#every time that this happens he wants to launch himself off a bridge and drown himself

[ut-girl666]

Inspired from a clip out of Matt Rose’s “PART TWO: Twitter trying to say MORE things at the same time”:

«—-–-—»

Hotlink and Nacelle (both young little 🏳️‍⚧️ MTFs): *proudly showing their good work off to their mentor (Starscream)*

Starscream: *wants to say ‘good job’ to show things are still the same, and their change of gender hasn’t changed his care for/pride in them, and also wants to say ‘good girl’ to affirm them as femmes now, and show that he’s supportive of them*

Starscream: *What comes out:* “GOOD GOD”

Star internally: NOOOOO YOU FUCKING IDIOT, IM GOING TO GO FUCKING KILL MYSELF-

HL & N: *start crying after this has happened for the second time this week and 12th this month, and go sob to Megatron, very desperate for some assuring words from someone important*

Star: *still mentally berating himself, before he realizes, and runs after to frantically apologize to them… where they are now being halfway cradled into the sides of an angry gladiator growling at him*

(video clip for reference under the cut)

[tarosin]

the great adventures of y/n tommy wilbur and george - the water olympics

requested:yes/no

part 9 to the great adventures series

warnings: cursing, a suicide joke (the one george made in the vlog)

you were currently sat in your bedroom editing a video for your youtube channel however someone had different plans as you heard your parents talking to someone telling them you were in your room and that they could go straight up

“Y/N ITS ME CAN I COME IN”

you laughed before getting up placing your laptop on your desk before opening your door letting your friend inside.

“what is it with people randomly showing up where I live”

“ill have you know I asked your parents”

“Pfft yeah okay Tommy sure you did. anyway I’m glad you’re here editing was beginning to make me want to throw my laptop”

“you are honestly so dramatic pass us your laptop I’ll edit for you if you let me stay the night as it’s about to rain”

“you brought a backpack with you...you clearly planned on staying the night anyway but yes it’s a deal”

Tommy laughed before sitting on your bed waiting for you to bring the laptop over and sit next to him keeping him entertained as he edits for you. it was around late afternoon when he finished editing the video and you spent the entire time telling him about your merch plans and getting the sizes and items he’s going to want as you were planning on sending him some when you’ve agreed on a final design and products

“all done I want full credit for editing”

“hey I edited like a whole 3 minutes of the video..fine fine just stop staring at me like that”

the two of you realised it was a little late and neither of you wanted to cook anything so decided to go to a local restaurant. a few hours later you arrived back home it was pretty late now so your parents had gone to bed so you had to keep reminding each other not to yell, once in your room the pair of you collapsed onto your bed, you rolled over to face Tommy

“So why are you actually here huh, what’s going on in that mind of yours”

“I know it’s short notice but tomorrow afternoon would you like to go to this inflatable water course with me will and George”

“I don’t have anything else to do so I’d be more than happy to come with you guys what time do we need to be awake, we may as well set an alarm now in case we fall asleep as I tend to sleep in really late”

“I’ve got it don’t worry about it”

Tommy set an alarm as you logged into Disney plus so you and Tommy could watch tv for a while before deciding on sleeping arrangements, you put on the good dinosaur and instantly regret that decision as you began ranting to Tommy about how the films depressing. soon enough the pair of you fell asleep.

at 9 am Tommy's alarm went off waking the pair of you up

“y/n get up we’re going to a lake”

“Okay okay I’m up”

Tommy went to the bathroom to get ready so you could get ready in your room a few minutes later you both made your way downstairs grabbing a snack you could eat whilst you waited for your taxi to arrive. the pair of you arrived at the lake first, George arrived next and that’s when you noticed Wilbur show up and George beginning to record what’s happening

“Tommy is he wearing a suit?” you tilted your head to the left as Wilbur stepped out of the car

“it worked George”

“Why are you wearing a suit?”

“for the meal”

“we’re not doing the restaurant”

your eyes widened and you tried to hide your laughter as Tommy said he couldn’t change as he only hired three wetsuits, you all made your way to get your wetsuits, Wilbur reluctantly following you all as soon as you all stepped in several people began to stare at you all

“they’re staring at me because I’m wearing a suit”

George laughed before telling him it could also be because your hair was awfully similar to a highlight. you lightly hit his shoulder before rolling your eyes

“rude”

you laughed as you went away to get changed returning a few moments later

“I’m ready boys oh they gave will a life jacket”

“Why do you sound so disappointed”

“you not a fan of drowning then?”

“no, I’m not!”

Tommy grabbed your hand and ran towards the water before jumping in taking you down with him

“TOMMY I HATE YOU”

“HELP ME”

“NO SUFFER”

soon enough will and George made it onto the inflatable, Tommy tried to film his intro however the fact you and George were jumping in the background made it rather difficult. Tommy ran to Wilbur who pushed him into the water

“HA GET FUCKED”

you made your way across but saw Tommy in the water making you laugh which made you fall in the water too

“well hello again y/n”

“Hello Tommy funny seeing you here”

George managed to help you up whilst Wilbur pretended to help Tommy up before walking away. Tommy just held onto the inflatable whilst looking at you

“fine”

you reached your hand out and helped him back up onto the inflatable.

you made your way across the bridge Wilbur not far behind you so he could push Tommy off of the bridge into the water, he did but fell with him, you fell over laughing as George went to help Wilbur but ended up falling in himself. you George and Tommy ran to a high point of the course which will wanted you all successfully defended it and even managed to push will into the water. you and George weren’t the best at this course you had fallen three times and George fell twice

“look at them both”

Tommy turned around to see you and George in the water again as the pair of you fell once back on the inflatable you both made your way back to the others however George slipped and grabbed your arm trying to stay up ultimately dragging you down with him

“When is it my turn to be happy”

you all made your way to the canopy without falling, well that was until Tommy decided to lean on it causing it to fall into the water taking Tommy with it

“bye tom”

“he’s stuck save him”

“Nah this is funny”

Wilbur ended up helping him by making it so he could actually climb onto the inflatable

“you’re embarrassing us in front of the lifeguards”

you made your way across the course this time you didn’t fall as much as you did earlier on in the day, Wilbur went to push Tommy into the water again however this time you and George decided to get payback and attempted to side tackle him so he fell into the water

“bye will”

will finally got back onto the inflatable and pulled you aside

“We should form an alliance...I wouldn’t leave you behind”

“deal”

“When I say meet you there you start running the course I'll make sure you don’t fall”

“understood let’s do this”

you got ready to go as will told Tommy and George that the truces weren’t working and there was only one way to settle it

“meet you there”

you started running across the course you were doing surprisingly well, Wilbur only had to prevent you from falling once and that was because you lost balance over one obstacle

“I've got you! keep going”

eventually, you both turned around to see that Tommy and George finally set off and were making their way to you both

“we’re team weak..strong every day of the week”

you managed to contain your laughter as George fell as soon as Tommy said that

“we’ll be team pussy”

soon enough they caught up you and will went to push Tommy into the water however George snuck up behind you both and pushed you into the water

“ah yes water my good friend we meet again”

will helped you up first then you helped him up will noticed George fell and went to push him in the water whilst you made your way to Tommy

“I call this the leg turrent”

“you plan on doing this forever heh?”

you helped George back up whilst Wilbur tackled Tommy further down the course

“oh Tommy is still on the floor”

“what have you done to him”

you made your way to Tommy with George only to hear Tommy yell about the art of deception followed by a splash and Tommy's laughter. George got up to go get the drinks but fell again then stood up slowly turning to face you all

“that was called comedy.. I'll go get the drinks kills myself”

“the hydration is good”

“ah thanks, George you see I’ve personally been spending the majority of my time in the water”

Tommy ran over to you all then fell into the water making you all laugh followed by Wilbur telling him to complete the line about how many people are and are not subscribed to his vlog channel

“When did George fall into the water”

“How are you guys feeling for a race”

“I’m down”

“right you and George are going to run that way around, y/n and I will run this way and we’ll meet at the nub we fought for”

“winner gets to launch the other of that big floppy thing”

“GO”

Tommy and George ran off before you two however you and will made it to the nub before the others, mainly because neither of you fell and worked together.

“come across Tommy we will let you have the win if you make it across that”

Tommy ran at the bridge however he fell three quarters over the bridge

“oh fucking hell”

“he tried”

you and will helped Tommy up however George ran over

“George you’re ruining the moment” Wilbur pushed him over the edge into the water

“bye again George”

“let’s go back to the nub”

“I think me and y/n technically won”

“friends?”

“friends”

Tommy decided to shake hands with will and made you go over to him so he could give you a hug you stood with will filming Tommy for the outro you waved bye to Tommy as he fell a rather long distance into the water, once will stopped recording he pushed you into the water from the same height

“WILL I'M GOING TO KILL YOU”

once you all dried off and got ready you and Tommy made your way back to yours as it was late you agreed Tommy may as well stay the night again, the pair of you spent the night playing games together and arguing about who won the game you missed spending time with just Tommy and he missed spending time with you so you were both incredibly thankful he decided to come over to yours a few days earlier than expected.

taglist:

@l0ver0fj0y @etheriaaly @xx-smiley-xx @hawarun @kylobensgirl @cawcaw-pretty-thing @reverse-iak @renleicrashed @c1loudee

[startreckobsessed]

Storm

Summery: feelings are brought to the surface when the malicious mirror verse version of Bones materializes on board the enterprise due to an Ion storm, and sets his eyes on the reader.

Pairings: Bones x reader, Uhaura x Spock, Jim x Jim.

You had been traveling from your quarters to report for dupty, when the enterprise had lurched, sending you hurtling into a wall. Your audible gasp was drowned out by the emergency sirens, bathing the blue metallic walls in red when they flashed. You grimaced, bracing your arm against the wall until the ship was righted, sprinting down the corridors until you skidded into the elevator, slamming the button to the bridge floor. Your breathing became louder as the doors slid shut, only hearing the dull echo of the sirens outside, before the doors opened again, throwing you back into the throng of chaos.

Ensigns rushed past, Jim standing at the center, shouting orders above the blaring noise as lights flashed.

The floor tremored under your feet as you spotted Nyota at her station.

"What's going on!" You shouted, clinging to the edge of her station. "Ion Storm!" She said, typing furiously on her keyboard. Your eyes searched the crew, heart pounding in your ears until they landed on Dr. Mccoy, on his knees helping an red shirt dress a wound in his leg. Your panic settled some.

The ship rocked again, sending you crashing to your knees. Uhaura's worried eyes flashed to you, but you waved her off. Caught spotted commander Spock sneaking a glance at Nyota as he stood next to kirk, advising him.

The ship lerched forward and you began to loose your footing as the ship tipped, "No!" Uhaura spun around in her chair, latching onto your hand, nose scrunching in concentration, the stitching on her shoulder belt began to rip as she struggled to keep hold of you, people slid past. Her jaw clenched "aaahhhhh!" She let out.

Something in the atmosphere shifted when the ship evened out with a groan, the alarm falling silent, aside from the sounds of the ship, red lights still flashing, creating an eerie feeling. Slowly murmurs filled the silence, The doctor and captain slowly making rounds to check the crew for injuries.

You looked at uhaura, hoping your eyes could convey your gratitude as Spock made his way closer. She unstrapped herself, standing as his eyes roamed her form, arms securely behind his back. "Lieutenant." He nodded. "You are unharmed?" A smile lifted the corners of her lips. "Yes, Spock I'm alright."

From behind Spock, in your peripheral you saw a blue shirt stretched over a wide chest. You lifted your eyes and met his. You involuntarily sucked in a breath; but before he could come any closer-

BOOM

Blinding, golden light exploded, only a few yards to your right. When the glow faded, a stunningly familiar pair of eyes found yours, and you froze in place. He heaved a breath, before demanding with a ragged voice. "Where the hell am I?"

Jim's eyes instantly shot to McCoy hoping for an awenser. "Bones?" Leonard shook his head, mesmerized. You carefully pulled out your phaser, aiming it towards the floor as you slowly approached.

"I am security officer Y/L/N of the USS Enterprise. Identify yourself." His gaze flashed to you, eyes roaming your body. A smirk pulled at his lips as he licked them. "Mmm, so this is the other you, eh? So... pristine." He chuckled.

You took a moment to study him, a pink puckered scar ran through his left eyebrow and just shy of the corner of his eye. His uniform was the same blue, and on the left side of his chest was a red pin, a sword pierced through a red sphere. There were several other pins you couldn't identify. Waist down his uniform was splattered with blood, even coated in his fingernails. Even if he wasn't soaked in blood, the hunger in his eyes made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end.

You raised your phaser to aim at his chest, commanding in a hardened voice "identify. yourself. now." It was deadly silent as his eyes roamed the crews faces. His eyes drifted back to you.

He hummed, taking a step towards you. Leonard emerged from the crowd, quickly standing beside you. He kept coming until your phaser was pressed against the plains of his chest. You gulp, keeping your grip steady. Logically, you knew it wasn't him, well, the him you trusted, he was standing beside you. But you couldn't help the twinge of panic at the thought of pulling the trigger.

In a flash his hands snatched the phaser from your hands, the panic clouding your judgement and the sweat clicking your hands failing to keep hold. A cry left Leonard's lips as the double yanked you forward, you stumbled and he gripped your face, spinning your body around and pressing the phaser against your temple. Your hands automatically went to the hand that was holding a bruising grip on your jaw, the side of his hand jamming into your airway. He turned his face and took a whiff of your hair.

You cringed, automatically trying to turn your head, but failing. "Let her go!" Jim demanded in a deadly voice youd never heard him use before, stepping forward. His eyes were hard, furious. You were his friend.

"You've made your point; let her go so we can negotiate." "Hmm." He hummed in a mocking tone. You could almost feel him smirking. "No. I think I'm going to have some fun with this one."

As they had been talking your hand had slowly drifted up your skirt, to the hidden set of knives on your thigh. Without any sudden movements your flipped it around in your fingers. Thankfully everyone knew better than to give you away, or they hadent noticed, keeping their eyes on him and the phaser agains your head. You slowly lifted the knife, and slammed it down into his thigh.

Blood gushed from the wound, spraying your fingers as he howled. You twisted around, snatching it back from his hand as he fell to his knees. He spit at your feet, which you smoothly sidestepped. He propped himself up on one hand, his other going to the gushing wound on his thigh. "What are my orders captain?" Your voice came out steadier than you expected, the crew had gone silent first in horror, then in awe.

His chest heaved, "Lock him up." He growled, two red shirts coming and placing him in cuffs as you watched. As he was led away and shoved into the elevator, he gave you one last smirk that made your skin crawl, it felt like there were bugs scuttling across your skin.

You look back to your captain, finally starting to shake. His eyes softened as you sank to the bridge floor. "Bones." Jim said, not taking his gaze off of you. "Check her over. We don't know what he brought over with him." Your eyes are glazed over, staring at the floor, but you can see Leonard nodding mutely from the corner of your eye.

A pair of feet slowly approach as he crouched in front of you, soothingly warm hands curling around your arms, gently pulling you to stand.

You both silently stepped into the elevator, you stared into space until he turned, hands going to your arms again, this time in attempt to comfort. You both stared into Each others eyes and your heart slowed, along with time. As you stared into his eyes, you realise for the first time just how much brown was in them, and how much you liked it.

The elevator doors slide open, and the moment is broken. He smoothly let's go of your arms and trades it for threading his fingers through yours, and pulling you into the med bay.

During every scan and test he can think of, you let your mind go numb again, thoughtlessly following his soft directions whenever you needed to.

You both stay in stewing silence for a while, before he cleared his throat softly. "I'm so sorry that happened Y/N. I would never want to hurt you, i-" he shook his head. "I can't even think about it." You looked at the ground before forcing your eyes back up to his face, remorse in his eyes. "No." The word flew from your mouth. "I know you wouldn't. I've always felt safe with you. Even when we were strangers." You took a steadying breath and sat up straighter, reaching up to pull down his face. His eyes flashed with surprise, then they softened, his lips falling open.

He sighed sweetly, and you opened your eyes, meeting his. You both grinned.

You placed your fingers on both sides of his jaw, your eyes fluttering closed as you pressed your lips to his. He tenses in surprise for a moment before relaxing into the kiss. When you part, neither of you open your eyes.

His face slips from your hands, your fingers hovering in place, eyes still shut, tingling warmth on your lips. Neither of you opened your eyes for a moment, basking in the feeling of the others lips. The feeling of finally hovering in the air.

A knock echoed through the room, and he scowled, going to go awenser it. You chuckled, watching him go.

Nyotas appeared, worry lines marring her face. Her fingers fiddled together as she asks "how is she?" Leonard opens his mouth to awenser but you cut in "I'm fine, Nyota." Her eyes widen and she looks over his shoulder and skirts around him to tackle you in a hug. You wind your arms around her neck. She shakes her head as she leans into you. "That scared me so bad when he grabbed you." She untangled herself from your grip, looking you over herself. "I'm fine." You repeated, before the clones face popped back into your mind. You gulp, looking at her seriously. "Where is he? Is he still on the ship?" She nods. "Personally, I vote for launching him out of the airlock. Jim shut me down, but I could tell he was considering it himself."

You looked away from them. "We have to find a way to send him back." She agreed. "Scotty is trying to figure out the math. He says it'll just be a few hours."

You took a deep breath "I want to see him."

"No!" They said Simultaneously. You huffed slightly. "We need to know more, and he seemed to recognise me. Mabry I can get information from him." Leonard narrowed his eyes, but Uhaura pursed her lips in thought. "Thats... not a bad idea." Her eyes shot to Leonard. He shook his head at both of you. "No. No. No. Your not going." He said crossing his arms. It reminded you of a picture he had of Joanna giving that exact look when she was three.

"Yes. I am." You said gently, standing from the bed and going to cup his cheek. "And it will be fine. He'll be behind glass, and you'll be beside me." His eyes wavered for a long moment before he sighed, giving in.

When you arrived you were greeted with the sight of the clone incased in the same glass prison that Kahn had been in. Spock and Jim stood a dozen feet away, heads bowed in discussion with hushed voices. Spock stood with his hands behind his back, Jims fist was smashed into his mouth. When the doors slid apart, announcing your arrival they both glanced up. Spock bowed his head towards you, and kirk nodded at you and then Nyota and Leonard.

Nyota went to stand beside Spock "have you found out anything yet?"

"Nothing." Jim says. "He won't even talk to me." You nodded, eyes flicking to the clone, who met your gaze head on. You looked back to your captain "Let me try. He seems to have a.... firmiliarity with me." He bites his lip, considering. "Alright. Give it a shot."

You stood up straighter, bringing your shoulders back as you marched toward him, only stopping when glass stood only a few inches away. You could feel Leonard behind you, and could almost picture the scowl he was surely radiating at his other self.

"Identify yourself."

He smiled. "Dr. Leonard Haratio McCoy of the ESS Enterprise." "Alright. How do you know me. Who am I in your universe?" "A traitor to the Empire. An agent of the rebellion called the United federation of planets." He spit. "And I executed you."

Your heart thunded unevenly. "You did?"

"Yes. After a throurough interrogation." He grinned, tilting his head. "I enjoyed making you scream."

"Your enjoying this, aren't you?" You ask, knowing he was. "Just a bit." His gaze drifted over your body, and you felt Bones' hand settle on your back, and goosebunos rose on your body. You weren't sure which Leonard had caused it.

"I remember every second of taking you apart. Unraveling you." He murmurs, and you realise his eyes have a tad more copper in them than bones does, it makes the glint in his eyes more animalistic.

He doors hiss open and you look over your shoulder to see Scotty jogging in. "I've got everything under control sir."

Leonard's hand takes your and he murmurs "let's go." Before pulling you away, but you couldn't help one last look at the double, as his eyes followed you out of the room.

"Are ye ok lassie? I heard what happened" Scotty said, following you both out of the room. "Yes, Scotty thank you." You say, squeezing Leonard's hand. "C'mon then." Scotty says "let's go say goodbye to yer friend." He says.

They had build a singular tube, set up on a platform, it reminded you of the energizing pad in the bridge, with tiny tubes inside containing the same red dancing Ions from the storm ready to be released. You watched from another room behind a one way mirror, Leonard stood behind you, hands rubbing up and down your arms as the double was marched up into the tube, the door closing behind him. The ions were released and swarmed him, but just for a split second, his eyes stared into yours and you cringed.

Then he was gone.

You turned into Leonard's chest, balling up the back of his shirt in your hands. "'S okay. It's over." You nodded silently before picking your head up and asking "can we go back to my room? I don't want to sleep without you."

[foursideharmony]

The Cat, the Prince, and the Doorway to Imagination (Chapter 9)

Summary: It's time to end this...

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

Content Warnings: Swordfighting, a wee bit of blood, swearing, total exhaustion

Word Count: 2,738

Read on AO3: here

There was no obvious way to cross. Roman stopped with his toes nearly brushing the surface of the water. “JADIS!” he called across the distance. “Usurper! I, Prince Roman, do hereby challenge you!”

For the briefest instant, a paper-white face appeared in one of the high windows of the castle, displaying a subtle but unmistakable expression of pure disdain before its owner moved out of view again.

Roman was crestfallen, but Virgil moved up alongside him, saying “Pfft, rude.”

“I would have thought she'd be thrilled to take out her vengeance on me.”

“I'm sure she is...but she wants to do it on her terms. Why answer an open challenge when she can wait a while and then ambush you when you least expect it?”

“Well, she's getting an open challenge whether she wants one or not. I just have to figure out how I'm getting to her.”

Logan tossed a pebble out into the water. It made a very satisfying plunk, with rows of even ripples. “The water is at least a few feet deep. I recommend against swimming or wading—immersion in liquid that supports a large quantity of floating ice is almost certain to cause hypothermia.”

