#and I hear they now made blue berry evil

[multifandom-rambler]

cabby’s files were like a kinda interesting flaw

..and then they made it a disability thing 🤨

[autumnvine]

Friday 13th

Summary: Friday 13th kept true to it's bad luck. At least you had your husband to help you though it.

A.N.// I had to post this today, noway was I tempting fate on the 13th, I'm a big believer in fate and superstition. Basically wrote this as a comfort to myself. Enjoy....

Friday 13th was one of the calendar days you feared most, the unknowing of the unknown as you called it, a dangerous, evil day where nothing seemed to go right or even felt right for that matter. You were paraniod since the moment you woke up to the sun not peeping through the curtains like it usually did, instead a grey thick fog covered the morning sky. "Perfect" you sarcastically thought to yourself, trying not to panic and just ground yourself, shuffling up towards your husband's side of the bed, you kept shuffling until there was no space left, there was no Tom in your bed. Shooting yourself upright calling his name over and over in worry, it truly was a horrible day. Tom came around the side of the bedroom door, his blue tshirt and grey tartain pyjamma bottoms on, toothbrush stuffed in his mouth with toothpaste slightly filling the crease of his lip, seeing him immediately calmed you, "I'm okay I'm sorry I just woke up and you weren't there, I got a fright is all." Trying to explain your illogical thought process of shouting your husband like there was an introuder in your home.

The morning continued to be nothing short of a disaster, you were all out of butter and flour unable to make pancakes, no bread for toast, and no cereal left for breakfast. Making a coffee and coughing at the same time accidentally spilling the beans eveywhere on the floor and worktop, your cough turning into more of a bark, Tom came up behind you gently rubbing your back "That sounds sore my darling" Sympathetically trying to comfort you, nodding in responce as you were holding onto the side of the kitchen worktop and Tom's arm for support. He gently patted your back trying to break up your bark and handing you a cold glass of water. Thanking him you made some coffee for Tom as well as some boiled eggs for his and your breakfast. He was in the other room pottering around mostly reading his new book you got for him "Crafted from the ashes of roses" by Juliet Bellerose. Tom loved reading as did you, it was one the main passions you had in common, once each month on date night you would buy eachother a surprise novel, this had been a new release in the local bookshop.

Hearing a clatter and a rather loud yelp Tom set the book down, running to the kitchen to find you holding your arm rather close to your chest with a pot tipped on its side, his eyes darted over to you, hands taking yours "Let me see darling, what happened?" Tom asked worriedly guiding your bright red arm to the sink, turning on the cold water. You were always clumsy, getting cut or burns, scratches and scrapes, you had more bruises on your legs then a toddler learning to walk, always bashing into almost everything that was in your path. "I'm okay I promise" replying sheepishly drenched in embarrisment from your clumsiness yet again.

After twenty minuites of cooling your arm Tom wrapped it in cling film making sure to propperly take care of it for you, offering you a smile each time he wrapped the roll around your arm, shaking his head slightly side to side. "Perhaps I'll make breakfast" Tom laughed as he dried the now slightly cooled boiling water from the worktop, given that there was no more eggs, he chopped an apple, banana, as well as some berries, a bag of frozen mango and some honey flavoured greek yoghurt pouring in all into the blender. Passing you a glass with a very nutritional fruit smoothie you sat together by the breakfast bar explaining how somehow you managed to topple the entire pot on it's side splashing onto you and creating a clatter as it fell. Tom worried about you and how clumsy you really were. "I really need to go out to food shopping today" Tom said while using the tip of his middle finger to wipe the excess smoothie from the bottom left corner of his perfectly pink lips. You giggled at how perfect your husband truly was, always taking care of you, doting on your every move, thinking of you every second. 'Wait did he say go out?' thinking to yourself 'no no not out, not today' The more you though about Tom's plans for the day the more your smile dropped from your face. "Please don't go out today, it's bad luck"

"Darling we have no food" explaining to Tom that it would be okay you could make it work what you had in the freezer just for one day.

"You can't its Friday 13th" Tom smiled to your responce, "You're a sweetheart, you know that?" 

"Please don't go today, I really don't want you to leave the house, or drive, I know I sound silly but you know what you signed up when you first met me." Practically begging your husand to trust your superstition especially on Friday 13th where bad things tended to happen, and bad omens lured around their relm just searching to cause trouble.

"You have the day off today anyway we don't need to go out please" you added to the list of many reasons why your beloved should stay nice and safe inside with you. "Look at history Tom it repeates it'sself please, you know of the Norse Gods who had the dinnerparty for twelve, the trikster God Loki wasn't invited but arrived as the thirteenth guest and arrainged one of the twelve men to be shot with a tipped arrow, one died and the earth got dark, it mourned. It was a very bad, unlucky day, causing the number 13 to be unlucky. There have been multiple cases of unnatural disasters and murders happening on Friday 13th. "

Your husband, seeing the panic rise from within you, fulling your fear, he hated to see you like this, wishing he could help your mind calm it's racing thoughts but also very impressed with your knowledge. You sighed admiting defeat "I'm sorry I can't make you stay inside it's not fair, it's wrong of me I'm sorry" shutting yourself off trying to rationalise your thoughts, of course Tom didn't believe in superstition or the supernatural for that matter. Tom was smart, knowing that for every unnatural phenomenon there was logical reasoning behind it. Still you believed in it, all of it, ghosts, gremlins, shapeshifters for all Tom never believed it himself he never mocked you for it.

"It's alright my darling we don't have to go anywhere, we can stay here today and I shall go food shopping tommorow, alright?" you nodded "How's about we stay at home, watch some movies, and read our novels together, would you prefer that?" he asked you, again nodding in responce

"Thank you I know I sound silly, but I just have his feeling, look at how our morning started, and that's just the beginning."

"Darling it's not silly if you believe it, it frightens you and that's alright, I'll keep you safe, I'll get the food tomorrow, but for now I'd much rather spend a well needed day at home with my wife. I love you my darling"

Taglist

@plutoispurplw

[angstysebfan]

The Past Can Break You - 7

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

AU: Avengers

Summary: You and Bucky have been dating for aa few years. As far as you’re concerned he is the one. But what happens when a blast from the actual past shows up?

A/N: Ive seen a lot stories of Bucky getting his first love from the 40′s back. And I’ve always wondered... what would happen if he was dating someone already? Reader is from this time. Not proofread.

Warning:

--

Dot lays on her bed, hands under her head, staring at the ceiling, wondering. It’s been a week since you ran away from Bucky. Bucky has been locked away in his room ever sense, and hasn’t come to see her yet. I mean I get he had feelings for you, but enough is enough. Bucky has to know that you were not the one he was meant to be with. The fact that she managed to find him nearly a century later is fate. Surely Bucky knows that.

Suddenly there is a knock on her door, bringing Dot out of her thoughts. She opens and sees Bucky standing there, looking tired. 

“Oh Jamie, what is wrong?” Dot asks innocently enough.

Bucky looks at her with sad eyes, “Y/N left me. She didn’t tell me why, but she left me. I-I feel so foolish. I thought she loved me,” he said as tears came to his eyes.

Dot pulls him into a tight hug. And of course because he cannot see her face, she smirks in victory. After some time Bucky pulls back. Dot grabs his flesh hand and pulls him into her room and toward her bed.

“I’m so sorry this happened Jamie. When did she leave?” Dot asked.

“Last week,” Bucky said looking away. “I have been trying to find her, but she has made it nearly impossible. Should have known not to trust one of the best spies in the world.” Bucky says.

Dot furrows her brows, “She is a spy? I thought you were all were Avengers.”

Bucky looked at her, “The Avengers are made up of all different people with different skills and powers to fight the evil in this world. Y/N was kidnapped as a child and turned into a spy. Natasha helped her escape and now she is... or was... an Avenger. She always felt we were her family, so I must have done something if she was willing to leave. I just wish I knew what,” Bucky said.

“Jamie, I know you love her, but obviously she didn’t love you as much as you thought. You need to stop thinking about what you could have possibly done wrong and move on. Now I want to hear more about the different skills and powers you were talking about with the Avengers. I mean I have lived here for several months and know nothing about this,” Dot says.

Bucky looks at her with a mix of shock and annoyance, but shakes his head, “Uh, well you know Steve has the super soldier serum, Tony is a genius and has made suits that can do anything, Natasha is also a spy from the Red Room, Clint is a spy and the best shot I’ve ever seen, Sam can fly and was in the military, Wanda has powers and can read minds, Vision is a robot from the same source that Wanda got her powers from, and Thor is a god from another planet,” Bucky said quickly.

Dot paled a little, especially hearing Wanda can read minds. She looked at Bucky, “And... and you?” she asks quietly.

It took a lot to not smirk at the scared expression on her face, but Bucky leaned in, “Me? Well, I was taken by Hydra, given a similar serum like Steve, and was brainwashed to become the greatest assassin in the world. they would freeze me until they needed me and I would kill anyone they wanted, and any witnesses. Unfortunately that included Tony’s parents, but he and I have made up so to speak,” Bucky says.

He watches Dot pale more as she suddenly looks frighten of the man on her bed, “How... how could you not tell me that before? We spent so much time together and you.. you never mentioned any of this,” Dot said.

Bucky looked at her and tried to seem sincere, “Does it matter? I mean as you said maybe this is fate, the two of us being here, in this time, together. I mean I do miss Y/N, but maybe this is a sign that I need to stop fighting the feelings I have... for you,” Bucky said.

“Jamie... I-,” Dot hesitates.

“Surely you still love me like you said you do, now knowing my past,” Bucky says.

Dot swallowed and put on a brave face, “Y-Yes Jamie. I-I still love you,” She says.

--

You wait in the conference room, knee shaking under the table as Steve and Nat sit in front of you.

“Y/N, you have to calm down,” Nat says.

“I’m trying but this is taking too long. What if it doesn’t work. What if--”

You are cut off by the door opening and Bucky walking in. You both stop and stare at each other. Your heart beats quickly in your chest as your stare into his blue eyes. He stares right back into your Y/E/C eyes.

“So? Did it work?” Nat asked, snapping you both out of your staring contest. Bucky looked at Nat, and then back at you before he smirked.

“She is terrified, but is going to pretend she can handle being with me. This should be easy,” he says.

You smile and look at Nat you nods, “Good, step 1 complete. The bitch knows who she is dealing with. Now Barnes, I need you to seduce her. Make her think that you are interested. We need this to go on for a bit before she snaps, which she will. Or I’ll snap her like a twig,” Natasha says.

Nat continues to talk about the beat down she wants to give Dot, while you and Bucky go back to staring at each other. Bucky walks around the table to stand in front of you, “She thinks you are still gone,” he says softly.

You nod, “Good. She needs to think she won.”

“Can we talk, alone? Tonight? Maybe on the roof?” Bucky asks.

You take a deep breath and look down at your hands, “I... sure, Buck. Once Dot has gone to sleep. You belong to her now,” you say.

Bucky steps closer, “I know you know the truth, but please know that everything that I am doing now is to make her pay for hurting you. If I belong to anyone, it’s you, baby,” he says before kissing your forehead and leaving the room.

You take a shuddering breath as tears come to your eyes. You know Bucky is innocent, but all you can hear are the words his voice said to her. Bucky still doesn’t know what happened, but you know he will ask you relentlessly until you tell him.

You have to keep your eye on the prize. Dot needed to pay for what she has done. But when it’s over, will you be able to get over everything and still be with Bucky? Will this plan drive you further apart?

--

Chapter 6 / Chapter 8

So what do you think the overall plan is? Will the reader be able to ignore the fact that Bucky needs to seduce Dot, while she is still in pain about everything? Feedback is appreciated.

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[dizzydancingdreamer]

The Servant and The Prince | One

I did it-- I wrote something. Was it what everyone wanted? Gods no. But it is something. So do enjoy my lovelies-- a break from my not so regularly scheduled content.

Description: This is very much a Cinderella trope because I cannot help myself and I am in love with Loki 

Pairing: Loki x Female!Reader, third person as I may adapt eventually with an OC 

Warnings: violence but very minor, emotional abuse, some strong-ish language

Tags: Angst but you can imply fluff 

Word count: 3.8k

Next

Master List

“Did you pack my dress!” A shrill voice assaults her eardrums as she scurries towards the door.

It comes from a tall, thin, young woman. Her face and fingers are boney, her blonde hair falling in perfect waves down her back. The faintest aroma of honeysuckles and violets wafts off her creamy skin. She is beautiful, her step sister Anna. At least in theory. The sneer on her cherry lips and the hatred in her cerulean eyes, unclouded and accusatory, can’t be hidden by any length of silky dress or ruby lipstick, though. She is ugly, even if just on the inside.  

Y/n almost drops the bags in her hands- almost. She only flinches inwardly. She is used to the constant demands. Clean the house, cook the meal, wash my clothes. This and that and more. So much more. She’ll never flinch though. No matter what. That is a promise she made to herself too long ago.

“Yes milady. It is already in the carriage alongside the rest of your requested belongings. Is there anything else I can do for you before we leave?” Her own voice is gentle in comparison; a breeze trying to hold its own against a tornado.

Anna’s sneer deepens and she huffs, spinning on her heel, her dress spiraling around her in a show of pink tulle. She does not say anything as she storms away, most likely on her way to her mother’s ornate carriage. That’s another thing that is more beautiful on the inside than out. If only everyone else knew that Y/n’s step family is poorer than dirt. Estrid, Anna’s mother, hides it well under the last remains of her father’s hard earned money. Gold encrusted carriages and a large home and clothing dripping in jewels. He is gone though, Y/n’s father, and the money will soon be completely gone as well. If only people glanced a little further and saw her dress- not terribly tattered but hand sewn out of the plainest fabric- and the overwhelming lack of staff in the big home. The signs are all there, sitting in plain sight. 

That is exactly the reason Y/n is loading the carriage- a last ditch attempt for her step mother and step sister to rise back to the wealth they once enjoyed. There is to be a ball. A royal ball. Apparently it is supposed to be much grander than the solstice festivals her small village holds. She always thought those were magnificent; the dancing and the feasts. She loved attending them before her father had died. He would take her and her mother every year and they would find their seats under the stars, eating and dancing to their heart’s desire. Her chest squeezes painfully; she misses them both dearly. Now that they are gone those few days of the year are her only escape- the nights where she can pretend she is anything but a lowly servant. 

She blanches wondering how much grander the ball will be. Surely it will be more than turkey under the stars and the ribbon dances of her youth. It will be in the castle- in a ballroom bigger than her house and the neighbours combined. Bigger even. She has never been in a ballroom. Sometimes the village hall holds weddings but they are small and serve vegetable stew and play music composed of fiddles and flutes. All the things she is most familiar with. The castle will have things she does not understand. Clothes worth more than her life and the richest foods and music that is so intricate that she wonders if her ears will be able to withstand it. She has heard stories of how wonderful it is- and how magnificently out of her element she will be.

Y/n sighs, pulling her shoulders straight and hiking the bags further up her body. This is no time for dawdling- there is no time that can be wasted now. She drags herself and the bags out the door, sparing a quick glance over her shoulder at her family home. It used to be filled with warmth. The kind that comes with baking bread and knitting beside an open fire and laughter. Now the halls are bare. Almost all traces of her mother and father are gone. She wears them across her chest in her mothers old leather satchel. Along the side of the bag, little green Dahlias are sewn into the worn material. She brushes her finger over the side, taking a deep breath. Maybe the ball will be a new adventure- even if she is not to attend. She will still be visiting the capitol. 

“By Odin, what are you doing? We have to go now or we will miss the opening festivities! Move you little wench!” 

Estrid’s nasally voice sounds from behind Y/n seconds before a hand connects with her back, shoving her forward. The bags on her shoulders and arms add to the momentum from the push, the uneven weight more than enough to have her stumbling over her feet. She tries to catch her balance, rushing down the steps as though being led by the bags themselves, but it is useless. Her heel catches on the last step and she falls backwards, her back connecting with the cobblestones, her elbow piling into the stone step. White hot pain blossoms through her body, pooling like fire in her injuries. She swallows the scream in her throat. It tastes like iron on her tongue- like eating the burnt chips left in the pot after the meals are finished being served. It tastes familiar. 

A red heel stomps next to her, crunching on the cobble stone the same way her spine had. It lands inches away from her hand, narrowly missing her pinky. Y/n looks up, her features as schooled as possible, greeting Estrid with a bow of her head. Even that small action causes pain to spike through her lower back and she has to hold her breath to keep from crying out. She does not look at her step mother for more than a few seconds- she knows better than to do any such thing- but it is enough time to catch the familiar sneer. It is the same one she has passed on to Anna but more hateful. Honed. Estrid has had years to perfect her evilness, even if she does not look a day over thirty. She too is beautiful in her own dark way.

“You should be ashamed of yourself,” Elstrid spits down at Y/n, already on her way to the carriage as she passes by the crumpled girl. “It is as though you are trying to ruin your sister’s chance for happiness. You can never just be grateful, can you? It must always be about you. How pathetic.”

Y/n could laugh. She can almost feel it there in the base of her throat, bubbling with the scream and cries which are also locked away. Neither are forgotten yet- they never are. They just build and build and build like the wind that blows through her village in the spring, gaining enough speed to wipe out entire fields of crop. Now there is laughter on top as well. The cruel kind that makes her insides twist and burn. 

What a perfect way to describe how she feels; pathetic. She forces herself to her knees, followed quickly by her feet as she gathers the bags, mulling over the word. Pathetic. She hauls them onto her shoulders once again, trying her hardest to ignore the way her back and arm aches and the flood of fresh tears that rush to her eyes. She loads the bags into the back of the carriage, nodding at the driver. He looks at her with pity but remains silent as Estrid climbs into her plush seat. The word rings again, louder. Pathetic. 

Y/n tugs the satchel across her body as she climbs onto the back of the carriage, folding her cloak over her lap. Yes, indeed she feels pathetic, cast to ride to the capitol backwards with her skin exposed to the elements and her hair doomed to be a windblown mess. Pathetic does not even begin to cover everything she feels in this moment. If her step family is poorer than dirt than she must be something even worse than dirt as well. She feels so at least. 

Somehow, though, beneath it all, she also feels a touch hopeful. She is going to the capitol, after all. Her fingers scratch over the green Dahlias, thinking back to the night her mother had sewn them. 

“Little dove did you know that you are like a Dahlia?” Her mother’s voice was sweet and soft- the kind of voice that made Y/n want to lean in until she could feel the words in her soul.

“What do you mean, mama?” She was not really asking to hear the answer, rather speaking in order to hear her mother keep speaking. 

The glow from the fireplace warmed Y/n’s cheek as she leaned further. Her mother smelled of yeast and berries. She could still taste the jam on her lips, warm and sweet from desert. Strawberry pie was her mother’s specialty. The warmth combined with her full belly made her eyes close slightly, her body sagging against her mother’s legs.

“You are so strong my little dove. You are so soft and so elegant,” her mother’s hand smoothed over her cheek, her fingers as soft as silk. “But you are so powerful too, I can sense it. You are overflowing with it and kindness. So much kindness. How did I create such a magnificent little girl, hmm?”

Y/n giggles when her mother tickles under her chin lightly, pulling her hand away to continue on the pattern. Her stitches are meticulous and perfect- just like her mother. She watches as the vibrant green thread weaves below the fabric before reappearing. It happens over and over again, disappearing and reappearing like a little trick. She always loved tricks.

“Why are the flowers green, mama? I have never seen any green flowers in the meadow.”

It was true. There were pinks and blues and the most wonderful oranges. Never greens though. Only the stems were green.

“Oh my darling, you will one day. They do not grow here. They grow in the capitol by the hundreds, though. They surround the streets, growing high into the sky. They are beautiful, my little dove. Just like you are. You will see them one day, I promise you.” 

Y/n blinks away the image of her mother, letting a few of the tears drop as she does so. Nobody can see her here so it is okay now. It is times like these, in the midst of the worst and best moments of her life, when she misses her mother the most. She would do anything for one more gentle hug. One more whiff of berries and rising bread. She shifts on the stiff seat, her spine jostling against the metal frame of the cart and flaring in pain. She lets out a tiny cry, hoping it is masked by the sound of the wheels bumping over the stoney pathway. Her throat aches, squeezing at the stream of tears threatening her system. It is in this moment that she feels something foreign- something that will inevitably and unknowingly change her life as she knows it. Something that she is sure is not her own.

She feels angry.

