t press him for the details on how.  He would tell her when he was ready. “The oath thing can have some interesting results depending on my mood.  I’ve had to witness thousands of weddings since coming into my dominion.  Needless to say couples who vow to remain faithful in my presence, will remain faithful,” she told him with a smirk and mischief in her eyes.  The fae weren’t known for their fidelity.

“That’s amazing,” Loki told her, sounding truly impressed.

She nodded.  “But it takes a touch of power and me actually feeling like enforcing the oaths, so normal everyday promises are usually safe in my presence.  Usually,”

“So I should be careful what oaths I make in her presence?” he teased.

“You’re safe.  I like you too much.  The moron who cheated on his girlfriend and swore to eat a million beetles to prove himself to her should have been more careful who was in the room when he made that oath…” she laughed at the old memory.  

Loki’s eyebrows shot up in shock.  “Oh wow. Note to self: never piss off Sigyn,” he teased, laughing at the poor fool’s misfortune.

She giggled.  “You’re just now figuring that out?” she asked him just as teasingly.

“No, but that really brings it to the forefront. You can be terrifying when you want to be,” he was teasing, but also shocked and awed that she’d done that to someone. 

“It’s not my fault he swore to eat a million beetles!” she protested indignantly.

Loki laughed.  “Did you stay and watch him follow through?” He asked, genuinely curious as to what had become of the man who had vexed Sig.

She laughed.  “That was a hundred years ago.  I think he’s still working on it.  He was halfway through last I heard,”

“Wow. And the girl? Has she stuck around?”

“Hell no. She was never going to forgive him anyway,” she said with a shrug. He’d been moronic to think she would.

“What an idiot. And now he’s stuck eating beetles for a few centuries,” Loki mused.  

She laughed.  “So he is.  Maybe he’ll learn not to cheat again when another girl deigns to allow him to court her,”

“If that ever happens. I’m sure rumors have spread about his infidelity,”

“They have.  He keeps having to explain why he’s eating beetles, and the fae can’t lie,” she reminded him. Sig was among the exceptions to that rule and she couldn’t lie well at all. “The court also learned to watch who was in the room before making rash promises.  I may have enforced some just because they sounded like fun…” she added with a hint of mischief in her voice.

He grinned childishly.  He loved mischief after all.  It was in his nature.  “Tell me about them? I love a little mischief,”

“A young lordling promised to profess his love for his lady in front of the entire court.  He had no intention of actually doing so and was just saying the words as romantic fluff,” she giggled at the memory.  “The poetry he read her was awful and the queen was livid at being interrupted by a lordling demanding he be allowed to recite poetry for his lady,” she told him as she laughed over it. 

Loki joined in her laughter. “He must have been so embarrassed,”

“So very, very embarrassed,” she agreed. “And then he was scolded by the queen for making such a rash promise in the first place,”

“Especially with you present,”

She nodded, then smirked when she thought of something.  “You’re not going to warn the warrior boys about that skill of mine, are you?” she teased.

“Not a chance,” he replied with a smirk of his own. 

She giggled. “Wonder what stupid thing Fandral’s going to say,” she paused.  “Or what stupid thing you’re going to goad him into saying,” she corrected herself quickly.

Loki chuckled.  “It could be anything. That man is the definition of the word imbecile,”

She paused in her laughter.  “Hopefully it’s not something Mama Frigga will be too upset with me for enforcing,” no one wanted to upset Mama Frigga.

“Don’t worry, love. I wouldn’t do anything to get you in trouble with Mother,”

“No, but Fandral might.  I think he’s offended I’m not swooning over him like the feather brained noble ladies,” she made a face, letting him know exactly what she thought of that behavior.  She wasn’t one to swoon and she liked to believe that she wasn’t one of the feather brained noble ladies who Loki so despised. 

“I would agree. Though the noble ladies love the attention,”

She rolled her eyes.  “He’s annoying and as featherbrained as the rest of them.  Not my type,” she made another face to solidify that point.

“I agree. I can barely stand being in his presence for a long period of time without wanting to smite him where he stands,” Loki grumbled.  He hated Thor’s moronic friends.  With the exception of Sif.

“Or drug him with fairy wine?” she teased with a grin.

He chuckled. “Or that,”

“Speaking of, did you want to try it?” she asked as she summoned the bottle.  The magic in the wine would help her recover. It wouldn’t help much, but any little bit was helpful, especially with how worried Loki was. 

Loki looked interested.  He was curious about everything, including the magic wine. “Sure,” he agreed.

Sig nodded and looked him over, gauging him and his magic before carefully pouring out a small glass.  She handed the glass over to him and poured a much larger wine glass for herself.  The wine wouldn’t hurt her and if Loki was careful, it wouldn’t hurt him. He took a small sip and she saw in his eyes that it was the sweetest, most delicious wine he’d ever tasted. On top of that it was mixed with magic, making it even better. Loki hmmed in pleasure over it. “That is exquisite,” he purred

She nodded and sipped on her own wine.  “That it is,” she agreed. 

Loki looked concerned as he took another sip. “How dangerous is this wine?”

“You saw what it did to the morons,” she reminded him.  “It’s dangerous, especially to those without magic.  It’s easy for them to get drunk on it, or addicted to the magic within it.  It’s also easy to influence them while they’re drunk on it.  They’ll follow whatever orders are given to them,”

He blinked and she saw his worry. “And to those with magic?” he asked, concerned, though he knew she wouldn’t hurt him, the concern was still there.