“Maybe we can somehow get the ice chunks to line up and form a bridge...?” Roman suggested, but he didn't sound confident.

“Can't you just make a bridge? Or a boat or something?” said Patton. “Now that you're back to being the Creativity we know and love?”

Roman made an exhalation that was halfway to being a sob and said, in a voice with a hairline crack, “I suppose it can't hurt to try...”

He closed his eyes, cupped one hand beside the other as though sheltering a tiny flame, and focused all his power on making something, anything, that would enable them to cross the water. Please...I'll accept anything...a raft...a rope...come on, please!...

He couldn't even say who or what he was begging, but whatever it was...it answered. Roman knew his attempt had worked—more or less—when he heard Patton snicker behind him. He opened his eyes and turned around.

Roman hadn't known what to expect, but he definitely had not expected a buff-colored mushroom the size of a dinner table for eight, with Logan examining it curiously and Remus poking the spongy substance and giggling. Roman blinked at it several times before the irony hit him, at which point he abruptly doubled over with guffaws, bracing his hands on his knees in order to keep from falling over.

“Roman? You...good?” asked Virgil.

“I finally made a mushroom!” Roman wheezed. “After all that angst back there...”

“Roman, what are you talking about?” said Logan.

“I'll tell you guys later,” Roman said, straightening up and rubbing fresh tears from his eyes. “For now...” He unsheathed his sword and severed the mushroom's cap from its stalk almost effortlessly. It landed at the water's edge, floating high. “All aboard who's coming aboard!”

They all fit easily enough, though they had to crowd together to keep their feet from getting wet. Roman took up a perch at the side of the mushroom facing the bank, braced his boot against the earth, and shoved, casting them off. Their peculiar vessel spun gently as it drifted toward the White Witch's castle. Now and again an ice chunk would approach, and whoever was closest to it would kick it away, altering both the spin and the drift in little ways. It took several minutes before the mushroom grounded itself in the far side of the lake.

The portcullis was closed, its iron lattice too tight to admit anything larger than a loaf of bread. But Roman was unfazed. He had made a mushroom. He whipped his sword through the air a few times, and a man-sized section of the bars simply collapsed. He led the other Sides through the courtyard—now empty of statues, as though Aslan's spring had freed the petrified creatures without his direct involvement—and down the corridor to the White Witch's throne room.

They were expected.

Jadis sat enthroned, flanked along the dais by the captains and lieutenants of her armies, a fair sampling of the horror monsters Roman had brought to the Stone Table only that very morning. Many of them carried spears, axes, and clubs. Maugrim paced along the floor in front of the dais in an oddly catlike fashion, his eyes never leaving the party as they entered.

“And here he is!” the Witch declared as though Roman had been the topic of conversation in the room. “I knew you would not be long in returning to me, Prince Roman. And you've brought your fellows with you! Tribute, perhaps? They will look lovely in the courtyard.”

Roman marched to the middle of the hall and leveled an accusing finger at her, eliciting gasps from the assembled creatures. “Usurper! Pretender to the throne of Narnia! Why do you still sit there? You have lost—Aslan has returned, your endless winter has given way to spring, and I...” He swallowed. “...I have purged myself of your malign influence.”

“An influence you welcomed,” Jadis said smoothly. There was the faintest hitch of breath behind him, and her smile broadened. “Why, Roman. Did you not tell them how you came to be the White Warlock?”

“Not yet,” Roman said, trying to sound casual about it. “Don't change the subject. The jig is up, Jadis, and you will quit this castle, take your followers, and leave Narnia forever.”

“Or?” she prompted. Her voice was like a shower of slender icicles pattering down from a shaken branch.

“Or face me in single combat. Me, Jadis. The one who stole your power, stole your very being, into myself, when you were on the brink of victory. Duel me for the right to say what will become of you and your armies.”

Something unprecedented happened.

Jadis laughed.

It was nothing hearty or prolonged, just a quick scoffing exhalation, but it was a laugh. “Or perhaps I shall simply ignore your demand, kill you all, and carry on as I have. Aslan's return means nothing with no candidates to place on the thrones of Cair Paravel.”

“You may find that difficult,” Roman said through gritted teeth, “if I drop the scenario right now and all this vanishes.”

“Oh shit, he's going meta!” Remus stage-whispered.

“Watch your language!” Patton scolded.

“Is that an extreme measure?” Logan asked.

“Are you kidding, Five-Eyes? It's the last resort for a creative type! He's talking about scrapping the story before he gets to the ending!”

“Bollocks!” shouted one of the lieutenants, a goblin-esque creature. “If he has that kind of power, why even offer a duel?”

“My reasons are my own,” said Roman. “The point, Jadis, is that you are being offered a chance. You're a proud woman, but suicidally proud? I don't think so.”

All Narnia held its breath as the Witch considered. After a moment that seemed longer than it was, she rose to her feet. “I accept. We shall duel here, and at once. It begins as soon as I descend to the floor.” She began to walk down the steps of the dais, directly toward Roman.

“Weapons only! No magic from either of us!” Roman said hastily.

“Agreed,” said the Witch with the confidence of someone who is stronger and has longer reach than their opponent. She drew her long stone knife from the sash at her waist.

“No one is to interfere!” Roman added, fighting the urge to back away.

“Agreed.”

Jadis's foot hit the floor, and she charged.

Roman launched into motion himself, and met the charge.

That first blow, stone blade meeting steel, threw up a shower of sparks too bright to look at. The Witch pressed Roman until his boots skidded on the frozen floor, and only by reacting immediately, breaking the blade lock and flinging himself to the side, did he avoid being stabbed then and there.

He rolled onto his back—and she was on him, forcing him to block again, one hand grasping the hilt of his sword, the other awkwardly pincering the blunt edge of the blade. He managed to get his knee up and threw her off, over his head, while ruthless physics sent him slipping in the opposite direction. He scrambled to rise and got as far as a sitting position just in time to see the Witch roll, turning her tumble into a graceful slide, one leg bent under her and the other extended off to the side, her arms counterbalancing.

Elapsed time of the duel so far: perhaps six seconds.

Lewis really undersold her, Roman found himself thinking lightheadedly.

And now the spectators were finding their voices. The prince's spirits lifted when he first heard Patton crow “You can do it, Roman!”...but in the next instant, it was drowned out by the gibbering howls of the Witch's followers from every side of the room. That was all he was able to register before she came at him again, her knife lashing the air in a pattern almost too complex for him to follow.

Almost...Somehow, he managed to parry every strike and even offer a few ripostes. The very end of the sequence gave him an opening to lunge and swipe—she dodged the blow handily, but his sword sheared off a lock of her coal-colored hair. She shrieked with rage.

“Yeah! Shave her bald!” Remus cackled.

“Not helping!” Roman barked.

But it hadn't really hurt either. The prince was getting the hang of fighting on the slick surface; his footing became surer, his movements more confident, his strikes more forceful. The Witch was taller and stronger and had the home-field advantage, but Roman had the superior weapon—two feet of folded steel compared to eight inches of carved stone—and with his insecurities about the arena ironed out, it began to make a real difference. She could lunge at him with inhuman speed and grace, but if he brought up his blade in time, she had to pull her blow lest the knife break on the sword's edge...and that instant of hesitation would give him an opening. The tide of battle turned, and Jadis began to be driven back within her own throne room. The shouts of alarm from her followers were nearly deafening.

(It was at this point that Maugrim, who was nothing if not loyal, began to slink around behind the rows of spectators, looking for a chance to rush to his queen's aid. He thought he found one and tensed to make his move—only to find himself physically stopped by an arc of steel wrapped around his neck exactly as though he were a wayward sheep. He turned to snarl at the interloper and was greeted by a slit-pupilled eye as frightening as any in the White Witch's armies.

“None of that, naughty puppy,” Janus said in silken tones. “No interference, remember? I'm sure your mistress would much rather you strive to keep her honor intact.”

Maugrim's hackles went up and he prepared to overpower Janus through sheer bulk and muscle, but then...)

A gasp went up from Jadis's followers, followed by an immediate hush that blanketed the entire hall. Roman had disarmed her, sending the stone knife tumbling end-over-end across the chamber. She desperately ducked his sword and scrambled to retrieve her weapon, but it struck the wall point-on, digging deep into the frozen surface and sending out cracks that spread rapidly until a section of ice the size of a mattress was sheared off. It barely missed her as it crashed to the floor and shattered, the impact throwing her off her feet.

She looked up into the tip of a blade. “Yield,” Roman said coolly. “You are defeated.”

“You mean to let me live?” Jadis said with a bitter smile. “You know I would not do you the same courtesy.”

Roman winced almost imperceptibly. “I have caused enough death in Narnia. Yield...quit this land forever, and take your creatures with you.” When he got no response, he thrust his sword at her face, drawing a single drop of blood from her chalk-colored cheek.

“I-I yield,” she said, wide-eyed.

Roman half-turned to address the room, keeping his sword trained on his downed opponent. “You have all witnessed her surrender!” he declared. “This regime is at an end!”

One of the monsters raised a keening wail, an acknowledgment of defeat, and was soon joined by others. Those who bore weapons threw them down, and a few made florid obeisances in Roman's direction.

For the first time in days—since he had first begun to feel that he was being steered toward the role of Edmund—Roman felt the tension begin to bleed out of his shoulders. With the wails of the Witch's followers blending into a sort of white noise in his head, he let his eyes slide closed and his sword arm droop, and took a moment just to breathe—

“Roman! Look out!”

—and his eyes snapped back open just in time to see Jadis springing at him with her wand raised (where had she gotten it from?) and there was no time, no time to do anything but drop his sword and bring up his hands to grab—

There was a flash of light, as bright as lightning at the same distance, and a horrible cracking, crunching sound. When it subsided, Roman and the White Witch stood perfectly still, holding her golden wand aloft between them, her face frozen in a snarl of fury, his in understated alarm that hadn't had time to gel...neither one blinking.

Utter silence reigned in the throne room for a long moment. When sound returned, it was in the form of a whimper. “Both of them...both...” Patton muttered, before he broke the stillness and ran up to the twin statues. He lifted a hesitant, trembling hand to touch Roman's shoulder...

Roman blinked, and sighed, and his posture sagged...not stone after all. He let go of the wand as if prying his fingers free of some powerful glue, and as Patton seized one of his hands in a desperately relieved gesture and the other Sides jogged over to the two of them, his knees began to buckle in slow motion. He wound up in a sprawled kneeling position, his legs bent out to the sides, gazing up at the petrified form of his enemy. Her marble complexion was now literal, her hair sculpted waves of obsidian, her lips a scarlet flaw in the surface of the stone, parted to show more white marble behind.

“I did it...” he said in a tiny voice.

“You did do it!” Patton agreed. “Roman, you were amazing!”

“Indeed, I never realized before just how adroit you are at swordsmanship. Well done,” Logan added.

“I defeated the White Warlock...” Roman continued.

“You mean the White Witch,” said Virgil.

“Yes...her too.” Roman closed his eyes again. He was exhausted. “It's time to go home,” he whispered, or maybe just thought. A proper denouement would have been nice, but his energy well had finally run dry. The throne room slowly faded to white around them.

“Uh...” Virgil observed.

“S'all right,” Roman murmured. “Remus, can you...”

“Brilliant idea, giving Remus an open-ended question,” Janus remarked dryly. Curiously enough, however, the other Creative Side was already drawing lines in mid-air in a hurried fashion. Color and texture filled them in, making the image of a miniature door, about half the size of a normal one.

“Whoops, drew it too far away,” said Remus. “Well, come on, it's not going to pound itself until it bursts open!” He set out at a brisk walk.

Virgil and Patton helped Roman to his feet, one arm over each of their shoulders, and more-or-less carried him the short walk to the door.

“Remus, while we have your attention,” said Logan, begging a rather important question, “I have a more defined question for you. Specifically: five eyes?”

“Yep!” Remus replied, arriving at the door and rapping on it in an uneven pattern that had to be a code of some kind. “The two in your eyesockets, your glasses, and the one on the end of your—”

Fortunately, the door opened before he could end the sentence.

[inkedstarlight]

Bittersweet: Chapter Ten

Summary: It's the first Christmas in six years where the three Archeron sisters will all be celebrating together, and Nesta struggles with feelings of guilt. Also her new neighbor gets on her nerves, making things a little awkward during their Christmas celebration. Notes: Read it here on AO3! Warnings: brief mentions of self-harm and depression, PTSD Bittersweet Masterlist

She stared into the water’s depths. Most pools were crystal blue, lapping quietly under the sunshine. This one was different. The water seemed to be thicker, like it was heavy. Dark like an ocean during a storm. Violent, unceasing. But confined neatly in the underground walls of the pool.

Nesta’s toes were at the edge as she stared into the water with a contemplative stare. She could barely see her reflection on the pool’s surface, for it was distorted and translucent and almost ceasing to exist. No matter how hard she squinted her eyes, she couldn’t tell what she looked like to everyone else.

It was silent around her. So quiet that the only audible sound was her shallow breaths. Just Nesta and the water and the night. She closed her eyes.

But all serenity was lost when hands pushed her from behind, launching her into the pool face first.

 She had been right. The water was heavy. That was the first thing she noticed as she sunk lower and lower into the pool, struggling to keep afloat. Nesta squinted her eyes open but it was dark, as if she were alone in space among nothing but stars.

Except there were no stars below the surface. There was nothing down here.

Nesta tried to use her arms to propel herself upward, to no avail. Her limbs were moving in slow motion, her kicking legs barely moving an inch. She tried and tried and tried, but she only kept sinking downward instead.

 Her throat constricted with terror as she realized she wasn’t going to make it.

Nesta’s feet hit the bottom of the pool. She raised her eyes skyward. Somehow, she could now see what awaited above the water’s surface. The water above was no longer opaque; she could easily see through it as if it were a normal pool. But she knew it was anything but. Nesta noticed that, despite the transparent surface, the black water that directly surrounded her still remained. It was like she was trapped in a bubble of her own darkness, light unable to protrude within.

 A shadow reflected off the pool's surface as a figure approached the edge. Her mother stared down at her. She looked so far away, but Nesta could see every pore of her being. A twisted smile played at the curve of her mother's lips.

 “I told you no one would ever love you.” Her voice was muffled, but Nesta heard it as if it had been shouted into her ears. The words rang in her head, echoing what her mother had said over and over again.

Nesta clutched her wrist instinctively, squeezing tight and feeling nothing. Her lower lip trembled, but no tears escaped her eyes.

You were right, Nesta tried to say. But when she opened her mouth, she only inhaled water. Nesta choked as she felt it drip into her lungs.

A dark figure stepped beside her mother.

“It was your fault,” Tomas sneered down at her. An empty bottle of whiskey was in his hand.

I know, she tried again, only allowing more water into her mouth. Nesta clawed at her throat as if she could release the water that was burning in her lungs.

Her father appeared next.

“You're the most selfish person I know,” he accused. Disappointment was written all over his face. “You are useless to this family."

 Nesta agreed. She choked on another mouthful of water.

Then, she came to the edge of the pool. Her hair was a mousy brown. It could have been beautiful if it weren’t twisted in knots full of neglect. Nesta could nearly see every bone in her body. Her teeth rotting from starvation, her skin bumpy with acne. She was fragile, but her eyes could destroy. Her arms were exposed, red crisscrossed cuts visible all over. It was like looking at Death itself.

“You don’t deserve to live," the girl's voice - Nesta's voice - was cold and unforgiving.

This time, Nesta didn’t say anything. She didn't have to.

She just opened her mouth and invited the water to fill her lungs. A small, haunted smile played at her lips as she drowned.

Everything turned black.

The water went still.

Nesta awoke with a gasp only to be blinded by the bright light of the morning. Sunlight peered through the half-closed blinds and into her dusty bedroom. She looked down to see that the sheets were tangled up around her sweaty body, the comforter thrown completely off the bed. A quick glance at the clock told her it was just past eleven.

She noticed Iroh staring at her from the foot of her bed as if he were waiting for her to wake up. She patted the empty space next to her and he immediately slinked his way closer to her. With a quick nose-boop and a lick on her chin, he purred as Nesta gently stroked his impossibly soft fur. She tried to control her breathing as she comforted Iroh.

Her night terrors were getting worse. She’d always had them, sure, but they’d never been this frequent - nor this vivid - since her undergraduate years in college. Now, they were happening nearly every night. Often enough that Nesta didn’t even bother to try to sleep some nights. She was scared to see what her consciousness had in store for her when she conceded to sleep.

Nesta wiped off the sweat on her forehead and pinched the bridge of her nose. Her head ached painfully, most likely due to the millions of thoughts that were constantly circling in her head. She checked her phone and groaned when she noticed the date. She’d completely forgotten today was Christmas.

With a heavy sigh, Nesta managed to heave herself off the messily made bed. With a quick look at the sheets, she noticed the wet spot on the pillow, most likely from tears that were shed throughout the night.

Pathetic.

Opening her door and padding to the kitchen, Nesta noticed the wreath Elain must've hung on their door. It looked like a massive flower crown rather than a wreath. It screamed "Elain."

Before Nesta could make her way to the fridge to take a couple sips of whatever the fuck kind of alcohol they had, something else caught her eye as she passed the front door.

She stopped dead in her tracks.

“Elain!” she called out for her sister, her eyes still on the door, unwavering.

Elain popped her head from the kitchen archway. Her cheeks were covered in flour, and she was wearing her chef hat. She looked adorable. “Merry Christmas, sleepyhead! What's up?”

Nesta pointed to the very obvious new locks that were now on their door frame. “Did you install new locks on our door?”

Elain followed her gesture and seemed to hesitate. “Er, no... not exactly.”

Nesta tapped her foot on the floor and waited for her to finish.

Elain raised her hands in surrender and sighed. “Okay, okay. Cassian may have come by early this morning.” Nesta’s mouth dropped to the floor. “I tried to pay him but he said it was a Christmas gift.”

Elain must've seen the anger on Nesta's face. She knew – both from what Nesta had told her and the behavior she’d noticed – that Nesta wasn’t exactly a huge fan of Cassian. Sensing that Nesta was seconds away from stomping her way to Cassian's apartment, Elain called out, "Nesta, just wait - "

But she was unable to finish her sentence. Nesta was already storming out the door and up the stairs to the third floor.

Air whooshed in her ears as she climbed up the stairs. She was pissed. No, that was an understatement. She was livid.

Why the fuck did Cassian find the need to insert himself into their lives beyond the “family” dinners they attended? She had no interest in seeing his face outside of Feyre's house. She didn't want him to interfere with her and Elain's lives. It wasn't like they needed help - she certainly didn't need his help.

What’s he playing at?

As she approached Cassian's door, a thought wiggled its way through the angry cloud in her head.

Nesta wondered... wondered if she would have been this bothered if she hadn't awoken to that nightmare this morning. Would she even pay Cassian any mind? Would she perhaps be thankful for what he did?

She scoffed inwardly. No, her moodiness was Cassian's doing. He was responsible. And he was going to pay for pissing her off.

She banged loudly on the door, not a care in the world if she woke up his neighbors.

A few seconds passed before the door opened, revealing Cassian. He was wearing a white tee and low-hanging, grey sweatpants, hair sticking out in every which way. His eyes were red with exhaustion as if he’d only gotten an hour or two of sleep. Dark purple shadows were under his eyes. Gods, he looked horrible.

It was then that Nesta remembered what she’d overheard from Rhys and Feyre’s conversation the other night.

He's not the same.

Do you even notice how lost your own fucking brother is?

I don't want to lose him.

In all honesty, Nesta forgot that Cassian had been in the Marines for five months. Maybe it was because he - along with everyone else - hadn't even mentioned it since meeting Nesta.

On the other hand, his physique was certainly a reminder of the time he served.

But Nesta blocked out her sister and Rhysand's conversation. She wouldn't allow herself to have an ounce of sympathy for this man.

Nesta didn’t waste a second as she shoved a twenty-dollar bill in his face. “Here.”

She was prepared to storm away from him right after, but she paused as he looked down at the money with a puzzled expression. “Uh, what –“

“For the locks,” Nesta explained impatiently. You dumb oaf, she wanted to add.

Cassian looked up from the money and raised a brow at her. Shaking his head, he extended it back to her. “I don’t want it.”

“It’s not a request,” Nesta seethed. “Take the damn money. I don’t want your charity.”

“Charity?” he repeated, baffled. She noticed that his hand tightened around the money he held.

Nesta only narrowed her eyes in response.

He sighed and leaned on the doorframe, realizing that this wasn’t going to be an amicable conversation. “It’s not charity.”

“Isn’t it though?”

“No,” Cassian told her, finality in his tone. He was getting frustrated. Good. “It’s a friendly gesture because I was the one who broke them in the first place.”

They both glared at each other.

“I don’t want to be your friend,” Nesta spat, craning her neck just to be able to glare into his eyes. Gods, he was tall.

“I never asked you to be my friend,” he growled impatiently. His voice was getting louder. Sighing, Cassian tried to compose himself. “Rhys ��� who will more than likely become your brother-in-law – is my brother. That means we,” he gestured between them, “are going to see a lot of each other, whether you like it or not.”

Nesta chewed her bottom lip in contemplation. She wasn’t quite sure what it was about Cassian, but there was something that just… irked her. Maybe it was his arrogant attitude or the way he taunted her or the way he reminded her of herself. Either way, he was a thorn on her side and she wanted him out of her life. But she knew that wasn’t quite a possibility, unless she decided to up and leave her family again.

That wasn’t an option though. Not this time. Not again.

“If I could get your brother out of my sister's damn life, I wouldn't hesitate for a second," Nesta snapped. "But for some reason, Feyre likes your fucked up family. So just stay out of my fucking way, okay?”

She didn't care how cruel it was. She wanted to get a reaction out of him.