*      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *

Loki strolls over the castle grounds, his hands clasped behind his back and his shoulders straight. The sun is shining on his face, warm and soft. The air, like always, smells like pine trees and fragrant flowers. That is partly the cause of the woman next to him. She is beautiful, there is no doubt about it. From her golden hair, knotted in bands across the crown of her head, to her gown, a soft blue silk. It flows behind her as she walks, like a river carving from each step she takes. One of her dainty hands is curled around his arm. Usually he would mind the touching- contact with other people is not his thing. More so Thor’s, his untamed brother. With her, though, he swallows his pride every time. He would do most anything to keep his mother happy. 

He peers down at Frigga, his face stoic in comparison to the bright smile she wears. She still looks as young as she had when he and Thor were mere boys. Her cheeks and nose are slender, her skin unblemished by age. The only difference is that now he stands taller than her, looking down at her blonde hair instead of up at it from under her arms. He has no doubt that his mother will remain beautiful for a long time- even when her age finally catches up with her.

“You are staring, dear.” Frigga’s voice teases and his neck snaps straight, his eyes flicking back to the gardens of green around him. “You only stare when you have something on your mind. I presume I do not have to inquire to know what it is. I will anyway, though, if that is what you would like?” 

Her voice drips into a worried tone that only she can muster. It is sincere. It makes it harder for him to be angry at the small, beautiful woman. 

“You will anyway and we both know it.” He muses, reaching a hand out to brush one of the green flowers. 

The petals are impossibly soft. Dahlias. He remembers when his mother had them planted all those years ago. It was a week’s affair- the castle had smelt of earth and new flowers for days afterwards. He remembers playing in the mud with his brother. The laughter. It seems like a lifetime ago. That was when everything was simple; when he was not about to get married to a princess he would meet at a ball that he does not even wish to attend. 

Frigga sighs, pulling her son to a gentle stop. He obliges with a sigh that matches her own. “It must be done. By decree your brother and you should have been married a year ago. The royal ball is the way it has been done for many millennia. I have tried to slow tradition- to give you two as much time as possible- but there are some who watch us closely. They wait-”

He turns away from her, a scowl on his lips. “I know mother. They want us to show weakness. I understand the premise, I promise you I am not an idiot. I suppose I just do not see how a wife would make me seem less weak.”

He is a god- a powerful one at that. It is hard to believe there are many people out there able who are able to strip him of that power. It makes no sense to get married because of an outdated tradition- especially not for some sort of ruse. He is strong enough on his own; he always has been. Quiet and capable and strong. Independently so. He has never been much for teams. Besides, he doubts there will be many women attending with the hopes of meeting him. Not when his brother will be standing right by his side. The god of thunder. There are many things Loki can do- most of which are quite impressive. Tricks of the mind and the ability to create fire at will and so on. One thing he cannot do, however, is spout lightning from his fingers. He cannot compete with that level of visible godliness and thus there is no reason to attend. He is not second best and will not treat himself as such.

Frigga catches his chin, pulling him to look at her crystal eyes- the same crystal eyes which she rolls at him. “She will balance you, dear. The point is not to make you appear less weak. You are not weak. It is to make you appear happy. A happy prince means a happy king. Happy means powerful, Loki. it is power.” 

He tenses and her eyes soften. “I am happy, mother. I am happy on my own.”

She lets her hand fall to his arm, shaking her head. Her knotted hair bounces slightly. She is giggling again in the way that only mothers can- the kind of giggle that is all knowing. It makes his skin itch, his hands secured behind his back again. How is it that she always makes him feel seen even when he does not wish to be?

“Is there something you wish to say?” He grumbles to the woman, wishing he could hate the way she grins up at him with a twinkle in her eye. He cannot though, even if he tried. 

“My dear,” she hums gently, squeezing his arm, “I think perhaps you will come to revoke your words. That is all.”

Oh she is truly infuriating. There she goes again, so freely sharing her mind even when he has made it clear time and time again that he has no wish for a wife. Not only because he does not want to marry a woman he has never met but for other reasons too. The tips of his fingers turn to ice against his palms at the thought. He does not have to look down to know they are the brilliant blue that he so loathes. There is much he wishes to remain a secret beyond the confines of his household. He would rather not be married to a woman who thinks him a monster for the rest of his life. He will pass. 

He opens his mouth, ready to fire back at her annoying laughter, when suddenly he cannot speak. Not just that, though. He cannot breath, either, or stand for that matter. Soon the trickster god is on his knees, his hands digging painfully against the cobblestone path. His nails bite against the stones, his icy fingers now burning. It is nothing near the pain in his back though which flares as though he had just been kicked. Moments later his elbow erupts into pain as well, searing down the entire length of his arm. He grinds his teeth through the pain, his eyes screwed shut. 

“Loki?” Frigga’s voice holds none of the teasing it had only moments ago, only pure worry as she kneels next to her son. “Dear what happened? What is wrong? Shall I call for someone?”

His eyes snap open at that, his head shaking frantically. “No, no. I am fine. Do not call anyone.”

Even as he says it he knows that it is not true. His whole body aches as he rolls onto his feet, rising shakily. His mother’s eyes watch him closely, the blue clouded with something he does not recognize. He straightens after a moment, forcing the pain out of his mind. 

“Did you trip, dear?” Her voice this time is guarded, concealed with a falsely loose tone. 

Loki narrows his eyes. “No, I do not think so. It felt like someone pushed me. Do you know something about that mother?”

The scowl on her face is genuine this time, her golden brows creasing. “I sure hope you are not insinuating that I pushed my own son, Loki.”

He sighs again, guilt flooding his aching body. “No, mother. I am sorry-”

The end of his sentence drops into the space between them, cut off by an overwhelming feeling of agony. Not the physical kind, though. Yes, his back is screaming in pain as he stands on those dreadful cobblestones but that is not why he stops speaking. It is the wave of self loathing that hits him out of nowhere. It is hot and angry and cold and desperate all at once. 

It feels like when he was little and his brother had thrown him into the sea to teach him to swim. He had not been ready and he swallowed a mouthful of the salty water. It had been like cold lead in his lungs, weighing him to the bottom of the surf. He had been so scared, clawing towards the faint light of the surface with no luck. Everytime he got close the light seemed to shrink further back. Soon the icy lead had turned molten when he could no longer breathe, his chest constricting under the weight of the water. The fear had turned him into some sort of crazed animal until finally he had kicked his legs hard enough to break the surface and suck in a breath of air. 

It is the exact same way he feels now; panicked- like he has no clue how to get to the air again. He claws at his chest, his eyes blown wide. The world around him begins to spin. He is breathing- he knows he is, he can feel his chest heaving up and down- but he cannot taste the pine on the air anymore. He can only taste iron and salt and hatred, brash against his lips. It turns his vision red, his muscles tensing as though preparing for a fight in which he cannot identify the threat. Like the waves that pushed him under, the enemy is everywhere and nowhere. The only thing that makes it subside is his mothers hand on his cheek, warm and soft through the panic eating away at his chest.

He meets her eyes, squeezing his hands into fists at his sides. He grinds his words through his clenched teeth. “I have no idea what is happening to me.”

The small blonde swallows, her throat bobbing slightly. Her face is not the picture of shock like Loki’s is. Of course she is slightly panicked, he can see it in the way her fingers tremble as she brushes them down his shoulder. Somehow he knows that it is not the same kind of panic he feels. His all-knowing mother is stalling. It only serves to heighten the drowning feeling.

“I think I know what it is, dear.” She tests, her hands folding against her chest, clasping to hide the tremors.

Frigga’s response does little to ease the panic- if anything it makes it worse. Usually his mother is the only thing that can calm him. If he had to close his eyes and picture the person in which he feels most comfortable around- it would be her. Today though, that is to change. She seems scared. He pushes himself through the pain, biting through the iron and salt on his tongue. 

“What do you know, mother.” It is not a question- it is a demand.

She straightens as well, sucking in the air that he cannot seem to find for the life of him. It makes him jealous- angry.

“Well,” she flicks her eyes up to the sky, avoiding the next words out of her mouth. “I think you might have a soulmate, my dear.” 

[spaceasianmillennial]

Part 1: Home

Summary: Trevor making his way back to the castle after defeating Death.

This is what it was, a shockwave, and then the sun pouring from the cracking skull.

I’ve done it. And so I give the world to Alucard and Sypha. 

And he was hurling through the multicolored cavern as if worlds whirled and orbited around him. This was his ascendancy, he figured, this was the multi-windowed passage toward the end, those countless levels of Hell his aunt told him about. He’ll see them all again, his father, mother, siblings if God wasn’t fucking around. What a story he'll bring to them.

But then his jaw was slammed rudely into the dirt. He lifted his head to breathe and cough out the grass blades and pebbles. A few seconds later, he squinted. Perhaps he was hurled into a circle Hell after all, perhaps taking down the Evil wasn’t enough to God. If he had the energy, he would have chuckled at the idea that God decided not to throw him in Hell.

When the haze faded and the numbness faded, he suddenly fathomed the sound of water. 

God must have flung me into the wrong Corridor. There was a sun, one that was clearly rising. It looked too nice, too serene.

Only then when he dragged himself to the water to dunk his red-welted arm and drink like a hungry beast and splash it onto his cuts and bruises did he suppose he was brought back to Earth. The spires were nowhere to be seen. This was not familiar territory. He looked for Sypha, for Alucard, but then remembering their two small shapes, the dark of Alucard’s cloak and blue of Sypha’s robes, outrunning the collapse of the bridge.

His family trained him to heal the overexerted body after the battle. Rest was important, reusing muscles in the intervals of rest was key. He turned himself over and laid on his back and let himself watch the clouds on the oranged dawn sky. How long did he hurl through the Corridor? It felt like a second and eons. It was night when he slayed Death--slayed Death, what a story for Belmont generations, he hoped to have landed in the corridor with then.

And so he was alone again.

He drifted off and awoke to blinding sunlight. He was still there. This was not a dream. After letting a few clouds pass his eyes, there was nothing to do but lug himself up and stagger forward. He looked at the direction of the river. He did not know this river but there’ll always be towns near rivers. So he followed it upstream.

When night fell, he was sleeping under trees again to settle his bones. In the mornings, he skimmed the grounds for trail mixes and non-toxic mushrooms and bushes for edible berries, thanks to old Speaker lessons, a blending of Belmont teachings derived from their recorded conversations with Speakers (Belmonts could document, Speakers could not), and a bit of the additional knowledge Sypha gave him.

What was that village again? Alucard was with a village headwoman. Perhaps it should have helped to ask before they had to run off to deal with the matter of the madman and the Rebis.

The river trails did lead him to empty villages, with burial grounds and hollowed huts and cabins. It took some deduction and a map he salvaged along with a black cloak to shield him from the hot sun. He did not stay on the path but kept it in sight as he walked through the secluded trees. If there were highwaymen or that damn “pirate of the road,” he didn’t have the energy to really deal with them. The thrill would be nice though.

From the map, he surmised that Danesti was that nearest village to the castle. He vaguely recalled it being nearly a stop when he set off on the road with Sypha. 

--

When he made it to Danesti, there were lumps of burial grounds and a ravaged fortress. But at least there were a few souls, loading wagons, perhaps moving to leave behind the memory of carnage and some that lingered near the burial grounds on their knees, paying their respects.

Trevor found another useful thing. Or it found him. A sturdy black horse with a white diamond on the forehead that nuzzled him when he entered the scratched open gates. It had a steady saddle and pouches. 

No soul around seemed to be interested in it. The horse probably lost its owner. Better not waste a ride. He summoned his strength and threw himself on, the aches rippled through this body, from head to toe, but it was worth it to not move his achy legs even if the road bumps popped waves of back spams.

He so looked forward to a bed, that bed in Dracula’s castle that he stayed in before he went off to adventure with Sypha. He and Sypha slept in different rooms then.

Sypha. He hadn’t talked about it with her. He had seen Belmont women spout curses at their husbands before they would ask God for forgiveness. It was probably a lucky guess the moment Sypha starting screaming curses, but he also noticed she refused her monthly rags and the smell of cooking meat irritated her--“Get that fucking frying pig away from me, Trevor.” It suddenly occurred to his brain that they weren’t as careful on that Lindenfeld bed. Damn it. He always took precautions with any one-night stand he was with. He had no interested in progeny, especially not ones hidden from his knowledge, for this was not a world for new Belmonts. For him and Sypha, an extra mouth to feed was just not in the cards. 

But now, it seemed that the possibility was closer. Death was defeated. 

He had to know if they would live through it all. Sypha probably knew it already of course, before he did. She would figure that out before it did. It was best if Sypha simply confirmed with him before they could have that conversation, if they could rejoin her caravan (Speakers had childbirth knowledge and ways to expel pregnancies) or lay low at the castle (Alucard ought to have knowledge as well). 

Sypha should have been the one to tell him. But he understood if Sypha wanted to murder him for not bringing up. 

He had to know they if would finish Targoviste, although god knows fuck what happened now that they had to abandon it. Every time they moved from troubled town to troubled village to follow the next reported human sacrifice, Sypha would mutter, "We cleared out the night creatures and vampires for them, but we have to trust the people now to save themselves the best they can."

If they had time in that castle... But of course, facing the slews of night creatures and then Death, it was his last and only chance to acknowledge his suspicion to her, regretting the conversation they’ll never have. She knew how to take care of herself and other people, so he had to bring peace to her mind to let her know that he knew--suspected--of something growing and existing within her and that he had faith that it would grow into something wonderful.

Now unless God was fucking with him and threw him into limbo, he’ll ought to find her. The Castle was the natural first stop, at least to talk to Alucard. But it had been, what, a few weeks? He surmised that it was enough time that she would be venturing to her caravan.

--

“Trevor, if you die, I’ll return to my caravan where I would mourn for you, my rude idiot. And I’ll give them every story, our victories and your idiocy.”

"Haha. Also, I'm not going to die."

“If I die, join my caravan. Gain knowledge, exchange it. You don’t have to have the Speaker robes or the mantle. But you won’t be lonely and you’ll be around my family.”

That was the backup plan. She discussed this under the blanket, her cool bare skin against his torso. 

“And what if I rather be alone than with Speakers?“

Her answer surprised him. “Go home, to the Belmont Hold. And you can be lonely there then.”

“Are you forgetting who occupies the Hold?“

“Exactly. You two can be alone together.”

--

She was being generous to make a plan for him. But truth to be told, he would have been happier to wander alone again. At least that's what he told himself. He realized, if Sypha was gone, if her bare flesh wasn't against his right now, if God decided to snatch her from him, he thought about what he would do. She wasn’t wrong. He realized he would have been drawn home to curl up in that tree, and this possibility would also come with seeing Alucard again to break the news.

The spires. The castle.

He could see the spires of the castle now. Alucard that asshole better have that soft bed ready. And with luck, Sypha would be still there or he’ll have to rest to find her.

She probably left. 

As he rode closer to the castle, Trevor could hear people, wagons, horses clopping, and the sawing of wood and clinking of hammers. How long has it been again? Perhaps the refugees were still here, practicing caution in case the demons came back for their village.

Feet scurried close. He was quite ready to fall now. Quite ready to let the Earth be his mattress. The horse came to a halt. He could let the generosity of humans do the rest from here.

The aches yanked him down, two gentle hands graced his back, softening the blow. He squinted as the hood fell and the sunlight poured. He recognized the feel of those small hands as one feels when putting on old clothes.

It was just his luck. There were her big blue eyes, and he was more lost in those seas than he ever was in what his aunt called the “countless levels into Hell.”

“Hello Love.”

--

Next up: Sypha’s angst during those two weeks.

--> PART 2

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[zodiyack]

Opposites Attract (1,000+ Follower Special!!)

Pairing: Damon Salvatore x Female!Pierce/Petrova!Reader

Warnings: Possibly swearing?, fluff, indications of smut??, death/mentions of death, slight angst/violence, I think that’s all

Words: 1,667

Summary: The younger sister of Katherine was the true owner of Damon’s heart, Katherine only being his worry in 1864 due to the sister’s bond, the bond that fueled Katherine to force Y/n to join her when she escaped Mystic Falls and left Damon to think they were both in the tomb.

Note: I have no idea what to say honestly... I’ve been gone due to troubles with my computer yet you guys stuck around and that’s what matters to me. Though I may have a bit of a hard time with words, I hope you guys know that you all mean so much to me 💕💕

And if you’d like me to make a part two, which I’m already planning on doing- I just really liked the ending, or make this a series, feel free to let me know!

Taglist: @matth1w​, @redspaceace​, @fandom-puff​, @darling-i-read-it​

Masterlist | The Vampire Diaries Masterlist

Part I. Part II. Part III. Part IV. Part V. Part VI.

1864

Her back hit the wall, lips molded with his as their tongues clashed in a hungry passion. Her fingers played with his hair and pulled his face and body closer to hers. With his hands trapping her against the wall, she felt content.

“Turn me.”

“I can’t, Da-”

“Don’t. I understand, Katherine and all that...but promise me that one day, you’ll escape her grasp and run away with me.” She forced herself to look into Damon’s eyes, her undead heart breaking at the sorrow that drowned in his blue orbs. “Please?”

“I can’t make any promises...” she paused involuntarily, her heightened hearing catching a sudden ruckus from Stefan’s room and stealing her attention. Damon frowned, adjusting his grip on her waist to pull her back to reality. “I...I just can’t right now. However,” the smile returned to his lips, “one day, I will find you. And if you still want to...you may take me up on that promise, Salvatore.”

He was ready to answer when his door burst open and he and Y/n pulled away in a panic. His father stared down Y/n with a great furry in his body. She didn’t say a word, simply kissing Damon softly and nodding to Mr. Salvatore.

“Father- please-”

“No. She’s a monster, Damon! Her sister is a monster! They are monsters! Don’t you see that? She’ll kill you if you give her the chance. The same goes for Stefan and the other Pierce girl. If they’re even girls.” He mumbled the last bit of his sentence, too caught up in the belief that they were pure evil to consider any other possibility.

“She’s not a mons-”

“Yes. She is. Now, enough! I’m already ashamed of your siding with the demons, there is no need to make it worse, boy!” Mr. Salvatore grunted and put a muzzle-like-mask over Y/n’s head and called out to the rest of the hunters, watching as she was dragged away with a grimace upon his face.

Whilst Damon was traumatized, angry at his father and the world for their cruel decisions for his life, he attempted at keeping a neutral, unphased expression. “What will happen to her?”

“The same thing that will happen to the other monsters; she’ll burn.”

Present Day

Damon continued pacing throughout the house, ignoring Stefan’s pleas for him to stop. He thought about what Emily had told him, and what he needed to do. He had everything he needed, what was stopping him from going to the tomb? A gut feeling? Life? Was he just a big chicken?

He took a breather, telling himself to think about the reason he was in this mess. It was for a girl. The love of his life, to be specific. Y/n Pierce. The lovely lady who had come to stay with the Salvatore brothers after her and her sister’s parents had burnt with their home.

They felt pity for the girls, taking them in and, from then on, starting their odd journey through the supernatural world. Y/n was the first to reveal her secret; pulling away from a kiss with Damon due to her loss of control over her vampire features.

Though normally he’d be afraid, Damon had gripped her chin and forced her to look at him, awe and interest shining on his face. It was that night that he confessed his love for her, promising to take her away one day.

He chuckled at the memory, wiping his thumb across his lips. Damon remembered the taste of her lips like it was yesterday. The delicate softness paired with the lustful desire of their kisses was perfection. The kisses they had shared held something no one else could give him.

Despite occasionally hooking up with a girl or two, he was still on the search for his long lost lover. Deep down, he knew the sex was just for a distraction; even if he didn’t want to think of it as such, he knew that he was constantly comparing them to Y/n. Sometimes verbally, sometimes mentally, either way- the comments were always about the woman his heart belonged really to.

“Damon. Why are you really here?”

To find Y/n and stay true to my promise. “Just to be with you, little brother! Is it wrong that I want some bonding time with my little bro?”

“For you? Yes.” Stefan made it a point to avoid and ignore Damon as much as possible, especially with a girlfriend to protect from his ‘evil’ also-vampire brother. “Now, I’m going to ask you again. Why are you really here?”

Damon sighed. “You already know that Stefan.”

Now that Damon was closer than ever to opening the tomb, he was more than ready to reveal his true intentions. Stefan believed Damon was after Katherine, pleading him to leave as soon as they got out of the tomb. But in reality, Damon could care less about that vampire. He just wanted Y/n, but with the sisters being closer than anything he’d ever seen, he had no choice but to rescue Katherine as well.