“Don’t fret, love.  I wouldn’t give you anything that would hurt you.  You’ll be fine as long as you don’t drink too much of it.  And it replenishes magic. Worst it’ll do to a fae is get us drunk,” she added before he could ask if she was in any danger from it.  

He seemed relieved but still said: “I know. I trust you,”

[pastlivesandsecretdreams]

paradise - chapter four

chapter four - a documentary

mike dodds  x oc (cecilia “cecily” elizabeth sinatra kennedy)

warnings :: mention of death, loss, airplane crash, hemorrhage mention

song(s) of the chapter : cardigan by taylor swift 

word count : 1,740+

“all i’ve ever known is loss…” cecily told the camera that sat in front of her. she had been asked to make a documentary about her life thus far, and they got some old videos and photos of her from her aunt and her godmother. “fifteen minutes after i was born, my mother died of-” she hadn’t noticed that she had started to cry, until she felt the droplets fall onto her shirt. “-a hemorrhage. so for the first few years of my life, it was just me and my father.” a producer handed her a tissue box. “thank you.” she told him, wiping the tissues away. “i loved my father. he was the first great love of my life, i always say. because like i said, it was just us for the first few years of my life. then, he started bringing this pretty lady around the apartment. i loved carolyn! i never had any female presence besides my aunt caroline. so i was always in love with carolyn. she gave me love and attention and cookies. god, she made amazing cookies!” cecily started to laugh at what she had said. “and i got to be the flower girl in their wedding. i was just happy the two people i loved most were getting married! and that i got to wear a pretty dress. and then…” her face fell as she thought of their end. “i got sick from my school friend, josey. it was a bad stomach bug. like i was throwing up, and when i wasn’t, i was so incredibly nauseous. my father almost didn’t go to the wedding. i remember he was adamant on staying home to take care of me. but my step-aunt, auntie lauren, talked to my father and step-mother, who were fighting. their perfect marriage wasn’t as perfect as i thought. in my mind, they were the king and queen of the castle. but...they weren’t. and yet, there was so much love between them. my aunt caroline ended up taking me to her place until my parents would come back. normally, i would’ve slept with my cousins, but because i was sick, i was put in the guest room.

 i sat in bed after a long ass nap. i had written my father a letter, and i had planned to give it to his assistant, so when he next went to work, it would be a nice surprise on his desk. but...as i placed the letter inside the envelope, my aunt caroline walked into the room and just...wrapped her arms tightly around me. that's when i was told the people i loved most...were dead. and again, i became acquainted with loss. i remember nothing of the night after that. i guess my mind blocked it out. but i do remember waking up the next morning and everyone was treating me like i was a porcelain doll that was gonna break, if they so much as breathed heavily towards me. i stayed with them until the day after the funeral. at the age of seven, i was alone. i was an orphan. until my mother’s best friend and my godmother, alix, came to america. she packed everything i owned and shipped it to her home...in france. so, she uprooted me and brought me to reims, where i would grow up. i love my aunt alix, i do, but i wouldn’t have taken me across the pond. because, in a time where i was so fragile, she took me away from my family and friends. i understand she wanted me to get away from all that...but i needed to hold onto whatever sense of family and normalcy i had left.” she started to cry harder and harder, until her best friend, and possible cousin, ronan farrow walked over and hugged her. “you’re okay...you’re okay… deep breathes.” he whispered to her. “let’s take five.” he said to the producer, who nodded and left with the camera guy. “sweetie, it’s only been a few weeks since you gave birth. you need to relax.” she wiped her eyes and blew her nose into the tissue. “i’ve been on the go since i was seven. i need to do this. it will help me process a lot.” he nodded, starting to understand what she was getting on about. the girl had so much that she had never worked through, but now it wasn’t just her. she was a mother of four now, and still never came to terms with a lot of her demons. “can we start again?” ronan kissed her forehead and left the room to grab the producer and camera guy. “are you okay enough to continue?” she nodded as they started rolling again. “what was the last thing i said…?” she asked the producer. “your godmother taking you away from normalcy.” cecily nodded and took a drink of her water. the babies started to cry down, but mike quickly tended to them, so not to interrupt. he had been so good with taking care of her, and agreed that it would be good to get it all out there. “so, i never really made friends after that… because i was terrified of losing them because of all the loss in my life. i’ve hated feeling so alone. and i was alone...until i came back home to new york. then, six weeks after...i met this boy.” mike walked into the room with the twins, causing her to beam at him. “sorry to interrupt… teddy wants you.” she held out her arms, giggling softly as the baby was placed in her arms. “i just got to the best part in the story.” she told her beloved husband. “which is?” the baby latched onto her hand, nuzzling against her chest. “the part about me meeting this cute boy.” he leaned over and kissed her forehead. “he sounds...amazing.” she let out a melodious laugh, which seemingly echoed through the room. “trust me, he is. he’s the love of my life.” she smiled down the camera lens. “obviously...that boy became my husband the following year. we got engaged about eight months in and we just...couldn’t wait too long. about two months after that, we got married. luckily due to our family connections we got a wedding thrown together rather quickly. i had felt it coming on-” he looked at her shocked. “you did?!” cecily nodded and laughed again. “i did! one day you came into my apartment- which is the same apartment that belonged to my father- and what we live in now. and you just...seemed so sure about us. and i knew...i knew i was right for letting you into my life.” he moved and rested his forehead against hers. “i love you…” they said softly to each other. “you’ve been the light of my life.” cecily told him. “you and the children.” the both babies in their arms were fast sleep, loving being held by their parents. “then, on our wedding day, my cousin jack led me down the aisle. and we got married. and that night, at the reception, i told him what i had found out a week before.” her husband smiled at her, then the camera. “she was pregnant with eliza.” she giggled and nodded. “hell yeah, i was.” he looked enamoured by her laughter, by her, by the children they had made together. “it explained a lot. and after that, i knew i had to open up. so, he came with me to see a therapist. after all, he had some problems as well.” mike nodded and sighed softly. “before we met...i had been in the army. and i had seen so much. and i knew that we both had to work through some stuff.” cecily leaned over and wiped his tears away and kissed where they had been. “and we did it how we’ve done everything.” at the same time, they said, “together, or not at all.” they had added that into their vows last minute, and since then, it was a promise they kept. “and now that we have six dozen children-” this caused her to let out another beautiful laugh. “we- gladly- don’t have that many. we have four.” he smiled at her again, loving the sound that came out of her mouth. he could live on her laugh alone, if possible. “-yet. but!” this caused her to playfully hit his arm. “play nice, monkey!” the twins had woken up due to their mother’s laughter and looked up at them. almost if he understood, cassie started to make monkey-like noises. “oh my god!” the entire room fell into laughter at the two newest additions. “please tell me you got that on camera!” she was given a thumbs up from the camera guy. “can you please send me that bit?” once again, she was given a thumbs up. “thank you, timmy! but oh my god, we have a whole zoo in this apartment.” teddy started to babble to his mother. “yes, you too. yes, you too!” the two older kids waddled into the room, jack following behind them. “it seems the rest of our zoo is home!” the two children brought stools and sat next to their parents. “we missed you. kisses!” both children leaned in and kissed her cheeks, then their fathers. “wanna introduce the kiddies?” the producer asked them. “this is elizabeth jaymes. she’s five. we call her “eliza”. this is john fitzgerald, he’s four and we call him “john john” like how the media called my dad. and these two are the newest. we thought we were having one more...then it seems we got a two for one deal. the one i’m holding is edward arthur. we call him “teddy”. and last but not least, this is cassiopeia star. we call her “cassie”. and the twins are about a month old now.” the two older kids waved to the camera. “what does you daddy do for a living?” the producer asked the older two. “he keeps the bad guys off the streets!” eliza answered before her brother could say anything. “and mama?” he asked john john. “she makes houses!” cecily giggled towards her son. “i’m an interior designer.” she told him. “thats what i said!” another round of laughs came from the room. for a moment, their lives were peaceful. but cecily knew it wouldn’t last.