She wanted him to hate her.

Cassian stared at her speechlessly for a moment. He opened and closed his mouth, trying to find the words, but decided against it. He turned away to close the door in her face.

Nesta scoffed at his back, just loud enough for him to hear.

Cassian stopped in his tracks, turning slowly to face her once more.

“You know, I thought maybe we could be friends,” he laughed humorlessly. “I thought the locks could be a peace offering. But then you opened your mouth and Gods, was that just a fucking treat,” he spat out before taking a step closer to her. "Insult me, that's fine. But insult my family again, and I'll make the time we spend together a living hell."

Nesta’s fists clenched tightly at his words. "You've already done that."

Cassian shot her a smirk. "What can I say? It's pretty entertaining to watch you lose control."

 Ugh!

“Gods, you’re insufferable!”

“Merry Christmas to you too, Nesta," he sang before slamming the door in her face.

“Fuck you," she told him, but it was too late. Cassian had already gotten the last word in.

It wasn’t until she got back to her apartment did she realize that the twenty-dollar bill had been slipped into the pocket of her jacket.

She cursed Cassian all the way to hell.

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

It was about five o’clock in the evening when Elain and Nesta drove to Mor and Aurra’s house; they took turns hosting every once in a while. It was dark outside, the lampposts on the side of the street providing a soft, yellow glow. In its light, the flurries of snow were visible as they floated down, down, down. The radio was on, a Christmas tune playing quietly in the background. Elain was staring out the window, dessert in lap, as Nesta drove.

Nesta was tapping her thumb on the steering wheel when Elain turned to her.

“You know, we haven’t spent a Christmas together in…” Elain trailed off as she tried to count.

“Six years,” Nesta finished quietly. She didn’t need to do the math. No, she knew exactly how many years ago she’d lost her family.

A contemplative silence grew between them. Nesta shifted uncomfortably, her words hanging in the air.

“Well,” Elain murmured, turning to look at Nesta. She reached across the center console and took the hand that was resting on Nesta’s lap. “I’m happy we’re together. I… I hope we spend the holidays together even after this year.”

We will, Nesta promised silently. She wasn’t sure if it was a promise to herself or to Elain. It didn't matter because she had every intention of keeping it.

They turned onto Mor and Aurra’s street and pulled up to their driveway. There were several cars parked next to each other. Nesta recognized Feyre and Amren’s car. Her eyes slid to the one next to Amren’s. She recognized it from her building’s parking garage. Cassian.

Elain began unbuckling her seatbelt when Nesta stopped her. “I, uh… I actually wanted to give you your gift here,” she explained, biting her lip. “Privately.”

Elain smiled. “Okay.”

Nesta handed her a poorly wrapped box. “I suck at giving gifts, as I’m sure you remember,” she prefaced.

Elain giggled. “How could I forget? That was the best part of every Christmas,” Elain remembered fondly. “Feyre and I would always look forward to getting your gift. Remember that one year you captured all those fireflies in a jar, but when we opened them on Christmas Day, they were all dead?”

Nesta nodded with a little smile "You thought I did it on purpose. You kept screaming 'How could you?!'"

Elain burst out laughing. "I was quite the dramatic."

"No," Nesta murmured. "You're an empath, and I love that about you."

Elain's eyes widened in surprise, but it was quickly replaced by a smile that could melt hearts. "Nesta, I - "

"Just open the damn gift," Nesta joked. Elain conceded, but not before leaning over to plant a small kiss on Nesta's cheek.

Anxiety filled Nesta's stomach as she watched her unwrap the box with a delicacy only Elain could possess.

“It’s…” Elain’s brow twisted as she inspected it. "Cookie cutters?"

Nesta nodded in confirmation. She'd found them online the other week. They were pink plastic formed into different kinds of flowers and very clearly made for kids. But Elain loved pink and flowers, so Nesta was quick to add them to her shopping cart.

"I know that you don't bake cookies that often, and I know they look like they're made for kindergartners, but - "

"I love it!" Elain squealed, clutching them to her chest. "I've never had cookie cutters before!"

Nesta held her breath. "You don't have to pretend like you like them. I have the receipt."

Elain turned her body to her and gave her a reassuring smile. "I'm not pretending. They're from you, and I love them."

The sisters hugged each other before gathering their things and heading to the house.

It was boisterous inside. Christmas music played on the speakers as everyone chatted and laughed with each other. Right as Elain hung her jacket in the closet, Azriel approached her with a smile. She grinned up at him, cheeks flushed as if she'd had a few drinks. He grabbed her hand and pulled her to the living room.

As Nesta walked past the foyer, she saw Cassian talking with Azriel at the bar area. He seemed to sense her stare, because his eyes met hers in just a matter of seconds. She quickly looked away and approached Amren.

"You're looking cute," Amren complimented her as a greeting. Nesta was just wearing a grey knit sweater and dark jeans, her golden hair flowing down her shoulders. She didn't often wear it down.

"You look hot," Nesta shot back with a grin. Amren was always stylish in her clothing. Tonight, she had on a long-sleeved black velvet dress, adorned with a ruby necklace and earrings. "Cute" didn't quite do her justice.

Amren reached behind her and grabbed a full wine glass to hand to Nesta. "Here. You're going to need this."

Nesta gratefully accepted, taking a gulp or two before leveling a stare at her friend. "What does that mean?"

Amren shrugged. "There's always some sort of drama on the holidays. Especially with you and Rhysand in the same room. What's with that?"

Nesta snorted. "I have a feeling my dear sister shared a little too much information about me to her wonderful boyfriend."

"Rhysand can be difficult," Amren agreed, taking a sip from her wine glass. "He just wants to protect people he loves. But with that being said..." Amren leaned in closer and whispered, "He's being a fucking asshole, in my personal opinion."

"Cheers to that."

Just as Nesta was about to tell Amren about her interaction with Cassian that morning, a loud shattering noise interrupted them. Nesta looked to the other side of the room where Elain was staring down at her broken wine glass that had fallen on the floor. Mor came over with a broom and paper towels, and Elain apologized over and over again. Mor just laughed it off and reassured her it was okay.

Everyone resumed their conversations, but Nesta noticed Cassian was frozen in place, his eyes still on the shards of glass that were pooled in dark red wine. He didn't look as though he was breathing, and she saw his hands shaking at his sides. His face was pale like a ghost. He looked... haunted.

Nesta took a step forward but stopped when Rhys walked up to Cassian. He leaned in close and whispered something. Cassian's stare didn't falter, but he nodded absentmindedly at what Rhysand had said. Then, Rhysand guided him into the hallway. And although they disappeared from her view, Nesta found herself continuing to stare in their direction.

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

Nesta was sitting on the couch after dinner, her third glass of wine in hand, when the cushion next to her sunk with someone’s weight. She looked to the left to see Cassian sitting beside her.

Rhysand and Cassian were gone for about fifteen minutes before returning to the festivities. They both came back looking better, though Cassian remained quieter for the rest of the night. No one mentioned their brief absence.

"I know you saw."

Nesta barely heard his whisper as everyone gathered around the tree in the living room. No one was paying attention to them.

"I don't want your pity."

She didn't even look over to him as she responded. "Good. You don't have it, asshole."

Nesta could have sworn she saw him smile out of the corner of her eye.

As everyone began opening gifts, Nesta moved to the armchair that sat in the corner. It had been a long night, and she was utterly exhausted. She observed as everyone traded gifts. Since Nesta had already given Elain her gift, the only other person she needed to give a present to was Feyre. Luckily, Elain's present for her was arriving late so Nesta didn't have to worry about opening that in front of everyone. She'd assumed that no one else would be expecting a gift from her, nor would they give her something. She'd assumed correctly.

It was nearing nine o'clock when only a few gifts remained under the tree. Nesta's heart stopped when Rhysand handed a present to Elain. She knew he hadn't gotten her one, and that was fine. She didn't give a fuck if Rhysand liked her or not, much less if he gave her a Christmas present. But to make it so apparent in front of everyone? To deliberately not give her a gift? Could he be more of a dick?

Nesta willed herself not to turn red with embarrassment as Elain began opening the gift. She didn't even want to know if anyone noticed.

Elain thanked Rhysand after unwrapping the customized cookbook stand. It was fucking engraved with Elain's name on it. Engraved.

After the final gifts were given out, Nesta looked down at her lap to see what she'd received. Feyre had gotten her a $20 gift card for gas. And that was it.

She didn’t belong here. It was like they were sending the message to her in all caps.

But then Amren threw something at her. And it wasn’t a softball toss – no, she chucked it at Nesta. Caught off by surprise, Nesta just barely caught the neatly wrapped package. She merely looked down at it before raising her eyes to where Amren sat.

Her friend was smirking and tilted her chin at the gift, silently demanding Nesta to open the damn thing.

Everyone watched with curiosity as Nesta opened her gift. She held up what was inside and inspected it.

It was a homemade bracelet. The kind that six-years make for their friends. Only, instead of multi-colored beads, they were just black. And instead of the words "BFFs Forever" or some shit, it said, "Amren is my best fucking friend."

Nesta stared at it. Then she laughed. Not a fake one. A real, loud laugh. A sound she hadn't made in months. It was brief, but it took everyone by surprise.

She grinned across the room at Amren, whose eyes were full of mischief.

Thank you, Nesta mouthed.

Whatever, bitch, Amren responded with a wink.

Everyone around them began to clean up the wrapping paper that littered the floor. Nesta remained seated. She put the bracelet on and admired it.

If Nesta had looked to where Cassian was sitting quietly on the other couch, she would have seen the ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

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

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[salt-warrior]

WHEN EARTH TURNS TO ASHES

Masterlist

Chapter Eight: Incidents and Accidents

Rain poured outside of the school building, despite the fact that it was snowing back in Colorado. Olympia's weather was much more constant— remaining at a cool, rainy temperature year-round. Kai couldn't imagine living in a place where seeing the sun was an uncommon treasure. He needed sunshine almost as much as he needed air, but maybe that was just because he's grown up in constant sunshine.

The door to the principal's office swung open, and out stepped a large, smiling man resembling the Wolf on his door placard. Kai turned wary; he didn't much fancy going into a principal's office after all the time's he'd spent in his own.

It was always Thorne, coming up with a stupid plan and getting them sent to the principal. Kai tried fruitlessly to convince him to stop, but in the end they would always be back up in front of Principal Konn.

"Kaito Crown?" The man's voice came out as something close to a growl. "I'm Alpha Strom." Kai bit back laughter as the principal extended his hand politely— the things that some hippies did. Kai shook the man's hand, and found that he had a pleasantly business-like firm handshake. It reminded Kai of his father.

"You can just call me Kai," Kai said. "Only my dad ever calls me that; and my old school principal."

A bark of laughter split the air, and the two grinned. "I take it you don't have fond feelings for your late principal, then?"

"No, I got along with him fine. He and my father were childhood friends, and he was like another parent to me." Kai thought back on Torin. He was a kind, wise man. He had been there for Kai every moment after his mother had died. "My friend was a major troublemaker, though, so I always had to go and talk with Principal Konn."

"Ah, I see how it is then." Principal Strom winked, gesturing for Kai to enter his office. "Come in and take a seat. I imagine that for whatever reason you're here, it's important."

"You have no idea," Kai muttered. He had planned what he was going to ask the Principal on his five hour flight to Olympia. He had brainstormed about it as he had tried to sleep in his hotel. He had thought about Selene, and how much she was counting on him— or maybe Kai was just counting on himself for Selene.

Strom walked around his large, beat-up desk to sit in a high-backed chair. The seating arrangement looked uncomfortable on his large frame, even though it would have drowned Kai. The room was plain, barren. The only decoration was a flag with the wolf mascot stamped across and the bold letters of OHS. "What would you like to discuss with me today then, Mr. Crown."

"Selene Linh." Kai sat straight up in his chair, mirroring the man across from him. His father had taught him that presenting your best self was one's greatest asset in getting a business deal; Kai hoped that the same applied to gleaning information from an old High School principal.

"She went here about two years back, before–"

"Before she ran away." Principal Strom rubbed two fingers against the bridge of his nose. "I remember Selene. A brilliant girl with a tragic story."

Kai shivered at Strom's words. He didn't appear to hate the girl judging by his demeanor, but he may have just been good with facial masks. "Yes, you see, Selene recently got into a bad car accident. She lost part of her left leg and has severe nerve damage. I just– I'm trying to find someone who cares for her."

The principal stared at Kai, his dark eyes piercing. He was a kind man, but not one to be messed with either. "You may have a hard time with that," Strom said. "Before she ran away, she was constantly bullied, though she never admitted it— too proud to admit. All sorts of rumors were spread about her, and no one ever knew whether or not they were true."

"Were they about how she killed her sister?" Kai asked, his burning curiosity getting the better of him. There was something mysterious about the young girl's death. Something covered up and suspicious.

Principal Strom's face revealed nothing, but his hitched breath showed that the question was shocking. "Yes, they were about Peony Linh."

Kai sat forward in his seat. "How exactly did Peony Linh die? Do you know?"

"No one knows. No one except for the family— they were under strict orders to keep things related to Selene under the wraps until the final adoption papers were completed." Principal Strom looked grave. "Selene and Peony went somewhere; Selene came back alone. No one talked about Peony after that, except for the rumors that spread about Selene having killed her; most of them spread by Pearl Linh."

"Do you think that Selene killed Peony Linh?" Kai asked urgently.

"Personally?" Strom shook his head. "Selene was a fierce girl. I knew her well. But I do believe that she would never have harmed Peony— at least not intentionally."

"Did Selene have a violent past?" Kai cringed as the words slipped out of his mouth. He felt guilty for digging into Selene's past, but he needed to know what was going on. He needed to know her.

"Technically, I'm not supposed to tell you anything about Selene," Principal Strom looked uncomfortable. "But I am willing to tell you what I do know, as long as it's just between the two of us."

Kai nodded fervently.

"Okay, so I don't know much, except for the basics. Her Social Service worker, Liam Kinney, worked his butt off to help her, but trouble always followed Selene. The family before the Linh's, they had wanted to adopt Selene as well, but then there was an incident. I don't know what happened," Strom put his palms flat against the table, cutting Kai off before he could ask. "Kinney kept things tied up very tightly. I would give you his contact information, but I lost track of him about a year ago."

"Like I said, Selene was a kind girl, but dark things always seemed to follow her. Not many people would be willing to tell you much about her; especially not the Linh's. I can, however give you one person who might give you your best shot." Strom pulled out a piece of paper and began to write something down.

"Who would that be?" Kai asked, feeling despondent. He had hoped for more than 'she has a dark past' and 'I can't give you much information.' He wanted answers.

Strom paused from his writing. "Selene's friend. Well, someone who was once her friend." Strom glanced at his computer, clicking a few tabs and keys before he finished his note.

"Here," Strom said, handing Kai the paper. It had an address, a phone number, and a name written in barely legible writing. "She stayed here local since graduating. She was a star pupil, but and outsider; like Selene."

"Thank you for all of your help," Kai stood, and extended a hand to Strom. They shook, and Strom had a melancholy glint to his dark eyes.

"I do hope you can do something for Selene. I always– I wish that I could have done more for her." Strom patted Kai on the back. "I knew that she was being bullied, and I did nothing. I knew that she was drowning, and never did I throw her a life raft. I hope that perhaps you'll be able to accomplish what I could not."

A burning sensation filled Kai's chest. He simply nodded his head, and walked away before he had to look at more of this guilt in the old man's face.

Selene may have caused a great amount of anger and heartbreak, but she caused just as much guilt and sorrow. She was a burning pathway of destruction and loss. She was a magnet for bad luck, but also for people. She was a forest fire: calamitous and deadly, but impossible to ignore. She was a fallen angel, causing the Heavens to weep at her downfall and Hell scorn the beauteous creature in fear of her being the greatest of them all.

Kai read the note again, launching the coordinates into his phone. He would figure out what happened. He would track down Liam Kinney if he had to. But for now, he would talk to Cress Darnel.

***

"Why?" Selene's words were harsh and bitter. "I thought you were my friend. I trusted you." Betrayal twisted her words into a comfortless whisper.

Cress's big blue eyes widened, and Selene would have felt guilty under different circumstances. "You know that I didn't do it— I didn't mean for it to happen. I didn't think–" Selene choked on her words. "We– I– she was my sister. I loved her. You know that."

Selene had cornered Crescent after class, needing to speak to her one last time. She had to know if the betrayal was an act of free will or forced. She wanted nothing more than to believe that Cress didn't mean it. The look in her best friend's eyes, however, was answer enough.

"I thought I did." Cress squeaked. Her eyes were brighter than usual. "But Pearl, she told me the truth. She told me, and now the whole thing makes sense. This wasn't even the first time you've killed someone." Cress looked sick as she said the words. "Ran Kesley–"

"Don't," Selene spat the words like fire. "Don't you dare. That was–"

"An accident?" Cress cut through, her voice rising with nerves and mockery. "You and I both know that an accident like that doesn't just reoccur. You planned it all. You're a freak; a sociopath. Do you even know what love is?"

Selene flinched as if Cress had caused her physical pain. It wasn't the first time she had heard the words, but hearing them come from her best friend made then sting more than they had coming from Adri or Pearl or even Mr. Kesley.

Cress's face softened, but less out of sympathy than horror and sadness. "You tore apart families, Selene. You may not have intended it to happen, but you still caused it. You– you–" Cress covered her eyes with her small, delicate fingers.

"I don't even know why you stay here." Cress murmured, her posture hardening. "No one wants you." Cress hissed. Selene had never heard such unkind words come from the girl. Cress had always been so sweet; now she was ice and a cruel knife in the back.

Bile filmed in Selene's mouth. There were so many things that she wanted to say. Thousands of comebacks, dozens of betrayals; but nothing came.

"Me neither."

[peculiar-sunshine]

Forgetting How to Feel Part 2 (Sodapop Curtis x Reader)

Hi gang! So a while ago, I wrote a Soda fanfic, and I said that I would write a part 2 for it if anyone wanted. Well...no one asked for it. But fuck it, ya girl is still gonna do it anyway! Enjoy!

Link to Part 1 right here 💕

TRIGGER WARNING: strong language, alcohol use, and suicidal tendencies

Lying in bed that night, Sodapop craned his neck up to look at the clock on the bedside table, trying his best not to wake Ponyboy.

2:37 AM? He thought to himself, slumping back down on the pillow. Dammit. I can’t fucking sleep.

He couldn’t get the memory of breaking up with you earlier that day out of his head. He kept replaying the image of your eyes welling up with tears, the way the happiness in them seemed to fade away like the sun falling below the horizon. He could still feel the well-deserved sting of your hand slapping his cheek, and the pain that yanked at his heartstrings as he watched you race off down the street. He had hurt you something awful, he knew he did.

But the thing is, he didn’t exactly know why. He wasn’t sure why in the hell he said that he was still in love with Sandy. In fact, he didn’t even care at all about her anymore…right? Sure, he still thought about her every once in a while, about how her life was now and if she and the kid were getting along okay, but that didn’t mean he wanted her back. Did it? After all, she was the one who broke his heart. She was the lying little whore who spread her legs for some other man and then took off without saying goodbye, not him. So why did he still get such a lousy feeling when he thought of how she used to bury her face in his shoulder when she’d let out that adorable little laugh of hers?

As he pondered over this, he suddenly heard someone banging furiously on the front door.

Jesus, who the hell could that be at this time of night? He though, slowly getting up and walking to the living room.

He opened the door and in stumbled a noticeably drunk Two Bit, his car parked haphazardly in the driveway.

“S-Soda…” he slurred, “listen, man. I took Y/N to a party at Buck’s tonight…and, uh, she…she…”

“Well c’mon, spit it out, Two.” Soda said.

“Y/N went…missing.”

“WHAT?! WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN Y/N WENT MISSING?!”

A few seconds later, Darry and Ponyboy ran in to the living room, sleepy-eyed and confused.

“Who in the hell is doing all that hollering in here and waking us all up?” Darry questioned, grumbling like a bear fresh out of hibernation.

“I dunno…” Two said, turning back to Soda. “Y/N and I got some booze from the s-store, she was real hurt over you, man. And after we drank it all we decided…to go to Buck’s and see if Dally was there…but we stayed ‘cause there was a party going on…and I remember talking to a pretty little broad a-and seeing Y/N talking to some guy and having a few drinks…but the next thing I knew, I couldn’t find her. I didn’t…I didn’t know what to do, so I came here. Look, I-I’m real sorry.”

“Oh my god.” Soda said, horrified.

“Pony, go get dressed,” Darry instructed, “She could be in a lot of trouble. We’ve got to go out and find her, now.”

 ***

After driving to damn near every sleazy joint in Tulsa that was still open at this time of night, Sodapop was about ready to call off the search and go straight to the police. But he knew better than to get the cops involved, those bastards couldn’t give a shit less about greasers or their girls. He could just see it now: some pudgy, bald officer—probably the father of one of the Socs—conducting a feeble search of the neighborhood before scolding him and Two Bit—now passed out in the passenger’s seat—for being no good hoods and allowing Y/N to get lost. He would say that she probably deserved it, though. She ought to have more respect for herself because a good girl wouldn’t get herself into that kind of trouble, no sir, not at all.

By this time, he had driven clear out to the edge of town, to the giant bridge crossing over the Arkansas River. It was pitch black out and Soda could barely see beyond the headlights, but he could just barely make out a figure perched on top of the guardrails a short distance ahead. It was swaying back and forth, almost ready to fall off. As he got close enough to shine the headlights on it, his stomach gave a violent jump.

“Y/N, get down from there right now!” he screamed, leaping out of the car and running towards you.

Your brain was swimming around in your head as you chugged the last half of the bottle of cheap wine you were holding and chucked it into the river below. You heard a familiar far-away voice say your name, but all you could focus on was the rushing water, wanting desperately to drown in it for some reason.