If he was lucky, Katherine would allow Y/n to stray from her and stay with Damon, but he had a feeling that would never happen. Not with how possessive Katherine was. How she insisted that blood, as well as herself, went first.

1864

“We need to go back to them!” Y/n tried to run to her lover’s body. Her heart was racing. She’d come back to find that her beloved had been shot dead, his brother the same. Before Y/n could reach the man, Katherine gripped her waist and held her back, stronger than her younger sister due to being older in human and vampire years.

Y/n was the one Petrova to have escaped Klaus in his act of revenge. To be fair, it wasn’t his fault that he missed her. She was out picking berries, going about her life normally, before returning to a bloodied home with the bodies of the people she loved strewn about messily.

She remembered falling to her knees and cursing at whatever entity seemed to be there. Whether it was God or some other being, she demanded, through sobs, to know what she had done to deserve it.

Then, as if her prayer-like-yells of agony had been answered, Katerina showed up at the doorway. Her reaction was similar to Y/n’s; first, processing what she was seeing, then, feeling the fear freeze her in place, and finally, screaming and trying to shake her family awake, hoping as much as she could that it was all a dream.

Y/n walked from her hiding spot slowly, still shaking from her discovery but much more calmed with the presence of her older sister. “Who would do such a thing?”

She swore she could never forget the rage, paired with terror, in her sister’s eyes. “Klaus. Klaus Mikaelson did this.”

That very day, she turned her sister. She explained that they would live long enough to either kill Klaus and get revenge, or plea for his forgiveness and live their lives once more.

Snapping out of her memory fueled trance, Y/n broke free of her sister’s arms and dropped to the ground beside Damon. She pulled his head onto her lap and brushed his dark curls from his face. She chuckled to herself when she noticed her tears dropping onto his face.

“Goodbye, my love.” Y/n pressed a kiss to his forehead, then one on the tip of his nose. Finally, one on his lips, staying a little longer than the others as she savored the intimacy in their final goodbye. “If I only I had told you yes...”

She left her sister to say her goodbye to Stefan, wiping her tears away as she felt what was left of her heart crumble into bits.

Once, she had a family. And then she had her sister. Then she had her sister and an owner to her heart, the feeling of humanity returning to her undead body, feeling alive for the first time since her transition.

Now? She was back to having only her sister.

Damon felt the same way.

When he had woken, taking time to recover from the shock of being alive. Emily had told him how Katherine compelled Stefan to drink her blood, and he already knew that he drank Y/n’s blood willingly.

“There’s no point in living.” Damon pleaded with his brother after he tried to get him to feed, “They’re dead.”

Present Day

He ran into the tomb, desperate to find the sister of the vampire doppelganger. Damon sighed, ‘speaking of doppelgangers’, Elena had followed him, ignoring Sheila and Bonnie’s warnings.

“What’s that sound?”

“They can smell you.” He made his way through the tomb, eyes traveling from one decayed vampire to the other, cursing to himself each time they weren’t Y/n. Nevertheless, he wouldn’t give up. At some point, he’d gotten separated from Elena, but he didn’t care- never faltering in his search.

After spending more time looking for the vampire with negative results, Stefan had rushed in. He seemed anxious, desperate, ready to plead. And that he was. “Damon. We have to go.”

“She’s not here...” He felt like he was having a panic attack, which was more than likely. Damon threw the blood bag he had brought for her against the wall, “She’s- she’s not here, Stefan!”

“Who? Katherine? Look, I’m sorry that she’s not here, but we need to go!”

“No! Not Katherine! Y/n! She’s- she’s gone...she’s gone Stef.” Stefan furrowed his brows, feeling sympathy for his brother for a split second, then realizing how much time they were wasting.

“I’m sorry... Okay Damon? Maybe she didn’t die-”

“Don’t get my hopes up, alright?”

“Alright, I’m sorry. Really, I am. But- we need to go, like, right now.” He grabbed his brother and sped him out, gaining a boost with his vampire speed. The entire time he thought his brother was after the bad sister, but he was after the good one.

Opposites really do attract.

[lilyvandersteen]

The Christmas Guest: Epilogue

Author’s Note: This is the promised epilogue, short but sweet. Thank you so much for following along as I was posting this multichapter and leaving me comments and likes - your support means the world to me!

Read Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4 and Chapter 5, the Interlude, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9 and Chapter 10 here on Tumblr, or read the story on AO3 or FF.net.

Epilogue

“So this is the famous Kurt, huh?” Cooper boomed, walking towards Kurt with a blinding smile and open arms. “I’ve heard so much about you!”

Kurt got a big hug and kisses on both cheeks, and needed a second to recover from Cooper’s enthusiasm before he managed to say, “All good, I hope?”

“Oh, definitely. He admires you more than me, can you imagine? His own brother, and so successful! But no, it’s always Kurt this, and Kurt that. Like this…”

Cooper made heart eyes and imitated Blaine’s voice and mannerisms. “Did you hear that Kurt scored the lead in an Off Broadway play? Did you hear that he’s making a dress for Rihanna to wear at the Met Gala? Did you know Kurt will be the youngest person to ever achieve EGOT status?”

Kurt laughed. “I wish! Nothing so impressive has happened just yet, but go ahead and make up whatever grand future you picture for me, and I’ll try to make it happen.”

Cooper grinned and slapped him on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit!”

Mr. and Mrs. Anderson’s faces were far less exuberant than their son’s, but they too advanced and held out a hand for Kurt to shake.

“Pleased to meet you,” said Kurt. “And may I say, your house is beautifully styled. So light and so open, and yet you get an instant homey feel.”

The praise earned him a genuine smile from Mrs. Anderson, and soon they were discussing light fixtures and throw pillows and accent walls as if they’d known each other forever.

Mr. Anderson took some more time to win over, but by the time they were eating dessert, Kurt had hit upon the right topic: cars. Apparently, Mr. Anderson loved Top Gear, and was more than happy to discuss the program with Kurt, and after that the classic car he’d restored with Blaine, taking Kurt to the garage to show it to him.

By the time Kurt and Blaine left, they had scored another dinner invitation, and Mrs. Anderson had stage-whispered to Blaine, “I really like him, honey bee!”

As they drove off, Blaine glanced at Kurt, shook his head and chuckled.

“What?”

“That was quite the charm offensive. I’m impressed.”

Kurt grinned. “I learned from the master.”

K&B

Seven Christmases after the first one they spent together, Blaine and Kurt were once again hands deep in dough as they prepared a festive brunch together. For the first time, they would be hosting the family get-together instead of Burt and Carole.

After graduating, they’d started looking for a house or an apartment they could share. Having your own place came in handy when you had a fight and needed some time to cool off, but for day-to-day living, it was very inconvenient. No matter how efficient you became at packing the essentials for a sleepover, there were always things you forgot.

As Kurt didn’t want to move into Blaine’s shoebox apartment (“I need room for my clothes, Blaine!”) and Blaine wasn’t any more interested in sharing Kurt’s loft (“I don’t want to get up at four in the morning to get to work on time!”), they searched for a place to live that they both liked. As much as they liked New York City, it was clear from the start that they would have to expand their horizons to find a place they both liked and could afford.

They ended up in New Jersey, within a reasonable commuting distance for both of their jobs.

Kurt still worked at Vogue part-time. The rest of his time was devoted to his successful line of accessories and shoes.

Blaine had worked as a music therapist at a children’s hospital at first, after graduating from NYU. Then, one of Blaine’s college buddies had suddenly soared to fame as a Broadway playwright, penning two hit musicals back to back. For the second musical, Blaine helped write the music, and when the male lead ended up in hospital after an accident, he took over the role to rave reviews. Before he knew it, he’d become a Broadway star, often playing lead with Rachel as his character’s wife or love interest.

“Rather you than me!” Kurt had said with feeling the first time Blaine announced he was going to play opposite Rachel.

Blaine nodded with a wry grin. “You’re right. She can be a bit much sometimes.”

“A bit?!”

Blaine laughed. “She’s a diva, yes. But nothing I can’t handle. And she is a loyal friend, a hard worker and always stays professional. Remember that Harmony girl who kept groping me?”

“Ew, yes. Okay, point taken. Rachel’s the lesser evil.”

Rachel had married Jesse St James and moved to New Jersey too. Both couples took turns hosting dinner on Friday night, and Kurt and Blaine were godfathers to Rachel and Jesse’s daughter Anna.

The St Berry’s would be coming for brunch, too, and Blaine had bought a mountain of presents for Anna.

Kurt rolled his eyes when Blaine arranged them all under the Christmas tree, but didn’t notice a small blue box nestled underneath, with a tag that said KURT.

Before long, their guests started to arrive. Anna squealed when she saw all the presents awaiting her, and made a beeline for the tree.

“No, no, poppet,” Jesse chuckled, sweeping her up into his arms, “wait until everyone’s here!”

Half an hour later, the living was strewn with wrapping paper, and still Anna was gleefully running to and from the tree handing people presents and tearing open her own.

And then, there was only one left, small and half hidden under a branch.

Anna spotted it, though, and brought it to her father. “For me?”

“No, poppet, this one’s for Uncle Kurt.”

Anna handed it over to Kurt with a pout.

“Thank you, sweetie,” Kurt said absently, fiddling with the One Plus Watch his parents had given him and not really looking at the present he’d been handed.

A throat clearing made him look up, and what he saw took his breath away.

Blaine had plucked the little box from Kurt’s hands, opened it and was now holding it out to him, on one knee and smiling tremulously.

“Kurt… You were my Christmas miracle seven years ago, welcoming me into your family when mine dropped the ball. I felt at home with you from the minute we met. It was as if I remembered you from another life, and always knew that we belonged together, you and me. And I’ve been wanting to ask you this for ages, but I wanted to respect your choice to wait until we were both 25 and established in our careers. You probably still don’t feel old and wise enough to make this decision, but sweetheart, just look into your heart. Can you see me there, next to you, for the rest of our lives?”

Kurt, his hand over his mouth and a tear trickling from his eye, nodded.

Blaine beamed up at Kurt. “Then I’m going to finally make this official. Kurt Hummel, will you make me the happiest man in the world and marry me?”

Kurt, full-out crying now, nodded again. “Yes. Yes! Yes!”

Blaine slipped the ring on Kurt’s finger and kissed him thoroughly. Around them, there were cheers and applause, but Kurt and Blaine didn’t notice.

When they came up for air, Blaine whispered, “Best. Christmas. Ever!”

Kurt giggled. “You say that every year.”

“And every year, it’s true.”

Kurt and Blaine accepted a glass of champagne from Jesse, and toasted to their future happiness with their family and friends.

And Kurt knew Blaine was right. There was not a shadow of a doubt in his head or his heart that the two of them were going to make it.

“Merry Christmas, Blaine. Here’s to many more!”

“And each one better than the last. Merry Christmas, everyone!”

THE END

[remmushound]

Curse of the Clan part 34! @scentedcandlecryptid @hoshisoul

Trigger warning!! PSYCHOLOGICAL HORROR! Food horror, vomiting, bugs, blood, suicidal thoughts, gore,

He couldn't take much more of it. Any time he’d close his eyes, his dreams were haunted with nightmare images of snakes and vines reaching out at him with sharp hooks and fangs. He would be running while an invisible force forced him back the other way toward an endless drop, and he would fall, but he would always wake before he hit the ground. If there even was a ground.

Every time he would drink, the once clean water would turn to sludge in his mouth. Thick, suffocating, and bitter— impossible to swallow. He’d have to spit it out, and when he did, he’d find it normal and clear. He had water— he had so much water! But he couldn’t drink. He was so thirsty…

Donatello brought an apple to his mouth and bit it. It tasted okay. It tasted… well— like an apple. The juices relieved the dryness of his throat and for a minute he’d thought he’d actually be able to eat! Then he made the mistake of looking to the fruit. Decay seemed to spread throughout the treat, making it brown and practically melt in Donatello’s hand. He could feel the apple fall apart! He could feel the sensation of writhing, living maggots eating the thing! He gagged and coughed, spitting out his mouthful and tossing the apple as far away as he could. The moment it collided with a tree, the apple was normal, if a little bruised.

The evil laughed.

Was it the next day? Or had several days passed? Donatello knew there was light, but he also knew that he could never trust the light. That it might turn off again at a moment’s notice, leaving him in blackness that swallowed the moon and stars. He was so hungry he had to risk it. It was just a banana, surely he could eat a banana? His hand shook violently as he picked up the fruit and started to peel it. One peel, two peels, and the banana held firm. The third peel, and it turned black, falling to dust in his hand. Donatello sucked in a breath and gave a soft whimper. Then the banana was back again, whole and untouched.

He swallowed his fear and brought the fruit to his mouth to take a bite of it. It tasted okay, at first. But then it started to move, and when he opened his mouth, out came what must have been hundreds of flies. A whole swarm of them! What remained of the banana followed the same pattern. Donatello vomited.

The evil laughed.

It was dark again. Donatello held his bo staff tightly to his chest, so tightly it hurt. But he didn't care. It helped even if he had yet to figure out what its power was yet. He didn't risk going far from the camp; just far enough where hopefully the evil couldn’t watch him as he relieved himself.

There was a great boom. Donatello fell back, hugging his mystic bo tightly and giving a choked whine. The auditory horror had happened so often he wondered how he wasn’t used to it by now. Sounds like grenades exploding or a jet plane flying overhead or an air horn sounding—women screaming in the woods, the yell of wild animals, the roar of fire! Fire? That one was new—and it was eating his campground fast! It had already eaten away at his tent and was spreading to the rest of the campground.

Donatello scrambled to his feet, grabbing his bucket of melted snow and tossing it over the fire! Then the fire was gone. No burns, no embers, no ash. Just a drenched tent destroyed by the water damage.

The evil laughed.

This wasn’t right. This couldn’t have been right! This nightmare had to end soon— it had to have been two weeks already, right? If not longer! They should have been here by now! His brothers, Bishop! To take him away from this hellhole that was eating away at his very mind! From that laughter that plagued him night and day without end! He wanted it to stop!

Donatello looked at his weapon. More specifically, he looked at the bladed part. He brought a finger to touch the very tip. It was sharp. Sharp enough to prick his finger and bring forth the tiniest speck of blood. Then he looked down at his wrists and screamed as a waterfall of blood pooled from them! He hadn’t done that, he wouldn’t, he would never— he didn't! The blood was gone in between blinks, and the wounds gone too. And the evil laughed.

“Your brothers have forgotten you.” The voice taunted, and it was inside Donatello head. Donatello tried to force it out, hitting himself in the head until his mind spun, but the voice remained. “You’re been here for years, and you are never leaving.”

No. No, that wasn’t true! His brothers would come for him, his brothers would never forget about him. They would come, they could come, they would come…

“The...r...rift is… s-still… closed.” Donatello managed to stutter out, his voice weak from lack of use and terrified, “S….so y-ou’re still trapped…”

“How do you know?” The evil purred, “After the things you’ve seen, how do you know that this isn’t just another illusion…?”

“I-it’s not…” Donatello gasped. “It’s not…”

“How sure of it are you?”

Donatello couldn’t answer, and the evil laughed.

Another day of torture passed like a month. He felt filthy, and he wanted to wash himself. The trails changed day to day, and this was one of the lucky days that he was allowed to go down to the river. He dipped a washcloth into the water and started to use it to dab the grime off of his skin, and then quickly dried it with another cloth so the water wouldn’t freeze. At first, the water was cold, but cleansing. Then, after the third gentle swipe of the wet cloth, it all changed.

The swipe of the cloth started to slough off Donatello’s skin. He couldn’t feel it, but he could see it. Skin and fat and muscles being scrapped off of him and leaving him bare to the bone. He screamed and tossed the rag, not thinking before he used his hand to try and wipe off the remaining water. Where his hand touched, even more of him came off. The flesh on his hand— on his arm!

Donatello collapsed on the bank, hugging his plastron as it also fell apart with his touch. He was never a religious creature, but in that moment, he squeezed his eyes shut and prayed for this hell to end because he just wanted to go home.

“Why are you sad?”

Donatello opened his eyes. He looked down at himself, and the flesh was repaired. Then he looked up. His eyes met with a golden kirin staring down at him, slitted golden eyes soft with pity. The yokai looked like a centaur might, except his backside was more deer than horse, and more impossible shades of color. His tail was like a lion, long and tipped in a dark red prickle; fur of a similar shade, much longer than the gold of his pelt, was detailed over his elbow joins and his tail. His back was covered in blue and orange scales and his torso was almost human if not for the deer-like ears and animalistic face. On his head, surrounded by the dark red of his mane, was a curved branch-like horn.

The kirin tilted his head again. “Why are you sad? The Sea of Trees is a happy place.”

Donatello didn't care to stick around to hear anything else the yokai had to say— if it even was a yokai and not another illusion. He grabbed his rags and stomped back off down the trail quickly, slouched over and hugging himself to provide some sort of security. He got back to camp, and tried to get through another cold, sleepless night. His stomach gave an unsettled gurgle begging for sustenance that Donatello couldn’t provide.

The tent lit up a bright gold. Warm, gentle and safe. Donatello closed his eyes to enjoy it before his exhausted mind snapped him back to reality. He spun around, gripping his bo staff and ready to attack whatever vision the evil had planned for him.

The kirin was back, eyes just as soft and concerned as before and hands carrying a basket of berries. Donatello didn't lower his bo for a second, not even as the kirin put the berries down in front of him and slid them over with his front hoof.

“Don’t be sad.” The kirin said, “Eat. Your brothers will come soon.”

“I don’t want your food.” Donatello grumbled.

“It’s good.” The kirin insisted, “It is food he cannot touch. It is real.”

Donatello swung the bo at him when the kirin stepped closer. “Stay. Away.”

The kirin blinked slowly, and then gave the slightest laugh, “You should know I am telling the truth. You have the future right there in your hands.”

Donatello looked down at his weapon, and then up at the kirin. “What do you mean?”

The kirin didn't answer the question. “The evil is strong, but it can only lie. The rift is the truth, and the rift is still.”

The kirin left the berries and backed up. When his backside met the end of the tent, it phased out of reality, disappearing slowly as he backed through an invisible rift. Donatello watched the place the yokai had disappeared, waiting for some cruel punchline that never came. Then he looked at the berries, tantalizingly round and fresh, coated with dew drops. Just there, taunting him and his empty stomach until he couldn’t take it anymore. He grabbed a handful of berries and immediately shoved them in his mouth, swallowing them quickly so he wouldn’t have to go through whatever torment the food would bring.

He opened his eyes. The berries were still there, still plump and beckoning. The berries tasted like berries. He took another handful and moved it around, trying to spot any bugs or flaws or mold—anything! But he found nothing, and so he took another mouthful, and another, until the berries were gone.

[sweetness47]

The Sleeping Beauty

Pairing Sam x Reader

@spnfluffbingo square filled: fairy tale AU

Warnings: nothing really, I don’t think anyways. Implied smut at the end? Mild violent scenes. Nothing too descriptive anywhere.

Final word count: 1924

Sam brought his arm around YN, smiling as she settled into his warm embrace. They were just hanging around, channel flipping, enjoying the quiet evening. Dean was at the bar, and Cas had gone with him, it was almost like a date, but neither would admit such a thing.

YN shivered as Sam traced along her arm, the touch so feathery soft, yet spoke volumes to the thoughts going through his mind. One of the things she liked about Sam was his quiet demeanor, the way   caressed her with a mere look, undressed her with his eyes. The thoughts that danced across his beautiful hazel orbs every time he looked at her, like she was a goddess, and he worshipped the ground she walked on, they made her feel like she could do anything as long as she had him.

They gazed at each other, lost in their silent caresses, too entranced to notice the lights flicker. There was a storm outside, so it would have been shrugged off as coincidence, until the TV went wonky, the picture flitting off and on, landing briefly on the screen of death, then landing on a movie.

“Sam, weren’t we watching Food network? How did we end up on Disney?”

Sam glanced at YN, then at the tv. Frowning, he looked back at his love. “No idea, must be some weird effect from the storm. Anyways, its one of your favorites. We can watch it if you want.”

He knew her well. Sleeping Beauty was indeed one of her all time favorite Disney classics. She was a sucker for romance and brave heroes.

YN snuggled closer to Sam. “Ok. Can you turn it up a bit though? It’s really quiet.”

No sooner did Sam touch the remote, a brilliant white light lit the entire room, and when it had subsided, Sam and YN were no longer there.