___________________________

hey everyone! i hope you’re having a good holiday season and that you’re all staying safe! here is chapter four, which i actually wrote on christmas eve, but didn’t have time to post it until now! i love you all! 

xoxo,

gracie

tag list : @evans-dejong​

[imtryingthisout]

Of Flames and Fire: Prologue

[If you hate me for writing this, just remember I hate myself more and that this began because of a joke.]

Warnings: Ask to Tag

Word Count: 3627

Fandom: Disney Descendants

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

Dirt clung to the fringes of Maleficent’s robes as she descended deeper into the cavernous warren. Once upon a time her presence would have struck such fear that not even the dust mites would have dared come near her, but such a time was over now, and now the endings of her black cloak grew more and more soiled with every step she took.

She held a twisted candelabra in one hand and her faithful staff in the other. The small flame burned a deep rouge color, more red than yellow, with how thick and low the air had become. Maleficent was surprised it still burned at all. She was thankful for the candle’s valiant effort. Gone were the days where she could summon a ball of hellfire to illuminate the room, and with all the dust and filth in the air she wasn't sure her darkvision would be of any use.

A drop of hot wax struck her fingers.

Maleficent continued onwards.

As she ventured closer and closer to her destination, the sound of barking began to ring in her ears. Viscous growls, the sound of teeth hitting teeth, shrieks and yelps and oh so much barking. Were she a lesser soul it might have frightened her, or at the very least given her a pause, but she knew that no dog (three headed or otherwise) lived down here, just a lonely master trying to cope with the sound of silence.

(Out of everything her new prison tormented her with, Maleficent never thought she would grow to loathe the quiet. The silence. Even on the Forbidden Mountain she would hear the rustling of wind, the roaring cacophony of her minion’s delight, the sound of Diablo’s deep cawing. But here, even with the tumult of the budding city of thieves and villains, her thoughts screamed louder than any noise. Here she felt more alone than she ever did atop her ruined castle.)

No door was mounted to the cave’s wall, it would be far too impractical to do so, so Maleficent raised a curved fist and knocked thrice on a wooden post instead. “Who is it?” a voice called out from lower in the room, it sounded irritated and gruff, good. Maleficent smiled “Just a passing visitor Lord Hades”.

Quicker than she thought possible, the exiled Monarch of the Underworld stood leaning against the doorframe, one arm draped over the rotten wood and his head tilted with a school boy smile (if a school boy had eyes of glowing brimstone and thorny rows of sharp teeth protruding from his gums). “Why Miss Maleficent, what brings you to my little.. home away from home?”