“Y/N what the hell are you doing? Get down!” Soda grabbed you by the arm and pulled you down off the guardrail, causing you to tumble onto the concrete road.

“Hey, l-leave me alone, you asshole,” you slurred, struggling to get to your feet and standing back up on the guardrail. “I w-wanna jump off of here and fly! Fly far, far awaaaaay!”

You wobbled forward and your foot slipped, causing you to almost fall off the bridge. Luckily, Soda caught you by the waist just in time, which sent you into gales of laughter. He pulled you back over the guardrail and carried you back to the car, his heart pounding.

 ***

 You woke up the next morning to the sun shining in your eyes through the blinds on the window. Your head throbbed like you had just been hit with a sledgehammer and your stomach felt sour. You didn’t recognize your surroundings at first, but once you realized that the chest you were cuddled up to belonged to a certain shirtless movie-star handsome greaser, you felt confused as hell.

The last thing you could remember from last night was going to Bucks with Two Bit with a broken heart and a purpose. So how the hell did you end up here, in your now ex-boyfriend’s bed? Did your stupid drunk ass walk here in the middle of the night to try and win him back? Oh god, did you sleep with him?

You fought the urge to throw up when Sodapop opened his eyes, giving you that adorable half-smile of his. “Morning, doll, how ya feeling?”

You wanted nothing more than to bolt out the door and run back home. You quickly sat up, but instantly regretted it as the room started to spin.

“Whoa, baby, take it easy.” he cooed, wrapping his arms around you and gently pulling you back down. Your brain felt like it was about to burst out of your skull, so you sighed and gave in to him.

“Soda, did we have sex?” you finally asked.

“What?” he replied incredulously, “no, of course not. I would never do that to you, not while you’re drunk.”

“So…how did I end up here then?”

“Two Bit came here around like three in the morning, all drunk off his ass. He said y��all went to a party at Bucks and you went missing. We drove around looking for you and found you all the way out on that bridge by the river. You were about to jump off.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. You know, you scared the ever-living hell out of me, Y/N. I thought I was going to lose you forever.”

“Oh you did, did you? Well guess what, you already did when you fucking dumped me for Sandy, you dick face. I meant it when I said I don’t ever wanna see you again. I’m out of here.”

You launched yourself out of the bed—despite the protests from your head and stomach—and made your way to the door. Sodapop did the same, but just as you reached for the doorknob, he threw his body in front of it.

“Y/N, wait.” he said, grabbing you by your shoulders.

“Let me go!” you demanded.

“Please just hear me out, baby.”

“I said let me go, and don’t call me ‘baby.’”

“I’m not letting you leave until you listen to what I have to say.”

“Oh my god, fine. But it better be good.”

You plopped back down on the bed and crossed your arms. Soda sat down next to you, and you scooted away, earning an anguished sigh from him.

“Look, Y/N, I don’t blame you for being upset. You have every right to be. I hurt you real bad, I know I did. And I’m so sorry. I was a complete jerk to your, and I can’t say sorry enough. But listen. Last night, when Two said you were gone, I…it’s like…my heart stopped beating. It felt like someone just tore my chest open and ripped it right out. Right away I started thinking, ‘oh my god, what if something bad happened to her? What if one of the Socs got her? What if she’s lying in a ditch somewhere or been kidnapped or something?’ I never felt more terrified in my life, not even when my parents died. But when I saw you standing on top of the guardrail about to jump off, I swear to god I felt my soul leave my body. That sounds corny as hell, but goddammit that’s what it felt like. It’s like I forgot how to breathe all of a sudden. And then I started thinking about if you actually jumped, if you actually…died.”

At this, he did something completely unexpected: he started to cry.

For as long as you had known him, you had never seen Sodapop Curtis shed a tear, not even when Sandy left him. He was too tuff to cry, or so you thought. But seeing him, with his head in his hands and sobs racking his body…it spoke volumes. You soon felt tears stinging your eyes also.

“I did a lot of thinking last night while you were laying her with me.” he finally said once he calmed down enough to speak again. “I don’t love Sandy anymore. I don’t even really know that I ever did. And it’s not her that I miss, it’s the memories of all the good times I had with her. But that doesn’t matter to me anymore, because after all that happened last night, Y/N, I realized I don’t ever wanna live in a world without you in it. I want you here with me, always. I’m begging you, please give me another chance. I…I love you.”

Tears were now pouring down your cheeks like Niagara Falls. “You love me?”

“Yeah. Yeah I do. And I’m ashamed that it took me this long to realize it.”

“Oh, Soda.” you flung yourself onto his lap and wrapped your arms tightly around him. You pressed your lips against his and he scooped you up in his arms, internally jumping for joy.

“Be my girl again?” he asked in between breaths.

“Of course.” you smiled.

After a very lengthy make-out session, Soda laid you down on the bed and cuddled up to you, stroking your hair until you both fell back asleep.

[thatgoblin]

Okay but imagine Link saying the equivalent of “Bucky? Who the hell is Bucky?” from the Winter Soldier to Rhett and imagine Rhett saying “I can do this all day” to Link in one of the last scenes from the movie 🥺

I GOT YOU FAM

*****

Rhett went on autopilot. Pivoting and dodging the assailants as he used his shield to block a storm of bullets that rained down on him before Stevie was able to kick a grenade thrown at them back towards the gunmen. The explosion took them out as well as a chunk of the bridge, giving him cover to get people out of the way. It was when he jerked a kid back, shielding him with his own body and shield as a car exploded next to them, that he knew the Soldier had found him. 

Sending the kid off to a sobbing mother, he knew he had to face him head on. It was the only way he’d stop this once and for all. Grunting, he launched himself over a car to tuck and roll. Stopping in time to brace himself for a downward swing from the Soldier with his metal arm. He hadn’t been this close last time. Last time it had been such a far distance that he could make out his hand was metal as it caught his shield, but now he could see how blue the other’s eyes were. 

His hair was shaggy and his face hidden mostly behind a muzzle like mask. Rhett had a split second to take all that in and commit it to memory before he was deflecting another punch to land one of his own. Damn! This guy was solid and going for his arm didn’t help. 

Cursing under his breath, he continued to trade blows with the mystery Soldier, his shield getting knocked away before a knife was suddenly added to the equation. Rhett was light on his feet and quick, but he was being matched by the Soldier. Getting slammed into van, blocking the knife from sinking into his skull, he growled before kicking the other away as hard as possible. The other went flying across the road to slam into a Mazda, leaving a deep crater in the car. 

Rhett didn’t pause to wait for him to get up. He ran at the other, scooping his shield up to throw it at the other like he always did. Just like last time, it was caught, but he’d been counting on it. Keeping his speed, he jumped to land his feet in the other’s chest hard. It would have taken out any other guy, big or small, but the Soldier just shook it off before tossing the shield to the side. 

“Oh come on,” Rhett growled as they engaged in hand to hand combat again, this time he was trying to go harder and faster than before. He had to get ahead of the other. Snarling, he managed to get into a position to throw the other over his shoulder. The muzzle came off, meaning he was exposed and not as protected. Whipping around, Rhett prepared to throw his whole body at the other, but froze. His breath caught in his chest and felt like he was suddenly drowning.

“Link?” He breathed, staring wide eyed and stunned. 

His very best friend since childhood, his army buddy, his right hand man, his brother, his lover, stood there staring right at him with no expression. No confusion, no anger, not realization. It was if he was just a stranger to the Soldier.

“Who the hell is Link?”

**********

Rhett wasn’t going to give up. He was going to keep fighting with every last bit of his strength. There was no way he was losing Link again. Not after everything they’d both been through. It pained him to fight his friend, his teammate, Mark, but he was not going to let him kill Link. 

“Get out of the way, McLaughlin,” Mark growled through his helmet.

“Not gonna happen, Fischbach,” Rhett snarled back before he made first move. Mark wasn’t going to stop till Link was dead. He’d seen that look before, time and time again in people foaming at the mouth for revenge while anguish pushed them to do unspeakable horrors. Zemo had proven that just moments before. 

“Link, run!” He cried just before Mark backhanded him with his armor. Flying through the air, Rhett corrected himself in time to block a shot from Mark’s armor with his shield before the billionaire turned to focus on Link as he went for the launch pad opening in the fort. He had to buy time for his friend to make it, to get a head start while Rhett dealt with Mark. The man in the armor was out for blood and didn’t care if the man who was his friend got in the way. 

“He killed my mom!” Marked screamed as he traded blows with Rhett.

“He couldn’t stop it!” Rhett cried. “I’m sorry, but he’s my friend!”

“So was I,” Mark growled, sending Rhett back through the air as he managed to get to Link, firing his repulsors to take out the steps he was climbing before taking out the props for the ceiling to fall in. Link cried out as he jumped out of the lid despite almost being free. He broke his long fall with the steps that were left, slamming his body into them to let him have a moment to correct his momentum. 

Rhett couldn’t get to him in time, Mark blocking him with rubble before grappling with Link. The older man didn’t want to hurt him, didn’t want to fight, but he was being pushed to his limit. He was blamed for so much that he had no control over and people were dead set on labeling him a villain when his life had been stolen. His autonomy stripped down and burned in front of him. For so long he’d tried to understand what happened and when he did, no one else wanted to. There was no forgiveness for his body that had done so many, many terrible things.

“Do you remember them?” Mark snarled into his ear from behind. “Do you remember any of them?”

“I remember all of them,” Link choked out as Mark’s arm tightened around his neck dangerously. Truthfully he didn’t. Blips played in his head like old film, some with sound and some without. He could never be rid of it all, ever, but that was his cross to bear for the horrors and abuse he’d been put through.

Just when he thought he’d black out, Rhett was back. He knocked Link free and they ran as Link gasped for breath.

“Come on,” Rhett grunted as they made for a window to jump out of. It wouldn’t be the first or the last time that happened. Mark was right behind them though and was soon on top of them. After everything they’d worked for, had been through together, Rhett made the choice. It was Link. It would always be Link. Together, they fought in tandem to take Mark out of commission. They were almost there when Mark lifted his hand and managed to land a repulsor beam on Rhett, slamming him into the concrete wall hard enough to knock him out a moment. 

He went to fire on Link, but was caught off guard with the melee of blows from the metal arms. Link was not going to let anything happen to Rhett. Himself be damned, but not Rhett. Screaming as he pinned Mark, he dug his fingers into his arc reactor. He almost pulled it out, but a sudden beam from it blew Link back. 

The Soldier stumbled a moment, looking at his arm for a moment before realizing it wasn’t there anymore. The reactor had taken his arm off and he was thrown back to falling from the train and losing his arm the first time. He couldn’t feel it, couldn’t stop looking at it as he collapsed to the floor. Rhett was up and blocking Mark before he could land a killing blow. They kept at it, Rhett fighting harder and harder even as he started to pant.

“You’re done, Rhett,” Mark growled.

“I can do this all day,” Rhett said, holding up his fists as he panted and wobbled a bit on his feet. 

[gerbiloftriumph]

Captive Crown

(also on ao3)

Someone wanted the newly crowned King of Daventry and all his friends dead. Someone got close, once.

(warnings for the whole thing: kidnapping, bruising, starvation, nightmares, healthy dosage of angsty musing, sicfic, story-coherent vehicle for all my favorite ch2 headcanons)

~*~*~

1/7

(1: to steal)(2: to hide)(3: to seek)(4: to find)(5: to break)(6: to mend)(7: to heal, and to end)

~*~*~

Later, when he was retelling the story and he got to the bit where something on the rooftops scrabbled and slid, people would always ask, “Why didn’t you just leave when you heard that noise?”

He’d always reply, “Why would I? It was just the sound of rain on roof tiles. A squirrel trying to get somewhere safe and dry. Nothing to do with me.”

~*~*~

And anyway, looking up into the skies just got rainwater in his face, blinding him. Graham hunched his shoulders and pressed on into the town, steering for the baker’s shop almost without thinking. His jaw was still set with frustration, but it had settled into frustration with himself rather than with his royal guards. They were doing their best. He was (mostly) sure of that. But he wasn’t King Edward, and they didn’t seem to know what to do with King Graham. It didn’t matter what Olfie said: Graham was wearing the wrong hat. He was on the wrong adventure. But without ideas for how to fix it, it was hard to keep his anger sharp.

Instead, he was starting to feel pathetic. He probably looked it, too—all bedraggled and soggy. Olfie had protected him from the worst of the weather as they walked together, but this was a proper late summer Daventry monsoon. The lower lavender fields might even flood if this kept up.

And what am I supposed do if that happens? Probably there’s a list of rules somewhere for Ruined Lavender Intake. I should have it memorized already.

He stood under Wente’s awning, wringing rain out of his cloak hem. No one answered his first knock. Nor his second. Or third. Disappointment dripped, like the water on the ends of his soppy curls. He’d expected—hoped—Wente would let him in and wrap him in a big, soul-squeezing, floury hug that might taste just a like bit like sugar and berries. Like safety. Graham shifted, listening impatiently for some sound from within but only hearing the steady, rattling downpour of rain on rooftops and down drains. It was a lonely sort of sound, hollow.

Whatever anger he’d been carrying was now drowned. He stumbled away, bleary and miserable. Maybe he could go to someone else? But the other homes looked just as dark and unwelcoming. Might as well go back to the castle. Deal with the nonsense he’d left behind.

Glass crunched beneath his boot. He glanced back toward the window of Wente’s shop. Now that he was bothering to pay attention, from this angle, he could see shattered glass and twisted wood. It looked like candies and pies had been thrown all over, oozing sweet fillings into the floorboards.

Before he could even begin to process that, he heard a shrill flute from…above? He whirled, squinting past the rain.

The shapes were unmistakable. Goblins crowded the rooftops, dropping down around him. Startled, he didn’t even have the time to cry out before they pounced. He stumbled back, tripped over something (a goblin crouched behind him, a nasty trick that worked just as well this time as it had not that long ago), and slammed into the cobblestones. The world went black.

~*~*~

Rain dripped on his cheek and helped rouse him gradually from insensibility. Muzzily, he realized he was lying on his side in the mud just outside the Daventry town gates, just on the edge of the forest. In the overcast gloom, the trees were blurs. The back of his head hurt, and he tried to reach up to it, to feel out what was wrong, but his arms refused to cooperate. For a terrible, confused instant he thought he was paralyzed, and then he noticed an unexpected pressure on his wrists—his hands were tied together behind his back.

His heart started racing, and he could see odd shapes under the trees, in the bushes, on the path, near him, and he sensed he was surrounded, and he felt stony hands on his shoulders push him into a sitting position, and he yelped into full wakefulness. Around him, the shapes, goblins, stepped back, watching.

“Wha—what is this? What’s going on?” Graham croaked, his voice thick. Shivery panic skated down his spine, and he shook his head, trying to focus. He only managed to make the ache worse. He struggled, but the ropes against his wrists held firm. “What do you want? You can’t do this to me! I—I’m the king!” (Or was that the wrong thing to say? Maybe he shouldn’t admit to it? The crown surely gave it away, though.)

They stared at him impassively, crouched a few feet away on all sides. At least, he thought they were staring impassively. Masks of stone hid every face. Mist curled around them, blurring their edges.

“I demand you release me! Untie this! Now!”

The pack of goblins crept closer, silent in the downpour. He swallowed his dread and stiffened as best he could, trying to look regal while covered in mud and soaking wet. “I assume you’re doing as I asked.”

From behind, one of them dropped a loop of rope around his chest, pinning his upper arms to his sides and drawing the loop tight.

“Hey! No! S-stop! I’m the king!” He fought, kicking out and trying uselessly to pull away. He couldn’t throw them off, couldn’t get the leverage he needed by himself, half-concussed and dripping and afraid. Then, with triumphant realization: “I’m not alone!” He drew in a deep breath, fighting against the restriction across his chest, and bellowed, “Olfie! Help me!” He forced a grin. “Have you ever tried to fight a bridge troll?”

In the distance, a low rumble started, and as one, every goblin froze. The rope around his chest slackened and slipped past his elbows as the cluster of goblins backed away uneasily. Graham sat gloating, waiting for the huge hand to sweep down and pluck him from this nightmare. Except, the hand didn’t come. Nothing else seemed to happen. The goblins looked toward the town, toward the forest behind them, and at each other, and he could see their tension evaporating. With a sick twist in his stomach, Graham realized the first sound was nothing more than a coincidence. Could have been anything. Some low thunder perfectly timed, or water dislodging a boulder in the forest, or some animal in the underbrush. Not Olfie.

I hadn’t asked him to stay. The rain, he can’t hear me over the rain. He could have gone anywhere. He can’t hear me without a horn. Oh, stars.

“I…I’m sure he’ll be along directly,” he stammered. “Just a delay. You know. The—the rain. He’s coming. I’m protected. Definitely.” He paused, glancing at his surroundings—just outside the town gates, near the workshop—and cried, “Help! Amay—ow!” His plea cut out as the goblin behind him snapped the rope back up and cinched it tight. “Stop! That hurts! Let go!”

The royal guards! he thought as hands clutched at his clothes and dragged him forward—but no, he’d been so angry, they wouldn’t come after him for hours. He’d ordered them to stay in the castle, and they’d been too happy to comply, to stay in the warm and the dry rather than trek out into a monsoon with a cranky king, and now he was in so much trouble.

“You’ll be in trouble!” he warned, pouring as much fury into it as he could. “This is assault against the entire kingdom! They’re coming to find me as we speak!”

No one listened.  Instead, they flung him up into the air and caught him by arms and legs, holding him above the mud.

“No, wait, stop! Put me down!”

They did, sort of: they threw him forward, and he landed on something soft, bouncing. He rolled onto his side and was entirely baffled to discover that they’d tossed him onto a damp mattress, mostly sheltered from the rain by the dark tree canopy.

Hands pulled and tugged and managed to get him sitting, and then they all stood around him for a long, silent, and speculative moment. He had the sense he was being judged, and he had the sense he was found lacking. Their shoulders hunched with what looked like disappointment, and several made dismayed hand motions above their heads.

“What are…”

Graham heard an excited cry from the town, and he twisted in time to see yet another one join the pack, clutching Edward’s crown. Graham hadn’t even noticed the crown’s absence. The goblin launched forward like it was about to win a game, and it slammed the crown down, hard, in its proper place. He yelped, but around him, applause broke out.

“That’s enough!” he snapped, crown sitting almost jauntily across his forehead and pressing his wet hair flat against his face, making him look entirely unimpressive. “Help! Olfie! Amayaaaaahh!” It turned into a proper scream as a spearhead jammed up beneath his chin, sharp edge threatening to cut. “Okay, okay,” he whispered, hardly daring to breathe. “I get the point.”

In so much trouble.

Two goblins sat down on either side, the one with the spear looking rather menacing. Then again, they all looked menacing, looming over him like this. He shrank beneath gazes and weapons, not at all sure what they were going to do next.

The answer came soon enough. They clustered around, hoisted the mattress on their shoulders, and darted off into the trees. His two guards clutched his arms to stop him slipping off while they moved.

[theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction]

Love is Sacrifice

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Inspiration: Avengers – Infinity War

Warnings: None.

Summary: You had just escaped the destruction of Asgard. You just got Loki back and now? Now, the ship was under attack by Thanos.

A/n: Currently suffering from Infinity War denial. Feel my feels!

Chaos. Panic. Fear. That’s what coursed through the vein of every person and creature in the ship.

You had just escaped the destruction of Asgard, you finally reunited with your dear friends Thor and Bruce Banner after their adventure on Sakaar. But, most importantly, you just got Loki back.

Despite every trick and bad decision he made, you couldn’t deny that he held your heart. And Loki? Well, he tried to deny any affection but he could barely fool himself. Your constant presence supporting Thor, the bickering and banter - he fell in love with it all. But when he saw the hurt and disgust in your eyes after revealing his survival, Loki realised that he couldn’t lose you. He always felt different, like an outcast but never with you. You were a comfort. A luxury that his selfishness was taking away and if he didn’t change his ways, he wouldn’t be able to get it back. 

Back to the issue at hand - the ship was a mess the moment blasts were fired. You were under attack from an unknown vessel. As the ground rumbled beneath you and terrified civilians screamed, you overheard a voice commanding everyone to head for the escape shuttle. People pushed frantically and you were knocked off balance and hit the wall. You remembered seeing the ships schematics a few hours ago and realised that the shuttles were stationed at the back of the ship. If people were being urged to the back then the danger was at the front which is where you needed to go. 

You managed to weave between the frightened faces in the opposite direction but you quickly found that the crowd was slowing you down.

You needed another way out.

Looking around, you spotted an empty corridor and, falling back on the memory of the ships internal structures, remembered that it was a shortcut to the bridge. Squeezing your way through a few men and women, you finally got to that dimly lit corridor and ran through it until you got to a second opening that ran parallel to the crowded hallway. 

Okay, you thought to yourself. Get to the bridge. 

Turning left, you bolted down the empty space for the bridge wishing that your loud steps would drown out the sound of the scared Asgardians. 

You knew Thor would be there heading the fight. Heimdall would also be defending Asgard. And Loki ... well, he was either avoiding the whole thing, standing with his brother or - crash! 

You fell backwards as you knocked heads with someone around a bend. Rubbing your head, you looked at the person you ran into and saw the man who had occupied your thoughts. 

“Loki?” You wondered. The raven-haired prince sighed in relief and extended his hand. Once you took it, he pulled you up and ushered you to the side. 

“What are you-?”

“I need your help.” Loki requested. His voice scarily calm in the midst of the shouting. You kept your eyes focused on him. If Loki wanted assistance then you’d be damn ready. 

“What is it?” You asked seriously. “Weapons? A distraction?” 