**

YN woke feeling strange, but she couldn’t figure out why. She also had no clue as to why she could hear birds chirping and smell fresh forest air. It was that moment her eyes flew open, noting she wasn’t in her bed, neither was she in her house.

In fact, she was most definitely not in her realm.

She was a cartoon, and not just any cartoon, but she was in fact, Princess Aurora.

But where was Sam? How did they get there? And how on Earth were they ever going to get home?

**

Sam woke standing in a stable, beside a horse. A cartoon horse. Running over to the fresh bucket of water, he glanced at his reflection and was shocked to see he was a cartoon. He was in Sleeping Beauty. He was Prince Philip, actually.

Maybe, YN was Aurora.

But how did this happen? He remembered when he had been transported with Dean and Cas into Scooby Doo, so maybe this was the same kind of deal. As long as they played out the story, they should be returned to their world at the end.

He just had to make sure he didn’t die, and that YN was unharmed as well. He’d only seen this particular movie a couple of times, but he knew the basics. It looked like they had come into the movie about midway, where Phillip is getting ready to go riding in the forest, and meets Aurora for the first time.

He saddled Samson and easily swung up onto the horse. He paced his ride to a slow trot, enjoying the natural sounds of the forest, but also listening for the musical voice that would lead him to YN/Aurora. He had heard her sing to many of the Disney films they’d watched over the years, and knew she could carry a tune fairly well. His opinion might be somewhat bias but in his heart he knew she was more than capable of playing this role.

**

YN, having seen this movie many times, played the role of Briar Rose perfectly. She was sent by the fairies to pick berries in the woods. She strolled along the paths, feeling the grass tickle her feet as she walked. For fun, she decided to see if she could really sing like the princess in the film, so she began humming, then quietly singing lines about animals having someone to love, yet she remained single. Her heart hoped the Prince was Sam, because he was who she desired the most.

As expected, the lovebirds finally find each other. Sam practically leaps off the horse and catches YN in his arms as she meets him halfway. They dance along the grassy meadow and sing together, gazing into each other’s eyes lovingly.

They know they can’t stay there, or run away together, if they want to go back to their own world, so Sam and YN reluctantly part ways, promising to finish the story so they can live happily ever after. Together in each other’s arms, forever.

YN returns to the cottage in the glen and finds the surprise dress and birthday cake her guardians have made. They then tell her the truth of her identity, and YN feels her heart break as she pretends to be distraught over the thought of never seeing the young man she met in the forest. Dressed in the beautiful blue gown, and covered in a blue cloak, the three fairies carefully lead the princess to her home and to her parents.

Once there, they lead her to a secluded room so they can keep her safe till the sun has set, thereby foiling the prophecy Maleficent had bestowed upon Aurora when she was a baby. The three of them combined their magic to create a beautiful crown to place upon YN’s head. She looked at the golden tiara and broke down into sobs, her head resting upon her arm on her dresser as she shed tears for her beloved.

When the fairies left her alone for a few minutes, YN knew what would come next, but the trance caused by the green orb took away all her sorrows, but also took away her free will. It was like watching from outside her body. Her mind was being controlled, but she still had her own consciousness. Ever so slowly, she climbed the steps to the top tower, where her fate awaited.

The princess entered the room the orb had coaxed her to, and walked toward the spinning wheel that stood in the middle of the floor. She could hear a menacing voice telling her to touch the spindle of the spinning wheel, but she hesitated briefly, then as the voice in her head grew more demanding, she could no longer resist.

The last thing she remembered was pricking her finger on the sharp point, her body crumpling to the ground as a deep slumber overtook her.

**

Sam made his way to the cottage he’d been ‘invited to’ by YN, but he couldn’t exactly remember what would happen next. He knew Phillip would get captured by Maleficent, and that it would be soon, but when he knocked on the cottage and stepped in, he wasn’t prepared to be overcome so quickly. The evil hordes quickly tied him up and took him away, his anger rising as the evil witch laughed at him.

Chained to the dungeon wall in Maleficent’s home, he listened to her goad him, telling him she would release him in 100 years to rescue his love, then laughing at him as he struggled to break free and kill her.

Once she left him, the three fairies, who had found Aurora lying on the ground in the tower, snuck inside the forbidden mountain where the evil witch resided, and freed Phillip from the chains. Bestowing upon him the Shield of Faith and the Mighty Sword of Truth, they led him to freedom and, after freeing Samson, they helped him escape.

Maleficent heard the commotion and was beyond angry at the incompetence of her minions. She sent a cursed wall of thorns to stop Sam from getting to the castle, but the sword he’d been gifted with cut the magical weeds with ease. He would take on the world if it meant rescuing his beloved YN.

When the thorns failed to stop him, Maleficent appeared before Phillip and spoke these words, “Now shall you deal with me, O Prince, and all the powers of hell!”

With a maniacal laugh, the witch changed, grew, and there before Sam stood a large black dragon. Sam charged at the dragon, and was met with a fiery blast. The shield easily protected him, and Phillip jumped off his horse to fight the great beast. Maleficent snapped her jaws at him, breathed fire at him, but the prince remained strong and vigilant.

When a rather powerful blast knocked Phillip’s shield away, Maleficent laughed and reveled in her almost victory. He wouldn’t survive now that he had no shield. But while she laughed, the three good fairies enchanted the Sword of truth:

O Sword of Truth, fly swift and sure,

That evil die and good endure!

When they finished the spell, Sam threw the sword at the large dragon, piercing her heart. With a great cry, the evil Maleficent fell to her death, never to darken the kingdom again.

With her death, the thorns and fire disappeared, allowing Sam to enter the castle and seek out YN. He reached the room where the fairies had laid her down on a soft bed, and bent down to capture her lips in a gentle kiss. YN woke, smiling as she gazed into her lover’s eyes.

They made their way to the grand ball room and paid respect to the king and queen, YN rushing to embrace her ‘parents’. Then the prince and princess danced and shared a kiss, and lived happily ever after.

As they kissed, lights flashed, blinding them, and they held on to each other, hoping they were going back home.

**

Sam and YN opened their eyes and found themselves back in the living room, the tv back on the Food channel and everything back to normal. They remembered everything though. Sam cleared his throat, and looked at YN.

“That was interesting.” He commented.

“It was, definitely, and kinda fun.” She replied.

“It got me thinking YN. I don’t want to waste any more time just dating you. I love you. I want to marry you, have children with you, grow old with you. Say you’ll be mine.”

YN felt her eyes sting with happy tears. “Sam, I can’t imagine any part of my future where you are not in it. You complete me, and you’ve made me the happiest woman in the world. I love you so much, and I can’t wait to marry you, grow old with you, and have children with you.” She giggled as she said the last part. “Speaking of…I was going to tell you tonight anyways, but, um, we’ve already started the having children part.”

Sam’s eyes widened as her words caught up with him. “Really?”

The biggest grin she’d ever seen adorned his face as he joyously swung her around, planting kisses all over her face and neck. Picking her up bridal style, he took her to their room where he spent most of the night showing her how much he loved her.

@legion1993 @drkcnry67 @lyarr24 @idreamofplaid​

[pastelsandpining]

Santa Tell Me (New Love)

The eighth prompt in 12 Days of Christmas by @zelink-prompts​, the prequel to prompt seven here

Prompt List

Words: 2419

Summary: Zelda finds a friend in the little forest boy who claims to be the Hero of Time. 

Ocarina of Time, post-game, child timeline(???)

Zelink-mas 2020  l  Masterlist

The Princess of Hyrule was bubbly and bright, and she felt like she could take on the world. She wanted so badly to go on a grand adventure, to escape the walls and locks of the castle and explore the kingdom she was set to rule over one day. How did she know what was best for her people if she never met them? But her father wouldn’t hear a word of it and Impa wouldn’t let her try. Little Zelda was forced to instead play by herself in the courtyard. She liked to pick up sticks and pretend to fight, and she liked throwing crushed up leaves and berries into a water filled hole to make potions. She liked to fall in the dirt and scrape her knees. 

She did not like practicing the ocarina.

“But you promised!” she whined, tugging at the arm of her caretaker. “You said you’d teach me how to be Sheikah!”

“I promised to teach you Sheikah ways,” Impa corrected as she stuck the little blue instrument into her hands. “But not today, little princess. You haven’t practiced in weeks, and you promised your father you would.”

Zelda huffed and gripped the tear-drop shaped piece of wood tighter. 

“But it’s so boring!”

“You’ll have to do many boring things in your life as queen,” Impa replied, ruffling the cap that covered her hair. Zelda scrunched up her nose and, defeated, brought the ocarina to her lips. It was drilled into her where her fingers should go as she played a set of scales to warm up. 

The three note melody her family named after her (or, rather, after Zelda in general) came naturally, and she played it twice before stealing a glance at Impa. She didn’t look satisfied, so Zelda huffed and turned around to face the window instead. There was her father, sitting on his throne while speaking with a man—a man she’d seen a few times before. He was tall, and his eyes seemed to glow with an evil that made her nervous. But her father wouldn’t listen to her when she tried to tell him that he scared her.

“How did you-“

A ruckus followed Impa’s unfinished question, so Zelda turned with furrowed eyebrows. Stood before her was a boy no older than her, dressed in green with a sword by his side. She stumbled a little backwards. He resembled the forest boy from her dreams a little too perfectly to be real. And yet something about him felt so familiar.

“Who..?” she started to ask, but the boy dropped to a kneel in front of her.

“Princess,” he greeted, his voice shaky and quiet. “I’m Link. I.. I’m the Hero of Time, I think.”

Zelda blinked. She’d never heard of such a thing, but he sounded too serious to be joking. But despite everything she’d felt within the past few weeks, she was unconvinced. 

“How can you be something without knowing it?” she asked, placing her hands on her waist. 

“You’ve gotta believe me!” the forest boy pleaded. “Ganondorf’s gonna get the Triforce and take over and destroy the world!”

So, the Hero of Time was here, as nothing more than a child, making the claim that her dreams would come to pass. As ridiculous as it probably sounded to Impa, it shook Zelda to her core. But her father didn’t believe her, much less a little kokiri boy. She was running out of ideas.

“Prove it,” she challenged, holding the ocarina out to him. “This is the Ocarina of Time, an heirloom of the royal family for generations. Play something only the Hero of Time would know!”

Link took the instrument from her hands and raised it to his lips. Zelda pulled at the sleeves of her dress in anticipation, shifting on her feet. What was she expecting him to play? Would he be able to play? If he could, how would it prove anything? 

Her lullaby was being played back to her.

“How..? You--you heard me playing it!” she accused, taking a step back. It was the only explanation, it had to be.

“You taught it to me! Right here! Don’t you remember?”

He looked so crestfallen and scared. He was as small as she, yet he spoke as if he’d seen war. If he really was who he said he was, then… he had. And he was there to warn them.

“Tell me everything,” Zelda demanded, holding her head a little higher. 

“Princess--”

Zelda looked over to Impa and whispered a soft “please”, then shifted her gaze back to the little kokiri boy. 

Link was hesitant, but he retold everything he could remember. He told her that she sent him to retrieve the spiritual stones, and he pulled the Master Sword, and that Ganondorf had followed him into the Temple and touched the Triforce, sealing him inside of the Sacred Realm. He told her how he woke seven years later to Hyrule in disrepair, with Ganondorf as the new king. He told of the temples and the destruction, and how he was forced to travel back and forth in time to undo all the King of Thieves had done. By the end of his story, Zelda was on the verge of tears. It was her plan that caused such a downfall--the very same plan she’d wanted to share with him as soon as he appeared before her.

“We have to tell my father,” she said, spinning to face Impa. “Please.”

Impa too was hesitant, but Zelda wiped at her tears and grabbed Link’s hand, pulling him towards the entrance to the castle herself.

“Princess-” Impa called again, but the little princess was determined. Ganondorf was leaving just as they entered, and she felt Link’s hand tighten around her own. But she couldn’t stop now. She had to make her father listen if there was any hope at all.

Just as she’d expected, her father was dismissive. He wanted to write it off as a childish nightmare, but Zelda forced Link to recount everything he’d just told her. The king remained unconvinced, but he looked a little bothered and she could work with that.

“Zelda, it is very immature to get this little boy in on your fantasies,” he scolded. “I cannot arrest the Gerudo king on the account of two children, not when we’re so close to mending the split caused by war.”

“But you heard his story! The Hero of Time said he fought Ganondorf himself!” Zelda argued, stomping her foot.

“Your little friend snuck onto the castle grounds unpermitted, so I would hardly deem him trustworthy. Unless he can prove that he is who he says he is, I will not take action.”

Link lifted the ocarina to his lips again and Zelda waited anxiously for the three note lullaby to hit her ears--but it never came. 

“I’ll pull the sword again,” Link declared, standing up as straight as he could. “I’ll travel to Gerudo Valley and find Nabooru--she’s a Sage and she could tell you everything Ganondorf has planned!”

“I will not send a child to that desert-”

“Then take me to the Temple of Time,” the hero challenged. 

The king looked hesitant once more. He scratched his beard as he looked between Link and his daughter, and Zelda tried to look as serious as she could manage.

“Link’s story is exactly what I saw in my dreams. You know daughters of the goddess can have pro.. prost-”

“Prophetic,” Impa supplied. Zelda nodded once.

“-prophetic dreams because you said mother had them too!”

“I cannot take you into the Temple of Time,” the king said, slumping back into the throne. “If you really are the Hero of Time, then there’s no telling what pulling the sword will do. But I will look into this. If I find nothing, then the two of you will be in very big trouble.”

Link didn’t look happy, but Zelda would take it. She was admittedly too scared to keep thinking about it, and any action her father took would be better than none.

“Promise?” she asked her father, stepping up to his throne and sticking out her pinky.

“I promise,” he replied, wrapping his larger finger around hers. He wiped at her cheeks after that, and Zelda leaned into the comfort of her father. She didn’t want to lose him too. 

Link was allowed full permission into the castle after all that had transpired. Zelda met up with him any chance she could get, and they would run around the courtyard together with sticks and matching bruises. His stories sounded far less scary when he acted them out before her, and Zelda often stole Impa’s headband and pretended to be a Sheikah named Sheik--just like the other Princess Zelda he spoke so highly about. 

Their courtyard playdate was interrupted when a figure passed by the window. The Gerudo king had arrived in chains, and Zelda grabbed Link’s arm and pulled him out of view.

“What’s going on?” he asked, but Zelda pressed a finger to her lips and snuck towards the entrance so they could hear what was happening. There was a lot of yelling, but she heard her father condemning him for plans of overthrowing the monarchy.

“--guilty of treason of the highest measure. For the crimes you have committed, you will be taken to Arbiter’s Grounds and executed.”

Zelda nearly tripped over Link as she stumbled backwards. The Gerudo king was being led their way. His eyes, burning with hatred, settled on her and Link, and he ripped himself free from the guards’ hold. Ganondorf reached for her with hands twice her size and she bit her tongue to keep from screaming. She tried to think of what Sheik would do, but she hardly got a chance before Link was in front of her, his kokiri sword pointed at the King of Thieves’ hands. Ganondorf laughed, a deep, evil sound that shook her to her core, and the guards took hold of him again, and he was dragged away, still laughing. 

Link turned around and wrapped her in a hug, and Zelda, still shaking, grabbed his shirt and closed her eyes. The yellow eyes of the Gerudo king would follow her into her nightmares, she was sure of it. 

In the following week, her father held a ceremony to acknowledge and thank all of those who saved Hyrule. 

Link and Nabooru, who’d acted as an inside source, were gifted with titles of honor and medals of service. Zelda too was awarded for her wisdom and insistence, but she didn’t think she deserved it as much as the other two. It was her fault Link had gone through all he had to begin with, and she didn’t think she could ever shake that feeling of guilt. But the party afterwards helped to lift her spirits, because her father told her she could have as many sweets as she wanted, and she could stay up as late as she wanted. 

“We did it!” Zelda cheered, once she’d found Link in the crowd. People were gawking at him and asking questions, but she threw her arms around him anyway and they landed in a pile on the floor, giggling like crazy. She could hear Impa in her head, scolding her about how improper and unladylike she was acting, but the princess didn’t care. A war had been avoided, and she made a good friend in the process. 

A friend who took her on adventures around Lake Hylia now that there was no threat, and protected her from any monster that tried to show its face. He took her to Lon Lon Ranch, where she met Malon and Epona and rode a horse of her own. He took her to Zora’s domain, where she met the little Zora princess who looked too interested in Link for her liking, and he took her to Goron City (under the supervision of Impa) to meet Darunia. 

But their time together was short lived, because their courtyard playdate took an awkward turn when Link held out a handful of colorful flowers and told her he had to go. He looked so sad, and she wished she could squeeze him tight until his sadness was gone.

“I lost a friend,” he explained, avoiding her gaze. “Every kokiri has a fairy, and I lost Navi when.. when I was sent back. I need to find her.”

She wanted to ask if he had to go. She wanted to beg him to stay here and find another fairy. But even as a selfish child, she could tell how much had been taken from him and she didn’t want him to hurt more than he already had. She would be a bad friend if she didn’t let him go.

“Will you come back?” she asked as she held the flowers tighter. 

“I’d never leave you behind,” he answered, giving her a shy little smile that made her cheeks burn.

“Do you promise?” she questioned, sticking out her pinky. 

“I promise,” he replied, wrapping his finger around hers. Zelda hesitated for a moment, but she leaned forwards and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

“You better not break your promise, or I’m gonna be really mad at you,” she said as she pushed him away and looked at the ground.

“Just watch! When I come back, I’ll be your knight and we’ll get married,” he replied, wrapping her in a hug. Zelda giggled and held him tightly, because she wouldn’t be seeing him again for a very long time.

“You’re gross!” she declared, but the little princess liked the idea, even if she didn’t know the full story of what a marriage involved. They were too young for that anyway, but Impa told her later that love had no age and that souls that were meant to be together would find each other again in time. 

She didn’t know the word for what she was feeling when he left the courtyard for the last time. He looked back at her with a wave, but she couldn’t find it in her to raise her arms. They felt heavy and tired. She spent the first few months in naive hope, waiting in the courtyard and playing the ocarina as if her songs could bring him back. She held onto Impa’s words and onto the matching medals they had, and she came to question herself if she did indeed love the little boy from the forest. 

Perhaps when she saw him again, she would tell him properly.

[gyromitra-esculenta]

Something Ends, Something Begins chapter 6/7 - still ‘Bad Witcher AU’. The song at the end is Quedate Aqui from Desperado.

Warnings: none (unless you count friendly ribbing and name-calling, weasels (one particular weasel), some saucy wording, and erotic food. kind of.)

*

The table is set, the white cloth covering it embroidered with shapes of flowers and animals stitched in vibrant colors, each corner adorned by a form of a stag raising on its hind legs with its head bowed, ready to fall with the full weight of its body on a contender. Rabbits and foxes - not one alike any other found on the fabric - peek from behind the green grasses and the bushes full of red and black berries. The smell of burning fat and caramelized sugar grows stronger as Mojmira pours another cup of rowanberry wine on the roast.

Jack tries to slink by Lila unnoticed but she still catches him by his ear as he passes, the disapproving twist of her lips never budging from its place.

"It is your brother's hair-cutting, and you're shirking your responsibilities. Go, help your sister."

"Yes, mother," Jack answers. He reflexively massages his ear for a bit before approaching Mojmira, who gives up her place by the spit to him with hushed words that put blush on his cheeks. He swats at her, and she ducks away with a giggle and a poke of her elbow to his side.

Gabriel, well aware it is his turn to hear admonishments, brings his attention back to Lila and her stern gaze even if his eyes want to linger on Jack for a moment longer.

"Witcher," she acknowledges him with a curt nod, "did you find what you were looking for?"

Did he? Gabriel observes Jack turning the spit, his face and neck still reddish, focused ostensibly on his task, but the half-smile and the twist of his hips tell a whole other story. Lord Murders-A-Lot sits perched on his shoulder with its nose scrunching as it scents the air.

Further in the back, in the shade of a plum tree, Sombra, with the lute hanging off her shoulder, talks with Adan. He postures - does he bark up a wrong tree, for in this one a cat that cares not for the dogs sleeps  - and futilely tries to stay his eyes from her barely fastened shirt.

"I found a thing I never knew to look for."

Lila nods again, the incline of her chin still sharp - but deeper - the rings in her hair tinkle against one another with the movement.

"Take good care of him, witcher. There might not be another one of my son's ilk left in this world."