She took a moment to drink in his sight, he looked more or less the same as he did when they first met, a little more tired, maybe, a little less put together, thick silver-colored cuffs bound round his wrists to drain his godly might. Still something about him seemed different, she couldn't quite place her finger on it, then she met his gaze. “Kohl around the eyes, Lord Hades? I do hope you aren't going Egyptain on me”

He snorted and rolled his- yes, black lined- eyes “Nah those guys are great, but they sure as Me don’t need another Death God. Besides- Blue Hair? Blue Skin? It’s already confusing enough for mortals to get us mixed up at parties, and don't even get me started on the Ptolemaic Pantheon menagerie, cultural syncretism is fun and all but all that rewriting and re-rewriting and who’s who even got my head more turned around than the gordian knot!”

Here Hades stood taller than Maleficent, even with his slumped posture and hunched back. The slope of the floor was curved in his favor. Her horns were a brandished crown growing, twisting, above her head and barely scraping the stone above her.

She let the humor linger in the air for a breath before speaking. “I have a proposition for you, my lord” she said while dismissing the candle and setting it down on a rock ledge. The light from Hades’ hair and lair would suffice to brighten her vision. Maleficent raised a free arm “Shall we continue our conversation inside? I feel it would be awfully rude to lurk in doorways.” Hades’ smile grew wider, almost splitting his face in two.

“My dearest disgrace to all things dignified, it would be my pleasure” He said, taking her arm and leading her inside. Despite herself she snorted. “My lord I am always dignified, it is deferential which I am not”

Hades’s new domain lay deep underground in the heart of the Isle. Despite his many years of hatred of being saddled with the burden of the Underworld, the room appeared very similar to his old home. ‘Perhaps that is the point’, Maleficent thought, wondering if his new dwelling was really of Hades’ choosing, or did he simply wake up on the Isle in a room modeled after his old kingdom, swapping an old prison for a new one. She wasn’t sure if Zeus had it in him...but Zeus wasn't the only one hurt by Hades’ failed machinations, and she knew that Hera certainitly did, fondness for her older brother or not- the Queen of Gods would not have hesitated to rub salt in any wounds of her child’s stealer. Especially when such irony would have been involved.

In another life, perhaps it would have been Hera who Maleficent would be conversing with, she did always have a healthy respect for the Golden Throned Goddess,like draws to like afterall, and there is nothing more similar yet individual than women with power.

Then again, in another life she wouldn't need to bargain, in another life she would have crushed Prince Phillip’s sword between her teeth and swallowed him whole, in another life she would have blessed the infant Princess with a gift of her own, something clever and far more powerful than any of the Three Sisters trivial delights. In another life---

Hades leads her to a sitting area, long tatham benches set interlocking with one another, made of dark ebony wood. Maleficent gathers the excess of her robe in her grip and takes a seat, then slowly lets the fabric flow down and unfurl on the clean gray floor. The Lord of the Dead seats himself next to her, and after a moment’s pause, she allows him to wrap one of his hands around her waist.

“I have come to reclaim my debt, Your Majesty” she begins, he laughs and jokes “I’m not a accountant dollface, you’ll have to be more specific. I think I still got some styx-water sloshing around in my skull” but she can see the tightness around his eyes, the stiffness in his fingers as he cleans his ear and flicks a droplet of water over his shoulder, he knows exactly what she is referring to. He also knows that his newfound lack of power might have put him in a very precarious situation. Maleficent smiles sharply.

The grip on her waist tightens.

“Then let me help to restart your memory, years ago you needed an elixir that would turn anything, even a God, mortal. I concocted such a potion on the clause that you would… how did you say it? ‘Owe me one bigtime mama '’” she said drolling her words and making air quotations with her slender fingers. The God of The Dead had the decency to look sheepish, a bright blue blush blooming under his siltstone skin. “Okay yeah might’ve been a bit drunk on success when I said that…”

“Mmhmm” Maleficent hummed, raising a single eyebrow.

“....sorry”

“In any case, a deal is a deal, and now I see to collect my end of our bargain”

“It would be my pleasure my lovely lady of labilzation--” “that one was better” “Thank you I do try, --- however I’m sure it has not escaped your notice that, unlike before, I no longer have the Underworld and all its resources at my disposal to grant your dark heart’s deepest desire-- “Lord Hades are you implying I ever had a heart to begin with?” “ Ha ha no. But you do have desires that our current predicament might limit me from fulfilling”

“And you do hate to leave your women unfulfilled, don’t you Hades?”

“Yes I- HEY” Hades began with his usual smooth inflection, not even really looking at her, before cutting himself on and standing up in outrage. Face pinched and flushed. He started pacing back and forth in front of her while Maleficent looked on in cruel delight. He was yammering about something, going on about respect and proper dues and getting wonderfully worked up about himself. It almost made her nostalgic.

“I mean I know I’m no roving casanova like dear little Zeus-y, Persphone would gut me for even trying that and--”

Then his body stilled and he turned to face her, running his hands through his hair to gather his thoughts. Pity, she was enjoying she show. “Alright I get it, playtimes over. What do you want Maleficent? What under this damned barrier could be so important that you need to cash in on?”

“You and I both know Lord Hades that there are forces far older and far more powerful than this Godmother’s little trick. Deals, oaths, dept, magic sworn by magic will be repaid in turn. ” Maleficent raised herself slowly, taking small measured steps to where Hades stood shadowed by the cavern’s light. “As for what I want? That's simple, I want your name”

Name, she hissed out the word, the word that had churned and boiled somewhere deeper than her stomach and rose up her throat, that fell down her tongue and turned sharp and low against her teeth. The word that made her eyes flash with a power that no well intentioned Godmother or once cursed King could contain.