“I need you to get onto the escape pod.” 

You went quiet. Expression unreadable. And for a moment, Loki squinted, unable to decipher what was running through your mind. Reading you was complex sometimes. 

“Are you kidding me?” You snapped, face contorting into anger. “How in the Nine Realms is that helping?” 

“(Y/n)-” Loki sighed but was interrupted as a handful of Asgardian guards ran by them and disappeared behind Loki to where the assault was taking place. As their footsteps sounded off, you beat Loki to the talking. 

“We don’t have time for this. Thor needs help.” 

You moved to follow the direction of the guards but Loki gripped your arms to stop you and he wasn’t fooling around. 

“I can’t let you.” 

You glared at him. You knew he was trying to protect you from the horror on the other side, he’d done this before back when Asgard prospered. But if there was a chance for you to help end the nightmare, you’d do it.

Loki seemed determined to keep you from the battle so your only option was to anger him in the hope that it would give you an edge to him loosening his hold.

“I thought you had changed your ways, but you haven’t. You’re still selfish just like when you faked your death. Selfish and stupid and-”

“Yes I’m being selfish!” Loki shouted angrily as the ship shook violently from another blast. “If you go out there, you’ll die. Thanos will kill you.” 

Thanos. That’s who had come. The mad Titan who, according to Thor, was seeking out the Infinity Stones. You agreed that Loki was right to be afraid for your safety, but he couldn’t pass judgement on the chance of victory based on rumours. 

“You don’t know that. He’s never seen me fight. Me, you, Thor - we’re the ultimate team. Odin always said it.” 

“Odin stayed out of Thanos’ way for a reason, (Y/n). He feared him and you should too.” Loki reminded.

Time was running out he needed you to see reason and leave. You, on the other hand, we’re growing impatient and we’re ready to run into the fight. Thor’s chance of a victory was growing slim with every passing minute. 

“I’m not scared of a purple maniac. You told me that he threatened to kill you if he crossed you again. So I’m going to defend you and Thor and everyone I care for on this ship and if I die-”

Your words failed as Loki slammed his lips over yours. The kiss ebbed with passion and desperation. Loki cupped your cheek and pulled you as close as he possibly could. It was dizzying to say the least, something that only Loki could do. When you finally broke apart, you gasped for air and looked at the Asgardian prince. 

His eyes were so blue … and sad.  

“I’m sorry.” He whispered.

You frowned at his apology for a second when you realised it was a ruse. You heard a footstep behind you and suddenly felt yourself being hoisted into the air and tossed over a shoulder. A rough, bumpy shoulder. 

Looking down, you saw an embodiment of rocks and your heart dropped. Loki distracted you long enough for Korg to seize you away. 

“No...” you refused, voice starting to break. You looked up and saw Loki standing there, broken.

Why was he just standing there? Did he not understand that you’d rather die with him? Did he not know how much it hurt to lose him again?

“Loki, please.” You begged, wriggling out of Korg’s hold but it was no use. Loki was growing more distant as you were carried off to the escape pod and you couldn’t help but shout out for him. “Don’t do this! Please!”

Then the worst thing happened, Korg turned a corner and Loki was taken from your sights. 

“No...” You said to yourself in disbelief. “No!” 

“I know you must be feeling incredibly sad.” Korg said, trying to be optimistic. “But, my mother once told me that love is sacrifice. And (Y/n), Loki loves you.” 

“Korg,” you pleaded. “Take me back to him. Please.” 

Korg could feel his back rocks dampening with your tears and noticed that you had completely fallen slack in his grip, unable to fight him off. Sighing, Korg spotted the escape pod where Valkyrie prepared to launch. 

“Sorry, (Y/n). I can’t.” 

Masterlist here

[lizord-lord]

Splashing, Wading, Knee-Deep, Drowning

(Back once more with the next chapter! I’m still vaguely on schedule right? Counts if I wrote like 2 and a half pages today in a weird frenzy and now this page is a bit longer than the others but it’s ok because more is great? Wait I don’t even remember why I missed some days of writing why is my memory this bad ANYGAY! For once you have a chapter that @poisonedapples my shitbling and beta did not yell at me for, in fact, it actually has ROMAN!!! *cheering* I mean..My Virgil privileges got revoked...kinda had to..his dialogue is hilarious and I think my writing got more flower it’s great. Onwards!)

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Five

Warnings: Um...some angst and shit, emotional numbness, death mentions ofc, talk of grief? But this is more of a lighthearted chapter compared to......everything else lmao.

Chapter Four

One month later and about three chapters earlier

Roman’s intention had been to slip into the castle, change, and escape to the woods with his crossbow as soon as the last guest had taken their leave.

But, as he stood beside his mother and watched Duchess Valerie’s carriage roll off into the distance over the green hills, it was made clear that that particular wish would not be granted, as the first thing his mother did when he turned to pick up the cloth-wrapped bow from where it lay on top of a stone bench was reach to tightly grip his shoulder.

“Roman. We still have things to do.”

The prince’s shoulders slumped, and his hand fell back to his side. He’d hoped otherwise..and yet past experience told him not to be surprised.

“..does it have to be now?” He heard a sigh from behind him before his mother turned him to face her.

“Yes, it does, because if you pick up that bow you’ll run off and I won’t see you until sunset, and by then your head will be so far up in the clouds you won’t be able to even see the ground to determine where to step next. Come inside.”

Roman knew what would come next. He’d step inside and be dragged off to some meeting or other. A meeting where they’d speak of the king’s death. The king’s, not his father���s. It’d be glossed over as his ascension was spoke of, as wills were discussed, and it would even be better if he could scream, if he could yell about how disrespectful that was, how he needed time. That’s how it was in every story he’d read, in every play he’d seen, the grieving protagonist would fall to their knees and sob, lament, bargain with the gods to bring their loved ones back.

And yet not a single tear had clouded his eyes since he found out of his father’s passing.

If the situation hadn’t been so extreme he likely would have tossed out a quip about turning into Logan. But that would just be cruel, no, he just..could feel nothing. It frightened him. The bow was like a lantern, a single spot of light he could clutch to give him some sort of understanding, of sight in the endless fog he walked through, and the depths of the forest was the only place where things seemed clear. They belonged together. He belongs there, where no person could protest or tell him he needed to be doing anything differently.

By all means he should protest, tell his mother he didn’t want to be walled in by white, lifeless marble and pale stone.

But when he opened his mouth, what came out was “Okay.” Because he could see two things in her eyes, one of which being determination, the other being sorrow.

She could feel it, even if he couldn’t.

He didn’t hurt. She did. If she needed them..it was his duty to be there.

So he let her take the bow, and followed through the gate.

The arching windows normally spilled the golden light of afternoon through to cast a glow on the perfectly polished floors. But now, the normally brilliant crimson curtains had been replaced with black velvet drapes, the light blocked out so the halls no longer felt bright and comforting, but grim and hopeless.

It only made his numb heart feel cold. At one point his mother turned down a hall to the room that used to be his father’s and now was only hers, and Roman kept walking, almost bumping into a pillar on the way to his own bedroom. When he pushed open the wooden door, he didn’t even take a moment to appreciate the way the sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling window behind his four-poster, crimson and gold draped bed brightened the room, washing away the gloom that the halls had cast over his shoulders. Because it had already attached itself to him, and the dull listlessness Roman felt showed in his movements. They were stiff and automatic, close the door, draw the curtains shut, step to his immense wardrobe and change. Not into the forest-green attire he wore to go out and hunt as he longed to, or even to his typical style of white and crimson. No, from the fancy black suit covered in glittering buttons and silver embroidery into a no less dark and gloomy, but slightly comfier alternative. He took longer than usual too, staring at nothing as he laced up his boots. The solitude did nothing for his mind.

When Prince Roman stood up, clad head to toe in the black of mourning that was still so prettily designed that it felt like a show he for once did not wish to play a part in, he did not feel like the title suited him.

For the next three days, Roman’s mind remained in quiet turmoil. He was shuffled from room to room, kept from the outdoors where he longed to escape, weighted down by responsibility and the constant reminder of what had happened. Normally his mind would be his respite, but it had grown gray with grief, and with him unable to seek revival, his usual fantasies were unreachable. He’d half stop paying attention during the discussion of wills, of letters of sorrow sent by frauds nobles who hadn’t been able to make the funeral. The only discussions he really remembered were those of the dreaded wife, which he usually managed to shut down and escape from. One such incident had just occurred, with him offering a rather poorly put-together excuse of needing to polish his sword and fleeing to his room, where he sat on the bed, head bowed, golden circlet feeling like a mountain pushing it down towards his clasped hands.

He could have sat like that for minutes or hours, face totally blank, when someone knocked at his door.

His first thought was that his mother had pursued him to continue the dreaded conversation, and he began to make a beeline for the closet to hide (although to be honest that was the last place he needed to be at the moment) but the voice that came through was not his mother’s. Rather, the voice was younger and stiff. Formal. “Your highness, the Count Veritas is here to seek audience with you.”

Roman’s thoughts of burying himself in cloaks immediately halted, along with his feet. “Let him in.” The door opened, and the count stepped inside the shaded space, pushing aside the blue fabric of his half-cape to offer a slight bow.

“Good afternoon my prince, I hope you are doing decently.” Roman threw a nearby coat on his face.

The noble yelped indignantly as he pushed the offending garment off, while Roman only laughed.

“Come on, Scroll Under the Bridge, still being so formal?” He revoked that opinion after the coat was launched back in his face.

Once the red cloth was no longer obscuring his vision, he was able to look up and see Logan Veritas’s folded arms and smug grin. Huffing, he tossed the jacket on the ground.

“So, you wanted to talk to me?”

The certainty in Logan’s demeanor seemed to falter for a second, but was quickly masked as he pushed his spectacles up his nose and resumed his previous pose.

“Yes, I did. You know, to see if you were doing alright, converse and such..” he spotted the count’s gray eyes flicker around the room. To the drawn curtains, the slightly messy corners, the black clothes on both Roman’s person and the ones tossed carelessly on his bed, which meant he hadn’t let any servants in, and lingering for a noticeable moment on the mahogany surface of his writing desk-completely clean and clear.

“Listen if you needed to vent. That sort of thing.”

There was silence between them for a moment. Roman could see Logan clearly taking advantage of that to scrutinize his posture and facial expression (which was no doubt drawn up and tense) for any clues of his mood. Yet he wouldn’t have to do that for long.

The prince’s shoulders slumped, and he almost felt the title roll off of them. Finally. He knew Logan wasn’t really...the best person to go to when he was having emotional issues. But he was all he had, the only friend he really had around his own age. Who wasn’t, you know, ordered to agree with him on basically everything.

Plus, sometimes, in times of great distress, having a more objective viewpoint was good.

But for now, Roman just took five steps to his right and slumped on the end of his bed, the same position he had been in before Logan arrived. He heard a sigh from the door, and a moment later, he felt the bed dip. The count had sat beside him. More silence as Roman compiled his thoughts, rubbing his left palm with the thumb of his right, switching, rubbing his wrists..

“It doesn’t hurt.”

“...it doesn’t?” He’d expected that much confusion. “No! It doesn’t. It doesn’t hurt at all, but it..” Roman trailed off, eyes darting across the floor as he searched for the words, just to make himself heard, he brought his hand up to rub his temples but ended up running it through his hair, gripping hard and tugging on his bangs. How could he explain? Dammit, why did poetry never come when you need it! He knew Logan would understand that! It was a language they both spoke, even when their own could not quite convey the thoughts!

Roman tossed his hands into the air, admitting defeat.

“It just doesn’t hurt!! It should, I know it should, I should be weeping, I should be bawling, he’s-he’s my father for goodness sake but I just..I just can’t! Everything is-everything’s just-” “Numb?” “.....yes.” Roman’s hands dropped. He buried his face in them, dammit the word had been on the tip of his tongue and it was just so simple! He was a mess.

Around the middle of a very long, very loud, very dramatic groan, the prince felt a hand move to rest in between his shoulder blades and slowly begin to rub circles into his back. The touch was light, hesitant, yet fluid.

And it felt nice.

It was a moment after his troubled mind had ebbed a bit when he heard Logan’s quiet voice again, slow and deliberate. He knew that tone; uncertainty that his words would be well received.

“...the grieving process is different for everyone. It seems, by your own description, that you are experiencing shock. You...you likely will fall into the depressive states later in the grieving process, but for now there isn’t much you can do to speed it up. Your mind needs time to fully work through and understand what has happened, and the only thing I know of that can help it do that is to spend some time clearing your head. Then it is a matter of if the other emotions—either rage or despair, hit you during a time of calm or a time of reflection. They commonly come suddenly. But they will come..and there’s nothing wrong with being unable to fully grasp the weight of losing a loved one in the immediate aftermath of it happening.”

A dry smile pulled at the prince’s lips.

“Did you learn that in a book, My dear scho-lord of the library?” He lifted his head up slightly from his hands, just in time to catch the look that flitted across Logan’s face, a twitch of his lips and unfocused eyes, just for the moment it took to let out a puff of air.

“My aunt, actually.”

“Ah.”

Roman remained in that position for a second to process. The physical contact, however small, did help. And so did the words, now that he let them sink in.

“I haven’t been out of the castle grounds since the day before..” he admitted with a sigh, trying to straighten his posture. Logan made a dissatisfied noise, pursing his lips.

“Did your mother not let you?” Roman nodded with a sigh. “No! She’s kept me here, with wills and letters and plans! It’s like-it’s like he wasn’t even a person..” his head fell back into his hands, words he had only felt in vague bursts of frustration spilling from his lips. “All anyone’s worried about is how to run the kingdom without him…he was my dad too! But no one cares about that, all I’ve gotten is those damn pitying glances! Not a single ‘I’m sorry’ since the funeral, not even from my own mother!! It’s like she’s trying to pretend it didn’t happen! It’s not-aaargh!” He threw his hands up into the air, feeling Logan’s hand fall off his back as he toppled backwards onto the soft mattress. “It’s not fair..”

“..hm. So it was the latter.” “...huh?” Roman peeked up from between his fingers that he had dramatically pressed over his eyes, confused. Logan explained. “The latter. Of my earlier statement, you were hit with anger at a time of self-reflection.” The curiosity vanished from Roman’s face like a child sneaking cake when the baker comes.

“That is literally one of the least helpful things you could have said.”

The count rolled his eyes. “It was only an observation..” “We were having a moment and you ruined it!” “I ruined it? I was only commenting on an earlier statement!” the count huffed, and Roman opened his mouth to come up with another (quite stinging and witty mind you!) retort..and then let it fall closed. He threw one hand over his eyes, sighing loudly. “Oh, it’s not worth it..”

“What, not in the mood to call me out for ‘having the emotional intelligence of a brick wall?’” The tone was tinging on playful, yes, but there was real worry and surprise there. Apparently, it was that statement that brought back Logan’s concern. Roman never yielded in an argument.

“No..what am I going to do Logan! I’m being locked away like a damsel in distress, I can’t just stay here for however many weeks it will take for everything to get sorted out..”

“..have you tried asking your mother? Telling her that this is taking a toll on you?” Logan offered, albeit lamely. He received a scoff in response.

“Of course! I very nearly begged her yesterday, and the witch refused me sanctuary! I am truly Rapunzel, locked away in stone, doomed to never let my face or magnificent locks see the sun! Clearly my only option is to run away from these dark cl-” Roman sat up suddenly, and Logan was filled with dread. That was a very bad place to stop that sentence.

“...how did I not think of that before! I’ll simply sneak out!”

Well, at least he could say he knew his friend..he also knew that his next words would be blatantly ignored.

“That is a very bad plan-”

But as predicted, the prince had already leapt off his bed and was racing to the closet, diving right to the bottom of his dresser and pulling out an ensemble much different from his usual color scheme of blinding white and scarlet. This was a tweed jacket in a shade of dull green, the trousers a dark brown. Brown leather boots-far less shiny than his usual polished black ones, were pulled out after-and Logan didn’t get to see what happened next, having to turn around due to the excited prince currently having no sense of decency and changing right there.

“It’s already evening, so I’ll just sneak out through the kitchens..maybe grab a snack too-” Logan heard the sound of fabric over skin and slight rustling, that must be Roman buttoning the jacket- “-and no one will even notice I’m gone! And I can finally test out that crossbow, eh Logan?”

The count blinked. Actually taken aback that the prince had remembered he was here.

“I suppose, is it safe to turn around now?” From the thud of a boot that he heard behind him and the offended gasp (he didn’t even need to look to know Roman had placed his hand to his chest as if wounded) Logan could infer that yes, it was. Though his lack of doing so brought out another comment.

“Are you saying you don’t want to ogle at my amazingly chiseled physique?” “Yes,” he replied in his flattest and most disinterested voice. “Logan, you wound me!”

“You didn’t answer my question.” “....yes, it’s safe to turn around..if my fabulous muscles sicken you that much,” the prince huffed, and Logan did finally turn around. The hunting outfit was rather tight-fitting—of course it was, as Roman had just proven, he would go to any end to show off his good looks even to bears in the forest. And just as predicted, he looked as deeply offended as if Logan had just told him he was descended from trolls.

When there was no retort from the count, Roman just crossed his arms, close to pouting like a petulant child.

“Well anyway, as I was saying, I can finally test out that crossbow you gave me, and no one should even notice I’m gone!”

“Not even the guards? Who should have been extra alert after having so many guests and with the usual structure of command gone?” The prince seemed to deflate slightly, a frown creasing his face—but almost immediately he perked up again. “Well then I’ll head through the garden, they don’t post too many guards there and even if I’m caught I can just say I was smelling the roses!”

“And if they question your outfit?” Logan challenged once more, folding his arms over the dark fabric of his shirt. But Roman was ready this time.

“I’ll tell them I didn’t want to get any dirt on my regular clothes. Plus, even if they don’t believe me, it’s not like I’m forbidden from leaving the grounds, just...highly discouraged by my mother and she hasn’t exactly told the guards to keep me inside! I am still the prince, I just don’t want her catching wind.”

Logan slowly nodded. For once, his friend seemed to have thought this out. Maybe it wouldn’t end in disaster.

The key word was maybe.

“I assume you’re going to run off right now?”

“Well that was the plan—not much sunlight left after all!” Roman bounced on his heels excitedly, glancing out the window, which, though mostly covered by curtains, had a line of golden light streaming through that easily indicated it was getting to be late evening.

Logan nodded, and then stood up. “Well, then either my efforts succeeded or failed horribly, I’ll have to see.”

Roman waved a hand dismissively, a cocky grin sliding easily onto his face. “Oh come on now Count Veri-blah, I’m feeling better already! Now get out of here and don’t tell anyone!” Said noble rolled his eyes to the heavens at the nickname, and the indication that he would rat on his friend about something that clearly meant a lot to him. He let Roman wave him towards the door, though opened it himself.

“Fine, but I’ll be back  soon and when I do you’d better be here, and without a squirrel hidden under your bed.” He grinned slightly as Roman huffed-a nerve he remembered. “That was one time okay? And it was injured!” “From what I remember hearing news of, it escaped and you decided to chase it around the castle for two hours.”

“Wha-well I had to protect the people who might be scared of rodents!!”

The grin was spreading now. “Perhaps, but I don’t think that was the message everyone else got, again, the rumor I heard was that you referred to the squirrel as ‘Mrs. Fluffybottom’ and were crying ‘don’t you love me’ as it attempted to escape down to the kitchens.”

“I, ugh—that...well that was a rumor!” Roman sputtered, “You would trust a rumor more than I, your dear friend?”

“Indubitably,” Logan deadpanned, and closed the door behind him.

“Well goodbye to you too,” the prince mumbled through the thick door, stalking back to his bed and sitting down on it with a pout. He’d have to wait a bit to go out, but honestly, the nerve of that know-it-all! You’d think a friend of such caliber would care a bit more about his friend’s dignity!

Though, the prince could admit...it had been kind of him to come by.

So there was that, but still!

When those petulant thoughts had calmed, and it felt like had enough time had passed, Roman stood. Pushing the curtains back slightly confirmed that he would have to act fast if he wanted to get maximum daylight—which he was already wasting! The prince straightened his shoulders. A grin formed on his face as he strode back to the closet, but this time to the corner where his weapons were stored.

First, he picked up the scabbard for his sword, buckling the black belt around his waist in a smooth, practiced motion, the familiar weight of the weapon settling easily against his left him. And then for a less familiar weapon-the crossbow. He’d used them before of course, but only to an extent, and of course, any new weapon would be strange to wield at first, no matter the type.

He carefully lifted up pale bow, then the sling he’d smuggled in from the armory the day before (what, he wanted to be prepared) making sure he would be able to easily remove the weapon before slinging the leather strap over his shoulder.

It was at this point he realized that he would not be able to pass off his venture as ‘smelling the roses’ when he was clearly armed.

Hm.

Well he wasn’t going to give up now, dammit! He’d just have to not get caught. And that would be easy!

Confidence restored as easily as a knife through butter, Roman turned and left the closet, removing the golden circlet on his head and placing it carefully by his bedside, before easing open the door and slipping out into the quiet hall.

Lady luck smiled upon Roman that day, for he managed to get to the kitchens without anyone seeing him. Of course once he arrived there wasn’t any hiding from the chefs preparing dinner, and what with there not having been a ‘family meal’ since the death of his father, they were not as focused on being perfectly on time as usual. But he was the prince. While guards might question him, all it took was a wink and a finger to his lips to keep questions from coating the air as he slipped out the door the cooks used as a shortcut to the piles of firewood outside.

Roman breathed in the fresh air gratefully, but his smile faded slightly as he passed under the arch that led to the garden. The numb cold settled in as his leather boots padded along the same marble tiles that the shoes of funeral goers had walked along only days earlier, as his eyes landed upon cut flowers that had dropped from bouquets and had found their way into blooming bushes, as he passed the marble table that a casket had laid on.