"You knew?"

"The babe slept dead in my womb only to wake up." Lila twines her fingers together over her stomach. "When he opened his eyes, I saw a boy I'd seen once before, when my mother brought me along to the village's alderman to see about the tylwyth foundlings."

Gabriel remembers it, Jack's small arms wrapped around him, chin propped on his shoulder, and the woman, her rich brown hair freely slipping from behind her back as she leaned down to speak in a language he was yet to learn, with a girl child at her side holding nervously her flowing skirts. Soon after, they were both handed off to the witchers regardless of Jack's promises of the village taking in the cubs even as strange as Gabriel. In retrospection, Jack was the stranger one, with eyes too blue and the complexion that knew no sun. A changeling, if there ever was one.

"And will you give him up to me, just like that?"

Lila scoffs, her lips quirking up almost imperceptibly as she regards him silently, enjoying his jest.

"He isn't mine to give, witcher, no more than the wind swaying the wheat or the songbird's trill."

It is true Jack belongs only to himself - there is no power in the world to force him to do naught but what he wants as long as he is what he is - and it is this fickle nature Gabriel had once dreaded, for no reason other but his own concern.

"He isn't yours to give, but mine to take."

Lila smiles, her forehead bowed; under the lashes, her dark eyes seem so much older, like they'd seen the world turn whichever way one too many a time.

The eyes of a sorceress.

Gabriel glances to the forest. No wonder she and hers were spared from the scourings.

"Come, witcher, sit, for today is the time of revelry, and you are our honored guest," Lila directs him to the table with a motion of her hand, turning already as if she considers their chat finished. Gabriel nods. The contract has been fulfilled. The fate won't be denied.

Sombra slipping into place by his side disperses those thoughts.

"Melitele's nips, am I hungry," she mutters and stretches vicariously before she switches her attention from the table to him, fingers idly tracing the line of her collarbone. "You look younger."

"I feel older."

"You're just tired."

"I don't tire," Gabriel counters, but Sombra smirks and pats her chest above her heart.

"You're as stubborn as I am, but take it from someone with more experience than you, just let yourself feel, let him take care of you."

"Like Amelie had of you?" The bait is tempered by the name, one of the many small concessions Gabriel made over the years, and the lines of Sombra's face soften into a shy expression of contentment.

"Yes."

"Have you...?"

"He's been... most accommodating."

Gabriel merely nods, his attention stolen for a moment by the commotion Jack and Mojmira make, both laughing as they try to take the roast off the spit while struggling to keep it in one piece, broken up only by Lila showing up to help.

"How is she?" He acquiesces, finally.

"Better than ever." Sombra quietens, an unguarded smile flickers across her lips. "Thank you. For asking."

They spend minutes in shared silence, neither wanting to break the moment of understanding - the interruption comes from Wrenund's booming laughter from the inside of the house. The man himself appears in the doorframe shortly after, leading Nielub in front of him with his hand on the boy's shoulder; they're both dressed in festive linen shirts bleached impossibly white, with cuffs and collars embroidered with red thread in a simple pattern. Gabriel finds he can't not smile at the boy's almost unrestrained energy, his wide eyes shining with excitement while he struggles to act solemn even if the day is one of celebration.

"Should I be the good godmother,” Sombra whispers, “or the spurned sorceress?"

"The versemonger.”

"Ah, so be it." She braces her elbow on Gabriel's shoulder and leans against his side. They both watch Nielub sit on the prepared stool - his legs bounce up and down, and he grips the wood of the seat hard enough for the color to leave his fingers. Wernund looks to his wife, who now stands together with Mojmira a few steps away. She nods, and Adan brings forward a jug of water, Jack walks behind him with shears in his hands.

"Nielub, my son, today, you become a man." Wernund gently tilts the boy's head back. With barely a trickle of water, he soaks Nielub's hair through and slicks them to his head before exchanging the jug for the shears. The sound of metal grazing on metal and hair being cut fills the sudden silence even the birds don't dare to disrupt. In the fields, cicadas sing.

Each lock shorn, a piece of childhood shed for the new responsibilities. Wernund works with gravity and care - and when he's finished, and Jack retrieves the shears, he stands in front of his son, urging him to stand up too.

"Today, you leave your child name behind. It has served its purpose and protected you. From now on, you are Woj, and you will be as strong as your name, you will be strong for your family, and no evil will ever best you."

Nielub - now Woj - smiles wide and throws his hands around Wernund's waist in an exuberant hug.

Jack thrusts the shears at Adan while giving him a determined look; Adan accepts them, rolls his eyes at Jack's back as he retreats towards the table in a hurry. Lila and Mojmira both take their turn to hold Woj close for a fleeting moment, whisper secret silent words to him.

This time, Gabriel's medallion stirs under the cloth of his shirt, the movement barely perceptible, but it's there: a relief, grounding him in the feeling of reality, the last vestiges of doubt dissipating like tendrils of morning mist blown away by the noonday breeze. Sombra notices, too, her face lighting up with well-hidden interest, and her arm shifting against his side - until the short reverie is broken by Jack planting the whole roast on a wooden board in the middle of the table before he unceremoniously forces himself between them.

Living. Breathing. Moving not unlike a drop of quicksilver in a juggled vial.

"Away with your bony elbows, ungulate," Sombra chastises him as she makes space. "One could cut jewels on your hips."

"I'm still growing!"

"The wrong way around."

"The right way," Jack pouts. His arm sneaks around Gabriel's neck, palm hanging loosely over his shoulder, fingertips brushing against the fabric. Gabriel covers Jack's hand with his own, his thumb pressing slow circles into warm skin. "You just wait, I'll show you."

"Surely, I am scared out of my wits."

"Of course, you are, you third-rate lute-ruining bard. After all, I am me," Jack pulls her close with his other hand and presses a heartfelt kiss to her temple, at which she laughs, pushing him jokingly away.

"Piss off, ungulate," Sombra murmurs with no malice, "or I'll have you stuffed and mounted.”

"The horror. Just promise you won't be fucking anyone on my back, I've heard stories, you know."

"Melitele's holy teats!" Sombra moans, looking to the sky, and Jack, taking the advantage of her indignation, turns to Gabriel to sneak a quick chaste kiss to his lips.

Gabriel smiles against his mouth, the whispered 'later, little cub' coiling warmly behind his ribs even as Jack backs off slightly, eyes cast down but not really, not a shy or proper bone in his body, nor in the toothy grin languishing on his face.

"So, who's hungry?"

In an answer, Gabriel's stomach rumbles with anticipation.

"Shouldn't we wait...?"

But Jack is up and hunched over the table with the knife in his hand, fingers pressing down on the roast as he masterfully carves out thick slices of the meat bleeding sweet-smelling juices. Just in time, too, for the whole family to approach - Woj led to the seat of honor at the head of the table, Wernund at his right and Lila on his left - Adan and Mojmira bring the bread and the wine before settling down, her giggling and him merely rolling his eyes in kind. They scuffle for a moment under the table, Mojmira emerging with a triumphant smirk and Adan giving up with a pained hiss, his palms raised in an admission of defeat - yet he still gives Jack a knowing look before Lord Murders-A-Lot scurries up the tablecloth to chitter at him. Almost swatted away in return, the weasel runs into Jack's waiting palm, and then up the length of his arm, to perch on Jack's shoulder shortly before it settles pressed against his neck.

"You dare to raise a hand to my cherished retainer?" Jack mock-challenges Adan.

"'Tis a foul beast you entertain at your court," Adan plays along, eyes narrowed with a smirk. "Good the vatt'ghern has arrived to slay the bloodthirsty creature."

"Only if you have the coin, good sir, half upfront." Gabriel chuckles, and Jack collapses into a fit of giggles. Mojmira shushes them and pointedly looks to the head of the table.

Woj, with his father's guidance, picks a loaf of bread and breaks it in half. The first piece he offers to Wernund, the other to Lila; repeats until every guest at the table has their own piece of bread.

"I'm hungry!" He declares with unbidden enthusiasm - Adan toasts to it with his cup and a holler of 'hear, hear'. Gabriel hardly notices the meat making its way to his bowl in the sudden boom of liveliness - Jack and Sombra argue loudly over some insignificant trifle. Adan takes sides and Mojmira laughs unbidden before dishing out a scathing remark Sombra takes with no grace whatsoever, sputtering and tongue-tied for once - but that might be the doing of Mojmira’s bodice inconspicuously slipping lower.

Life goes on, regardless.

"Little cub," Jack draws his attention with a whisper, his eyes almost black in the most human way, cheeks flush with rowanberry wine as are his lips - a droplet of it in the corner of his mouth; Gabriel wonders if it would be sweeter if tasted in a kiss, almost succumbs. Jack presses a cut morsel into his mouth; fingers brush against his teeth and tongue, slip out and trace his jaw, stop at his neck, press on the pulse of his heart in a deliberate caress. "Eat. And drink. You are a guest at my feast, too, cub."

Gabriel chews on the meat, slowly. The roast is surprisingly succulent, meat aged even if the game was caught yesterday, with a hint of bitterness broken by the juices, and chased by the tang of the wine.

"Good," Jack murmurs and offers another bite with his fingers.

The conversations flow around them as if no-one takes notice, Jack's eyes imperceptibly darker - a shadow clinging to his irises - his smile light and possessive, like nature reclaiming the once carved out of it domicile, embracing it back after the time of long separation. Which is, probably, the truth of it, on some level of an abstract interpretation. Gabriel does not mind, for it is the way Jack is and loves - and he wouldn't have it any other way, not since the moment he had asked a god to step out of his forest domain, foolish as he was then.

Banishing the traitorous doubting thoughts, he settles into the quiet comfort of being cared for, unfamiliar and foreign after being denied it for years. They will be back, he knows, the whispers of disbelief questioning his own sanity - but for now, Jack straddles his lap. And the wine Gabriel was right about. It is sweeter when drunk from the offered lips, the taste of it mingling with the living chaos.

Before she disappears from their side, Sombra glances fondly at him over Jack's shoulder. A shape of a magic-wrought creature hovers above her stretched-out palm. The light weaves into a dragonlike form that takes flight as soon as it's finished - joined soon by others of its ilk in a slow dance.

Woj chases after the illusions with laughter, enchanted both by the show and the wine flushing his face with a blush. Sombra smiles as she joins him in the play. A moment later, horseback knights woven with magic enter the fray.

Jack untangles his fingers from Gabriel's hair and slips into space she's left behind - his palm still rests on Gabriel's thigh, light and warm - and rejoins the conversation as if he's never abandoned it. Gabriel lets it flow around him, sipping on his drink. The sun starts to dip and the boy, tired out by the playtime, naps with his head on his mother's breast. Jack gives up his seat to Sombra and her lute, a fleeting touch sliding down Gabriel's back before he leaves.

Mojmira and Adan light the torches, Jack brings cold fish in a still crisp batter and, somehow, more of the wine. Gabriel wonders if Lila brews that much of it - or is it only for the festivities - or maybe there is an else thing afoot, and if Sombra might glean the secret to it.

The first notes of the lute sound over the cicada song that grows steadily in volume.

Jack unceremoniously deposits himself sideways in Gabriel's lap, with a full cup in his hand he tosses off as soon as Gabriel puts an arm around his waist to keep him stable and in place.

"I do think, the day calls for the most splendid songs," Sombra strikes a chord, a devilish smirk on her lips, and Jack almost lunges at her with a squawk - if not for Gabriel's grip over his stomach.

"Don't you dare, witch!" Jack sputters.

"Oh, but I do dare, ungulate, it’s the least you deserve!"

She continues the melody in spite of Jack spitting and hissing like a cat at a witcher. Gabriel chuckles over the comparison before he presses another cup into Jack's palm and feels him capitulate in time for Sombra to start the song not fit for any place other than a tavern, or a brothel.

"Please, just kill me," Jack whines with his face buried in the crook of Gabriel's neck when everyone at the table seems to know some semblance of the words that go with the tune, snorts angrily at the final chorus of 'Jack the Stag, he's never going to leave a lass unsatisfied'. "I demand reparations, for my slandered reputation."

"If you, maybe, had a reputation first, to slander," Sombra waves him off before starting on another song.

"See, the next time? I'll leave you hanging up there in some tree, just so you know, so you can reap what you sow."

"Cry me a river, ungulate."

Hiding under Gabriel's chin and with his fingers kneading into Gabriel's sides, Jack whines about ungrateful traitorous witches - it's all too familiar, as if nothing has ever broken this idyll up - and for this, Gabriel is thankful.

Soon, Lila retires, with Woj barely conscious in her arms mumbling sleepily as she carries him into the house, and Wernund follows, leaving the night to the youth, as he says, his old bones needing their full night's rest.

Sombra switches up her repertoire for an even raunchier one, perfectly happy to just entertain them all with a song between the sips of the wine Jack, despite his words, feeds to her to keep her throat wet. Her eyes follow Mojmira's silhouette with unbidden appreciation when she leaves - and then with pure adoration when she comes back with two more pitchers.

Somehow, Adan and Jack get into a drinking contest, each trying to drink the other one under the table in the shortest time possible, and, inexplicably, Gabriel finds his cup always full when he brings it to his lips, even after Jack bumps into it with his elbow and spills all. The effect is not a too-long wait away, Aden lies braced on the table, with his head buried in his arms, half-awake and clutching at the empty earthen jug.

"And don't ask me if I love you, don't you worry about what I think," Sombra hits low mournful notes on her lute.

Jack slips off his lap and Gabriel snatches his hand before he has a sliver of a chance to disappear; Jack meets his eyes with a demure look and fingers wrapping around Gabriel's own wrist as he pulls him off the bench.

"Just know I'm yours in my own way," Sombra sings. And Gabriel knows he's a sacrificial lamb led to its slaughter under the full moon - led past the dying torches - past the threshold of the barn he steps over out of his own unprompted volition. "But when I want to be your dream, I won't be satisfied with just your kisses."

[iwrestlenow]

Many More To Die, Chapter 5

TITLE: Many More To Die (Chapter 5)

FANDOM: Sanders Sides (Necromancer AU)

SUMMARY:

Lord Janus is a man with a past--and a drake with a treasure to protect.

Meanwhile, Logan fades in and out of consciousness while the king and his compatriots sort some things out--including the mysterious cadet's true identity.

Something is happening in Logan's mind, magic that he can't understand at his fingertips...and the palace dungeon master is hell bent on stopping it at all costs.

SHIPS: Logince (Logan/Roman), Moceit (Patton/Janus) and future Dukexiety (Remus/Virgil)

WARNINGS: more blatant violence against children, but nothing graphic. Also, I rewrote this bastard SIX TIMES and I’m still not happy with it, but it’s a long, meaty chapter.

Also, no betas, we die like men.

NOTES: This is based on the gorgeous piece of art by @gretacticdraws that can be found here. I ended up writing a ficlet for it, and then my brain got swallowed up. Breathe at me wrong, and I’ll write more…hell, who am I kidding? I’ll write more anyway because this? Is self indulgent drivel. XD

Also located at AO3 over here.

1025, A.A.

“...are you an angel?”

Janus turned sharply at the sound of the tiny, awestruck little voice. He finally pinned it to a dungeon cell across from the shadowy corner where he'd just sold his father's favorite pocket watch in exchange for information on Corporal Mori—a guard that had a nasty habit of roughing up some of the younger prisoners of the palace dungeons.

Janus was a liar, a cheat, and a thief—but he had no stomach for bastards like that. And anyway, he was well aware the corporal was responsible for wrenching Logan Berry's shoulder out of the socket. Janus liked Logan—he was far too straight laced to be anything but forthright and fair in his dealings.

It was the main reason Janus let him get away with the lies he did tell. If Logan believed you were dealing with him in the same fashion, he'd sell out his own mother. Janus respected that, and he looked after the few people he respected.

Hence digging up blackmail on the corporal—until the boy in the cell piped up with something so ridiculous it actually made Janus laugh.

“Angels don't have scales, kid.” he sneered, pocketing the letters he'd been given before he ambled closer to the cell. The kid couldn't have been more than twelve, with a mop of dark curls and lapis blue eyes that were currently so wide with fascination they looked fit to pop out of his head.

“Have you ever seen one?” the boy asked.

Janus hesitated, then found himself laughing again. “You got me there.”

The boy beamed—absolutely beamed, smile full of all kinds of sickening things like sunshine and rainbows. Ridiculous...yet it tugged at something in Janus's chest.

“Then you don't know.” the boy continued. “You've gotta have the prettiest face I've ever seen.”

Stepping right up to the door of his cell, Janus bared his teeth, his too sharp top and bottom canines on full display.

“There's nothing pretty about me. You'd do well to remember that.” he warned, all cold venom and as much menace as he could muster to shake the weird, squirmy feeling behind his breastbone that was only growing stronger the longer this kid looked at him like...like that.

“Is that why you're tryin' to prove Corproral Mori is havin' an affair with the captain of the guard's wife?”

Janus froze, suddenly vaguely uncomfortable with the fact that he might have to kill a child.

“You heard that?” he asked as lightly as he could manage.

The boy lowered his gaze, finally showing signs of fear—shoulders hunching, breath quickening. Good.

Then he wrapped one hand around his opposite wrist, wringing lightly at it and retreating a little further into himself.

“Yeah.” he admitted softly. “I...I hate it, I hate that I'm like this, but...I hope you do prove it.”

Janus didn't need much more to connect the dots, knowing what he did about the corporal.

“Did he hurt you?”

The boy looked up sharply, eyes too wide—only this time, not with awe. He remained silent, but Janus didn't need more than that look to know, or to see red with a swell of rage that took him by surprise.

“What's your name, kid?” he asked quietly.

“Patton.” the boy replied, looking even more scared as he lowered his head again. “I...don't have a Name.”

Another child necromancer. Of course he was afraid of admitting that—Janus knew what he was expecting. Fear, hatred, revulsion.

The fact that this kid didn't get that Janus understood that...

“Show me your wrist.” he instructed. “The one he broke.”

Patton looked up again, eyes still wide—this time with confusion, did this kid have any other setting besides doe-eyed cherub?--but did as he was told.

Making a fist, Janus took a breath and called on what little magic he had. When he felt the heat bleeding into his fingers, saw the ripple of heat in the air and the coal red shimmer of energy, he extended his fist and opened his fingers. The energy fled his grip and laid over Patton's arm, glowing bright before going swiftly dark again.

“It shouldn't bother you again.” he explained when Patton withdrew his arm back into his cell and ran his fingers over it in fascination.

Looking back up at Janus, his smile was softer this time, his expression so intense and...adoring that he couldn't breathe under the weight of it.

“I'm Janus.” he said, by way of responding to that...expression before he turned around and fled the scene like a coward.

********

Two Weeks Later

“...Hart.”

“That...works surprisingly well. You'll get your books. I always pay my debts.”

“Past performance indicates this is an accurate assessment. Hence my request.”

“Oh...go back to bed.”

“Gladly.”

Janus stepped back into the shadows as Logan turned and promptly settled back down on his pallet to sleep. Much as he respected him, sometimes he simply could not stand the elitist little shit. He was still waiting for some parting jab over his shoulder for Janus's obvious display of weakness...but the longer he waited, the less he worried.

He stayed long enough to watch Logan drift off again, remaining in the shadows beyond his line of sight. He stayed, forced himself to stay, so that he didn't make an ass of himself or tip his hand to anyone that might be watching—if living in the palace had taught him nothing else, it had taught him to assume that he was never alone.

Once Logan started to snore, Janus finally let himself take off, flying through the dungeon halls that were his home—literally, as he hit the home stretch, taking advantage of his dragon heritage to propel himself forward with just a little more force and speed, letting him eat up stretches of corridor in half the time of a full blooded human.

He stopped just short of the cell he was looking for—the same one he'd visited nearly every single day since he'd met the angelic little necromancer that had managed to ignite every single protective instinct Janus had ever denied having. He hated it, hated to admit that he identified with any part of his dragon heritage, but Patton was, without question, a bright and golden thing amidst all the darkness that lived below the royal palace.

Janus had found him. Now, he belonged to Janus—and no dragon worth their weight could resist the overwhelming primal urge to jealously protect and hoard their treasure.

“Patton!”

The cot, a recent addition Janus had seen to obtaining for him, jolted with the force of a lump bolting upright, revealing a sleepy, tousled Patton blinking into the dim light of the hall.

“Janny? That you?” He hissed into the dark.

Rolling his eyes, Janus finally revealed himself, stepping right up to the cell bars. “No, it's the Animator.”