The word that made the Lord of the Dead, Hades himself, fall stumbling backwards to his knees. The shadow wrenched away from him in haste, revealing his wide eyes and- oh how she missed this- positively wreaked expression. If she was someone else she would say he was nervous, his face too numb to be fearful, but Maleficent knew better. He was terrified.

Pleas spilt from his lips like ambrosia in a clumsy hand. He was almost begging her now, with more fervor than he ever begged before--

( In times of old when the earth was freshly taken and the sky still red with titan’s blood, three brothers gathered to divide the cosmos between themselves. The youngest made his claim to the sky and took it’s child, the mighty thunderbolt, as his symbol. He gifted the sea to the middle brother who accepted it glady, but to the oldest he gave no pearl-rich land or magnificent heaven, but the burden of the damned and dead. The darkest corners of the world, where no light reached and the wild souls wandered aimlessly in the eternal darkness. His older brother objected, of course, and perhaps he even set aside his pride to grovel, but the youngest was unyielding. )

“Please Mali, don’t, not that I’ll do anything--”

( Once Ra fell sick from a clay snake bite, and called a council of every man and women and God to come and aid him, but they could do nothing. Then he called for Isis, for surely she would have the answers to his prayers. “What ever you need, I will provide” And so Isis said to the sun god Ra, ‘Great king of The Heavens and all we hold dear, the venom in your blood is much too strong, the only way I can heal you is with the knowledge of your Name’. So Ra listed off all of his titles and epithets, of which he had many, but Isis was not deterred. ‘My Lord and King, though those names are as grand and great as you are, they are not the one of which I refer to. If you wish to continue as yourself, ruler of the Gods, I will need your Rem to cure you’ said Isis and Ra knew she spoke the truth. Banishing the other medicine men and healers from the room he took Isis into his wings and bared to her the fifth of his soul, the name in which all his power sprang from. Isis took the name and healed Ra, feeling the universe realign with her at its helm, Goddess above Gods, of life and moon and medicine and magic. The fruits of her cunning rewarded hundredfold. And she smiled.)

“-- you don't want that old thing, I mean, what would you even do with my name anyway? It’s not like it would be of any use to you here”

“That, Your Majesty, is where you are wrong.” Maleficent slammed the end of her staff on top of the end of Hades’ robe, catching him in place as he tried to flinch backwards. She knelt before him, his back arched so completely he resembled more of a semicircle than a fallen God, his body so small here compared to hers. The long tendrils of her cloak sprawled themselves across the floor, their edges slithering like snakes, writhing and engulfing them, Hades was a cold star trapped amidst a sea of dark fabric.

“You asked me what could be so important to me that I would risk claiming my due of our agreement here, under this hell forsaken barrier. Why would I step into the limelight after years of isolation to rule an island of filth and trash” she pressed a single nail to his face tilting it up, forcing him to meet her gaze. “Because here is where my child will be born, and no blood of mine will be powerless while I still live to conquer and provide”

Her child, who was barely an weight in her arms, hungry for magic where there was none, hungry for food unrotten and drink unspoiled. If Maleficent was kinder she would crush it’s skull beneath her feet and spare it from a life full of pain and longing. Years of torment and clawing at it’s own skin spared in a moment’s decision.

(Her child, who could one day release their Mother from her prison, if they had will to do so.)

Maleficent had never been a kind person.

She did, however, on the seldom occlusion, know mercy and how to manipulate the unwilling. She could just rip his name from his chest, leave him broken and shivering on the cold stone floor. The thought was tempting, it really had been too long since she last had the chance to destroy someone so thoroughly, but she knew it would be better in the long run if she could get Hades to cooperate. Never let it be said she wasn’t a patient Mistress.

Leaning her weight forward she gingerly took one of Hades’ wrists in her hand, turning it over and carefully inspecting the thick band that now encircled it . This close she could feel the way it softly vibrated under her touch, the binding sigils carved so delicately and deep into the metal.

Her skin burned on contact, but you would never tell by her expression, eyes trained on the way Hades’ life force flowed. Faint traces of his magic traveling down his veins and funneling into the band, which would pulse slightly and constrict, the sigils would glow and hold, before loosening its too tight grip on its host. Then the cycle would continue anew.

It was one of the most brilliantly constructed and horrid devices Maleficent had ever laid her eyes on.

It was a work of art.

And as she read the runes she began to recognize what artist could have made such a beautiful thing.

“Do you know just how luck you are Lord Hades? While the rest of us villains must serve a penance that will span the rest of our days, you sit here with shackles holding only until you meet their requirements. I always wondered why Auradon would risk the order of the world just to fulfill their pallid sense of morality, and here my questions are answered. It seems the true nature of your punishment is far more poetic than a measly imprisonment, no, the true keys to your freedom lay in siring a child,”

A cold sense of realization dawned on Hades, “Hera” he whispered.

“How does the saying go again? An eye for an eye.” Maleficent pushed her nail deeper into the skin of his arm “A lost babe for a lost babe.”

Something inside Hades’ eyes broke at her words, and he begun laughing, freely, manic not maniacal, the laugh of a man who knew the entire cosmos was a joke and now he finally got the punchline. “Oh Hera!” He cried out, gathering the shattered pieces of himself and pulling them together.