Roman stopped.

He grasped his wrist in his left hand, eyes dropping to the ground.

And then he frowned.

I am not going to linger on a lack of feeling.

That was the whole point of getting away. As hard as it was to lift up his chin and resume his path towards the opposite arch, he must do it. This was his escape! None of this existed out in the woods, he’d been numb and hopeless for days! No more. He was getting away.

Sorrow would come in time.

It took him a moment. Two. Three. And then Roman’s feet were moving again, down the path and to the archway that led him to the woods.

He strode out into the open-or would have, if he hadn’t noticed a guard passing by him at that very moment. He yanked himself back into the garden and ducked back behind the gently sloped wall of stones the obscured the garden from the outside, and he must have not been noticed, as the guard did not follow.

Another two minutes passed there, the prince with his back against the wall, until he dared another peek. Nothing. Sighing in relief, Roman adjusted the strap over his shoulder and was off, making sure his footsteps were quick and light against the grass. It was only thirty steps to the edge of the woods from the archway, and he cleared it without discovery, ducking his head below a branch and pushing into the forest.

This was home.

Roman breathed in the scents of the woods, the musty scent of mushrooms, the damp earth, the sweet scent of the few spring flowers that bloomed as well as the crisper grasses and young herbs that poked from under bushes and between the roots of trees. And he listened. His footsteps, near-silent with practice, were yet a steady pattern, one foot lightly placed down toe first, any rigid twig wormed under the arch of his foot where his weight would not snap it, and repeat. It was not the swiftest way of movement by any means, but with as much practice following the trails of these woods as he had, he made decent time. And the silence was important. As he was both less likely to draw attention from unsuspecting prey or predator, he could listen.

His ears caught the faint trickle of a nearby stream, the happy song of a few birds, a rustling-he paused. Something small, a rabbit perhaps, but it fell silent before he could pinpoint the sound. No matter.

Roman strode through the forest with a newfound joy, a proud grin on his face and determination in bright hazel eyes that swept the undergrowth for prey like a hawk. And yet, even as he strode deeper into the wood, and the brush beneath his feet began to thicken and his pace was forced to slow, he’d only drawn his crossbow on a rabbit that quickly scampered away.

Bad luck.

But Roman kept his thoughts optimistic, even as the light that filtered between the dark leaves overhead and scattered dappled patterns over the forest floor shifted from gold to orange, and continued on ever deeper, and just slightly quicker. He wanted to catch something before getting back! And he would, he certainly would. However, getting lost in positive thoughts is still getting lost in thought, and despite the good intentions..it led the prince’s mind to wander. Images of shooting down a deer or even some more dangerous beast, like a wild boar, or even something more fantastical, like a kelpie or a troll were playing in front of his eyes rather than reality, where the orange glow was fading slightly and rough bark brushed up against his broad shoulders.

At least until his searching right boot found a fallen tree rather than smooth footing, and he toppled forward with a very undignified yelp, throwing his hands forward to stop his face from smacking into the dirt but not in time to spare his knees from banging against the log.

Roman grunted loudly in pain, gritting his teeth. Okay. No more daydreaming in the woods...ow…

Groaning, the prince got to his feet, dusting dirt off his palms and grimacing at the scrape along the heel of his left hand, then wiping them on his trousers, which were luckily still intact. Dirty, but at least he wouldn’t have to get them sewn up.

When he took his next step, there were a few things brought to his immediate attention. One-he must have banged his right kneecap, because it was throbbing like a fresh bruise (likely) and while it wasn’t agonizing, it was very unpleasant, and even more so due to having been inflicted by a simple log. How embarrassing.

But wounded knees and pride was..not the most important at the moment. As when Roman looked up, and then around, he noticed that the canopy was so thick only the barest hints of sunlight peeked through, and that the trees around him were too thick to put his arms around, along with being set close and dense. The flowers had disappeared too, the wood he knew, green and lush and fragrant with springtime blossoms and filled with animals big and small, had been replaced with a dark, constricting forest that stretched what felt like miles above his head with not an animal or spot of color in sight-except for the minimal patches of fading sunlight.

Oh...dear.

For a moment, Roman’s chest clenched with fear, not only did was he unsure of where he’d come from, but the whole atmosphere of the wood sent a slight chill up his spine.

But no! This was not how a prince should behave when confronted with a foreboding forest.

They’re just trees. And if they happen to be hiding beasts, well that’s what I came to find some anyway! This is just a little change of plan.

No need to be afraid.

So he strode on, but noticeable kept his hand on the pommel of his sword. Bravery could not diverge into recklessness after all..he’d learned that many times the hard way. And he remembered to watch his step.

For another indefinite while, he stepped through the dark wood at a pace only a tad slower than his previous, the slight nervousness in his gut only serving to tune his reflexes (or so he liked to tell himself). But soon, he noticed just a tad more light filtering through the branches. Relief was unavoidable, along with the instinct to follow it. Roman’s steps came faster, harder, until he was almost running, and he breathed a large sigh when at last the shadows parted.

He stood at the edge of what he had assumed was a clearing-but no, this seemed to be the edge of the woods for at least some extent, as while the branches still stretched, intertwined fingers reaching for the sinking sun, the trunks either leaned out over the soft grass or stood as tall as ever, but with the exception of a few, none sprouted beyond this point.

That made sense, for as he had noticed, the undisturbed rass before him was not that of a simple hole in the woods, but the bank of a magnificent lake that gleamed with reds, oranges, and golds reflecting of its mirror-like surface, the reflections of dark trees unblurred on the water.

It was beautiful.

Roman stepped forward as if trapped in a trance, kneeling by the shore and carefully dipping his hand into the water. It was cool and almost clear, and he quickly scooped some into his hands for a drink.

He could have sat there, watching the sunset and gazing at the last rays of sunlight now dipping below the horizon for however long it took for the sky to fade to black, and likely would, if not for the shape that appeared around what he would call a corner for now—this section of the lake was further inland than the rest, like a pond attached to the main body, and there was must lake to the left and right of it he could not see.

It was a bird of some sort, silhouetted black against the last light of sunset, and a grin appeared on Roman’s face, so he might have a chance of catching something after all! Well, first he had to rush back to the cover of the shadows, but the bird had not seemed to notice his rush. Nor the slight sounds of the prince lifting the crossbow from his back and loading in a bolt.  It swam across the lake to step onto the shore, and it was then that he realized the bird was in fact a swan, and not silhouetted either, oh no, every feather on its body was black as the night about to fall.

Roman raised the bow-and then stopped. A second thought flitted across his mind, this animal was truly something else, would it be right to kill it for something like a trophy? It wasn’t like he needed the meat..he bit his lip, lowering the weapon ever so slightly, and the swan stood there, as if trapped in the moment just like he was, its face turned towards the faintest light still left on the lake, as it faded, darkened, and the water was left black.

But he’d been looking all evening and found nothing! Sure, it might feel a bit better to have found a more common animal in a moral sense, but at the same time what a glorious bird! And he might actually make a kill. Surely it was—no, it was worth it. So Roman raised the bow again, finger on the trigger-

And then he went so still you could have sworn he’d caught sight of a cockatrice.

For the bird..it wasn’t quite a bird anymore. Or if it was it must be magic, for as the darkness swallowed its black form and silver light replaced gold on its feathers, it grew.

And yet it didn’t grow into a larger bird. Its body slimmed and neck shrunk, and Roman watched with both awe and a veiled sense of apprehension as it shifted size and shape, he was sure it would become a fae of some sort, like those shape-changers he’d read about, faeries that lured in prey—be it animal or human—with the shape of creatures that drew them in, only to change to their true form of an eyeless figure that hung with moss and swallow them whole, but that was not what happened.

No.

Feathers did not fade into stringy black hair, the beak did not stretch into hundreds of needle-like teeth, instead, black plumage faded both to pale skin and dark cloth, wings shrung to arms and stick-like legs thickened.

Before him was a young man.

A young man dressed in a shabby black jacket that had been repeatedly patched with what looked to be some dull purple fabric, matching dark trousers that had thin rips over the knees, and with hair only a few shades darker than his own that hung over his eyes.

Roman gasped—and the man’s head whipped around—he didn’t know what he’d expected, but he did know it wasn’t black smudges under piercing brown eyes. Somehow, the stranger was as hauntingly beautiful as a human as he had been as a swan. And now he was staring straight into Roman’s eyes, and the prince was about to open his mouth to (to what, introduce himself? Ask what the stranger was?) when the man reached into his jacket, and he realized he was seeing this all in a slow, entranced vision.

The blade of a silver knife just barely missed Roman’s cheek, thrown with terrifying strength and precision that buried itself in the tree behind him.

“WHAT THE ABSOLUTE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING WITH THAT THING!?”

(Roman makes me write so many italics WHY MUST TUMBLR NOT READ ITALICS AAAAA! But anyway, they finally meet! And yes you two, pointing weapons at each other, great. First. impressions. *slow claps*. But I am proud of all the platonic Logince in this chapter because it’s my shit and just. Yes. Now I hope I can keep this up?)

Tags: @royallyanxious @whatwashernameagain  @sandersmarvel @the-incedible-sulk @supremestoverlord @hanramz-the-fander @childhood-wishes-and-dreams @thestoryoferissur @nepturanus-thy-planet @anony-phangirl @pleasebringmerlinback @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2 @applecannibal @super-magical-wizard @unicornlogan @annonymmm

[corvyd]

[ ♪♪♪ ]

One of the many creeping discomforts in Deon's life were the nightmares.

Sleeps were dreamless before, plain if they happened. Nightmares were basic, the usual stress dreams about schoolwork and college. 

But now... now.

He counted it a blessing when he could close his eyes in the night, then wake up the morning after without any interruptions. 

He’d gotten creative in his terror, and lucidity was dreaded. Because if he was lucid, then he could think about it- perhaps even know he was in a dream. What a simple, harmless thing that once was. 

Now? Now it just filled him with dread.

The second worst part about dreaming were the empty spaces.

...

Deon sat at a plain, unremarkable table, screwing together the latest of his tiny inventions. It wasn’t really anything special, just a miniature catapult made of twigs and bands, but he was young. Only so much a fourteen-year-old can manage- he hadn’t even figured out pneumatic engineering yet.

Beyond his sight, the world around him shifted, fragments of memories shaping his surroundings before becoming lost, a subconscious attempt at building something out of nothing. Walls, windows, cabinets- all cracking in and out of existence, peeling away and building back together again.

But he didn’t mind, humming as he loaded the catapult with a rock, then launched it across the non-existent kitchen floor. For a moment, his mind crafted something solid- a wooden floor and plain cabinet to bounce against, then roll and fall between the boards, before the illusion fell away and he was left in this near-literal void yet again.

Grumbling about height and how he’d somehow messed something up, he went back to fiddling with his miniature siege weapon- but before he could get too into it, a creaking door snapped him out of his thoughts. The sound of thick boots against floorboards drew his gaze up, and he watched as his brother, with every step, materialized a generic wooden floor under him, standing and staring out- staring at? A window? A painting? A hole in the wall?

He didn’t know. He couldn’t remember.

He decided it was probably a window, and the illusion maintained. It would have to be enough.

Watching for a few moments, he waited for his brother to speak- before seeming to lose patience, twitchy hands finding their way back to his little project.

“You ever... You ever just realize how futile this all is, Dee?”

Deon hummed, before shrugging. “Eh. I know, this is kinda shit, ain’t it? I need to ask Dad for some more bands, maybe find a book on siege weapons...”

Merlin glanced back over his shoulder, raising a thick eyebrow at him, then at the catapult. In comparison, his brother had much sharper features than Deon, looking much more similar to their mother than he did their father. He had light scruff on his cheeks and chin, and seemed to look even grumpier than Deon did. Perhaps the perpetual scowl was a familial trait.

“I.. no, not that. No, you’re fine, Dee. Just remember, it can always be better, yeah?”

Slightly occupied with his thoughts, Deon absently nodded.

“I more meant... this. Y’know? This menial living. What I’m trying to do out there.”

His face scrunched, fat eyebrows furrowing. Deon didn’t know what Merlin did out there. He always kept that shit secret- ‘for the safety of the family’ or whatever.

“You clean up the dirt... and there’s just more dirt to clean up tomorrow. Nothing stays clean, nothing stays fixed, everything falls apart and it’s up to you to clean it up the next day. The world feeds on our effort...” Merlin sighed, turning so he was facing Deon, leaning against a counter that wasn’t there before. “And it doesn’t feed us.”

Again, Deon scowled. “I mean, we’re eating pottage tonight, Mom picked some nice onions.”

“And she’ll just have to replant them, right? We’ll eat it, and then it’s gone, and then we’re hungry again. I don’t wanna say this lightly, but it’s driving me fucking crazy, Dee.” A low growl built in Merlin’s throat, an obvious build-up of frustration and dissatisfaction coming to a head. “No wonder San fuckin’ skipped off with the carnies, anything is better than this. Getting treated like shit, getting nothing in return for all your effort, getting utterly fucked over by the world and everyone expects you to be grateful...

“Fuck that. Yeah? Just...” Pinching the bridge of his nose, Merlin stood there for a second, before peering over at the confused, slightly off-put expression of Deon. After a beat, the older halfling began to wander in his direction, sitting across from him at the table.

Chewing his lip in thought for a moment, Deon asked, “You have a bad day?”

“...Guess you could say that. I’ve just... I’ve just been having a bad time, in general, Dee. Nothing’s working out. Everything’s going to shit. I thought I’d figured it out, and I gave so... so fucking much. I gave too much! And I got shit back in return! And now I get to go out there, clean up that mess again, or die trying! It fucking sucks!”

As Merlin shouted, he slammed his hands against the table, shooting up to his feet. Splinters and memories of splinters fractured, then drifted away, seeming to surround the two of them before blinking out of existence. Even the chair he was sitting in seemed to disappear, and the world around them cracks from the pressure. Deon found himself curling backward into his chair, feeling a strange mix of anxiety, absolute empathy, and gut-wrenching terror.

Empathy because he understood, anxiety because he was afraid of understanding, and terror knowing that he could relate almost perfectly to the practically unhinged words of his brother.

Not a great look, listening to a madman and thinking he has a point.

“I’m... I’m sorry? I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I don’t want you to say anything, Dee. No, no, no. No, what I want...” Merlin’s hand, shaking and shivering, rested against his chest. “What I want is for you-” he reached out, touching against Deon’s shoulder, “-is for you to answer a question for me. Can you do that?”

Stammering, he danced between his words for a second, before answering with a cautious, “Yes?”

A slow, slightly unhinged smile spread his brother’s face. “What I wanna know is... with all this, the stress, the trauma, the terror in you. How much of this can you take, Dee?” His other hand reached out, grasping his other shoulder while his fingers dug in hard, gripping Deon like he might be swept away at any moment.

For a moment, Deon’s eyes unfocused from his brother to the world around them. The shoddy attempt of a kitchen was no more, the only remaining illusion from the false memory being the chair beneath Deon. Light and matter seemed to be violently tearing away from Merlin, trying to piece together something without a visual representation. The air hung heavy, clinging to him like a cold sweat. With every shiver, shout, and jerk from Merlin, the world around him cracked, flashing with color, before settling down again.

Everything felt like it was on the edge of something. Like maybe if he leaned back, he’d fall forever. Tensions were enough that the world around him seemed ready to shatter, cracks not quite reaching the edges.

There was only so much this world could take. The rope supporting it was fraying.

And as Merlin leaned forward, it’s like his surroundings leaned forward with him. An oppressive weight pushed against Deon’s chest and shoulders, and his brother was close enough that all he could stare back into were icy blue, dripping eyes.

“How much can you take... before you snap?”

The pressure was too great. Like glass shattering, with a single word, his surroundings fell into chaos and disarray. An unhinged grin on his brother’s face cracked his features apart, and what was once a person became a featureless mask, pushing into Deon’s face before getting washed away in the rest of it.

Curling colors and violent tearing filled his senses. He could feel lucidity fill the gaps between his fingers and it hurt, it was too much.

In the absolute swirl of nothing and everything, he could hear his brother’s voice, a bit clearer now. A real memory. Fragments passing him by.

“You ever think to yourself that you were meant for something better, Dee? I know you are, and I know you’re not gonna get it if you just live every day like you did the day before. If you want to shape your future, you gotta grasp it, yeah? Shape it, like you do those cool projects of yours.”

“Shit sucks. But it’s up to us to try and make it suck less.”

“If you can’t believe that things can be better, than what can you believe? What matters, if not to succeed and excel?”

With his late brother’s words slipping between his fingers, he found that they were more than just words. Fingers, a hand. Arm, attached to a body, attached to a face of sharp features and a scowl. A snarl of anger. A memory, but not the real one.

Merlin, letting him go, leaving him to his fate below. It was just clockwork, this same dream that played out several times in the past before. What lucidity he was granted told him that it’d all play out the same. Falling, feathers, drowning, Munz, an offer. Refusal. Dying, but not really.

So, instead, he closed his eyes. He felt the sharp caress of feathers, but no voice. Perhaps his subconscious mind pitied him, as his senses became overwhelmed once again with the muffled, almost through water sound of crows cawing, the flapping of wings, the tearing of beak into flesh.

Familiar, in its terror.

...

As Deon woke up, that feeling of terror from before remained in its spot, curled up in his gut. Barely peeled open eyes scanned his surroundings for a moment, before he slowly pushed himself up, wiping the dirt off from his pants and scarf, which had acted as a substitute blanket during the night.

With no one there, he felt the opportunity arise, and he was quick to pull his scarf up, burying his face into the fabric. The cover allowed him a moment, and it’d be all he could get.

A shaky sigh eased out of the halfling after a moment, and then a coughed inhale of breath. This repeated a few times, before it seemed to settle, and the death-grip on his scarf loosened. Pulling his scarf down, his expression was blank, purposeful in its neutrality.

Pushing himself up and off the ground, Deon wandered inside the coaching house, preparing for the day, repressed thoughts and emotions from the dream still drifting into his mind from time to time.

A few in particular seemed to be intent on stabbing its way through his anxiety, flaring up the wound.

If he was turning out just like Merlin, how far would that go? 

Is time a flat circle or can he break the geometry?

Is he going to die before he can make it back home again?

He could be presumptuous and overconfident and say these questions have an answer already, but... he’d be lying to himself.

And he’s kind of shit at lying.

[darquedeath4444]

First Time to See the World

Chapter TWENTY TWO

Sasuke watched Sakura stare at her sword before she turned to him with what was probably the biggest and most genuine smile he had ever seen on her face, and he had a feeling he was missing something big here.

Perhaps she was still in shock and what had happened would register in her mind in a few seconds. Perhaps she already knew and was forcing her emotions down.

Sasuke knew Sakura's attachment to her sword and it had been the last thing he had expected her to sacrifice. He had felt it when Sakura had begun trying to tear the wires and out of instinct, had strengthened his chakra output before releasing it.

He had proven that his wire structure was powerful enough to hold a physically powerful shinobi and that it was well woven enough that his lightning chakra traveled through the entire structure.

Had this been a real fight, it probably would have been a good move.

But it wasn't.

Sakura slowly got to her feet, as though she knew Sasuke would not attack, and took her time patting down her clothes. "Shall we?" She repeated.

Sasuke tore his gaze away from her eyes, unable to read her and unwilling to continue searching. For as long as he remembered, he fought everything, from battles to everyday encounters, to win and to prove himself worthy of being the second heir.

Exchanging blows to connect and understand was Naruto's thing.

However, for the first time in his life, he wanted to understand what went through Sakura's mind, because behind the mask of the overconfident and brash companion of Momochi Zabuza she wore proudly even after their separation, was an emotional girl chained down by the losses she pretended not to see and drowning in the blood lust of a clan that no longer existed.

But beneath that?

Sasuke knew that history and upbringing played a huge part in shaping a character, but beneath that, there was always a starting point.

What had Sakura been like before her own blood lust had torn their claws into her?

He looked at Sakura's freely smiling face and had a feeling this was just the surface he was brushing. So, he tugged at the wire hanging from the kunai in his hand and the entire thing crumbled. "We could, I guess."

Sakura's eyes brightened and she brushed herself off like she had all the time in the world. "Are you finally going to get serious?" She asked.

Sasuke shrugged and he watched Sakura's eyes glow. As she lowered into a stance, Sasuke went over what he knew about Sakura and her fighting style. There was no doubt the Shikotsumyaku was a very superior form of taijutsu. Sakura's battle with Neji had proven that, in this case at least, the Shikotsumyaku was superior to even the Byakugan.

He had seen Sakura's armor of bones beneath her skin and he knew that was not something he could get past without denting his weapons or breaking a bone of his own. He has seen her fight on the bridge, after all.

So his best shot was ninjutsu or genjutsu. Since this was his last fight, he could go all out with his chakra. Seeing how Sakura had reacted to lightning chakra, he thought it was safe to assume that not even her bone armor could block against that. She had also claimed to not know how to release genjutsu, which enhanced his previous thought.

Sakura did not do delicate.

He made a challenging gesture with his hand and Sakura was the first to move. She charged right through the rain of weapons Sasuke threw at her and Sasuke realized with a jolt that Sakura did not have an instinctive reaction to weaponry.

It was human instinct to move out of the way of anything dangerous approaching and yet, Sakura did not even blink when the blades cut through her skin. They were all deflected by her armor under her skin, doing no more damage than a ignorable cut and a bit of blood.

Sasuke dodged Sakura's harsh kick and only his honed instincts allowed him to duck out of the way of a sharp bone that prodded out of Sakura's kneecap. He lashed out and knocked Sakura's balancing foot from under her but she quickly switched her weight to her hands, somersaulting out of Sasuke's reach and perching herself calmly on the wall of the arena.