“I told you not to joke about that!” Patton admonished, flinging himself out of bed and stomping up to the bars with a scowl. “I'm twelve, I can't hear that stuff!”

“You've never quite explained that.”

Patton blinked, then scrubbed his hands over his face to banish the sleep before raking them back through his curls.

“'Cause...I can't.” he admitted. “It's...it's hard to explain? The Cleansing took my Name, but there's all kinds of little crumbs that sometimes roll through my head.”

Janus made a face at the mention of the Cleansing—the ritual used to strip a necromancer of their Name. It was horrific, painful, and it always made Janus a little bit sick.

He'd seen one take place in his life. It was one time too many.

“And that's one of those...what you said?” Janus asked.

Patton nodded so enthusiastically his curls bounced, tousling and forcing him to run his fingers through them again to sweep them from his eyes. “It's...there's something important about being twelve among the Necromata—and something bad about bad-talking the Animator. I think they might be connected, but I could be wrong.”

Janus felt his chest squeeze painfully as Patton spoke, free as a bird—like this information couldn't be used against him, like he had no idea.

“You shouldn't talk to me about that stuff.” he reminded him. “My father's the captain of the guard.”

Patton just rolled his eyes with a grin. “You won't tell him, I know that—that's why I tell you stuff! It helps you, and I know you won't use it to hurt me.”

“No, you don't.”

“Uh huh! You're way nicer than you think you are, Mister Dragon.”

“I'm a drake.”

“You're pretty.”

Patton did this every time. Every single time, and Janus...he was not capable of blushing. He did not blush, he would not blush.

“I know it's late, but I have something for you.” he blurted instead of responding, or blushing, watching as Patton's eyes widened, his smile growing impossibly brighter.

“No foolin'? What is it?”

Janus took a deep breath, warring with himself. He'd believed the stories for a long time—the evil of necromancers, that they had no souls, no morals, power hungry and constantly thirsting for fresh blood...

Then he met one. Then he was disfigured...then he met Logan, and now he had this fucking urchin that had latched onto him with perfect faith and trust, and he was so fucked up over it that he was willing to empower him. At least, if he was right and this worked.

Patton just waited. Janus lost his hesitation.

“Heart.”

The boy blinked, brow furrowing curiously.

“Heart?”

Janus nodded. “Patton Heart. They took your Name...I thought you might feel better with a new one. Something to be called, at least.”

The little pout his mouth formed had Janus's heart sinking. It was a stupid idea, he didn't like it, and it damn sure wouldn't work--

Patton's breath hitched, and Janus's attention narrowed to the boy.

His dark blue eyes were shiny with unshed tears...but he was grinning. So bright, so painfully bright that Janus had to bite the inside of his cheek to resist the urge to rip the cell door off its hinges, grab the little bastard, and hide him somewhere deeper and darker where no one else could touch him or even look at him. His treasure, his gold...

Suddenly, Patton stuck his hand out through the bars.

“Pleased to meetcha, Mister Dragon...I'm Patton Heart.”

Cursing under his breath in annoyance—not with a smile, he was not smiling—Janus reached out to shake his hand.

“Likewise—Patton?”

Patton was staring at their hands, features ashen. He was clutching Janus's hand hard enough to bruise—and he was absolutely trembling.

“Patton?...Patton, what happened? What's the matter?”

Was it his wrist? It should have been fine—if Mori came after him again...

“Janus, I...I can feel your hand.”

******** 1033, A.A.

Janus was not okay—and for the first time in his life, it was a good thing.

The north wing of the palace was reserved for ambassadors and other dignitaries—a good choice to keep prisoners, as it was well guarded and the guest suites arranged with a lack of accessible windows or too many entrances to reduce the access for assassins and spies. It was also lavish, with a spacious garden area that had high walls and sprawling lawns.

Watching Patton as Janus led him into the suite he'd selected among those available for the two prisoners to share, something restless and angry that had lingered in his gut for the last eight years finally began to relax, at least a little. Here, in the north wing, cut off from other prisoners, from cruel guards and the dungeon master, now Colonel Mori...

His treasure was finally shuttered away, locked up and safe. The dragon that took up entirely too much space in his skin was settling, knowing that his hoard was safe.

Leaning against the doorway, Janus glanced over his shoulder and dismissed the guard that had been dispatched there, content to watch over Patton himself for a short while before he would have to return to the king's side.

Patton shuffled deeper and deeper into the suite's main living area, as if frightened his steps would be too loud or possibly shatter something. His eyes were wide as ever, taking everything in—occasionally blinking hard and fast when the bright light he was no longer used to made them sting or water.

The part of Janus that had secretly grown to look at Patton like the little brother he never had was very satisfied...but the part of him that had been growing stronger over the last couple of years, the one that was haunted by those deep blue eyes and the greedy way he stole the tiniest touches from Janus through the bars of his cell...

The one that had woken up the first time he allowed Patton to touch his face, his scales...that part of him was keenly aware of the fact that they were alone, and that Patton had no fucking clue that Janus had been all but crippled by his pure heart and beautiful eyes.

“Janny?”

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Janus regarded Patton coolly. “What?”

Patton was in the middle of the room, facing him with a strange look that Janus couldn't parse. He was either distraught or...not...distraught. Whatever it was, the emotion was intense, making his eyes water and his lips quiver, and Janus was caught between bloodlust and the tender, aching thing that tortured him these days with every single second he spent in Patton's presence.

“You remember your promise?”

Janus had to think for a second, but he finally remembered the one promise he'd made to Patton that could apply to this situation.

“...one thing, Janny. Anything in the world you could have, what would it be?”

“Swear to me you won't tell a soul.”

“Pinky promise!”

“...pure blood. Dragon, not human. For the wings.”

“Oooooh, that's a good one!”

“What...nevermind.”

“What about me? That what you were gonna ask?”

“Fine, yes! Happy?”

“Yes—'cause I'd want to get out of this cell so I could give you a big ol' hug.”

“...Seven Hells, Pat...”

“Would you give it to me?”

“No.”

“Second chance?”

“...yes.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“I remember, Pat.”

Patton just stared at him, wrapping his arms around himself—tight enough that he was shaking.

With a sigh, Janus crossed over to him and, with a glance over his shoulder to make sure they were alone, opened his arms.

Patton all but flew into them, pressing his face against the scales running down Janus's throat. Janus held him lightly, carefully—they'd never been able to do much through the bars of Patton's cell, but Patton had an easier time of acclimating to touch with Janus thanks to the fact that he ran cooler than a human or a dragon. Drakes tended to run cold, courtesy of their magic.

“Thanks, Janny.” Patton sighed after a few minutes, relaxing in small measures the longer Janus held him.

Janus made a noncommittal sound, even if he was rubbing Patton's back gently, feeling like he was stealing something by holding him like this. It was perfectly innocent...but it was Patton. Pure, good, secretly conniving Patton, and he was letting Janus hold him like he was something equally good and pure and safe.

It was just more proof that Janus was a terrible person, because he didn't give a shit.

“Happy?” he asked after a moment.

Patton smiled, and Janus had to supress the urge to shiver when he felt Patton's lips curling up against his neck.

“Yes.” he whispered, just before he burst into quiet tears, falling apart for the first time in eight years while he let Janus hold his broken pieces together in comfortable silence.

********

“...sten here, you little brat, you may be waiting for the crown, but I've known you since—”

“I repeat: I know where the guillotine is. We can even slap him after! He won't feel it, but he'll flinch!”

“Remus, please!”

“What? He's basically calling the king a snot nosed child! Am I wrong?”

...voices. Voices, buzzing at the edges of Logan's self awareness, but only just...

“He is a snot-nosed child, and a conduit to boot! You can't trust the gifted—not the useless conduits, not the lying mages or the spineless Sensitives—and you damn sure can't trust a godsdamned necromancer! Now, can we please stop talking about this thing like he's remotely human, finish the damn Cleansing properly this time, and get my prisoner back into his cell?”

“Or, here's an idea—you could...say...shut the fuck up and listen to the king?”

Itchy. Everything itched. Why was he so godsdamned itchy?...

...threads. Everywhere, all over, there were dangling threads. The colors were innumerable, all glowing with varying levels of light. It was a mess...it was a massacre.

Something had been torn away, and all that was left were these threads, some long and frayed, others short and thick. All of them were brushing every part of him—soft, barely there, and absolutely maddening.

“...compulsion to simply stop living. Imagine—imagine the way you feel as you breathe. You don't think about it, it just happens. Now reverse that. To stop, to let go, to fall...that became the natural instinct. My father succumbed to the same insidious magic, I know it.”

“With all due respect, Majesty, it was clearly the necromancer. He's got power he's been hiding, and at the end of the day? That's what they do, they kill.”

“Eh, sounds like bullshit. No necromancer's ever killed anyone before.”

“You're lying. There's thousands of cases, tens of thousands over a thousand years—I've studied it! Graduated the Academy top of my class.”

“So did I—first in my class, actually, and Prince Remus is right.”

“Shut your mouth, Cadet.”

“When the Seven Hells freeze over. Read the military's historical records: they show every combat death, but none of them involved magic. Want proof? It's in the the Tomes, you'll see. Any sorcerer can show you.”

“No offense, toy soldier—I mean, you're cute as the Seven Hells, but you don't strike me as the kind of guy who can speak any of the Ethereal tongues needed to read the magicians' histories.”

“I can't speak them, not really—but I can read them.”

“How?”

“...I'm a Sensitive.”

“Well, Colonel Mori—I guess you just made yourself a new best friend. Besides me, of course...”

“...Remus, get your spitty finger out of the colonel's ear!”

“Eat my thick and juicy co...”

Warm. Logan was warm, a warmth he knew and understood—and being weighed down by something, a steady and evenly distributed weight that was foreign, but not so alien he wasn't familiar with the feel of pressure, from neck to foot.

...threads, more threads, reaching out from the source of heat and heft, tickling at the surface of his consciousness—all so itchy. He had to scratch, couldn't scratch...couldn't escape, couldn't...

Wait. The colors...that one thread, rippling with gray and white, silver and lightning...there was a matching one inside his head...

“...the plan, then?”

“The plan is, we get the necromancer healthy, and have him recall the king to life...Master Picani?”

“Emile, please.”

“--Emile, then—you were in the crowd today, with the rest of the palace mages—what do the people know?”

“The king was seen collapsing. I can tell you that I haven't heard any announcements being made...but the chit chat I picked up on as I was on my way here? Well, word has likely already been leaked from somewhere.”

“Damn it! Then the coronation will have to be arranged...and then voided once my father has been resurrected.”

“You know there is no guarantee it can be done, Majesty.”

“I do...but I have faith...”

...these threads weren't long enough. He knew where they connected to, but there just wasn't enough slack to reach the tattered edges inside his head.

He reached out, leaned out, tried to follow them back to the source—something inside, tucked neatly into the warmth and the weight pressing, cradling, pulling him back into his prison of broken threads and torn scraps...

These threads were attached to something—something whole, not the entire tapestry but a piece of the picture.

“This man is a murderer! He's a demon, a killer--”

“...King Roman? A word?...”

“Of course, Mast—er, Emile. Master Somnum?”

“It's Remy, gurl.”

“Remy—keep an eye on Colonel Mori. Help the cadet subdue him if he does anything stupid.”

“Only if I can get out of prison mage detail. Being the boss is cool? But I hate this asshole.”

“I'll see what I can do.”

“On it, Boss.”

...it was him. There was no question: it was him.

He reached into the source of heat and pulled the fragment out.

“--spineless, useless Sensitives!”

“You wanna see how spineless I am? Take another step, Colonel. I fucking dare you.”

“Oooh, catfight!”

“More like a two hit fight: I'll hit him, he hits the floor.”

“Disrespecting a superior officer? I'll have you court-martialed! Or put into the dungeons...you're too damn close to the Necromata, anyway.”

“We can't use magic, idiot stick, we can only sense or enhance it.”

“So maybe you helped the necromancer kill the king, eh?”

“Oh-kay, Colonel Morose. Back off.”

...this was going to be incredibly difficult. Reconnecting these shorter threads, weaving the ones together in a way that made sense...it was next to impossible....

“...your name, Cadet?”

“Virgil Storm, Majesty.”

“Master Somnum?”

“...he's lying.”

Just a few quick knots on this edge to hold it in place—but it wouldn't stick without...

...there. A shuttle, knotted to the corner of the scrap, carrying a heavy length of glimmering silk.

“...Seven Hells is happening?”

“Oh, well—hello there.”

“Emile? What's happening?”

“It appears that the prisoner is...chanelling.”

“I thought channeling was used to heal?”

“It is—among other things, so don't fucking touch him.”

“Cadet, shut the--”

“Colonel Mori, quiet. Virgil—what's going on? Why can't I touch him?”

“...'cause you're a conduit. You have a ton of magic and no ability to use it, so it's all pent up and shit. Touch him, and you could interfere with what's happening. Your magic, I mean...it can leak out and wreck everything.”

“Is there a spell on this blanket you brought for him?”

“Sort of.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing I'm willing to share with an outsider. It's sacred knowledge.”

“Oh, for the love of...”

...the work was fast, he could finish this edge swiftly—the shuttle was liquid lightning, his fingers moving of their own accord...

“..for not even an hour, and there's a jailbreak in progress?!?...”

“I...Lord Janus...how did you even--”

“I joined the assassin's corps when I was eighteen, and I killed the captain when I was nineteen to take his place. I make it a point to know everythng that happens in this castle.”

“Relax, Lord Janus—I have this in hand. Virgil.”

“What?”

“I swear, on the Spider's Thread, that you can trust me.”

“...Majesty?...”

“...Janus, Remy, get Colonel Mori out of the room.”

...it was done. It was...perfect.

It was...

“--get that thing away from him if I--”

“Colonel, stop!”

...oh, shit...

Sudden lightness. Cold, cold, cold.

The shuttle slipped through his fingers.

Pain, searing pain from head to toe.

If he lost it, he couldn't finish, he had to finish or it would slip away.

Sound, fury, crushing weight--

Fingers in his hair. Gentle pressure on his scalp.

A hand in his.

Hold on. Do not let go.

I never have. I never will.

“Loganberry?...”

The shuttle landed in the palm of his hand. He grabbed on tight--

--and opened his eyes.

[foursideharmony]

The Cat, the Prince, and the Doorway to Imagination (Chapter 5)

Summary: Roman confronts the other Sides.

Pairings: Platonic/familial LAMP/CALM, Platonic/familial DLAMPR

Content Warnings: Violence and threats of violence, nightmare imagery

Word Count: 3,194

Read on AO3: here

“Won't be long now,” said Mr. Beaver as the group rounded a low hill. The sun was just starting to sink, and the resulting shadow made them all the colder. They had been on the move for nearly twenty hours, with only brief and infrequent rest stops, and had long since begun dragging their feet. Their trail made a continuous ragged line through the snow.

“I can't feel my anything,” Patton moaned.

“Well if nothing else,” said Mrs. Beaver, trudging alongside him and patting his hand, “they'll at least have decent campfires where we're going.”

Another twenty-five or so minutes brought them around the base of that hill and the next one, and then the Beavers led the group up the slope of a third and tallest hill. “And here we are,” said Mr. Beaver once they reached the summit. “The hill of the Stone Table.”

The hilltop was a broad space, clear of trees, with a grim gray construction in the very center: the Stone Table itself. It seemed like the whole snowscape of Narnia spread out before them, all the way to the twinkling ocean. It would have been a lovely view if not for the circumstances that had brought them there.

No one greeted them. They thought at first that no one was even there, but Virgil pointed to a hunched figure crouched on the ground some distance away from the table, tending the embers of a small fire by means of an awkwardly long poker held at full arm's length, as if she were afraid to go too near it. She was very slender, with lightly tanned skin and misty pale green hair that stuck out from her head in bristly locks, falling down to merge with her dress, which was the same color and texture.

“Ailim, is that you?” said Mr. Beaver.

“Oh!” said the woman, rising to her feet in one motion, more gracefully than any human could manage. “Beaver...I wasn't expecting you.”

“Ailim...where is everyone?”

She shook her head with a sound like leaves rustling in a breeze. “A few are nearby, keeping to cover. As for the rest...they are safe in their homes. Where else would they be? Aslan has not come after all. Of my people, only my conifer siblings and myself are even awake. The rest of our cousins still sleep.”

“Ailim is a dryad,” Mrs. Beaver explained. “That's the spirit of a tree. In her case, a fir tree.”

“And you must be the humans of the prophecy,” said Ailim. “Do you know why Aslan has not returned?”

“B-beats me, Miss,” Patton said, teeth chattering. “The story seems to have hopped off the rails at some point.”

“Oh, how rude of me not to notice how cold you are. Do come sit by the fire. She crouched to poke up the flames, and used an equally long-handled set of tongs to add another log. Soon it was crackling nicely, and the Sides were clustered around it, sitting on small boulders that had been cleared of snow and soaking up the warmth.

“It doesn't bother you?” Virgil said as Ailim fed the fire again. “Burning wood? I mean, if you're a tree too...”

“This was all fallen and dead already when it was gathered,” she explained. “No Narnian of good heart would ever cut down a living tree, or even take so much as a single branch. Sometimes an aged dryad who knows she will die soon will bequeath her wood to those who need it, but living trees are sacrosanct. Or,” she added sadly, “so it was before the White Witch came.”

“We'll figure something out,” Patton said. “I think…I think the Witch is hurting someone we care about too.”

“In the meantime,” Mr. Beaver cut in, “this lot needs food and rest.”

“Of course,” said the dryad. “There are shelters in the thickets on the southeastern slope, and provisions. Tap three times quickly and twice slowly on the large boulder and the fauns will let you inside.” She met each of their gazes in turn. “In the morning we must hold a council of war.”

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

At least Jadis's bed was comfortable enough.

Roman had found it eventually, after wandering the frozen castle for what felt like hours. It was only a broad, thick slab of ice on the floor, but it was heaped with enough blankets and furs that he was adequately shielded from the worst of the cold, both from the frigid air of the castle and the bed itself. He crawled in, his head still spinning, and wrapped himself in layers of bedding like a caterpillar forming its cocoon.

Sleep came quickly, but proper rest did not; Roman's dreams were full of ice and crystal and stone and snowflakes that came spinning down out of a black sky like tiny sawmill blades. Where they touched him he flinched and bled, and his blood was the pale turquoise of a glacial core. It whispered to him in sounds that were almost words and phrases in a language he only partially understood.

Perhaps he thrashed or cried out in his sleep, but if so, no one noticed or responded.

And with the coming of the dawn, Roman opened his eyes...and knew who he was. And what he was.

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

The war council never happened.

After their long trek, the Sides had just enough energy left to swallow a few mouthfuls of the stew  the fauns had prepared and fall asleep on rough cots in a den of sorts excavated from the hillside. The Narnians hadn't the heart to disturb them, and they didn't wake until the sun was well over the horizon, and then only because a strange, piercing sound was blaring from outside the shelter, coming from some distance away. It was like a horn, but shriller, and it set their teeth on edge.

Bleary-eyed from stolen sleep, they bustled out to find their hosts interrupted in the act of preparing breakfast. “What's going on?” Patton yawned. “Is it time for the council meeting thingie?”

“We're not sure,” said one of the fauns, whose name escaped him. The peculiar sound continued at intervals of a few seconds, and seemed intended as a signal of some kind.

“Something is approaching!” came Ailim’s voice from the hilltop. “Let us all gather as a show of our numbers!”

“What numbers,” Virgil muttered, but he joined the other two, and the Beavers and fauns and other handful of Narnian citizens now emerging from their respective shelters, in hiking back up to the summit, where Ailim was waiting with another dryad, taller and wirier than herself. They got there just in time to see, bursting through the trees on the northern slope, a Dwarf they barely recognized as the White Witch’s driver. He was blowing on some kind of wind instrument that appeared to be made from silvery crystal—or perhaps ice—which was of course the sound they had all been hearing. Behind him, further downslope, there was some kind of commotion that wasn’t yet visible through the brush and piled snow.

“Narnians!” bellowed the Dwarf. “Make ready to receive your most exalted ruler, the White Warlock!”

“What?” Virgil growled.

“White Warlock?” said Patton. “No, it’s supposed to be the White Witch. A scary lady! I remember that part!”

“'Warlock' is a semi-archaic term for a male witch,” Logan observed.

“Guys, I have the worst feeling about this…” said Virgil.