He stood up from underneath her, fluid as smoke escaping from her grasp, as if his body was still atmos and ichor- not confined to rigid flesh and blood. ( A distant part of Maleficent imagines Hades, stumbling and impaling his head against a stalagmite as he has to relearn how to walk again, learn how to live in a body so forign yet familiar.) He did not offer to help her, and she made no move to rise, instead she remained sitting, her back ramrod straight and hands folded across her staff which rested on her lap.

Over the sounds of running water and the everpresent barking, Maleficent could hear the sounds of his brain work. Spinning gears within gears furiously trying to take in the new information and generate a more beneficial outcome for himself. “Alright, you want my name, you want power, you want little Maleficent Junior to grow up with magic, which I can’t blame you for. I want to get out of here and I want my wife not to kill me on my arrival, so I propose a solution that just might work for us both”

“Go on”

“ gift part of my name to the little tyke, giving them- and by extension you- power that not even this blasted barrier can suppress. That means that in the eyes of magic, I’m basically your baby’s daddy”

“And are you willing to uphold that responsibility? I have no need for a husband nor a housekeeper, but both dragons and fae are known for their possessiveness and of them I am both”

Hades didn't miss a blink, shark toothed smiled fixed back in place on his face “My magnificent Mistress of Misery from now until my chains are unfettered and I am called away to return to my Iron throne, I do swear to treat your little demonspawn as if they were born from the rotten fruit of my loins. Now, do we have an agreement?” Now he looked down at her, hand extended for her to shake. “Going once… going twice..”

Maleficent leapt forward, her hand digging deep into the weak flesh of his arm, she used to movementum to pull herself close to him, nose to nose, sharpened teeth to sharpened teeth, her horns haloing her head- two blackened crests protruding from her skull that reflected the dull blue light of the room. “Its a deal” she declared. Smiling viscously as she felt her eyes flare, not gold, but green, green as burning hellflame, fire in its purest form.

If this were anywhere else but The Isle of The Lost, thunder would crack at their declaration, a ring of light would maifest around their grip sealing their oath in color and magic. The air would ignite at their words. However, this was The Isle, and so the only illumination of fate’s rearrangement came from the flicker of light on Hades’ wrists as the runes surged, the taste of copper under Maleficent’s tongue, and the deep bone-seated feeling that something big will come. This was the stone whose ripple will cause the wave years down the line.

Maleficent hoped it would rise and drown the whole world.

She almost smiled at the thought.

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

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

“Huh”

“What?”

“You know when you said you had a baby, I kinda pictured- you know- a baby”

“I do hope you aren't talking bad about our child, it hasn't even hatched yet”

“Maleficent thats not a child, thats an egg”

“You think I would birth a infant mammal? Don’t be so crude, egg laying is a much more civilized method of reproduction”

“Wait does that make you a reptile? Oh sweet Zeus don’t tell me you are? What can you unhinge your jaw? Do you have a hemi--”

“Silence your tongue Lord Hades before I cut it out myself”

“Sorry sweetcheeks I couldn't resist”

“....”

“...sorry”

“Now traditionally Mother and Daughter would pass on a portion of their name until the time came where the Daughter earned to full title of Maleficent, usually by slaying their Mother and taking her name for herself. Until that day a middle name would serve as a placeholder to help differentiate them, a Mal Bertha or Mal Lamia or something of the sort. If you are giving up one of your titles, perhaps Mal Aidoneus would suffice?”

“Yeah, no”

“No?”

“Listen, Fairy G’s little parasite pocket is going to hone in on quote the name of the “The Mistress of All Evil” like a cyclopes at a half-off everything sunglass sale. You want this kid to have even a smidgen of a chance we gotta change it up a bit.”

“Well then Your Majesty I don’t suppose you have any better Ideas”

“........Malenthea”

“Hm?”

“Her name, it will be Malenthea”

“Then so mote it be”

“....”

“....”

“HOLY RHEA YOU DIDN'T TELL ME THE EGG WOULD EXPLODE--”

[random-imagines-blog]

The Face of God (Daenerys with Child Oneshot)

Requested by: @paultiteuf360​ Wordcount: 2808 Summary: You are a young, orphan boy who Daenerys finds upon reaching Dragonstone. You also have the power to see into the future, and you use that to change history.

Mother is God in the eyes of a child. And just like the dragons that were hatched in the fire beside Daenerys, you looked at her like she was the source of all love, kindness and nurture on this world. You were found as an orphan in Dragonstone, and no one could figure out how you could have gotten there. It was well fortified, and had not had a single soul living there since Stannis Baratheon, the former Lord of Dragonstone, had died during the wars. Being a  young boy of only about six, you didn’t remember the former Lord, and kept your mouth shut about why you had been there in the first place. But just because you didn’t say, didn’t mean that you didn’t know. Fate had brought you here - the same fate that had given you the ability to see into the future. You knew that your destiny, and that of the whole Seven Kingdoms, would truly begin here - and only you were able to stop the destruction that you saw when you closed your eyes.

Missandei was the first one who came across you, huddled up in a fireplace in the kitchens, trying to stay as far away from the soldiers as you could. With their tarnished armor and their blank stares, they terrified you. You’ve seen what they do in the future and it was frightening. The beautiful young woman was able to coax you out with a song and a gift of food, and you slowly retreated from your hiding spot, taking her hand with your grubby little own.