The Uchiha stared into Sakura's glowing eyes, full of challenge and excitement and he came to a decision.

Sasuke launched a fireball in her direction to buy himself some time, because while he was quick on his feet, his mental processing was faster. He was fighting against an enemy that was quite obviously better than him in the physical aspects of being a shinobi.

Sasuke knew Sakura was smart but he was confident in playing mind games. He had spent his entire life following around his brother, who was flawless in every aspect.

He would simply have to outsmart her.

Sasuke drew a kunai from his pouch and adjusted his grip on it. Like he had just sworn, he would not hold back. He would crush Sakura with everything he had in his arsenal, because she deserved that in the very least and he was sure she would do the same too.

Not like she ever held back.

Sasuke smirked. The blood red of his Sharingan bled over his onyx eyes and he felt the satisfaction of everything becoming clear in a heartbeat.

Something changed in Sakura's eyes and she detached herself from the wall, landing neatly on her feet. The Kaguya leaned backwards and made a show of pulling out a rib. Sasuke, already used to this, still watched in fascination as the bone slipped out of her skin without protest and the gaping hole seal itself and heal without any interference. With his Sharingan activated, it was all the more clear and he had to admit, it was pretty cool.

As they stood there, not moving and simply staring, Sasuke remembered that last few times they had fought like this.

This was no longer a fight to see who could be nominated to become Chunin, this was a moment they needed to understand one another. Back at the bridge  the understanding he currently could feel hadn't existed, and beneath all that impenetrable bone armor, he hoped Sakura felt it too.

Chapter TWENTY THREE>

<Chapter TWENTY ONE

Chapter List

[brittysaucefanfic]

Brand New Blue

Part 35

(First)(Previous)(Next) (AO3)

Lance’s dream started in darkness. 

Just a black hole swallowing him up as he floated aimlessly. It was so dark, he couldn’t even see his own body. He could feel himself move as he shifted. Felt his arm lift to brush against his face. Felt tears against the fingertips of his hand, and something dripping from his other hand. Lance felt when he blinked, as if in slow motion, but there was no change in vision. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, rubbing, and ignoring the feeling of the same almost sludge like liquid smearing all over his face.

When he opened his eyes again he could see his hands. 

Horror rose in his chest as he recognized the blue liquid falling slowly from his hands. His wrists had a pair of chains that looked suspiciously Galran in nature. Lance looked up at the sound of a broken whimper and his vision blacked out again. The only thing he could see was a pair of teary eyes. They held no whites, no pupil, just a pure blue color. 

The color of his lion, of his very own eyes, the color of the sludge dripping from his fingers.

They grew from tiny little eyes, and grew and grew until Lance was nothing but an ant beneath their glare. A voice echoed in his ears, low and haunting and achingly familiar. A voice that haunted his nightmares, a voice he’s run away from ever since he escaped the arena.

Your fault, it says. If you had only done as I demanded, then this wouldn’t have happened. It repeats what is says in varying tones. Some echo, as if Lance was underneath the waves on Varadero beach. Blurred and distorted. Others are mocking, like it was laughing at Lance’s pain. 

He wanted to get free. He needed to wake up.

Wake up, Lance yells at himself. Wake up you idiot!

Lance looks down, looking at his chains again to not have to look into those horrible eyes. Horrible, sorrowful eyes. The chain, actual physical chains, is long and loose. The slack pools into two stacks of chain, his right one bigger as both chains trail to the right of Lance and behind him. They were unraveling, pulling behind him. It took him a second too late to realize that they were about to yank him off his feet. 

They only took him through the air for a millisecond, before he crashed into the wall, back first. It knocked the breath out of him, and he jerked forward in wheeze. His hands, chained above him, refused to allow him proper room to curl in on himself like his natural instincts demanded.

A clawed purple hand- slim, strong, and in a crooked sense, feminine- gripped his cheeks hard, digging into his skin and yanking his head up. He met glowing yellow eyes, and a pointed purple face shrouded beneath a hood. 

You will obey, the witch said. Obey me paladin.