More creatures were emerging from the trees on the hill slope, and it took the Sides a moment to realize that they were looking at a procession of monsters. First was a group of Goblin heralds carrying gonfalons that seemed to consist only of crosspieces crusted with masses of icicles. Then came a formation of Dwarf archers, and then several Ogres bearing clubs. Following this were a few Hags, hissing and pointing threateningly into the gathering.

(“What is this, the whole bloody entourage?” whispered Mr. Beaver. “Dear! Mind your language!” Mrs. Beaver retorted.)

As the procession reached the hilltop, it broke to its right, circling the space counterclockwise and fanning out along the other side of the Stone Table from the Sides and their allies, effectively corralling them—they could retreat, technically, but there was only one direction available; they would be easy pickings if they tried.

Finally, the White Warlock himself appeared, lounging in a fur-lined sedan chair on the shoulders of four massive Minotaurs. His crown glittered as he moved in and out of patches of shade and his robe was made entirely of ermine, with a train that trailed behind the chair for ten yards, held off the ground by a team of Yew-dryads, their short shaggy hair speckled with scarlet berries. The Minotaurs crested the hill, and one of them kicked snow over the smoldering campfire, extinguishing it. They eased the chair down, and the Warlock rose from his seat, stepped lightly to the ground, and turned to face them.

It was Roman...and he was wrong.

They knew what “evil Roman” was supposed to look like. The fans loved to imagine him, for some reason, and they tagged Thomas in their fanart of the concept often enough that the Sides were familiar with the consensus image: the haughty expression, the gaudy gold crown studded with rubies, and especially the transformation of his suit from pristine, heroic white to Disney Villain black.

It wasn't...it wasn't supposed to become even whiter. It wasn't supposed to gleam almost too bright to look at in the sunlight, so that even the ermine barely looked white by comparison. The gold braid wasn't supposed to be replaced with silver, nor the noble red of his sash with a dusky grayish mauve like dried rose petals under a veneer of frost. The crown was not supposed to be made of silvery ice, with only a single huge diamond set under the central point.

His hair was not supposed to be shot through with white strands that turned out, upon closer inspection, to be ornamentation of impossibly delicate ice filigree. His eyes were definitely not supposed to be gray, flecked with blue-green. And he was not supposed to be pale, but he was—paler than Virgil, if such a thing were possible, lacking even a cold-induced blush to his cheeks, yet without looking the least bit unhealthy. It was as if he had been molded out of ivory.

The only hint of warmth in his appearance was that diamond, which flashed all the colors of fire.

He was wrong.

“Hark! You are all guilty of high treason against the Crown!” he said without preamble, and his voice at least, if not the disdainful tone, was familiar. “Except you three,” he added with a curt nod at his fellow Sides. “However! We are in a lenient mood! Abandon your rebellion at once, and swear fealty to us, and you will not be punished...this time. As for you...” He addressed the Sides again, and for just a moment, his cold arrogance retreated, “...in exchange for your fealty, I will make you all lesser Kings in my court. Think of it! This glorious winter kingdom could belong to all of us!”

The Narnians shuffled on their feet, making no reply. The Sides traded glances, Logan frowning uncertainly and Virgil shaking his head with a haunted expression. Finally, Patton spoke.

“Roman...this isn't fun anymore, with you acting like this. This isn't how you said the story was going to go. Can we just...go home? We can talk out whatever's bothering you.”

It was shocking how quickly Roman's eyes hardened. “I will not be mocked,” he said, low and dangerous. “You have one day and night to change your minds...or else prepare for war. And these—” he made an expansive gesture at the creatures he had brought with him, “—are merely the outermost tip of my armies.” He returned to his sedan chair and the Minotaurs hoisted it up. The procession began to descend the hill.

“Down with the White Warlock!” blurted the taller Dryad, Ailim's companion. “Aslan is King!”

Roman's head whipped around to glare at her. Without a single word, he nodded to the nearest of the Hags, and she lunged at the Dryad, shrieking and making a throwing gesture. There was something like a flash of light in reverse—a flash of darkness—and the tall tree-spirit sank to the ground with a sigh.

“Muricata!” Ailim cried as one of the Ogres stepped forward and lifted the fallen nymph in one massive hand.

“Find her tree,” growled the White Warlock. “Cut it down while she watches.”

“No! Please!” Ailim begged. “She is my sister!”

“Take the other one as well. Let them both watch.” A second Ogre seized Ailim and began dragging her along while she screamed in terror and grief.

“Roman!” Patton gasped. “H-how could you?”

“Don't make me punish you as well!” Roman snarled. “Move out!”

The procession withdrew back down the hill, leaving the Narnians devastated and the Sides both bewildered and appalled. “So now what?” Virgil said, pacing erratically and pulling at his hair. “This is really bad, you guys. Super bad. We're not just talking rail-jumping here. Roman's taken a flying leap off...off something, I don't know, but there is something wrong with him. I thought maybe he was just throwing a surprise twist at us, but did you see him? That look in his eyes? This is so bad—”

“Virgil, you are spiraling,” said Logan. “Try one of your breathing exercises.”

“I don't understand,” said Patton. “Why would Roman go this far? Do you think he's mad at us for something?”

“It is possible,” said Logan. “He has undergone a number of upsetting occurrences recently, and his mood has not been the most stable. Then again, with his talk of 'swearing fealty'...perhaps he is simply craving validation.”

“Should we just give it to him then?” said Virgil. I mean if it's the fastest way to get him off the crazy train...”

“Unfortunately, I have to advise against indulging him in this,” said Logan. “While it may work in the short term to, as you say, 'get him off the crazy train'—which does not sound like a practical or enjoyable means of transportation, by the way—the likely long-term effect would be to encourage him to continue these destructive methods of addressing his self-esteem deficits.”

“Patton, you're the 'should' guy around here...what should we do?”

“I'm honestly thinking we should just leave. The best way to send a message that the game is no good, is to quit playing. He can grapple with his feelings as long as he needs to, and we'll be there for him when he's ready to come out and talk.”

“I would tend to agree,” said Logan, “but I doubt there is any way for us to leave the Imagination without Roman noticing, and in his current state he would be certain to take steps to stop us, possibly violently.” He began to pace rapidly, wearing a tamped-down groove in the snow. “However...perhaps one of us could make it back to the door undetected, leave, and come back with...additional resources.”

“What kind of 'additional resources' did you have in mind?” said Virgil.

“It occurs to me,” Logan said, still pacing, “that Roman is rather...comfortable, with the three of us. That may cause him to take our points of view for granted, which ironically makes him less likely to listen to us than to someone with whom he might experience more interpersonal friction.”

There was a beat while Virgil and Patton took that in. “Oh, no!” Virgil said after a moment. “If you're suggesting what I think you're suggesting, then...no. I can't agree with that.”

“Just so we're on the same page,” Patton said carefully, “you want to go get Janus? You think he could help?”

“I think his presence might shock Roman just enough to shake him out of his assumptions about how this story is meant to go,” Logan explained.

“You could be right,” said Patton. “Roman arranged all this because he hasn't felt much like a hero ever since we started including Janus in our discussions. But somehow he wound up going completely the other way, to being the villain. Maybe seeing Janus will remind him of what he's trying to avoid?”

“Okay, cool, so I'm outvoted. Coolcoolcoolcoolcoolcool. So which one of us should go?”

“I was planning on doing it myself,” said Logan. “It would not be fair to ask you to carry out a plan to which you object, and between myself and Patton, I believe I have a greater chance of making the trek without getting sidetracked or losing my nerve. No offense, Patton.”

��None taken. It's an awfully long way to go by yourself, though. Are you sure you even know the way?”

“I have an excellent head for navigation and I believe I can triangulate the location of the door based on our travels thus far. I would feel more confident if I had some form of transportation, however.”

“I can carry you, sir,” said a deep but young-sounding voice from among the Narnians. It was the largest of those gathered, a Talking Bear not quite full grown but undeniably burly and powerful. “Name of Stoutpaws, sir. I'm not as good as a Horse but I'll do my best.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Stoutpaws. My name is Logan. If we start now, I estimate you can get me to my destination before sundown.”

“You're leaving already?” Patton said, fretting.

“Roman has only given us until tomorrow, Patton. Given the round trip, I need to use every minute I can to make sure I bring Janus back here before the deadline.”

Patton strode up and pulled him into a hug. “You be careful.”

“Likewise,” said Logan.

“I'll guard him with my life, sir,” said Stoutpaws. He crouched on all fours so that Logan could climb onto his back and then loped away down the westward slope of the hill.

“Gosh, things are happening fast,” Patton said, watching them go. “It all started so simply.”

“Come on, Pat,” said Virgil with a lopsided smile that got nowhere near his eyes, “you should know by now that nothing in this mind of Thomas's is ever simple. And on that note...we should probably pull this bunch together and come up with some contingency plans, just in case Logan doesn't get back in time.”

“Yeah,” Patton agreed noncommittally. “And someone oughta buck them up. They just watched two of their own get dragged away by the bad guys to be...” He trailed off.

“Don't think about it too much,” Virgil said. “Just...yeah, don't think about it.” The gathering was breaking up, the Narnians returning dejected to their hillside shelters. Patton and Virgil joined them.

Unseen in the snow-dusted brush nearby, someone was watching...

[queenofanime]

The Gold Watch

(Haikyuu x reader)

Part 1 

Part 2

 "I suppose a million words would not bring you back. How do I know? I tried. Neither would a million tears, I know because I cried."

                                                      (─‿‿─)            

Somehow, after begging, have coach Ukai's patience thrown out the window, and begging some more, Hinata managed to convince his team and Nekoma's team to join in a shared jogging routine through the forest. He had claimed it would build good sportsmanship with the rivalry cats and it would be a fun adventure. Out of everyone, the least excited was Kenma, obviously. He couldn't understand why he had to socialize with people and on top of that, run!? But after a long talk with his captain Kuroo and the constant pestering of Hinata and Lev, he caved in. 

                                                      (─‿‿─)

"Okay, listen up!" The commandant voice of Daichi sent chills down everyone's spine, "The marathon consists of running through a small town outside Iwate Prefecture, surround the beach, go through the forest, hike a small part of the mountains, and finally return to a cabin we have rented. Don't get lost and be aware of others, understand?" With that being said, both crows and cats started to jog as a group. 

The town was a happy hug of houses that had expanded as the years went on. Rustic cabins dotted the grassy hills as trees stood up like spikes, zigzagging the border of brick roads and unpolished homes. Rivers streamed through deep valleys. The sun was bright and warm and with the help of the cold light breeze, it created a perfect balance. Even though it was a small town, one could feel the joyful spirit of the people. Everyone was actually having genuine fun, well everyone except for Kenma. He was hungry and sleepy and spent. 'Why the hell did I say yes!?' He could have spent all afternoon playing games and watching movies in his comfy bed, but no, here he was senselessly running. Hinata must have read his thoughts though because he started to slow down and made his way to the gloomy teen. 

"C'mon Kenma! Cheer up, this will make us better players!"

"I don't care about volleyball as much as you do, you know" 

Harshly, Hinata stopped in his tracks. Worried he had offended the red-head, Kenma stopped as well.

"Hinata?" 

Hinata's eyes were now focused on a small iron gate trapped between two small houses. It looked ancient and neglected. The iron was rusty and parts of the design were missing and covered in moss. Kenma deadpanned. It had only taken about 2 seconds for Hinata to get distracted by something else.

Turning to face Kenma, Hinata spread a wicked smile that reflected pure evil. 

"This gate leads to somewhere" 

"So?"

"We should go through it" 

There was no way in hell Kenma was entering that place. Most chances pointed to that place being hunted. They would probably get lost anyway.

"No"

"W-what? Why not!" 

"The others are getting ahead. Stop wasting time"

"And I thought you didn't want to run anymore"

Now that's where Hinata got him. 

"I mean, this door just happens to lead to the forest and it seems it passes directly through the mountain. We could easily avoid half of the route... But I guess since you don't want to..." Kenma could easily see Hinata was trying to manipulate him, and that caused him to anger, but what truly boiled his blood, was the fact Hinata was succeeding. By now the others had gone ahead. Letting out a sight, Kenma caved in for the second time. 

"Ugh fine"

The evil attitude melted away by an excited one. Without even realizing it, Hinata jumped as his eyes light up. 

"Yeah!!"

Was Kenma going to regret this decision? Most probably. 

                                                         (─‿‿─)

The gate, in fact, leads to a wild garden. It looked abandoned and poorly maintained. All different kinds of flowers and bad weed were growing and stretching through the ground. Some birds chipping through the sky only made it more mysterious. The great weather completely disappeared when entering a more secluded part of the forest. Little sound in the bushes could be heard and the feeling of being watched was starting to become nerve-wracking. Both males walked a couple of meters further until they made it to a small opening. 

"What in the...?"

A small broken playground stood in the middle of the landscape. It had long been forgotten as wildflowers tried to reach the structure. The slow creeks of the swings, rusty and weathered, sent shivers down both spines.

Subconsciously, all of Hinata's memories of his childhood came flooding back; the once yellow metal of the swings was now a brown-beige and barely visible through the patches of moss and vines. What had been a place of joy, of peace and tranquility, could be the set of some horror movie.

"Maybe we should head back, huh?" The worried voice of Hinata could eco through the wind and into the trees. 

"Kenma?"

Now it was Kenma's turn to be distracted. His yellow eyes were looking directly at a pair of glowing blue orbs. Both teens swallowed hard. A siamese cat was watching them every move. A small bird agonized between its teeth and claws. The cat studied Kenma from hair to toe. The boy was captivated by the animal. It looked clean and by the looks of it, it probably had an owner. 

"We should follow it," Kenma said while pointing its finger to the creature. "Unless you got cold feet?"

Hinata wasn't going to let Kenma win, he was the one that decided to come in the first place and he wouldn't back down. Putting his arms at the back of his head, Hinata started walking casually. 

"You are right, we should follow it."

                                                   (─‿‿─)

They made their way through the forest while following the cat, that by now had already devoured its lunch. The scenery didn't get much better either. It looked more cynical as the characters entered further into the forest. By now, the sun was beginning to set, and they weren't even close to the feet of the mountain. Both Hinata's and Kenma's feet were aching and they were starving. 

"Some shortcut this turned out to be," said Kenma ironically.

But both stopped when they saw a small light coming from a house. The property was surrounded by a lovely garden that stood out from all the wild grass. It contained Roses and Tulips and Orchids and Berries. Soon a soft melody started to play. It came from inside the warm house. The teens had made it this far, why turn back now? The glass door was unlocked and from the outside, one could see the cozy living room. It was surrounded by elegant ornaments and delicate objects. It had a western taste rather than oriental. The fireplace illuminated the sky and beautiful paintings of women hanged from the wall. The music playing was provided by a classical record player. It was opera and it was sung by an angelic voice. Everything was so magical that both males entered unaware of the crime they were committing. 

Kenma and Hinata were beginning to settle down on the couch when suddenly a husky voice came from another room.

"Who goes there?"

Realizing they were trespassing, panic starts to flow throw them. Jumping away from the couch both Hinata and Kenma sprint to the door, however, on the way out, Kenma stumbles with the carved wooden table that was holding the record player. Both he and the object fall to the ground. The record player makes an infernal screeching when it hits the floor. Startled by the commotion, Hinata helps the boy get up and both of them run as fast as they can without looking back. They ran all the way to the iron gate and headed for the beach. 

When they get near the last part of town, they hear their names being called. Everyone from the Karasuno and Nekoma's team is looking for them.

"Hinata!! Kenma!!" the shouting intensifies. 

Soon both make their way to the others. Tsukishima is the first to notice them. 

Both captains were extremely mad. 

"It is already nightfall and you two decide to just disappear! Where the hell have you two been!?"  

After a long chastise from both Kuroo and Daichi and some hugs from Sugawara and the others, every member heads to the cabin. 

It is only at that moment, Kenma realizes he is holding a gold watch in his hand.   

[arcpeacegonow]

FINDING HOME (A SANDERS SIDES FANFIC)

CHAPTER ONE: JANUS

Logan loves baking. LOVES it. Cooking? Not so much. Cooking involves a lot of improvising and making adjustments that feel right. It’s less of an exact science and has more wiggle room for doing whatever you want. Sure, Logan will get in the mood to experiment with dishes, but otherwise he leaves the cooking to Patton.

But baking?

Baking is Logan’s way of relaxing. It’s all precise measurements and careful direction reading. After a stressful day of working through Thomas’s schedule and helping him stay on task, Logan will sometimes just take over the kitchen and bake. He especially likes baking because the others love to eat whatever dessert he’s cooked up. Not only that, but when Logan is struggling to offer emotional support or comfort for one of the others, he’ll bake them their favourite dessert.

Virgil’s having a bad day where everything’s just too much? An hour or so later, Logan is knocking at his door, a giant chocolate chip cookie with a scoop of ice cream in his hands. Patton having a day where the blues just won’t let up? Boom, Logan’s whipping out a chocolate lava cake. Roman wants to have a treat himself day after a particularly successful performance? The mixed berry pie is almost ready to be taken out of the oven and oh boy does that crust look just delicious (the secret ingredient is a spoonful of extra lemon juice or vanilla).

Logan keeps a special recipe book full of everyone’s favourite baked goods. He writs in extra notes about how Patton really likes just about any dessert that involves pastry because yum, how Virgil prefers chocolate desserts when his anxiety is running particularly high but on good days prefers berry tarts, how Roman adores cinnamon rolls and anything that has a kick or spice to it, and how Remus loves to have as many gummy worms in chocolate mud pies as possible.

But somehow, he keeps overlooking Deceit. Deceit, who has one bad day after another. Deceit, who keeps messing up and hiding because he’s afraid they’ll yell at him. Deceit, who everyone hates. Deceit, who cries when no one’s around and lies about it. (What’s wrong with you, Deceit?” “Maybe I’m a liar.”). He doesn’t mean to, it’s just that Deceit isn’t around the other Sides much.

Then one day Patton asks if anyone’s seen Deceit, Thomas needs to lie about forgetting to study. And the Sides realise no one’s seen him in days. They elect Logan to find him, and Logan looks.

And looks.

And looks.

And looks.

And l o o k s.

And finally, finds Deceit in his room, curled up into a ball on his bed, crying while wearing one of Virgil’s hoodies.

“Deceit?” Logan knocks lightly, and feels ashamed when Deceit flinches.

“W- what did I do wrong th- this time?” Deceit chokes out through his tears, and Logan belatedly realises Deceit has feelings.

Deceit has feelings, and not one of the Sides has ever said a kind word to him. Deceit has feelings, and the Sides might very well have made him depressed because of their insensitivity.

Deceit has feelings, and Logan makes a choice to try and help him. He’s just as important as the other Sides, isn’t he?

“We’re worried about you. No one’s seen you in days…” Logan trails off, unsure how to continue.

“How long?” Deceit asks in the choked up voice Logan is trying to get used to.

“What?” Logan doesn’t know what he means.

“How long did it take you to notice I was gone?” Deceit asks.

Logan can’t lie, Deceit will know if he does.

“Today. Patton brought it to attention because Thomas needs to lie.” Logan says, knowing Deceit will want the full truth.

“Do you want to know how long I’ve been in here, hoping one of you would notice? And when you finally do, it’s only because you need me to do something?” Deceit says, and Logan is slowly getting used to the choked up voice.

Deceit won’t lie about this, Logan knows. He doesn’t know how to act, and that means he doesn’t know how to fake the pain in his voice.

“How long?” Logan asks, sitting on the edge of the bed and knowing he won’t like the answer.

It still comes as a shock when he hears it.

“Three months.” Deceit whispers, and starts crying harder.

Logan doesn’t know what to do. His usual choice would be to bake something, but he doesn’t know what type of dessert Deceit likes.

He suddenly realises no one knows what Deceit likes to eat. Have any of them even seen Deceit eat anything?

“Deceit…” Logan wants to hug the deceptive side, knowing instinctually that this isn’t a trick.

They didn’t notice he was gone for three months. Twelve weeks. Eighty-four days. Two thousand sixteen hours. One hundred twenty thousand nine hundred sixty minutes. Seven million two hundred fifty-seven thousand six hundred seconds. Deceit was alone for every single one.

“Y- you’re gonna yell a- at me.” Deceit hiccups.

“No, no. I promise I won’t.” Logan tells him, hoping the depressed Side will hear he’s telling the truth.

Deceit looks at him, and tries to smile. It comes out broken looking. Logan hugs him, hoping it will comfort Deceit.