After a quick wash with some rags, a bowl of stew, a goblet of water and a fresh tunic that was far too big for you but certainly better than what you had before, Daenerys finally was introduced to you. She came to see you in the kitchens, watching with a startled expression as you spooned bite after bite of the stew into your mouth. Your appetite reminded her of the Dothraki, but you were not as vicious. You used the spoon instead of your hands, which was a good sign.

The moment that your eyes connected, there was something magical that happened. You felt at peace, at home for the first time in your short life, and she felt something - something she hadn’t felt since she had a baby in her stomach. The maternal instinct took over her, in a way that overpowered even the love that she had for her dragons, whom she called her children.

She asked for stew of her own, for if it was good enough for you, it was good enough for her. And she sat at the chair next to you, watching with enjoyment as you ate. Once your stomach was full to the brim, and a healthy glow was upon your rosy cheeks, you climbed over to her lap and curled up there in the same way that you had in the fireplace, but this was much more comfortable. The guards in the kitchen looked on with surprise as their Queen, the Mother of Dragons, not only indulged in the little boy, but seemed to just as comforted by you as you were by her. Your fingers played with the white-blonde hairs that dangled near your face, not enough to hurt of course, but to feel the silk strands.

“My little Prince,” She said, kissing the tip of your nose.

-

Daenerys always made sure that you were within eyesight of her. After her previous experience, she wasn’t going to let anything at all happen to you. If you weren’t sitting on her lap, then you were usually with Jorah, who took the place of a father figure in your life. Even you, at this young age, could see how he looked at your mama, and that’s what helped to cement him as a father to you. He had a wooden sword made for you, since there was no way that Daenerys was going to allow you a real blade, and you two would play sword fight, with you often winning to your delight.

Despite all of the love and attention, you were not spoiled. You didn’t get feasts, but lived off of the same food as everyone else. You did get clothing made in your own size but it was mainly plain, for you would end up getting it dirty in your playing anyhow. You did your best to learn everyone’s names, including the UnSullied and the Dothraki, learning the tough syllables that were impossible for some adults. Your mama did want the finest things for you, but after seeing the appreciation that you had for the simple things, she changed her mind.  You were just as happy with a whittled figure of a dragon than you would be with some mechanical thing.

The dragons themselves - Drogon, Rhaeal and Viserion - were utterly terrifying to you. You always hid behind your mama’s dress when they flew too close, though they didn’t threaten you the way that they did to others. They, like everyone else, saw the love that Daenerys had for you, and accepted you as their little brother.

-

Despite the love that you had for your new mama, you never told her about your ability. You never told a single soul. Even Lord Varys, who thought that he knew everything, knew nothing about your gift. You may just be a child, but you knew that telling would have bad consequences. You could stop bad things happening, but that would make worse things happen in the future. You just had to suck it up and try to understand your place in all of this.

It was the day that everyone was packing up to go to Winterfell. The war against the dead was going to begin, and you had already foreseen the outcome. It broke your little heart and you fell asleep crying most nights, facing away from your mother so she wouldn’t worry. You were going to lose so many of your friends.

“Come up, ride with me,” Daenerys said from her post on a horse, reaching down to help lift you. You shook your head, and saw the unfortunate look of hurt in her eyes.

“Can I ride with Jorah?” You asked, looking towards your father figure. “And then I’ll ride with you on the way back? Please, please, please?”

“If it pleases you, Ser Jorah,” Daenerys said, looking at her second in command. He nodded, and picked you up, sitting you between him and the reins. It felt nice to be near his warm body, and know that you were protected against anything that could come up and attack during the journey. But it was also bittersweet because you knew this was the last time that you were going to be able to ride with him.

-

Winterfell was horrible, and you never wanted to go back there. Though it was pretty at times with the snow falling, it was cold and it was dangerous. Being locked in the crypts with Uncle Tyrion didn’t make things better, for though you were old enough to understand that the dead shouldn’t be coming back to life, you knew that they would.

“Don’t put your knife away!” You cried out to the man that you thought of like an uncle, holding onto his arm as he was putting it into his sheath. You were full of terror, despite knowing that you were going to make it out of this. “The dead are coming!”

“We’re safe down here,” Lady Sansa said, gently. She ran her fingers through your hair. You didn’t dislike her, but you could see that she didn’t like your mama, so you were very wary. You pushed her away from you and retreated further into Tyrion.

“There are dead down here too,” You whispered to him, giving him the warning. The short man looked around cautiously at the crypts, and decided to keep his own weapon in hand, just in case. For he had noticed that some of the things that you had said tended to come to pass. He spoke of that to no one, keeping his suspicions to himself lest he cause an issue with you being called a demon.

After a couple of hours of careful watching, keeping close and trying to keep the cries of the young ones from escaping through the walls, the crypt was alive with the sound of fighting. The dead had risen, as you had predicted. Tyrion kept you hidden behind a statue of a dead king, then helped with what he could, saving a couple of lives in the process. Until finally, the moment came when the Night King was killed by that girl, Arya, and the dead fell, their last fight being a defeat. They could finally rest.

You were the first one out of the crypt when the doors were opened, being followed by Tyrion who was calling for you to slow down. You jumped over bodies, not looking below for fear of seeing a familiar face, and ran to where you knew your mama to be. She picked you up immediately in her arms, cradling you close, the fur from her jacket tickling at your face but you didn’t care because you could still smell her and she smelt like home.