No! Lance yells to himself and forces himself to wake up with a gasp.

~~~

Lance launches upright with a desperate gasp. 

He’s in bed, tangled among his sheets and sweaty. He pushes his hand through his hair, pushing the short strands out of his face. They were starting to get a little long again. He sucked in a breath, trying to slow his rapid breathing before he starts hyperventilating.

He’s successful, and he calms down enough to stumble out of bed and to the bathroom. The first thing he does is empty his stomach, which wasn’t all that full in the first place. Last night he got a taste of his own medicine at dinner. He had shown up for dinner, hoping to talk to Hunk, but he had never shown. 

The others did, and thankfully they didn’t ice him out. But Lance knew they knew a little something about the conversation he had with Hunk. If he knew his friends as well as he thought he did, it was probably Pidge who convinced the others to spy on them. 

Wouldn’t surprise him.

Lance washed his mouth out before stumbling back into his room, legs shaky and unstable. One hand, his right one, was pressed into the door frame to hold him upright. He curled in on himself again, bending almost in half as he struggled to get himself together.

Maybe Hunk was right.

The dreams have been so bad lately, keeping him up at all hours of the night. He tries to stare at the stars and planets in the distance to calm down, like when he was a kid, but it doesn't work. Never works. Lance just associates the stars with suffering now.

And that killed him, alright? It killed him to know that one of the few things he would always have as a constant in his life is now blackened with pain. Once upon a time, when he looked at the stars and planets, all he saw was new possibilities.

Girl or guy reject or dump him particularly harsh? The stars gave him faith he would find someone to love. A person drags him through the mud for his sexuality? Hope that times will change. The day his abuelito passed away? knowledge that he was in a better place among the stars.

They've always comforted him, until they only spelled out misery and pain.

And his eye doesn't help. The Galra eye that is. It's like Lance lost all control over that mental click that switches from Galra to human mode. Not often does it happen, but when he's stressed out, it's like an involuntary spasm.

On, off. Human, Galra. Back and forth.

And Hunk. Can't forget about the giant hunky Hunk.

Lance prides himself in being able to read people. Aliens, humans, machines, beasts, half beast robots of Galra creation. It's just an intuitive thing. Something he's positive he inherited from his mother.

So the stressed out tone when Hunk said he knew, and he heard? Well it doesn't take a genius to guess exactly how much. And the way Hunk talked about it. As if he knew they were being spied on, and tried to give Lance as much privacy as possible.

Hunk was good at reading people too.

So he probably understood why Lance couldn't say the goddamned words out loud. The trauma, the memories. It's all still too fresh in his mind. Present. Past. Lance can't distinguish them anymore. He can't pick apart the knot of thread to tell which was this recent encounter, and which one was a year or so ago.

Especially after Hunk and Keith got free.

Then things really got bad, and Lance was lost. He had to push his mind into a cage and wait out the hurricane. He's still feeling the aftereffects of the storm, pressing deeply on his mind. The high winds of what if. The down pouring rain of locked away memories breaking free. The torrent waves of the new experiences rocking his boat to make him drown.

Lance was no stranger to suffering.

When he was maybe ten years old, his best friend died in the ocean they so loved. An underwater current wrenched him away in a second, and his tiny body was found three miles downstream.

When he was fourteen, his older sister tried to commit suicide, all because someone at school started a rumor that labeled her as a whore. She's still recovering in rehab, in and out over the past couple of years.

When Lance was seventeen he followed in her footsteps. It was thankfully unsuccessful, and he didn't need a hospital. In fact most of his family don't even know, only his mom and eldest brother. Lance made them promise not to send him away, and their family friend, a doctor, diagnosed Lance with depression.

It wasn't too bad, definitely livable, and it only flared up every now and again. Never enough to warrant even a thought of suicide again, but enough to make him hollow inside. He was lucky, most didn't get the kind of second chances Lance did.

So yeah. He knew suffering. Knew it like an old friend. He was no stranger to pain and heartache. But Hunk? That was a different story. Of course, Lance was positive Hunk had his own problems, his own tragedies. Everyone does. But you wouldn't tell with Hunk.

He radiated warmth like the sun, kind and protective and life giving. The kind of suffering Hunk was exposed to, even if not his own, would be a game changer for anyone. Hunk was just in pain right now, Lance knew. He was hurting because Lance was, and it warmed him.

Made the hurt fade a little in his chest, knowing Hunk was so fond of him that he was in this pain while Lance worked through his suffering alone. Lance was never positive where he stood with the team. Yeah, they've all bonded a lot ever since they met. But he wasn't positive he was really apart of the Voltron family until now. Until Hunk showed how much he cared for Lance.

So maybe Hunk was right.

Maybe he should talk to someone. Maybe Lance should march his happy ass down to the bridge, call them to join him in the lounge and just spill his guts like he was dying. Maybe he should tell them, at least to get it off his chest. Out of his head.

The things he went through were of the worst kind of suffering. The kind that rips someone apart from the inside out. The kind that makes the skin a person wears feel foreign or tainted. The kind that brought thoughts of the pills Lance once took a little too much of. And the kind that put a blade to his sister's wrist, to create red flowers in the bathtub.

He shouldn't have to suffer alone. He doesn't have to suffer alone. These people, these amazing, talented people. They could help Lance get through this. It isn't like when he escaped the arena.

It isn't him locking himself in the room with his head in his hands and tears on his face and a scream dying on his lips. It isn't those cells he called home for months. It isn't prison.

This was his friends, his Found Family.

Mama once told him something that seemed so insignificant at the time. Said off handedly, like a passing thought, with no rhyme or reason.

She told him, there are three types of family every person has. No two types are the same for any person, and no two people's are alike. She said, the first family is the family you are born into. The people you call blood, who share your DNA in some way or another.

Not every Born Family are good families. Some are cruel, and some are absent. Some abandon, and some are killed. But no matter what, they are still your first family. You don't have to love them, you don't even have to like them. But facts are facts honey.

She said, then there are your Found Family. Some are small, and some are big, and some may never be found. But they are still there. These are the people you love, the ones that aren't related by blood or marriage.

They are friends, neighbors, teachers and even animals. These are the people you choose to have around you, that you would ride and die and kill for.

And she said, usually with a wave of a hand vaguely, then there are the Made Family. This one is simple honey. They are the family you create. Your loving spouse, your children and your grandchildren. Nieces, nephews, sons, daughters. More often than not they are blood, and you become their Born Family. But some aren't related in the slightest.

Mama meant adopted children and the like, though she never elaborated. Lance never asked.

So these people, these amazing people he surrounded himself with daily, were Lance's Found Family. They don't know it, or he doesn't think they do. And they might not reciprocate, but like Mama said, facts are facts.

It was wrong of Lance to push his Found Family away.

So when the time was right, and things slow down, and maybe after Lance gets some well deserved rest, he'll talk. He'll sit them all down at the table. They'll listen, ask questions, and accept if Lance can't answer. He'll throw some lame pick up lines at Allura, Shiro, Hunk, Keith, Pidge or Coran. They'll change the subject when it gets too much and set it aside for later.

So yeah, maybe Hunk was right.

But Lance wanted to wait until he was ready before he tried to talk to them about what happened. He didn't want to subside into a panic attack mid talk, that's for sure.

For now though, he had some training to catch up on.

******

(First)(Previous)(Next) (AO3)

[juniperallura]

Woman King: Chapter Fourteen

ao3 / header art / playlist

Shiro couldn’t help a weary smile as he urged his dappled mare into the palace courtyard. The last few weeks hadn’t been kind— he was either driving his poor horse to cover more distance in the night, curled on the hard ground, or fraying his nerves in a Galra camp. Every minute he was awake his muscles ached; every minute he was asleep he was pulled deeper into his twisting subconscious. It was hellish, to say the least.

But now, with a warm bath and a soft bed and the sweet sight of Allura within reach, the tension that seized in his hand, his shoulders, his gut, finally began to ease. Even better- when he dismounted, a shabbily cloaked figure with dirty blond hair slid down beside him.

 “It is all the same,” Matt whispered, his gaze sweeping over the familiar arcades of the cloister. His face was pale and gaunt, but his eyes shone with a happiness that had been absent for years.

Shiro clapped him on the shoulder, surveying the castle with a smile. “It’s good to be home, yes?” He realized, with a satisfied thrill, that he was not only speaking to Matt. This was home, and he had come to miss it sorely. 

A shuddering breath escaped Matt. Shiro glanced over to see a tear leave a glistening track down his sooty cheek; but for all the pain in his eyes, a smile pulled at his lips. “I never thought I would see it again,” he said in a broken whisper, “Shiro- I can never thank you properly-”

Shiro only offered his hand, pulling Matt into as tight an embrace as he could manage when he clasped it. “You need not thank me,” Shiro said, shaking his head as they pulled away, “I should have come sooner-”

“You cannot hold yourself accountable-” Matt clenched his jaw, his eyes dropping- “It is only the Galra who are at fault.”  

Shiro nodded. “Would you like me to be there- when you tell them?” Their gazes met, and between them flashed the same somber vision. A small, flat stone, one of many embedded in a field outside the camp, bearing a simple inscription: Samuel Holt. The memory weighed heavily on them both.

Still, Matt gave him a bracing smile. “It’s alright, Shiro.” He reached out to clasp his shoulder, “You’ve done enough. Go, get cleaned up. You wouldn’t want to encounter the queen in this state, hm?”

A dry chuckle dispelled some of the tightness in Shiro’s chest, the thought of his reunion with Allura bringing with it a fluttering warmth. “Well, you do not need to tell me twice.” He turned, just in time to see a shock of orange hair and a fluttering cloak striding through the cloister. “Coran!” Shiro hailed, raising a hand to greet the minister as he practically skidded to a stop. “Do you know the whereabouts of Lady Holt? I return with a gift.”

“Shirogane-” As he approached, Shiro could see that the older man’s face was drawn and wan, unusually deep lines creasing his face. “I see you have returned successfully.” Coran surveyed them with a heavy expression. “You were not intercepted by a messenger on your journey back?”

Shiro’s smile fell slowly into a frown at Coran’s haggard tone. “No.” He tucked his hand under his arm, beginning to feel his pulse quicken as a knot grew in his gut. “What is going on?”

Coran’s face grew grim. “You had best come with me- Lady Holt can wait.”

Ice began to creep into his chest. “Sir. What happened?” he asked, voice low with gathering dread as his mind immediately jumped to the darkest possibility— Allura.

Coran confirmed his fears. “It is Queen Allura. The meeting with Prince Lotor was a trap, a hidden archer-”

A sickening, sinking feeling overtook him. Shiro lurched forward, grabbing Coran’s shoulder with wild eyes. “Where is she? Is she alive?” His words shook with desperation, but he could hardly hear himself over the blood that pounded in his ears.

All he could make out of Coran’s reply was, “Yes, she is-” 

After that, his senses left him. 

He didn’t hear the shriek that came from the other end of the courtyard. “Matthew!” 

He didn’t hear the clattering of footsteps, the rustling of skirts, the choked sobs of disbelief and relief and overwhelming joy. He didn’t see Matt falling backwards as his sister launched herself through the air to tackle him.

All he saw was rippling fabric of Coran’s cloak, leading him away from the courtyard and toward another nightmare. He couldn’t even think; any logical thought had been overtaken by the maelstrom that had exploded in his chest. Shiro had known fear of many types in his life, but none like this. It was black and cold, wrenching at every fiber in his body, like a collapsing star sucking everything into his gut; and yet, simultaneously, fury coursed hot through his veins, burning against the darkness and setting him on fire. 

Fierce anger, directionless yet directed at everyone, radiated from the pit in his chest. He was furious with the royal guard for failing in their duties. He was murderously angry with the Galra and their Prince, whose neck Shiro would have gladly snapped. But almost more so, he was disgusted with himself. He had almost thought himself worthy of her, daring to love her and kiss her and wear her emblem as he abandoned her to pursue selfish redemption—

Suddenly they were in the hospital wing, and the storm melted away at the sight of her.

Allura almost looked as if she could merely be in a blissful sleep, her hands folded over her stomach and chest rising and falling with even breaths; but her face, pale and covered in a sheen of sweat, betrayed her pain.

Shiro fell to his knees at her bedside. His hand hovered before him, shaking in the air above hers— he did not dare to touch. “Allura,” he choked, the word catching on the rawness of his throat. “I- I am sorry-” 

He felt himself collapse and, if only for a brief moment, let himself drown in a cascade of darkness and ragged breathing and hot stinging tears. Then, just as the feeling had swallowed him whole, he drew himself together again, steadying his breaths and drying his eyes. Allura had not stirred. 

Murmuring began to float toward him from the infirmary aisle, and soon Shiro felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned, surprised to see Prince Lance looking down at him sympathetically. 

“Lord Prince-” Shiro stood quickly, offering him a short bow. He hesitated, unsure of what to say. The stunted awkwardness of their first meetings was long in the past, but Shiro realized he had never gotten to know Lance beyond his first impression— that of a frivolous young man who engaged in play-outings like a child does make-believe. He admired the prince’s dedication to Keith in the face of the arranged marriage, and was gratified to see his friend happy, but had not given the matter much thought besides. Now they stood facing one another with no bridge between them, and sorely felt its absence. 

Then Lance held out his hand. “I am glad to see you returned safely, Shiro,” he said with a nod. 

“Thank you, Prince Lance.” Shiro grasped his forearm, just then noticing that Lance was wearing his arm guard and breast plate, bow and quiver strapped over his back. He met Lance’s eyes, and suddenly found himself questioning that long held impression. Something had changed in the prince, in the way he carried himself; there was a sense of focus, of solemnity, of drive, that Shiro had never noticed before. Even his gaze had a renewed clarity to it. 

Shiro dragged his hand over his face. “So, Her Majesty, is she-” He couldn’t quite bring himself to finish the question.

Lance sighed, folding his arms as he looked down at his cousin. “I was intercepted by a messenger and arrived about a day after the royal party. Allura was in bad condition, lost a lot of blood.” A deep frown pulled at his features. “She has been fighting an infection this past week,” he said, leaning down to brush a stray lock of hair from her brow, “Her fever finally broke last night. The doctors say the worst is behind us, but...” He trailed off, his gaze lingering on Allura’s face. 

“But what?” Shiro asked. His adamant tone forced the prince to meet his eyes, but when their gazes met Shiro looked away. The piercing blue was too familiar. 

“She will recover.” Lance scratched his head, sighing again. “But to what extent, we cannot be sure. Her leg may never fully heal, and if the infection returns, well-” He paused, glancing at Shiro’s residual limb. 

Shiro let out a slow breath, the knot in his stomach beginning to tighten once more. “Let us pray it does not come to that.”

For a moment the two men stood watching over the queen’s bed in silence. A sharp exhale deflated Lance’s chest and he turned to go. 

Before he parted the privacy curtain, the prince turned back to Shiro. “You know- earlier, before her fever broke,” he said in a soft tone, “She would call for you, in her sleep.” A smile broke over his face. “I was a little jealous, actually. My name came up once or twice. But every other word was Shiro.”

With that, Shiro was left alone. As Lance’s footsteps receded, the only sound in the infirmary became the steady ebb and flow of Allura’s breaths. With a tentative hand, Shiro reached out and smoothed back her silver locks.

The next week passed in a blur. Shiro scarcely knew when he ate or slept; his days, and some of his nights, were mostly spent pacing the infirmary. The hours passed in distress, until Allura would rouse briefly from her slumber and banish his worries with her light. If he was alone in the hospital wing he would sit beside her bed, gently cradling her hand or caressing her hair, and murmur soft reassurances to her until she drifted back into slumber. As the days progressed she gained strength little by little, asking him about his quest for Matt and laughing thinly at his quips. In those moments, when she squeezed his hand and smiled with light in her eyes, Shiro felt as if they were wrapped in their own bubble of warmth, floating frozen in time. 

But, in others, it was like he was slowly falling down a spiral staircase, watching the light of a far away oculus disappear into darkness. Some days Allura could not hide her pain, her smile thinning and gaze becoming unfocused. Some days Coran, joined increasingly by Lance, could hardly hold back the ministers waiting to bombard her with questions about the next phase of the war. At erratic intervals Shiro would feel all his emotion leave him, like water rushing down a drain. Even his fear and worry seemed numb. Then, without warning, something would erupt within him and he would drop everything to rush to the training pitch. Only after watching the chippings of the wooden modules fly from beneath his hacking blade would Shiro begin to feel balanced again.

It was one such afternoon that began his second week back at the castle. 

He had entered the hospital wing to find Keith, Lance, and Matt standing at the edge of the circle of ministers around Allura’s bed, all three murmuring in urgent tones. When they noticed his approach, they all fell silent. A familiar acidity rose in the back of Shiro’s throat. He turned around and left.

Then, as he paced back down the corridor, a snippet of conversation overheard between two generals- one lamenting the sluggish pace of bureaucracy with the Queen’s condition, the other suggesting rather facetiously that they just crown a new King and get on with it- sent heat coursing quick through Shiro’s veins. He pushed past them in the corridor, the infirmary soon behind him as he broke out onto the grounds. As he strode toward the pitch he heard someone calling out from behind him, but he ignored the voice. It sounded again once or twice, but Shiro continued on until he reached the courtyard that marked the entrance to the training grounds.

There was a quick sound of crunching gravel before a hand came down on his shoulder. “Shiro.” The voice was Keith’s. “Might we speak for a moment?”

Shiro clenched his fists, staring straight ahead. “Now is not a good time, Keith. Perhaps later.”

“This is important. We- I worry for you. We have barely spoken, since you returned.” Keith’s hand left his shoulder, but his voice was rough with concern.

Shiro sighed, some of his anger softening. He turned, tucking his hand under his arm. “Alright,” he said, “What is this about? I appreciate your concern, but you needn’t worry about me.”

Keith’s brows knit. “Shiro, it has been nearly a fortnight. You sleep worse than ever, I hardly see you in the mess hall, you haunt the corridors at night like a ghost-” He sighed, shifting as his eyes flitted around the courtyard before returning to Shiro’s. “I know you worry for her, we all do. But you must think of yourself too- and your duties. You’ve neglected nearly all of your training sessions this week, and all the time you spend in the hospital wing— well, people are becoming...” He winced, “Suspicious. Lance and Matt have both heard rumors, of how close you seem to be to Queen Allura-”

Shiro’s eyes flashed, his nostrils flaring. “What exactly are you suggesting, Keith? That my concern for her is inappropriate? That I should just abandon her again to focus on what? These inane training exercises?”

“Shiro,” Keith held up his hands, his voice taking a defensive edge, “You know that is not my meaning-”

Shiro hardly heard his words. The knot of energy that had been twisting in his stomach released in a wave of harsh anger. “Spare me,” he growled, “I know you have no reason to care for her— you are just like the rest, only eager for her to either give another order or die so that you can move on! Do you think Lance will be given the crown, then? Is that what you wait for?” His blood began to pound as his voice rose, rash words bubbling up from a dark crevice in his heart. “I know you were there, in her guard- you just stood and watched while she was shot. You never cared, you let it happen!” Suddenly his hand flew out and slammed against Keith’s chest with a dull thud. 

Keith stumbled backward, his eyes wide, but quickly recovered his balance. With a hard frown he reached out and grabbed Shiro by the wrist. “You know that is unfair,” he said in a voice low and steady, “I say these things because I care, not because I wish to hurt you.”

He released his grip, and with a pained look turned back the way he had come. 

Shiro stood frozen, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. Then his eyes fell on the fountain that stood in the center of the courtyard, its basin reflecting the budding trees in its gentle ripples. Shiro, too, was mirrored in the water. He was gripping the hilt of his blade with white knuckles. His hair was matted, too long around the ears. His beard had grown unkempt and scraggly, and his eyes flashed with a wild glint. 

A sudden wave of shame came crashing over him. He looked toward the grounds, but Keith had already gone. Shiro’s shoulders sagged with a ragged sigh. He leaned heavily against the fountain wall, staring into its depths. He dipped his hand into the cool water, marring his reflection, and splashed it against his face. A warm wind blew through the courtyard.

A week later, Shiro arrived at the infirmary to find Allura sitting propped against her pillows, several leaves of parchment strewn over her lap. The room was deserted, so she beckoned him close. He leaned in to press a gentle kiss to her lips, noting with a smile how she glowed in the evening light.

“So smooth,” she sighed, running a hand along his clean shaven cheek. 

Shiro chuckled. “Must you really sigh so mournfully while I am still present?”

“I’m sorry, my love,” Allura murmured, the corner of her lip curling upward, “You know I loved your beard.”

“Like all things, it eventually ran its course. But perhaps next winter it will make another appearance.” Shiro gave her hand a squeeze, mirroring her infectious smile. 

Allura bit her lip with a mischievous look. “Well, I suppose you are still handsome, even without it-” 

Shiro shook his head and clicked his tongue. “My, it seems you are recovering. You’ll be belittling me on the training pitch once more in no time at all.” 

“Actually, on the subject— I was given the all-clear by the doctor this morning.” She ran her hand gently over the side of his face, her eyes glinting with hope. “The worst is behind us, Shiro. Officially.”

“Allura-” Shiro cupped her face and brought her into a tender kiss. “That is wonderful,” he murmured against her lips, “I- I worried.” 

Allura leaned into him once more, slowly savoring his touch. “I know.” She sucked in a breath and tapped his chest, her face brightening again. “Now, if you don’t mind terribly, I would like to finally get out of this blasted bed and this blasted infirmary and walk, even if it is with this blasted leg brace-”

Shiro slid his arm under hers with a smile. “Perhaps to the blasted rose garden, milady?”

“Ah, yes, a perfect idea-” Allura leaned against him as she rose unsteadily onto her feet, wincing at the adjustment- “There we will surely avoid my ministers. I swear on my life, Shiro, if I had not shooed them from my bedside earlier I would have committed a terrible act of treason...”

Strolling along the winding pathway into the gardens, the high walls of the castle fell away to reveal a brilliant patch of evening sky, streaked with glowing golden hues. The blooming foliage seemed to reach for the sky, savoring the last of the day’s sun and sheltering the inhabitants of the garden from the bustle of the main grounds. 

Allura clung to Shiro’s arm, slowly growing accustomed to the clunky wooden brace that supported her injured leg. Wandering among the roses and juniberry blossoms, Shiro’s weight steady and warm beside her, she felt safer than she had for a long time. In quiet tones, they talked of everything that had happened in the last weeks.

 “—And I hope you can forgive me, Shiro, for what I put you through. It was a selfish act, I know-”

“Please, there is nothing to forgive.” Shiro met her gaze solemnly, taking her hand to gently guide her to a bench along the path. “You were right in what you did. Keith told me all that happened, and were it about anyone but you I would have hardly believed it. But I could picture it all so clearly.” A grin, proud and hopeful, broke over his face. “You did it, Allura— you ended the war. Just as you vowed you would.” 

“Yes, I- I suppose I did.” A soft smile curved over her features, but she turned her head, letting her gaze graze the top of a distant wall. When at length she spoke, her voice was quiet. “I used to wonder, when I conjured the scenario in my head, if I would hesitate. But I didn’t. I saw my knife, embedded in his chest, and his face, and the blood-” Her eyes, clear and blue, flashed to his. “The vision does not haunt me. I wondered if- if it would-” She paused. “Or if it should.”

Shiro clasped her hand and met her gaze unwaveringly. “You have nothing to regret,” he said, voice low and steady, “You honored your father, and your kingdom.”

Allura squeezed his hand with reciprocal pressure. “Thank you,” she sighed, leaning to lay her hand against his shoulder, “You also acted honorably, you know. You saved Matthew. You reunited a family.”

“I only wish I could have been at your bedside during the darkest hours,” he murmured close to her ear, kissing the crown of her head. 

“That would only have tortured you further. I was so delirious, I could hardly tell Lance from Coran.” She looked up at him with a dry chuckle. “I was just glad to see you had safely returned to the castle, once the fever broke. Seeing you at my bedside, it always gives me strength.”

Shiro turned, his hand leaving her waist to caress the silver locks that framed her face. New lines traced creases around her eyes, but her skin still glowed richly in the sunset. “And all this time,” he said,” I thought you were lending me strength.”

Moisture threatened to sting Allura’s eyes, but they fluttered closed as she leaned to nuzzle her forehead against Shiro’s. She reached up to cradle either side of his face, holding him close to her, savoring his warmth and solidity. Their noses brushed, their lips only an inch apart. “It’s hard to believe that it is finally over,” she breathed.

Shiro drew his hand through her hair. “I know,” he said, mumbling against her skin. He kissed her cheek, the tip of her nose, and finally met her lips, full and sweet. A warm breeze stirred the fragrant air. Allura hummed in the back of her throat as she fell passionately into his kiss. Shiro hitched his arm under her legs, pulling her onto his lap as she anchored one hand around the nape of his neck while the other buried itself in his hair, then cupped his face, then clutched his residual limb. Desperately they clung to the warm tactility of one another, hearts bursting with relief and joy as every touch confirmed that yes, they were indeed alive, and safe, and real. 

Both sighed the other’s name, falling deeper into their kiss until neither could remember even to breathe. The intoxicating shroud of dusk, its darkness heavy with spring perfume, fell over the garden as the sun slipped below the castle wall. 

Then, just as the thought crossed Shiro’s mind that he would be content should time stop forever at that moment, a rustling along the path cracked their cocoon. Allura’s eyes flew open, first piercing Shiro with daggers, as he slid her back a respectful distance on the bench, before flying to the path. He had only a second to smooth back his hair and slow his rapid breaths before a figure appeared at the mouth of the clearing. 

Ryner, the gardener, stood bathed in the yellow light of the lantern she held aloft. Her face, wrinkled and sun-tanned, betrayed no surprise at the sight of them. “Good evening, Your Majesty,” she said, slowly lowering herself onto one knee, “My apologies if I startled you.”

“Not to worry, Ryner. The garden is your domain, after all.” Allura’s face was smooth with a gracious smile, but Shiro noticed how she clung white-knuckled to the bench. “Please, do not let us disturb your lamp-lighting duties.” She turned to Shiro, her chest still heaving with shallow breaths, and offered him her arm. “We should return to the castle,” she said, “I suppose the ministers cannot be kept at bay forever. And, if you do not mind the burden terribly, I would like to avoid straining myself before I have even healed properly.”

Shiro met the gardener’s eye for a brief moment. “Of course, Queen Allura.” He gave her a nod, gingerly taking her arm and guiding her back the way they had come as Ryner shuffled off.

When they were out of earshot, Allura heaved a frustrated sigh. “It seems it is never truly over,” she muttered.

“I know,” Shiro frowned, kissing her hand as they passed through the shadow between two lamps, “I know.”

[skele-bones]

1. Welcome Home

@puremchanzo has a 31 days of McHanzo event going and I wanted to try my hand at it. 

The first prompt is Welcome Home. I ended it at 2,609 words. It was not beta-ed.

AO3 - Want to buy me a coffee?

Click “Read More” to get the entire fic. Enjoy!

The seats in the Orca weren’t the most comfortable for travel. However, Hanzo would have been lying if he hadn’t practically melted into his seat after buckling in. The mission was a success and exhausting to say the very least and almost every part of him ached from excessive use. It felt like his arms and legs were made out of lead and he couldn’t possibly straighten himself up even if he wanted to. His tutors would’ve been beside themselves with grief if they could see him now. But as a heavy weight settled next to him and part of a red and gold serape wrapped around him, warming his exposed skin, he couldn’t care less about anything else.

Jesse helped him up into a sitting position, letting him lean against his shoulder as they shared the serape’s warmth. It might not have been the most comfortable thing with all of their armor and weapons in the way but it felt better than being alone. Part of Hanzo’s psyche chastised him for behaving in such a manner. Slumped over, showing his weariness, exposing himself to another person. But when he glanced up at Jesse, the cowboy met his eyes and gave a little smile, and that nagging voice in his mind was drowned out.

Their fingers laced together under the serape and the Orca’s engine along with Lena’s humming filled the silence. It was a perfect moment. They’d been gone from base for the last two weeks and all he wanted was to go home, change into something comfortable, check on his children and take a nice afternoon with his husband.

Maybe Genji could watch the boys for the evening and give them time to themselves. Spending a cold winter’s evening wrapped up in Jesse’s embrace didn’t seem like a bad idea.

A smile settled on Hanzo’s lips as he imagined it and allowed the lull of peace to draw him further into a light sleep.

“Oh my gosh!”

Lena’s exclamation punctuated the lull’s end as the Orca seemed to pick up speed. The change in pace causing Jesse to jerk in his seat while Hanzo lurched forward. His seatbelt digging into his skin resulting in a hiss and a pointed glare at the sheepish pilot.

“Sorry loves!” She called in a chippy tune that didn’t sound apologetic at all. “Got a message from Winston, Emily is on base! Guess we’re starting this holiday season off right, huh?!”

“Just make sure we get back in one piece,” Jesse teased.

Years ago, Hanzo might’ve told her off for pulling a stunt for such a “trivial” reason. But for more reasons than one, he understood what it felt like to want to see someone you loved as quickly as possible. Even if it meant taking risque ways of bridging the distance between you and them. He chanced a glance up at Jesse and felt the corners of his mouth tilt upwards. Settling his head against his shoulder, he felt Jesse wrap his arm around his shoulders and decided that he’d let her have this. After all, it was the holidays and for a good reason.

“You alright there, Han?”

The arm around his shoulders, serape covering his torso and the man sitting beside him were all warm and comforting. Worry laced in his tone as his fingers drummed out a tune on Hanzo’s shoulder. The archer sighed and shifted as close to him as their seats would allow, briefly opening his eyes to look up.

“I’m fine, cariño.”

Jesse stiffened. His eyes widened and the weary smile vanished, mouth slightly agape. Then it was back, broader and brighter than the sun. His body lost its rigidness and he all but melted into the seat, pressing kisses into Hanzo’s hair and whispering soft words. Words that couldn’t be heard over the roar of the engines and for Hanzo’s ears alone.

When they disembarked from the Orca, Lena made a blink line to Emily and nearly leapt into the redhead’s arms. The two spun around for a few minutes in a circle and Emily barely had time to greet Hanzo and Jesse as they passed before Lena launched into telling her about what they’d be doing for the holiday season. Jesse yawned and gave a half-hearted salute to Athena’s console as they entered the warm corridors of Gibraltar’s base.

“Wanna check on the boys, debrief, then head to bed?” Jesse asked.

“That sounds f-”

Hanzo’s reply was cut off by the sound of cheering and hollering.

“Athena, what’s goin’ on?” Jesse scratched his head and looked at the AI’s console.

“A gathering in the living area, Agent McCree. Agent Winston has requested your presence along with Agent Hanzo.”

The pair shared a glance and Jesse gave Hanzo a light shrug. Whatever was happening must’ve been good if everyone was in on it and there weren’t any explosions. Hanzo sighed and looped his arm with Jesse’s, the two of them taking slow strides to the living area. But the closer they got, the noisier it became and Hanzo couldn’t deny that he felt more curious by the second. The pair turned the corner just as the lights dimmed, only the faint outline of the other agents could be seen.

“Hey Athena, are Eastwood and Hanzo back yet?!”

“They have arrived, Agent Lucio.”

The light of Genji’s visor could be seen swiveling through the dimly lit room and Hanzo steeled himself for the speed that his brother was moving.

“Welcome home!” Genji yelled, arms open wide to envelop the pair in a hug. Jesse chuckled and patted the cyborg’s shoulder while Hanzo rolled his eyes and patted his back. “You two are just in time for the show!”

That got a confused look.

“Show?” Jesse tilted his head. “What show?”

“Come and sit down already! It’s about to start,” Hana yelled.

A light shined down on a space near the furthest wall, and looking closer Hanzo could see that the sofas had been rearranged in a semi-circle around that one space. Genji hopped over one of the longer sofas and settled in next to Zenyatta. Lena and Emily sat near one of the windows, the former waving excitedly to them from her perch. Ana and Reinhardt sat curled up with one another while Reaper and 76 seemed to be keeping a bit of distance between them. Or at least that what it looked like at first glance, if their linked hands meant anything.

Mei and Zarya stood in another corner talking to Angela and Fareeha. Though when Mei noticed Hanzo enter, she gave him a hearty wave and a smile.

Hana and Lucio were seated on the floor in front of the couches. The latter was messing around with something while the former held a holorecorder and beckoned hurriedly for everyone to take their seats and hush. She scrunched her nose and stuck out her tongue at 76 when he opened his mouth to speak. All in all, it was a strange thing to come back to. Hanzo looked to Jesse and the cowboy returned his gaze.

“Might as well see whatist about.”  Jesse shrugged and leaned against the wall closest to the exit, Hanzo leaning against him as they trained their sights on the spotlight in front of them. If things got too out of hand, they could always slip off and go find their boys.

“Jesse,” he said aloud.

“Yeah hon?”

“Where’s the boys?"

Jesse opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again before realization dawned. Everyone else was in the room but their sons weren’t . However before they could voice their concerns, Lucio popped up with his usual energy and zest, drawing everyone’s attention to him and conversation to a close.

“Alright! Let’s get this party started, people!”

The others cheered and he smiled widely then raised his hand for a hushed silence. Holding up a microphone, he spoke into it and his voice could be heard throughout the room.

“This song is a way throwback, came from the 1970s, and was a request from our very own -- Gabriel and Shingen Shimada-McCree! To kick this holiday season off right, let’s remember to Give Love on Christmas Day !”

The other agents broke into wild applause, whistles and cheers as Lucio stepped out of the spotlight and sat on the floor next to Hana. Two little boys ran into the spotlight and Hanzo sucked in a deep breath, trying to fight down his smile.

Gabriel’s grin was unmistakable but looked silly under the red ball sitting on top of his nose. Reindeer antlers poked out from curly chestnut locks of hair, and his red and yellow sweater reminded Hanzo of the atrocious one that Jesse always lost around this time of year. He looked in his natural element under everyone’s watchful gaze.

Shingen’s hair was done up in a high ponytail, his eyes twinkling with mirth and a broad smile on his face. His blue and yellow sweater adorned with pictures of dragons and snowflakes, and Hanzo could have sworn that he heard Ana say, “ I’m so glad they fit ” amongst the noise.

“Just how long do ya think they were plannin’ this?” Jesse leaned over to whisper to him once the noise started to die down.

“I have no idea,” Hanzo whispered back. “But I want to see.”

Lucio handed each boy a microphone and they stood together in the spotlight as music started up. Gabriel’s head bobbed to the beat and he rocked back and forth on the ball of his feet. Shingen passed his microphone from one hand to the other, looking out to the crowd and scanning the different faces.

“Smile Shiggy!” Genji yelled.

“Knock us dead, enklein!”  

“Rein, please.” Ana swatted his arm lightly before calling out to them. “You can do it, habibi!”

The kids shared a glance and Shingen inclined his head forward, Gabriel shook his head and Shingen nodded. He stepped forward, opened his mouth and began to sing.

People making lists

Buying special gifts

Taking time to be kind to one and all

Jesse grinned and wrapped his arm around Hanzo’s shoulders, gently shaking him as his mirth seemed to overflow. Hanzo couldn’t chide him for it at all. Their Shingen was normally quiet and although he had little quirks here and there, this was different.

It's that time of year

When good friends are dear

And you wish you could give more

Hanzo smiled at the “good friends”, looking around at the people seated and enjoying their son’s soft singing voice. If it wasn’t for them and if it wasn’t for the man next to him, then none of this would have been possible. Sometimes it felt like he was living in a dream.

Than just presents from a store

Why don't you give love on Christmas day

Oh, even the man who has everything

Most of the other agents were swaying from side to side with the beat of the song and Shingen’s confidence seemed to grow. Jesse gave Hanzo’s shoulder a squeeze and pressed a kiss to the side of his head as their son belted out the next few lines.

Would be so happy if you would bring

Him love on Christmas day

No greater gift is there than love

Gabriel wrapped his arm around Shingen’s shoulders as he began to sing. While Shingen’s voice was soft, Gabriel was loud and he couldn’t seem to stop smiling.

People you don't know

Smile and nod hello

Everywhere there's an air of Christmas joy

“That boy is a smilin’ fool,” Jesse shook his head and laughed.

“Mm, he gets it from his pa.” Hanzo elbowed him lightly and he snickered.

It's that once of year

When the world's sincere

And you'd like to find a way

To show the things that words can't say

Hanzo’s world nearly stopped as he thought back to the moment on the transport carrier. He didn’t need anything but Jesse right beside him. Their hands clasped together, warm from sharing body heat, thinking about what he’d do when he got home. How he’d see his sons and enjoy the day with his family.

Why don't you give love on Christmas day?

Oh, the man on the street and the couple upstairs

Now, many of the agents were singing along or humming and clapping. Gabriel swayed side to side making Shingen jostle along with him. The two boys laughed and the room felt warm, cozy, and familiar. With everyone enjoying the show and his sons getting along so well, what else could he want?

All need to know there's someone who cares

Give love on Christmas day

No greater gift is there than love

Shingen unraveled himself from his brother and stepped forward with his mic but before he could sing, his mouth fell slack. Gabriel looked up from his own mic and opened his mouth to say something but Shingen pointed into the crowd. He pointed directly at Hanzo and Jesse. Gabriel’s eyes lit up like stars and Shingen seemed to remember himself as he sang the next lines, his eyes never leaving his parents’s silhouettes.

What the world needs is love

Yes, the world needs your love

The boys seemed to sing much louder, the others joining in and Reinhardt’s loud voice belting the lyrics was enough to make many of the other agents double over in laughter. Reaper leaning down and whispering something to Hana before reclaiming his position next to 76, leaning against him rather than sitting upright. Fareeha and Angela took to rocking from side to side while Genji and Zenyatta waved some of Zenyatta’s orbs from side to side, the light emanating a soft glow through the dimly lit room.

Why don't you give love on Christmas day

Every little child on Santa's knee

Has room for your love underneath his tree

It was amazing how everyone seemed to come together. Falling over one another, laughing and dancing, smiling and talking amongst themselves. And in the center of it all was two little boys who looked at Hanzo and Jesse as if they hung the moon and the stars.

Give love on Christmas day

No greater gift is there than love

“They’re really somethin’, aren’t they?”

“Yes, yes they are.”

What the world needs is love

Yes, the world needs your love.

Jesse smiled down at Hanzo. The archer’s eyes never left the stage, his smile wide and quivering. There was the slightest sheen to his irises and Jesse’s heart would’ve panged with worry if it wasn’t for the two boys standing in front of them. Pocketing one of his hands, he leaned down and tapped Hanzo’s shoulder. It took a moment for him to tear his gaze away from the stage but once he did, Jesse leaned down and brushed their lips together.

Hanzo’s gaze softened, fingers lacing in Jesse’s hair and pulling him closer. Their lips were chapped from the bitter cold outside but it was warm here. Warm and loving. After a moment, the kiss ended but they stayed connected with their foreheads touching, hugging close as they turned back to watch their sons.

Give love, oh give love on Christmas day

Every Tom, Dick, and Harry, every Susie too

Needs love every bit as much as you

Give love on Christmas day

The others broke into cheers and applause as the song finished, congratulating the pair on a job well done as they hurried through the crowd and into their parents’s arms. Gabriel climbed onto Jesse’s shoulders and Shingen wrapped his arms around Hanzo’s waist as best as he could.

“Welcome home!”