“W- what?” Deceit sniffs, and Logan holds the Side as he cries more.

“I’m so sorry we didn’t notice sooner, De.” Logan tries out a nickname he’d been using in his head to make the Side seem less evil.

“W- why are you touching me? I th- thought you hated me…” Deceit’s crying, and Logan’s heart breaks.

“I never hated you, De. I just didn’t like the lying.” Logan says truthfully, knowing he’ll lose all hope of bringing Deceit back to his old self if he lies.

“I- I didn’t like lying e- either.” Deceit admits through his tears, and Logan holds him for a while longer before moving to let go.

Deceit grabs onto Logan’s shirt, and it worries Logan how weak the hold is.

“Do you want me to make you something, De?” Logan asks, wanting Deceit back to his usual sarcastic self.

“W- will the others y- yell at me?” Deceit whispers, and Logan wants to reassure him they won’t.

But he doesn’t know if they will or not.

“I don’t know. Do you feel up to eating?” Logan asks.

“B- but then they’ll y- yell at me and g- get me in trouble with T- Thomas for being g- gone.” Deceit cries harder if possible and buries his face into Logan’s shirt.

Logan feels like absolute crap when he realises he can count Deceit’s ribs. He’s been starving himself.

“And I’ll defend you. It’s our fault you feel like this, so it’s our fault you’ve been gone.” Logan assures him, and helps Deceit stand.

The Side’s legs buckle under his measly weight, and Logan helps him walk to the others after helping Deceit hang Virgil’s old hoodie up in the closet.

“Deceit, Thomas needs to lie about forgetting to study.” Patton says without looking up.

“First we have to discuss a very big issue. Look at what we made him do.” Logan doesn’t care that his voice breaks.

The other sides (Patton, Virgil, Roman, Remus) look up.

“Good to see you’ve been getting exercise, Deceit. You’ve been getting fat.” Remus says, none of the Sides realising just how skinny Deceit was.

“He hasn’t been getting exercise.” Logan interjects, trying to get them to understand.

“Deceit, you’ve gotten paler.” Roman says with a crease to his brow, starting to catch on.

“Do you want me to tell them how I found you?” Logan asks Deceit quiet enough the others don’t hear, noticing how the shaky Side clings to the newfound comfort he’s giving him.

Deceit looks down and nods.

“He was on his bed crying, thinking we hated him. He’s been starving himself because he’s scared we’ll yell at him if he shows up outside of his room. It’s because of our actions that Deceit is like this.” Logan hates how his voice chokes up, making it hard to say the words.

Unsurprisingly, Virgil is the first to walk towards Deceit. Everyone notices how he flinches away and clings tighter to Logan’s sleeve.

“I- i’m sorry I’ve been b- bad. Please don’t g- get me in trouble w- with Thomas.” Deceit whispers, and the rest of the Sides notice he’s been crying.

Virgil looks hurt upon seeing how Deceit flinches away from him.

Deceit knows Logan hasn’t lied to him since finding him, but the last time he saw the others they were yelling at him for making Thomas lie. They’d wanted him to make Thomas lie in the first place, and then they’d yelled at him for it.

Logan murmurs something to Deceit the others can’t hear, and Deceit nods.

“He hadn't come out of his room for three months before we noticed.” Logan tells them, and even Remus looks like he feels bad for doing that to one of their own.

Patton bursts into tears over what he and the others did.

Deceit still looks like he’s expecting one of them to yell at him. Logan helps Deceit into the kitchen, and then helps him into one of the chairs.

“I could bake you something, De.” He offers, an extremely small, almost genuine smile lights up Deceit’s face.

“B- blueberry?” He mumbles, and Logan beams at the progress then deflates as he remembers Remus ate the last of the blueberries last week.

“I could ask one of the others to buy blueberries, or we could go ourselves. Remus ate the last of them last week. I’m really sorry, De.” Logan frowns, and almost wants to cry when he sees Deceit’s smile disappear.

“...” Deceit mumbles something Logan doesn’t catch.

“Could you say that a bit louder?” Logan asks softly, knownig he can’t raise his voice or Deceit will think he’s mad.

“I- I miss when we p- picked blueberries.” Deceit whispers, and Logan hugs him gently.

“We can go tomorrow if you want? Right now it’s too dark.” Logan says quietly, and lets himself smile when Deceit leans into him.

Deceit nods slightly, and lets Logan back up a bit.

“C- can I have some g- grape juice?” Deceit asks quietly, and Logan looks in the fridge.

He grins when he finds the grape juice too sweet for any of them that they still kept for some reason. It was probably Deceit’s, and Logan made sure to be careful as he brought the cup over to the depressed Side.

“Here you go, De.” Logan says quietly, getting the feeling that Deceit’s ears are sensitive after those few months in silence.

Deceit almost smiles, Logan can tell. He’s really trying to be happy, and that’s all Logan can ask after what they did to him.

“You deserve to be treated just like everyone else here, De. I’m sorry I didn’t realise it sooner.” Logan knows any progress he makes with Deceit will be destroyed the second he lies.

It was ironic that Deceit preferred the truth, but Logan wasn’t going to tease him. The corners of Deceit’s mouth lift up, and Logan almost grins.

“J- Janus.” Deceit whispers, barely loud enough for Logan to hear.

“What?” Logan doesn’t understand.

“M- my name. It’s J- Janus.” Deceit whispers.

Logan feels honoured Deceit- Janus, trusts him with this information. He wouldn't tell the Side’s name until he was okay with it.

“Is it okay if I still call you De? So the others don’t overhear your name?” Logan suggests, and since Deceit- sorry, Janus, can tell he’s sincere, he nods.

“I t- trust you.” Janus wants to smile, he really does.

Logan is showing him the first bits of kindness he’s ever known since being formed as a Side. The first bits of kindness that are directed at him, anyway.

Janus finishes his juice, and Logan gently takes the cup so Janus doesn’t hurt himself trying to help. It really worries Logan how much weight the Side has lost.

“Do you wanna watch a movie, De?” Logan asks, and is surprised at the answer he gets.

“A- Aladdin?” Janus asks, his yellow eyes wide and hopeful.

“Of course.” Logan smiles and helps him off the chair.

Janus wants to get away from the contact; Logan should hate him just like everyone else does, after all. Except he knows now that Logan doesn’t hate him, he only hates the lying. The two steadily make their way towards Janus’s room to watch Aladdin, and Logan knows that Janus is making progress. He let Logan touch him, he let Logan hug him. This much progress in a single day is impossibly good.

After a while, Janus is tired. Logan’s holding him gently, the movie isn’t too loud, he actually feels like one of the Sides care about him. But if he goes to sleep, he’ll wake up and all of it - Logan being nice, someone caring, feeling safe - will have been a dream. He doesn’t want to lose it.

“It’s okay, Janus. I’m right here, you can rest.” Logan murmurs to him, hesitantly placing a hand on the Side’s scales.

Janus welcomes the reassuring touch, leaning into Logan’s hand and relaxing. In his head he knew he was safe, but there was always the fear the others would hurt him. Logan kisses Janus’s forehead, and the smaller Side curls up almost contentedly.

“I won’t leave.” Logan promises as Janus slowly falls asleep, curled into him.

And he means it.

[tokoyamisstuff]

Four Seasons Pt. 1 out of 4 - Spring

After the pretty vague request of a sweet little Anon:

Pt. 1 - Blooming Love

Summary: Collection of shorts about how you spent a surprisingly normal year at the Stark Tower with the Avengers - except for the fact that you somehow got the God of Mischief to take a liking to you.

Warnings: None. No kinky shit, sorry guys. No Angst either. Just pure Fluff.

Words: 2880

(I think I’ve wrote everything gender neutral but I’m not sure. Maybe I forgot sth, let me know!)

Masterlist to my other Fics right ->Here<- 

On a morning ike this, it was hard for you to be asleep for too long.

Rays of sun had already softly woken you up, reminding you that this day would be a special one.

Even though you would’ve loved to sleep late on your day off, your racing heartbeat pumped adrenaline through your veins the very moment your lover’s image shot into your head.

He was the last thing you thought of when you’d close your eyes, and the first thing when a new day began.

Still a bit sleep drunk, you did your usual morning stretches and enjoyed a long shower before you tried to make yourself looking as formidable as possible.

Wandering along the still empty streets of New York, you enjoyed the relaxing silence, while whistling carelessly together with the birds in the trees.

Colours, sounds, even thoughts - that feeling when you were in love, it made everything seem even brighter.

It sounded ridiculous, really - but you had been invited for brunch with the Avengers.

When you arrived at the giant sky scrapper, you’d rummage in your bag to get the ID card Tony handed you and shoved it into the face of the security guard.

“Welcome, Y/N” a robotic voice you recognized to be F.R.I.D.A.Y. greeted you, “But I have to inform that you’re quite early. The other team members are still fast asleep.”

“I’m not a team member” you thought to yourself as you smiled into one of the security cameras, as means to greet it back. The lower floors were completely empty on sundays, being mostly offices and other rooms made for Tony’s employees.

Walking through the pomporous entrance hall, seeing so many monitors and advertisment (of which most of it was Tony’s self-glorification), you could only think about how all of this was way too flashy, too modern for your taste, but well...

That’s just Tony’s taste. His home, his rules. And to a certain extend, you thought, giggling audibly, Loki and him were alike - both full of pride and, if you wanted to be mean, you could say they were little showoffs.

And since last time when you invited them to your flat they almost destroyed everithing during their friendly little strenght battles, you thought it’d be better if from now on you’d become the visitor instead.

“I wonder what Loki’s room looks like” you pondered when the lift was making it’s way upwards to the highest levels.

You walked straight through the giant living room, trying to sneak past the God of Thunder, who seemed to have fallen asleep while watching Netflix and playing Video Games the whole night - again.

Letting out a little sigh, you closed the kitchen door behind you and asked F.R.I.D.A.Y. to play some music as you started to collect the needed kitchen utensils.

Good thing Bucky bought everything you asked of him. Going grocery shopping sounded so easy for every normal human being, yet to Bucky, it was part of his rehabilitation process and you knew it didn’t came easy to him to be in great crowds of people, all by himself.

So you were really relieved that your worries seemed to have been unnecessary.

Actually, Tony wanted to just buy something for breakfast. You’ve never heared of a brunch delivery - even though in your mind it was a damn good idea - but you guessed it was nothing unusual for a man that rich.

He could probably get anything he wanted by just waving his hand - another thing he and Loki had in common, only through different ressources.

But well, it didn’t really feel like work to you. Putting a little effort into telling your newfound friends “Thanks for having me”, was almost as much fun to you as actually spending time with them.

You loved showering those you care about with love and attention, which was probably why you were simply made for that touch-starved, affectionate alien.

Soon, your hum turned into loud singing as you swept across the kitchen counter and prepared all kinds of food. Hours rushed past and still no sign of life from the others, but you didn’t care.

Suddenly, you heared a loud snort coming from the doorframe, startling you to an extend that made you stumble together with a bowl filled with strawberries.

You had already protectively covered your head with your hands - but were confused when you didn’t feel yourself hit the ground.

Looking up, there he was, giving you his usual, smug grin - Loki.

He was holding you tight with his one arm, and even caught the bowl with his other, not even one berrie having hit the ground.

“Oh my” he started, “How clumsy you are.”

The god put the plate on the table and gently helped you get back on your feet, holding your hands thight.

Immediately, you felt your head getting as red as the fruit, finding yourself at loss for words.

He still held your hand, leading one of them to his lips so he could place a tender kiss onto it’s back. “I’m sorry, my love. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Your shocked features relaxed and you gave him a warm smile as response. “It’s okay, darling.” He secretly loved that nickname - but that’d remain his little secret.

“But why didn’t you wake me up?” While you were already working again, having seen the time, Loki would aimlessly walking besides you. “At least let me help.”

Without you even having time to answer, just a flick of his fingers made the silverware reappear at the table.

“I didn’t know a prince would know how to cook. And also, I didn’t want to bother you that early.” At first he thought you were joking, but it seemed like you really didn’t know much about him.

After all, you’ve only been a couple for a short period of time. It’s only natural that you don’t know such details about life in the palace.

All that was part of his past, and you always said that his future was your privilege.

~

It was love at first sight, if one believed in that kind of thing.

You were invited to one of Tony’s “reputation-boosting” parties. As a member of one of New York’s greatest newspapers, it was only naturally for you to get invited.

There you were, a fresh reporter, standing in the same room as this surreal troup. Since you mostly worked from home, writing columns and being responsible for a small part of the newspaper’s website, working in the field didn’t come quite naturally to you.

But that shouldn’t ruin your evening.

Everything on you looked stunning, and you knew it.

The wardrobe you chose for tonight, the way you made you hair - it all was perfect for a celebration this formal.

Usually, you didn’t really give a damn about other people’s opinions, and neither you were one to judge someone’s outer appearance.

No, you rather did this for yourself. To boost your confidence, make this special occasion worth remembering.

You were shining, like a shooting star or a freshly polished diamond - and someone else noticed.

Many glances got stuck on you that evening, with one exceptional one glued to you without you noticing .

Until you disappeared to the bar, he basically stared holes into your back. And that man was a mastermind at magic tricks, so even though you were watching him as well, you’d never realize that your eyes met so many times before.

On Asgard, Loki had attended countless of such gatherings. Yet this one was sheer boring - not to talk about the fact that estimately 90% of the people in this hall would either want to see him rotting in jail, or worse.

So he just stood there, nipping on his drink as he stood at the edge of the troup, his brother being at the very center. Everyone was giving interviews or talked to fans, while he patiently waited for this event to be over.

“I’m sorry” a voice directed to him all of a sudden, carefully tapping his back. It was you.

“What?” he retorted, raising an eyebrow. He didn’t mind a magnificent beauty as you approaching him, but it was a mistery why you’d do such a thing.

“Could...umm...would you take a selfie with me? Please?”

His eyes widened in surprise as he saw your pleading eyes, shyly trying to avoid meeting his as you crossed your arms behind your back. “Only if you want to, of course.”

When he took in your appearance, he took notice of the journalist pass around your neck - and it was even more interesting than your unexpected request:

“You areY/N Y/L/N?”

“Y-Yes. Why?” Your cheeks changing to a shade of pink, there was only to hope he didn’t read-

He touched his chin, as if hardly thinking about something. “If I remember correctly, ,you wrote that certain article about the attack of New York, right?”

Damn.

You’ve always been a fan of norse mythology, and had a special weakness for so-called “anti-heroes”, too. They were just way too relatable. So it was only natural for you to write an article about that certain event.

In your earlier works, you’d basically write about how that guy’s misunderstood and philosophize about not only seeing black and white, because there was also a lot of grey zones in the clash of good and evil.

There were also parts where you worked together with psychologists and moral scientists to assess the god and his deeds, coming to the conclusion that even though we might learn something from the incident, the objectives of gods were far too great to understand for us mere mortals. And that was only the beginning...

How f*cking embarassing.

“That’s right” you stuttered, panicking and already trying to leave. “Sorry, I didn’t want to be impolite. I’ll make my leave.”

“Don’t be a fool” he whispered out of the blue, pulling you towards him. “I was quite flattered to have at least a single admirer amongst the human race.”

Planning to give his probably only fan a memory he’d never forget, Loki put his palm on your lower back, kneeling down to your height so you could take the photo. “Shall we?”

It felt like an eternity until your trembling hands would finally get that cellphone out of your pocket, but Loki realized your struggle and took it - his arms were way longer than yours anyway. “May I?” “Yeah, uh- Thank you.”

His appearance almost had a childlike innocence to it when he posed for these photos - a personal gift to you.

Turning your head, your eyes met once again, both faces being mere inches apart. It didn’t seem like he was mocking you, rather enjoying himself right now. You could feel it.

And at that very moment, the two of you simultaneously began to laugh, loudly and heartily before getting lost in each others eyes - and to this day, it would be your favourite photo. 

“I think the two of us could have very enlightening conversations, don’t you think?” the sorcerer declared as he watched you swipe through the photos, a satisfied smile playing on your lips. “If you want to go somewhere more interesting, I’d be a honour to guide you to a room with more privacy.”

One nod of you and just like that, in the midst of the festives, the two of you disappeared together, without anyone taking notice.

You had found yourself on top of the stark tower, being able to watch the whole city from the roof. Stars stretched far beyond the horizon, making the lights of the city seem so insignificant.

And on the end of that evening, the Prince of Asgard even managed to steal his first kiss from you - even though only on the cheek.

None of you knew what the two of you just started, or what you should await for the future - but Loki could voice both of your hopes very well:

“I think this is the beginning of something unimaginably fulfilling.”

~

Lokis words brought you back to the present:

“What’s sleeping worth if the real dream is right here at my side?”

While you were standing at the stove, making some more pancakes, Loki would embrace you from behind, his nose nestling against your neck, making you shiver. 

“How cheeky” you mumbled as both of you turned your head so your cheeks could touch.

“You foolish humans just don’t appreciate real romance anymore.” With those words, he’d kiss your temple as he changed his appearance into what resembled a cook. “Now finally, by the gods, let me help you!”

“Yeah, yeah, I see. You’re such a gentleman. And a comedian, too. Maybe you could prepare the scrambled eggs?”

“Your wish is my command, my lady.”

While you watched him eagerly trying to crack the eggs without getting all the shells into the pan, your head shifted back to that first night.

If you looked at him right now, no one would believe you that he’s a literal god, a master of the magical arts and a sharpwittted combatant.

But back then, on that rooftop of the Stark Tower, you knew that no matter what exactly he was, and what secrets e’d still be keeping to himself - you wanted to know anything about this man.

And it was set in stone that you’d fell in love with every facade of him.

A little bit exhausted, you let yourself fall onto the sofa in the living room. Thor has probably gone for his early training, and there was no one else to be seen either - all of them seemed to have been sleeping late.

It was a wonder no one had smelled the food and simply annihilate it even faster than it had been prepared. But when you watched the whole scenery at the kitchen table, you were pretty damn proud of yourself.

“Truly magnificent” Loki commented as he sat down next to you, adding “You must value your companions very much.”

“Maybe I was just trying to impress you, you know.” You rested your head at the most comfortable place possible - Loki’s lap, while he gently stroke your hair. “You’ve done well, little one. But you don’t have to go to such lenghts to impress me. My respect is meant only for you.”

He pressed a gentle kiss onto your temple before leaning onto the backrest, wondering “How about we just disappear? A day for just the two of us?”

“Well...” you pondered as you got up, your hand still resting on his knee “I wanted to go for a walk in the park. Maybe you’re up for a traditional picknick?”

Loki’s face contorted in disapproval, which only caused you to blurt out a laugh and pinch his nose. “What’s wrong now, moaning minnie? Not fancy enough?”

“You call that cheap excuse of nature a place someone wants to be? Oh my, I wish you could’ve seen the royal gardens of Asgard.” You knew he missed his home painfully, even though he used to say that you were his home from now on, and he wouldn’t need anything else. It was hard to adapt to an environment that alien to him.

Suddenly, like he did many times before, he cupped your cheeks with his hands, his fingertips only barely touching your temples, assuming “Or maybe, I can show you...”

You felt his magic flow through you, projecting the most beautiful images directly into your head. It was like you could wander those woods yourself, feel the grass onto your feet and smell flowers you’ve never seen before.

There were no words for the bond that two of you shared at that moment, when he let you into the core of his very self, letting you see his memories through your eyes.

Calmness began to settle in both of you, exhaling deeply before your eyes met once again.

“That was amazing, Loki. You are amazing.”

“I don’t have much to offer, my love. But I’m willing to share everything remotely positive with you, Y/N.”

You could feel the cold he was radiating, his fastened breath on your skin. His hands still on your face, you were even able to feel his heart racing through his veins.

Finally, the glimmer in your eyes hinting consent, he’d slowly move himself closer to you, not letting go of you for one second. His hold got tighter as your lips were just about to meet, when-

“Oh my GOD! Guys, they’re finally at it!” Scott yelled through the whole hallway, and you could hear metaphorically a thousand doors opening in response. He was still wearing his Frozen-Pyjama, holding a mug with Natasha’s forbiddenly strong coffee in his hand.

It was so intriguing to them, how anyone could win the heart of the God of Lies -until he met you, they were doubting he even had one. So in an instant, the whole team of superheroes had surrounded you, as if to watch a romantic movie together and waiting for the final sequence. 

“I need a coffee before I’m able to deal with you guys.”

“That makes two of us.”

_____

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