-

King’s Landing was going to fall to ruin. You saw it the moment that Missandei was murdered in front of Daenerys and Grey Worm. You turned after seeing it, looking backwards at the soldiers that were behind you, having new thoughts about them after what your visions had foretold. They were going to become monsters. They were going to kill the innocent, they were going to destroy homes and families. And your mother - it was hard to believe it, but she was going to become the worst of them all. And she would be murdered as a consequence.

“You have to stop her Uncle Tyrion,” You said, standing straight and strong like an Unsullied in front of your uncle. “She’s not going to listen to the bells.”

Tyrion knew better than to question how you knew this. He sat in deep thought, looking at you, a young boy of just seven years old now, who had seen things that no one your age should have had to see. “We cannot stop the Queen from doing what she wants to do.”

“A lot of people are gonna lose their mamas and their papas. People who haven’t done anything wrong!”

“What are you talking about, little Prince?” Your mama’s voice came from outside of Tyrion’s tent as she walked in. This makeshift tent was only temporary, for he was to be taking you away from King’s Landing, back towards Winterfell after the sun had set. The time for negotiations was over, so Tyrion’s part was done - and she didn’t want you to see the injustices of war so closely at such a young age.

“Mama, why did you free the slaves?” You asked, turning to her with wide eyes, full of fear, tears tempting to fall. What you could see was her dead body in the arms of Jon Snow. Your beautiful mother, the person who saved you, who loved you. You couldn’t let this come to pass.

She scooped you up in her arms, sitting down on a chair with you on her lap, just like she had when she had first found you. Just like when the bonding had begun. “Because a person should never be owned,” She told you, putting a finger under your chin to make you look at her. “I answer injustice with justice, my love.”

“And will you show justice today and be fair, mama?” You asked, almost retreating to a baby like state in her arms. You didn’t want her to leave, didn’t want to take the risk of the horrible future happening. “Are you going to make King’s Landing our home?”

“Once I sit on the Iron Throne, all of the Seven Kingdoms will be our home,” Daenerys told you with a smile.

“But if you send in the dragons to destroy everything, there won’t be a home left,” You said, resting your head on her chest. You closed your eyes and heard the heartbeat. It was strong, just as she was. She remained quiet for a moment, stroking your hair, your face, while in thought. “And if you hurt good people and do bad things, then someone is going to get justice on you mama.”

She just kissed the top of your head, got up, and set you back down while you were sitting. “Get some rest, my love, you have a long journey tonight.”

-

A month later, you were sitting in the dining area in the castle of Winterfell. Your head was down on the table, and you were groaning. This is the longest that you had been away from your mother, and you were waiting for a letter, an appearance, anything! You were scared, constantly pacing, driving both Sansa and Tyrion crazy. But they didn’t know what you knew. They hadn’t seen what you had seen. Your mama could be dead right now, and a raven could be coming for Sansa and Tyrion to be at the trial of Jon Snow. You didn’t see what the future held right now, it was all up in the air.

“There’s someone approaching,” A guard called out, making you raise your head. Sansa tensed up in her own seat, where she was drinking water and was deep in thought. You might not have warmed to her still, but you didn’t blame her for being pensive, not with Jon and Arya over there.

“Who?” The Lady asked.

The door opened before the guard could say, and a man with messy black curls, covered in a large fur coat, entered the hall. He looked around, a few scrapes on his face but not the worse for wear. Your breath caught in your throat. Had your vision come true? Had he killed your mother, after she brought chaos to King’s Landing?

There were more footsteps, and then the roar of a dragon from outside. Drogon! You would know that sound anywhere! You leaped to your feet, bounding over the bench onto the table. You didn’t care that you may be scolded for it - your Mama was here! The very second that you saw the familiar white hair, plaited so prettily behind her ears, you jumped into her arms. And being your mama, she was expecting this very thing and caught you, holding you in your arms.

“Well?” Sansa asked, standing from her spot at the head table, looking at her brother.

“I would have brought you her head, but the crown was heavy enough,” Daenerys said, holding her head up high so everyone could see the golden crown which contrasted against her light hair. Her eyes flickered over to Tyrion who had stood up in amazement. He had assumed the worst with how you had been acting the last month, moping over something, be secretive. “Tyrion is the last Lannister alive,” She said, her voice loud and confident, echoing throughout the room. “The way that it should be, in my opinion.”

“I see,” Sansa said. She wasn’t too enthused over the new Queen, but at least it seemed her position was safe. She then realized that these were the only two coming into the hall. “Where is everyone else?”

“Resting in town. Food and water is being brought to the wounded soldiers. The dead will come here to be burnt or buried, as you wish it,” Daenerys was being more respectful to Sansa now, seeing as you had been fed, sheltered, and generally taken care of in her home. “I’ve come to bring my little one home with me. And my hand.”

“My Queen,” Tyrion said, bowing before her. “May I ask...”

“He betrayed us, going to her side.” Daenerys said pointedly. “He got what he wanted, and what he deserved.”

“Mama, is there still a King’s Landing?” You asked, looking up at her face with wide, attentive eyes.

“It will need a name change since there is no King, but yes, my love.” She stroked your cheek with affection, then hugged you again. “Oh, I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too Mama,” You held her back without restraint, knowing how hard it was for her to control the Targaryen madness inside of her. All ended well - and no one would ever know just how truly you had intervened with fate.